The chaos and wailing of the battlefield slowly faded, the air thick with the acrid stench of charred flesh and sulfur.
The Dothraki, once an unstoppable wave of roaring warriors, had now completely shattered.
Countless Dothraki frantically lashed their horses, desperately trying to flee from the hellscape consud by Dragonfire.
But the dragon's fiery breath, like serpents of fla, greedily scorched the earth, creating insurmountable walls of fire.
So Dothraki, their minds overtaken by fear, their eyes bloodshot, howled in desperation and tried to force their horses over the fiery barrier.
The warhorses shrieked in agony as they touched the viscous, lava-like flas, and in the blink of an eye, both rider and horse were reduced to blazing torches.
Within monts, the charging warriors were nothing more than charred husks, curling into blackened remains, billowing smoke and releasing a nauseating stench.
This horrific sight utterly broke the last shred of resistance from the remaining Dothraki.
Clang!
Clang!
Scimitars and Dothraki bows were discarded onto the scorched, smoking earth.
They tumbled off their horses, kneeling and raising their hands high, crying out in Dothraki, their voices filled with terror and pleas:
"We surrender! We surrender! Spare our lives!"
Lo Quen's infantry phalanx and the Windblown rcenaries surged forward, quickly regaining control of the situation.
The soldiers moved with practiced precision, using rough, durable ropes to bind the Dothraki's hands behind their backs, securing them like bow-backed shrimp to ensure they could not resist.
The defeated captives were then handed over to the slave soldiers in the rear.
After defeating Lys, Lo Quen had kept these slave soldiers as auxiliaries; now they were tasked with guarding the prisoners.
The captives were herded into a temporary holding area, with the soldiers shouting at them to keep moving.
"Jaelena, Janice, follow into Myr!"
Lo Quen's voice cut through the howling wind, clear and precise to the two dragon knights.
No more words were needed. The three colossal beasts roared in unison, their massive wings stirring up searing air currents as they soared upward, carrying their riders over the still-ongoing battle below. They raced toward the distant city of Myr.
When they reached the skies above Myr, the scene before them looked like sothing out of hell.
The towering walls of the Free City had beco a terrifying river of erald-green flas.
Wildfire—this magical fla created by the Alchemists—raged upon the stone and brick, enveloping the sturdy battlents, arrow towers, and even the massive city gates in an eerie, green glow.
The flas spread silently, leaving sizzling marks on the stone as they moved, twisting and blackening whatever they touched.
The defenders on the walls had long since given up.
Soldiers who had narrowly escaped the wildfire's grip threw down their helts and armor, screaming as they scrambled desperately across the narrow ramparts, hopelessly trying to evade the relentless flas.
Many were pushed by their comrades, falling over the walls' edges, their bodies crashing to the ground below in a brutal, shattering impact.
Inside the city, the scene was even more chaotic.
Terrified citizens filled the streets, their eyes turned upward in disbelief, faces twisted in horror.
Three dragons, each a different color, circled overhead.
The shadows cast by their wings swept over palaces with stained-glass dos, towering obelisks, and narrow, winding streets.
Each beat of their wings whipped up fierce gusts of wind that made banners snap and tiles rattle from the roofs.
The cries of children, the shrieks of won, and the desperate prayers of n blended together in the chaos.
Riding atop Blooddancer, Lo Quen's eyes locked onto the most grand and opulent structure at the center of the city—the Magister's Mansion of Myr. Built from pale pink marble, inlaid with gold leaf and colorful glass, it boasted a massive circular do and nurous fountains in its sprawling gardens.
"We'll storm the Magister's Mansion in Myr together!" Lo Quen declared coldly.
The three colossal dragons instantly split apart, diving toward the palace.
Blooddancer's massive form plumted like a teorite, the destructive crimson light building deep within its throat before exploding in a violent eruption.
BOOM!!!
A thick, viscous pillar of blood-red fla, as dense as a lava waterfall, crashed into the vast fountain plaza in front of the Magister's Mansion.
Exquisite marble statues, carefully trimd palm trees, and the vibrant mosaic ground lted and vaporized like wax figures the instant they were touched by the fire.
The water in the fountain pool boiled and evaporated instantly, erupting with a deafening roar as scalding white mist billowed upwards, blocking out the sky.
The pillar of fire did not stop; it continued to sweep across the Magister's Mansion's sturdy main gate and the guard towers flanking it.
The heavy iron-clad oak doors twisted and burned like paper in the blood-red flas.
The guards on the towers barely had ti to scream before being instantly carbonized, armor and all, leaving nothing but their charred silhouettes, burned into the walls that had also lted and collapsed under the heat.
Silverfall fixed its gaze on a towering defensive arrow tower on the west side of the Magister's Mansion, riddled with firing ports. A few heavy crossbows were still trying to shoot at it.
Whoosh—Crackle!
A torrent of blindingly pure silver-white flas poured down, engulfing the entire tower with precise accuracy.
The mont the silver flas touched it, the stone shattered under the imnse force, while the tal components of the crossbows lted and dripped away in the extre heat.
The defenders within the tower, along with their weapons and armor, were instantly consud by the flas.
Janice, riding the deep purple Duskshadow, skimd low over the gardens and servant quarters to the east of the Magister's Mansion, her massive jaws wide open.
Surging, churning flas of deep purple rushed downward.
These flas didn't carry the terrifying heat of the others. Instead, they clung to the exquisite pavilions and lush gardens like living things, burning with a frenzied intensity.
Precious silk curtains blackened and carbonized instantly, while the carefully cultivated exotic flowers withered and turned to ash within the purple flas.
Servants and guards fleeing through the gardens were swept up by the purple fire, writhing in agony before succumbing to death.
The tri-colored Dragonfire rampaged through the opulent Magister residence complex.
At the heart of the palace, the "Pearl Hall."
The do, inlaid with countless mother-of-pearl and colored glass, trembled violently, sending a cascade of dust falling.
Several glass windows shattered from the shockwaves of distant Dragonfire, letting the blaze outside shine through, terrifying the Magisters within.
The obese First Magister slumped in his ivory throne, a symbol of supre authority. His purple-gold velvet robe was soaked with cold sweat.
The fleshy folds on his face quivered with fear, his lips trembling, but no words ca out.
The other mbers of the Magister's Council—those usually aloof, calculating rchant nobles—had lost all their composure.
So collapsed to the floor, dark stains spreading beneath them.
So clung desperately to the columns, their fingernails digging into the smooth marble, leaving white marks.
Others staggered around the hall like headless flies, circling in hopelessness, emitting aningless whimpers.
...
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