When a report ntioned unexpected resistance in Toulouse, a group of French A-rank hunters who had organized a coordinated defense around the Saint-Sernin Basilica, his reaction was imdiate and rciless:
- "Imdiately send two additional squadrons to Toulouse. I want this pathetic resistance crushed within the hour. No prisoners. No survivors. No rcy. If these hunters want to die as heroes, let us grant them this privilege."
His orders were transmitted and executed without the slightest question, without the smallest doubt. Draconic discipline was an art perfected over millennia, absolute obedience forged in terror and respect for military hierarchy.
Vaerath moved toward the control screens now installed by his draconic technicians - smaller creatures, specialized in technological magic, capable of interfacing their systems with human communication satellites. The images they broadcast showed the extent of the devastation: cities in flas, populations in desperate flight, human hunters overwheld by the brutal and perfectly orchestrated violence of draconic forces.
He had participated in nurous conquest campaigns during his eight centuries of existence, destroyed dozens of civilizations across dinsions, but no war had been as total, as perfectly coordinated as this invasion of Earth. Humans, despite their technology and magical hunters, were pathetically under-equipped against the brute power and military experience of the Draconic Empire.
He felt deep satisfaction, a sort of dark and implacable accomplishnt in contemplating his work. Yet, sothing infinitesimal persisted in the depths of his reptilian gaze a distant reflection, almost imperceptible, of bitterness. Perhaps nostalgia for a bygone ti when he fought for nobler ideals than endless conquest, when war still had aning beyond simple domination.
This emotional flaw, however minimal it was, was quickly buried under layers of military pragmatism and racial pride. He was Vaerath, Supre Commander of the Third Invasion Wave, and he had a genocide to complete.
A lower-ranking dragon soldier rushed into the command room, his scales glistening with sweat despite his reptilian nature. He imdiately prostrated himself before his commander before reporting in a breathless voice:
- "Commander Vaerath, all French targets are now under our complete control. The last resistance pockets in Toulouse have been annihilated. French territory is pacified."
Vaerath slowly nodded his massive head, a cruel smile stretching his scaly lips. His claws clenched almost imperceptibly, tracing fine scratches in the armrest of his command chair.
- "Perfect. Transmit my congratulations to all squadron commanders. Their efficiency honors our race." He marked a theatrical pause, savoring the mont. "Now, imdiately prepare the troops for the next stage of our conquest. Tomorrow, at dawn, we will march on all of Europe. Germany, Italy, Spain, England - all these human kingdoms will fall under our claws. This blue planet will belong to us entirely before the end of the week."
He rose from his seat, his imposing stature casting a disproportionate shadow on the tactical maps spread around him. With a slow and calculated step, he approached the broken window that overlooked dying Paris.
- "No one will resist us. No one can resist us."
Desperate Resistance - The Pentagon
Thousands of kiloters from the European apocalypse, in the armored bowels of the Pentagon, buried forty ters underground, giant surveillance screens displayed real-ti maps of major Arican cities. The atmosphere in the command bunker was electric, saturated with tension and adrenaline. Dozens of officers, with grave and tense faces marked by the exhaustion of several days of constant watch, frantically busied themselves around their control stations, coordinating the war effort with a feverish intensity that bordered on controlled panic.
At the center of this organized chaos stood a man who embodied humanity’s resistance. General Alexander "Alex" Grayson was sixty-two years old, but his body bore the stigmata of three decades of combat against interdinsional threats. His silver hair, cut short according to military tradition, frad a face weathered by years of crushing responsibility and life-or-death decisions.
A forr S-rank hunter, he had survived horrors that humanity preferred to forget - demonic invasions in the 90s, incursions of Lovecraftian entities at the beginning of the millennium, wars against apocalyptic cults. His steel-gray eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep, nevertheless retained inflexible determination. Scars ran across his hands and forearms, testimonies of hand-to-hand combat against unspeakable monstrosities.
Today, he was perhaps directing the last hours of organized resistance of his species against pure and simple extinction.
- "Imdiate situation report on New York and Los Angeles!" he ordered in a voice that carried authority forged in the fire of battles, resonating like an anvil struck by a tempered steel hamr.
A young intelligence officer, Lieutenant Sarah Chen, turned toward him from her console overloaded with blinking screens. Her hands trembled slightly she was only twenty-five years old and had never lived through a war of such magnitude - but her voice remained professional and precise:
- "General Grayson, the first enemy waves are currently contained in the outer urban periters by our front-line forces. Our A-rank hunters courageously maintain their defensive positions, but interdiate-sized dragons are progressively breaking through our defenses. According to our latest reports, enemy vanguards are already less than five kiloters from Manhattan and Hollywood."
Grayson clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking like dead branches under pressure. Prominent veins appeared on his temples, signs of the extre tension that inhabited him. In his chest, his heart beat at a rhythm he hadn’t known since his years as an active hunter.
- "Imdiate mobilization of our elite units. Deploy all our available S-rank hunters on these two critical fronts without exception." He successively pointed to different zones on the giant tactical map. "I want Jace Hartman, Sophia Winters and Logan Park in New York within fifteen minutes. Simultaneously send Ezekiel Diaz and Clara Everett to Los Angeles. Establish constant and secure communication liaison with personally."
- "At your orders, General!" the officer imdiately responded, his fingers already flying over his keyboard to relay orders through ergency communication channels.
A few minutes later, the tactical screens lit up with the tense faces of his best elents. Jace Hartman was the first to establish visual contact. He was a colossus of two ters ten, his shoulders as wide as those of an Olympic wrestler, clad in personalized magical armor engraved with ancient protection runes. His face, marked by a scar that crossed his left cheek from a battle against a major demon in 2019, expressed fierce determination.
- "General, we just successfully repelled a wave of minor dragons in the Brooklyn sector. Our support units still hold their positions, but we’ve identified major dragons approaching from the northeast. What are your specific orders?"
Grayson leaned toward the screen, his intense gaze eting that of his subordinate. "Listen to carefully, Hartman. You’re going to modify your defensive strategy. No longer seek to hold your current positions - it’s suicide against major dragons. Deliberately lure them toward the predefined strike zones we’ve prepared. Our concentrated mana tactical missiles are ard and ready to fire. As soon as you have a tactical opening, guide these bastards exactly where I want them to die."
Jace nodded solemnly, his hand tightening on the handle of his enchanted sword. "Understood, General. We’ll lead them to hell."
The Orient at War - Beijing
On the other side of the globe, in the labyrinthine depths of the headquarters of the Chinese State Security Ministry, a similar crisis cell was activating with comparable intensity but a culturally different approach.
Beijing’s command bunker was a masterpiece of underground military architecture, carved into rock sixty ters deep, capable of withstanding a direct nuclear strike. The reinforced concrete walls were adorned with traditional calligraphies that contrasted strangely with the ultra-modern military technology that filled the space.
At the center of this tactical hive stood General Li Wei, a living legend of resistance against supernatural threats. Aged fifty-eight, he was a forr S rank hunter respected throughout Asia for his victories against demonic invasions from the China Sea. Tall and lean, his face with noble features bore the Confucian impassivity forged by decades of martial ditation and spiritual combat.
His black eyes, deep as wells of ancient wisdom, glead with strategic intelligence sharpened by forty years of struggle against dinsional threats. Unlike his Western counterparts, he directed operations in an almost ditative calm, each decision weighed according to Sun Tzu’s tactical principles adapted to modern supernatural warfare.
- "Detailed report on the situation in our main tropolises," he requested in a composed but imperious voice, addressing Captain i Zhang, head of tactical operations.
i Zhang was a forty-three-year-old woman, a forr A-rank hunter converted to military strategy after an injury that had ended her fighting career. Her black hair, pulled into a strict chignon, frad an intelligent face marked by a discreet scar at the corner of her right eye a mory of combat against a major demon in the Sichuan mountains.
- "General Li, the situation is critical but not desperate," she announced calmly, consulting her tactical tablet. "The dragons have indeed taken control of Tianjin after six hours of fierce fighting. Shanghai is partially occupied - the central districts have fallen, but our forces still hold the industrial and port zones. However, our organized counterattack in Beijing is bearing fruit. Our S-rank hunters, notably the venerable Master Chen Xiao, maintain their defensive positions with remarkable efficiency."
General Li Wei slowly nodded his head, an almost imperceptible sigh escaping his pursed lips. In his military philosophy, each human life lost was a tactical failure that had to be analyzed and avoided in the future.
- "Give the exact figures of our human and material losses. I must know precisely the extent of our compatriots’ sacrifice."
i Zhang quickly consulted several reports on her tablet, her fingers navigating with expertise between the data. "We have lost thirty-two confird A-rank hunters, plus about ten reported missing. On the civilian side, preliminary estimates report several thousand dead and wounded, mainly in Tianjin and in Shanghai’s occupied districts. However, our tactical successes are encouraging: minor dragons have been entirely eliminated. Our special squadrons are currently attacking interdiate dragon units."
General Li Wei breathed deeply, then gave his orders in a dry and determined voice:
- "I want complete coordination with the United States and any other nation still capable of resistance. Transmit all our tactical data to Washington and share with them our dinsional combat thods. If we want to have the slightest chance, we must be perfectly synchronized."
- "At your orders, General." i Zhang imdiately relayed these instructions through secure diplomatic channels.
Across the Arican night sky, S-rank hunters unleashed their power. Jace Hartman, levitating several ters above Manhattan, released torrents of blue flas, his incandescent mana reducing minor red dragons to ashen dust. Sophia Winters, whose fine hands controlled magical threads sharp as razors, thodically decapitated each creature that approached too close to her.
The interdiate dragon commanding the New York wave roared with rage at such resistance, addressing Jace directly in a rumbling voice:
- "Arrogant humans! Your resistance is futile. Surrender, or die in eternal suffering!"
Jace replied in a calm, icy, determined voice: "Return to your dinsion, creature. Your only outco here is death."
He imdiately detonated a powerful spell that enveloped the dragon in devastating magical energy, violently projecting it against a neighboring building that collapsed on it in a monuntal crash.
In Beijing, Chen Xiao, the Chinese S-Master, faced three interdiate dragons simultaneously, his movents like a perfectly synchronized deadly dance. Each strike of his enchanted staff shattered their scales like glass, each dodge allowed him to imdiately counterattack with lethal efficiency.
- "Master Chen, we must temporarily retreat!" shouted one of his hunter assistants, his voice trembling with fear and exhaustion.
Chen Xiao categorically refused, his expression one of absolute concentration:
- "There will be no retreat as long as these monsters live. We are the last rampart."
He brutally concentrated his mana in a warrior cry, releasing an imnse luminous ethereal dragon, perfect reflection of his inner power, which violently pierced the three opposing creatures, reducing their bodies to nothing in blinding light.
At the sa mont, at the Pentagon, General Grayson received confirmation of their first major victory:
- "General, New York is stabilized! Los Angeles as well! The interdiate dragons are contained or eliminated!"
The General slowly exhaled, gravely nodding his head. "Imdiately communicate this information to Beijing and to still-active allies."
He exchanged a dark look with his aide. "This battle is only the first. We must be ready at any mont to endure another even more powerful wave."
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