Birthing Legends: My Womb Creates SSS Monsters-Chapter 156: The Dragon Palace Is Under Attack.

Gin get down as she dodge Drakovitch’s hands, then she sprinted toward the open courtyard, her iron body slamming across the stone floor as she burst into the center of the palace grounds. She lifted her blade arm toward the towering balcony of the grand celebration hall above.

Her voice exploded across the night.

"AWAKEN, DAUGHTERS OF THE PRIMORDIAL GIANT! KILL THE DRAGONS!"

The roar echoed through the palace. Inside the grand celebration hall, where nobles and warriors still drank beneath the golden chandeliers, three figures suddenly froze.

They smiled, their eyes igniting as they finally heard the call. Their skin dark as polished obsidian, the same tone as Gin and Shuna, began to ripple. The illusion shattered. Their false appearances melted away. Their noble garments dissolved into drifting strands of magic.

Beneath them—Their true forms emerged.

Powerful tribal armor wrapped their bodies. Thick leather, bone plates, iron rings, and fur lined cloaks. Viking like war gear mixed with savage tribal design. Their dark skin gleamed under the lights. War paint burned across their faces and bodies.

All the while, the musicians kept playing, their strings and brass weaving a sophisticated, elegant melody that seemed oblivious to the sudden tension in the hall. The haunting beauty of the music clashed with the deadly reality unfolding.

The infiltrators’ eyes swept the room, locking onto their targets—the seven house leaders. They moved with the silent, lethal precision of apex predators.

Corneo of Goldensight froze. He felt the presence behind him a second too late. Before he could react, the assassin gripped his white hair, wrenching his head back to expose the hollow of his throat. A jagged stone dagger appeared in her hand, the edge dull colored but razor sharp.

"For our Primordial Mother!"

The words were a snarl, a vow of blood offered in the heart of the enemy’s feast. But before the blade could bite, a silver flash whistled through the air.

THWACK!

Sairant of House Silverspine reacted instantly. In a blur, he snatched a knife from his table and hurled it with deadly accuracy. The steel shotted through the air, colliding with the stone dagger and knocking it from the assassin’s grip just inches from Corneo’s neck.

Corneo gasped, frozen with shock, while the intruder hissed in frustration, the music continuing to float above it all, elegant and oblivious to the chaos. Percieval’s eyes snapped, he bolted across the hall, his long strides eating the distance in seconds.

"An infiltrator!"

He shouted, his voice cutting through the music and the stunned murmurs of the crowd.

"It’s a Gigante... another Primordial Blooded!"

Heads turned, nobles gasped, and the warriors stiffened. Even the music faltered for a beat, as if sensing the arrival of a being older and deadlier than any mortal could comprehend.

The hall descended into beautiful, heavy action. The three Gigante didn’t need steel. They were the weapons.

"GIANT’S ADVANCE FLAME ELEMENT: FIRE PILLAR!"

The tallest one cried. She slammed her fists together, and a erupted from the marble floor, incinerating a line of White Knights.

The second warrior raised her arms, and the humidity in the room turned into Sharp Ice Spears. She sent them flying like a storm of glass, pinning nobles to the walls.

The third laughed, her hair standing on end as Purple Lightning arced from her fingertips, jumping from one armored knight to the next, turning their steel suits into electric coffins.

Arteé’s eyes narrowed, calculating every movement of the towering Primordials. Even knowing his strength as a normal human was minuscule compared to theirs, he refused to freeze. He drew a series of small, precise daggers, enchanted with Citrineclaw runes that allowed him to move faster than the eye could track.

"They are close to the power of Dragonborns. They share the blood of another Primordial. We must be cautious... fight as one, not as separate houses!"

Killian of the Asualfang his roar cut through the chaos.

"We have no blades!"

He lunged to grab the fallen knight’s longsword, narrowly avoiding a jagged ice spear. He snatched it up, his grip firm, scanning for an opening.

"Protect everyone!"

He whistled sharply, a piercing call that echoed like a horn across the hall. From the shadows, his father’s Wyrmutt responded instantly, bursting from its lair and leaping toward the nearest Gigante. Its jaws clamped down on the Gigante’ leg, muscles straining as the beast shook violently. The Primordial staggered, roaring in surprise and pain, but it was far from down.

Hank of the Crimsonscales hauled a heavy dining table from the floor, using the massive wood as a shield as he charged through the spreading flames toward the fire caster.

Cassandra of the Blackheart bared her teeth, snatching two swords from the belt of a fallen guard. Her eyes were wild, fixed on the promise of primordial blood already slicking her blades.

"If I cannot draw the blood of a Dragonborn, yours will do just as well!" she screamed. "RAWR!"

Across the hall, Forsha of House Goldensight stood frozen. Her eyes narrowed, her fingers tightening against her chest as if to steady a racing heart.

"Their aura is... overwhelming—if they unleash their full strength, we will all die... in here"

"Everyone! Listen!"

Percieval’s voice roared over the chaos, cutting through the panic.

"You cannot kill these monsters with kitchen knives!"

His sharp eyes swept across the hall. Bodies of fallen knights littered the marble floor, their white armor cracked and scorched. Some still clutched their weapons even in death.

Percieval pointed toward them.

"The black blades! Take the black blades from the fallen!"

Several warriors turned instantly, diving toward the corpses of the White Knights. From their lifeless grips, they pulled free the dark weapons—the sacred blades forged from the hardened blood of Tiamat itself.

Percieval’s voice thundered again.

"We need Black Blades to cut through Primordial skin!"

He spun toward the rest of the hall, his command carrying the authority of a man who had survived a hundred wars.

"Those who are fast—assist the injured! Get them out of here! Protect the nobles!"

His arm swung toward the distant corridors of the palace.

"And those who are faster... GET TO THE ARMORY!"

The warriors of the seven houses stiffened.

"Get your House Black Blades!"

In the blink of an eye, the fastest among them exploded into action. Some sprinted toward the wounded, dragging nobles and bleeding knights away from the battlefield. Others vaulted over shattered tables and burning banners, racing for the armory corridors.

Within seconds, the chaos transformed into organized war.