Chapter 619: I Stand Above All Things
Above the clouds, the sky was crystalline and washed clean.
The red-iron dragon hovered high above the kingdom’s borders, wings folded against his back, forelimbs crossed over his chest, his two thick hindlegs hanging naturally.
This near-erect posture was rare among dragons.
It was as if he stood on invisible steps, looking down upon the vast land beneath him.
Sunlight poured down, reflecting off his seamless scales, the blades at his elbows and knees folded tight, forming faint ridges at the joints.
He lowered his gaze to survey, the Aola main realm stretched out in his sight.
Farms, towns, rivers, mines, everything in orderly operation.
Smoke rose from cities and villages, caravans moved along the highways like dragonflies, fields on the plains rolled in green waves.
Everything moved under his will.
He also saw tiny figures lifting their heads to gaze up.
Insignificant mortals, the people of Aola, following their king with reverent light.
The great dragon’s gaze passed beyond the kingdom’s boundaries and cast westward.
A band of gray-blue storm clouds shrouded the horizon, and beneath those stormclouds another dragon crouched on that land.
The Storm Dragon, Lamorein.
The last piece of the Atlantis Continent not belonging to Aola.
Temples stood beneath the thunderclouds, and the Dragon Queen’s will flowed there.
Garoth stared toward the west, his eyes narrowed slightly, maintaining his hovering stance, tail swaying slowly behind him like a patient predator watching prey.
“Now I am unstoppable.”
“All the land of Atlantis, every tiny life, should kneel beneath my feet.”
The red great dragon murmured in his mind.
Power still surged through him.
From bone to scale, from muscle to claws and fangs, every cell soaked in pure force compressed to the extreme.
The price of brilliance had been paid, yet that feeling of standing above all had not completely faded.
The Storm Dragon, Lamorein.
And the Bronze Dragon King, Sheffield.
Their images flashed across his mind, no longer weighing heavily.
The dragon spread his wings.
With no magical energy or Dragon Qi attached, relying purely on muscle to tear the air, his massive body plummeted vertically from the heights.
The air screamed as it scraped his scales and was flung behind him.
At the moment before impact, the great dragon flipped his body.
His feet stamped the air, a shockwave spread outward, blowing dust from the high platform into a neat circular ring, yet the platform beneath his feet remained unmarked, not even a crack.
The control of this body’s strength had reached fine, meticulous levels.
Garoth stood upright on the dragon court platform, neither crouching nor sitting.
This new form made him more suited to standing upright; his spinal structure adapted him to this posture, weight settled between his legs, tail extended backward as a balancing counterweight, forelimbs suspended before him, ready at any moment to strike and tear everything apart.
“Come see me.”
Garoth used Mental Link to summon his three blood kin.
He did not wait long.
Three dragon silhouettes flew in from different directions, drawing near one after another.
Sorog arrived first.
The iron dragon froze for a moment when he saw Garoth, his gaze sweeping over him from head to tail.
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Samantha barged in rudely, pushing the iron dragon aside and landing on the platform.
Unlike Sorog’s relatively calm reaction,
the red dragon’s eyes bulged, sparks belching from her nostrils.
“This finally makes sense!”
Her voice brimmed with barely contained excitement. “Red scales, Garoth, my dear brother, you look like a real red dragon now. That old dark scale color was too dull, you’re perfect this way.”
She circled Garoth, tail thrashing excitedly behind her.
Gordon landed last.
He also looked at the red-iron great dragon with an appraising gaze.
Garoth’s body was already massive, larger by several circles than his blood kin; now standing erect, his height increased the sense of oppression again, and even fellow great dragons had to look up at him.
“You look like a abyssal draconic demon in this form,” Gordon remarked, then added, “but even an abyssal draconic demon couldn’t be as—”
“As majestic and domineering as you!” Samantha cut in, finishing the sentence.
While they spoke, Sorog quietly observed the red-iron dragon, his aura scanning over Garoth’s gaze and faceplate. He looked carefully, not merely at the exterior like Samantha, nor solely at form like Gordon.
“I faintly sense that beyond the changes in appearance, your temperament has shifted a lot,” Sorog said. “Not surface-level changes, more like something seeping out from your bones...some kind of thing.”
Hearing the iron dragon’s words, Gordon’s jaw moved slightly and he took up the thread,
“In this early stage of mutation, Garoth’s temperament will undergo subtle changes, but the essence remains. It’s not a big problem—harmless. Just get used to it.”
The red-iron dragon’s eyes showed thought; he nodded.
Nearby, Garoth’s expression was calm as he watched his three blood kin.
While they spoke he did not interrupt, allowing them time to adapt and accept his change.
After Gordon finished, Garoth flicked his tail once; a voice neither high nor low sounded, drawing their attention.
His gaze fell westward.
“I called you here to hear your thoughts on the Lord of Thunder.”
Sorog, who had kept up with the times, spoke first at his words.
“The Lord of Thunder, Lamorein, Mandate Storm Dragon, the Dragon Queen’s apostle.”
“With divine Grace, his power has become far greater—but the crucial point is not him alone, it is the god behind him. The Chromatic Queen does not make a bargain without collecting a price. She gave Lamorein power, and she will demand payment.”
Sorog paused, also looking toward the thunderclouds in the west.
“If we strike him, we are indirectly striking the Dragon Queen’s fang.”
“That is not all.”
“The Bronze Dragon King, that metal dragon monarch, is no longer bound by his oath—he could return at any moment. If the Storm Dragon is removed, he may come to judge us.”
With that Sorog raised his head and looked to the red-iron dragon as he slowly voiced his conclusion.
“Maintaining the status quo, at least for now, is the safest choice.”
“Do not take any direct action against the Lord of Thunder for the time being. Continue consolidating our strength and wait for a better opportunity. As long as Lamorein does not invade us, we need not attack him. Time is on our side.”
The red-iron dragon’s aura gave a slight nod but no verbal reply.
“I agree with Sorog’s judgment.”
Gordon softly led the agreement. “Three quarters of Atlantis is already in our hands. The west will be ours sooner or later.”
“Sorog’s right. Time is on our side.”
Hearing his blood kin, Samantha exhaled black smoke from her nostrils.
“The kingdom’s banners should fill the entire Atlantis Continent.”
“Every mountain, every river, every wasteland should be stamped with Aola’s name.”
“But the thought of those lands still under another dragon’s claws makes my scales crawl like ants.”
Samantha gritted her teeth, then drew in a deep breath to tamp down her agitation.
“But...Sorog and Gordon are right. Picking a fight could bring unpredictable risks. I also feel now may not be the time to move against the Lord of Thunder.”
She paused, then added:
“But if you ask me what I most want to do—fly west now, burn those temples to ashes, wrest the west from the evil god’s fangs.”
Having spoken, all three blood kin’s gazes turned to Garoth, awaiting his response.
Under their watch, the red-iron dragon slowly shook his head and stepped forward.
“You were born to stand beneath all things, to be under everything,” his voice was deep and slow.
The first sentence made the three blood kin widen their eyes.
“From the day I hatched, I knew that.”
“But I chose patience. I bowed to dragons stronger than me, compromised with rules I despised, smiled at alliances that were weak and self-satisfied.”
“I told myself it was necessary caution, the price of growth.”
He lifted his head, flames seeming to burn in his eyes.
“Now, I’ve had enough.”
“Tired of red tape, tired of incessant worries, tired of always planning escapes before acting, tired of endless calculations, restraint, and hiding my edge.”
“These so-called strategies and patience once helped me survive, helped me reach my position.”
“But now they are turning into chains.”
“I cannot tolerate being fettered.”
“I was born to do as I please, to stand above all things, unbound by any taboo. Whether Lamorein or Sheffield, or anyone who stands against me, they are destined to break their wings before me.”
When his words ended, the platform fell silent except for the wind.
The great dragons exchanged glances; even the usually arrogant Samantha was speechless.
Sorog looked at his brother and his expression shifted slightly.
He realized where Garoth’s change lay.
The Garoth of old would weigh pros and cons, consider every possibility, and simulate between optimal and suboptimal outcomes.
Those traits had kept him alive when weak and had taken him from an obscure wild dragon to the kingdom’s monarch.
Now it was different.
The red-iron dragon before them remained rational and composed, but beneath that surface something was swelling at an unstoppable pace.
He was becoming more like the traditional idea of a red dragon.
That unquestionable, domineering belief that one is destined to lord over everything was seeping from him, radiating like heat from a furnace.
Sorog slowly turned his head to Gordon.
“Who was it who said the mutation’s effect on temperament was harmless?”
He asked.
Gordon, who had encountered more of Garoth’s mutated forms, lifted his head and said earnestly, “I believe, if Garoth has this idea, he has his reasons.”
Sorog’s aura swept over the red-iron dragon again, realization dawning.
Garoth never relied on airy, unfounded confidence.
My confidence has always been rooted in strength.
Perhaps this new form gave him absolute backing, allowing him to tear apart previous concerns.
Samantha’s reaction was more direct.
She stood and suddenly unfurled her wings, a wave of searing heat rushing from beneath her wing membranes.
“Haha, Garoth! I like this you.”
She roared with blazing exhilaration.
“A true red dragon should be like this! Seize with claws and fangs, conquer with flame, rule with strength! Those cautious calculations, hesitant restraint, endless waiting—that is not how a red dragon acts!”
The red dragon strode to Garoth’s side and turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with him.
“My dear brother, since you have made your decision, my flame, my claws, everything I have will burn unconditionally for your will.”
“Let us reduce our enemies to ash.”
“Let the whole Atlantis, no, let all of Bernardo know the Aola era has come.”
Garoth had not summoned them for consultation.
He had already made his decision.
Though his blood kin had different thoughts at first, as always they chose to trust and support him.
When he voiced his decision, consensus formed immediately.
They then began preliminary war planning without needless argument.
“No need to summon legions,” Garoth said. “This fight does not require ordinary soldiers. We will summon only legendary units and have a legendary battle with the Helmod Dragonflight.”
Hearing this, the iron dragon Gordon nodded in agreement.
“The west is influenced by temples and the Storm Dragon’s talents; it has been covered by thunderclouds year-round. Ordinary legions would struggle to march in such conditions, let alone fight.”
“Their role would at most be cleanup and maintaining order, clearing residual resistance.”
The Storm Dragon was famed as a walking catastrophe.
For large-scale destruction he rivaled Garoth’s Ember-Annihilating Form.
Legion battle formations do strengthen one’s legendaries, but the concrete situation decides everything.
Organizing large-scale legions now—not counting the fact that the Lord of Thunder would discover it and be given time to prepare—would cause needless casualties.
The true determinant of victory would be legendary confrontation.
Sorog had already turned, half-spreading his wings, preparing to depart.
“I will be responsible for summoning legendary units. Aola’s legendaries have not tasted iron and blood for a long time; they will be thrilled.”
Gordon said, “I will coordinate Sanctuary communications. Those temples must be uprooted.”
Samantha grinned, baring fangs, delighted: “Woken up just to attend a war feast, haha! You thought you’d have to wait decades to move? What a sluggish thought—that won’t do!”
The red-iron dragon looked toward the stormclouds in the west.
“We will tear the storm apart together.”
He said.
Then the princes departed, each carrying the emperor’s will, executing their duties.
The Sanctuary, suspended in space, entered a state of readiness. Legendary retinues of Aola, including Reinhardt, readied themselves.
West, the Breckton Kingdom.
The densest stormclouds churned above the temple like an inverted black vortex. Lightning threaded endlessly through the clouds; the intensity was like burning fire, casting the black spires of the temple in flickering light.
Inside the temple.
The Lord of Thunder knelt before the Dragon Queen’s statue with his back to the doors, lightning patterns on his wing membranes slowly pulsing.
He waited.
Not long after, two dragon silhouettes landed outside the doors and the sound of folded wings swept through the cavernous hall.
Alvia entered first.
This blue dragon’s scales were lighter in tone, the color of the sky before a storm, his size a few circles smaller than Lamorein’s.
Tiragon followed close behind.
His scales were deeper, like the deep sea; his jaw muscles were particularly developed, making his teeth look perpetually bared.
These two were Lamorein’s blood kin.
Once the Helmod brothers had numbered seven.
Over millennia, four had perished, leaving only three.
The two blue dragons stopped before the statue.
Lamorein had never forced his kin to worship the Dragon Queen, so they only bowed slightly to show respect.
“Mother has delivered an oracle.”
Lamorein’s voice sounded slowly.
He rose and turned to his left and right.
“The Aola Kingdom must be destroyed. Garoth Ignas, the Scarlet Emperor Cangxing, must kneel in this temple and be offered to Mother as sacrifice.”
He paused; his tone was flat.
“I will carry out Mother’s will. The Helmod Dragonflight will declare war on Aola, on the Ignas Dragon Cluster.”
Alvia looked to her brother, silent.
Tiragon’s brow furrowed, his forehead scale pressing down to form a sharp arc above his eye sockets.
“Brother, have you gone mad?” he said bluntly, his voice echoing in the hall. “The Aola Kingdom? The Scarlet Emperor? Attack the red emperor who slew a god avatar?”
Tiragon stepped forward half a pace.
“The Dragon Queen’s will is important—I revere her.”
“But what is reality? Even if we win this war under the Dragon Queen’s shelter, how many of the Helmod Dragonflight would remain? And then there’s the Bronze Dragon King who eyes us hungrily.”
Tiragon looked at the Lord of Thunder. “You are gambling with the dragonflight’s future.”
“The risk is too great.”
Alvia remained silent.
Tiragon’s reaction was blunt and he hadn’t noticed the problem yet.
But she had realized that the Lord of Thunder before them was no longer the blood kin she knew.
Tiragon continued, his voice rising a few degrees: “Brother, when did you become so timid? Must you obey the Dragon Queen’s will so unquestioningly?”
Skrra!
A lightning bolt shot from between Lamorein’s horns, thin as a talon, searing white and painfully bright, followed by a sharp blast that pierced the eardrums and struck Tiragon’s left shoulder.
Scales at the contact point exploded.
Flesh tore open; blood had no time to flow before lightning burned and solidified it.
The blue dragon’s roar clipped in his throat, becoming a muffled groan.
His body tilted to the side; a section of muscle along his left flank spasmed uncontrollably in the lingering current.
“I will not say it twice.”
Lamorein expressionless.
“Mother’s will is the Helmod Dragonflight’s only reason for existence. Mother’s glory is the entire meaning of every blue dragon’s life. Any sacrifice for this is an honor; to die for Mother...”
His slit pupils swept over Tiragon, then Alvia.
“...is the greatest reward you can receive.”
Tiragon lifted his head to look at the Storm Dragon.
A once-familiar face now felt utterly strange.
He opened his mouth, jaw muscles tensing and relaxing; he tried to speak, then slumped silent.
At that moment, Alvia, who had been silent for a long time, spoke.
“You are right. We will carry out the Dragon Queen’s will and fight for Tiamat’s glory.”
It had come to this.
They were deeply bound to the Dragon Queen and had no real choice.
Allying with the Red Emperor?
A fleeting thought crossed Alvia’s mind and she dismissed it instantly.
As long as the Dragonfront temple stood under the sky, who would dare claim sincere allegiance? And where would they realistically flee?
The gods watch many worlds and planes simultaneously.
Escape is futile.
“Gather all our legendary dragons and followers, our believers and legions,” the Lord of Thunder said. “I will carry out Mother’s will, personally lead you to alter the sky’s weather, inch by inch push into Aola territory, cover their lands with storms.”
Alvia nodded slightly. “Tiragon, go. We will gather the legions.”
The blue dragons made a soft sound and followed Alvia out of the temple doors.
Lamorein watched his kin’s silhouettes disappear into the doorway’s light, then bent again before the statue.
“O great Mother of Five Colors, Mother of Ten Thousand Dragons.”
“You devour the sky with five heads, repaint the earth with five colors, you are the gods’ nightmare; none dare gaze upon your glory.”
“O great Mother.”
“You bestowed lightning as claws, gave me storms as wings, let me walk upon the clouds, let me rage under the gaze of gods.”
“I present to you my scales, my blood, my bones.”
“O great Mother.”
“May your five colors never fade, until all skies echo the same name, the great...””
The prayer echoed in the temple, low and devout.
But the final phrase did not finish; the voice cut off.
The Storm Dragon’s gaze snapped sharp.
He raised his head and looked toward the temple’s dome, sensing through thick stone and swirling stormclouds straight to the heavens.
A pressure both familiar and strange was descending from above, like an invisible giant claw pressing down from the sky, compressing the temple and the surrounding air in an irresistible squeeze.
Outside the temple.
Alvia and Tiragon halted almost simultaneously.
Both blue dragons felt that thickening kind of air pressure.
The air grew viscous; every breath required more effort. They raised their heads and their pupils contracted in unison.
Breckton’s skies were normally shrouded by stormclouds.
Those clouds resonated with Lamorein’s gift and the temple, thick and deep like a gray curtain, with lightning slithering inside like silver snakes.
But now those clouds were being torn.
A colossal dragon covered in blazing red scales plummeted straight down through the cloud layers with utterly unreasonable violence.
Scarlet Emperor Cangxing.
The thunderclouds behind him ripped open in a massive gap, lightning’s afterglow clinging to the rim. Beyond the gap, the clear sky revealed itself, so clean it hurt the eyes.
Alvia and Tiragon both saw it.
They instinctively tried to stop it, bodies leaning forward, wing membranes already half-unfurled.
But it was too late.
The red silhouette's speed was incomprehensible, faster than their perception could track; their bodies had no time to react.
What they sensed was only a red trail cleaving downward.
Like a meteor falling from the clouds—a moment it hung high, the next already through the clouds, his scales flashing red like coals.
The temple attendants around them reacted more slowly.
They heard an odd noise overhead and looked up to see the cloud center suddenly collapse inward, a meteor falling from the vortex, its edge wrapped in a ring of white-hot then dark-red fire, rapidly enlarging with impossible speed.
Some opened their mouths but no sound came out.
The next second,
Boom!
The shockwave arrived before the sound.
Alvia felt like she had been struck by a mountain.
Her body lifted off the ground in an instant, limbs thrashing, unable to grasp anything to steady herself, like a leaf in a gale.
Then she heard collapse.
Structures shattered from all directions, as if the whole world fragmented at once.
Under the impact of the red great dragon, the largest temple began to crumble bit by bit from its spire downward.
Its dome collapsed.
The earth sank.
The temple’s foundations caved; the ground rose in a circular wave and dust and debris were hurled outward, forming an expanding gray-white ring.
Alvia had been swept up by that shockwave.
Her body tumbled in the dust cloud, orientation lost—sky and earth indistinguishable. Her sight was all gray dust, her ears rang.
Then she hit something.
Her back struck first; her scales plowed a long furrow in the ground. Ears ringing, vision all haze.
“When a scarlet comet streaks across the sky...the Red Emperor has come.”
Once steady, Alvia stood from the ruins.
A legendary dragon’s physique had spared her serious injury.
When she raised her head, the scene before her left her mind blank for a moment.
The temple had vanished.
The sanctuary that housed the seven-colored Mother’s statue had been obliterated, replaced by a giant pit of rubble. The surrounding priests and servants had not yet been pulverized.
Dust cleared at the pit’s center.
A dragon stood there.
Not on four legs in the usual draconic posture.
He stood upright.
Hindlegs straight, body leaning slightly forward, tail holding balance, forelimbs hanging at his sides, claws still shining coldly through the dim dust.
A towering silhouette emerged from the haze.
Majestic, imposing, radiating an invincible aura.
Like a god, yet like a demon lord.
But neither was true.
He was Garoth Ignas, Emperor of Aola—his hallmark entrance was destruction like a falling meteor.
Now the red-iron dragon stood atop the ruins.
Dust coated his scales, but upon close inspection not a single crack marred them.
A berserker impact like that was not a normal offensive tactic; even with a dragon’s strength it usually demanded heavy cost. Yet he appeared unscathed.
Was it possible he had internal injuries?
Alvia entertained the thought but immediately felt its silliness and shook her head.
“Lamorein, we meet again.”
At the same moment, the red-iron dragon raised his head.
His gaze pierced the heavy dust and searched the sky.
The Lord of Thunder hovered high; lightning patterns along his wings were fully lit. With a light flick of his wings the storm was born, scattering the dust and clarifying the air.
He had narrowly avoided the strike.
At the moment the scarlet meteor ripped the thundercloud, he sensed it and dodged at the critical instant.
The price was this entire temple—one of the Dragon Queen’s anchor points in this region.
The Storm Dragon lowered his gaze, his sight sweeping over the red-iron dragon below, then across the smashed temple and the broken statue.
He roared in fury.
“To attack a temple and profane the great Tiamat—Garoth, you deserve a thousand deaths!”
At that, Garoth’s lips quirked.
Then he realized the Lord of Thunder before him was not the same as he remembered—no longer the one he knew, but merely a shell.
“Lamorein, I feel pity for you.”
“You may think that offering faith to Tiamat would give you what you desire, but though she claims to be Mother of Ten Thousand Dragons, in truth she is a treacherous, scheming villain.”
The Red Emperor spoke with blasphemous ease.
Less fury showed in the Storm Dragon’s eyes; he beat his wings and lunged straight at the Red Emperor to kill.
The red-iron dragon drove through the ground and met him head-on.
Like two meteors colliding, the ascending scarlet meteor bore greater force, slamming into the Storm Dragon and forcing him upward into the cloud layer.
At the same time,
Alvia and Tiragon exchanged a look and unfurled their wings, flying up. One by one, Helmod dragons perched in the region rallied and followed.
But before they closed in,
Aola’s Dragon Spirit, Aola princes awakened from sleep, and other legendary Aola dragons poured out of the gap the red-iron dragon had torn in the clouds, streaking into the battle like meteors.
Both sides paired off with uncanny symmetry.
King to king, general to general, they fought fiercely.
Then,
The temple ruins rose up suddenly.
Accompanied by roars, one massive great dragon after another burst from the ground. Their auras ranged from high-level legendary to crown-level and at least ancient dragon—they surged into the sky toward the combat between the Red Emperor and the Lord of Thunder.
“So many ancient dragons? Where did they come from?”
Between clashes, Sorog looked toward the ancient dragon cluster in stunned uncertainty.
These ancient dragons seemed wrong.
Without exception, none bore any expression; their eyes were hollow. Regardless of species, black patterns marred their scales, emanating a lurid, dangerous aura.
Are these Dragonblight?
Sorog’s heart chilled; he recognized them.
Dragonblight.
They were products created through special rituals offered to the Chromatic Queen.
An adult great dragon—or even a young dragon—could be rapidly catalyzed in the ritual, growing into an ancient or even an elder dragon in a short time, with power reaching high legendary levels.
Each Dragonblight was exceedingly troublesome.
Ordinary cuts, claw wounds, and magical bombardment could not stop them. Only utterly annihilating their bodies, leaving not a shred, would end them.
The price: they lost all free will and became pure war machines.
They only knew to advance, attack, and destroy—no hesitation or retreat.
Moreover, their lives began counting down the moment they were created; they could not remain long.
This Dragonblight dragonfleet ignored other legendaries and streaked through the battlefield in a straight line toward the Red Emperor and the Lord of Thunder.
Their target was clear:
Assist the Dragonfront apostle and punish the one who destroyed the temple.
Suddenly, a deep, bottomless darkness descended from the sky like a giant white cloth swallowing the whole Dragonblight fleet.
Darkness spread, impenetrable by light.
Reinhardt’s silhouette had completely merged into it.
Here, every thread of shadow was his perception; every inch of dark was his movement path—he needed neither flight nor bodily movement. Thought alone placed his presence.
Then, sword radiance moved through the darkness.
One after another, silently and without warning,
they darted like schools of fish in the deep, moving in black to find their targets.
Terminus Arc flashed.
It sliced into the left shoulder of an ancient dragon and cleaved along the spine down to the hip. Scales, muscle, and bone were separated in clean layers.
The incision was mirror-smooth.
In the instant after the arc passed, the tissues on both sides still held their original positions before slowly sliding apart.
Against any normal great dragon, that stroke would have dismembered it.
But the Dragonblight did not fall.
From its wound, black filamentous things poured from the torn muscle fibers.
They touched, entwined, and tightened in midair, pulling the split muscle back together, realigning fractured bones—like invisible hands sewing the wound stitch by stitch with black threads.
No pain flickered across the dragon’s face; its eyes remained hollow, as if the sword had never struck.
“Apostate guardians?” Reinhardt frowned slightly.
In his ventures, he had encountered similar beasts and knew how vexing they were.
Though he could not kill them quickly, this legion of Dragonblight would not escape his domain.
Dragonblight silently extended their claws.
Reinhardt’s swordlight flashed constantly inside his domain, cutting through the dragon horde.
Meanwhile,
Far above, the silver-white Sanctuary manifested through space.
Gears of alchemical structure churned alive; magic runes optimized by Aphra lit one by one.
Pillars of light fell from the sky.
They pierced the rolling black clouds and descended upon western sites.
Near the coastline a subsidiary hall stood.
Waves surged and spray flew.
Several beams of light descended, and when the light cleared, Heroic Spirit Shire and Aola’s Fang and other legendary units appeared; at once they attacked the temple.
The guards around that temple were no match.
However, Dragonblight also appeared within this temple, though in fewer numbers and lesser quality than at the Storm Dragon’s main temple.
A Dragon-blooded Gluttonous Ogre’s giant fist fell, cracking open a Dragonblight’s skull.
But the Dragonblight’s motion did not stop; a dragon claw tore the glutton’s chest, ripping scales and exposing flesh.
Karu glanced down at his wound, then raised his head with excitement lighting his eyes.
“More!”
The Gluttonous Ogre roared, his body swelling as he entered combat stance.
Dragon Qi surged and he became a Star Body of three heads and six arms.
Dragonblight claws pounced again.
Karu did not dodge. His first arm caught a claw, his second smashed the claw’s wrist, shattering bone; the third seized the dragon’s upper jaw, the fourth the lower jaw, yanking it apart.
Boom!
Fist after fist battered the Dragonblight, pulverizing its body piece by piece.
The black threads still attempted to mend, but the tearing outpaced the sewing.
Flesh was shredded, then pulverized into pulp and driven into the earth. Six fists repeated the crushing until the remaining moving pieces could no longer move.
Other legendaries fought against guards and Dragonblight across multiple fronts.
The battle expanded in all directions.
Magic lights, weapon glints, and dragon roars mingled.
Aola’s legendaries held overall advantage; they outnumbered, coordinated better, and had more flexible tactics.
But Dragonblight were incredibly stubborn. Even a rank lower, they were hard to kill. They acted like moving walls of flesh, blocking Aola’s legendaries from swiftly demolishing the temples.
It was not confined to just here.
Battles flared across the west.
Sanctuary light pillars descended to different locations; Aola legendaries were teleported to numerous battlefields, launching surprise assaults on temples.
Around those temples, ordinary guards and Dragonblight resisted stubbornly, and in each theater the sides fell into a tense stalemate.