Wandering Knight-Chapter 385: The Dragons Lament

Encircled by dragons, Milos now faced the mightiest race in all the world. Nearly every dragon still alive was converging in hopes of striking him down.

The old charge of being a heretic dragon had quickly been cast aside. What stood before them was the abyssal fiend that had dwelt for centuries within the body of the Dragon King, Wendel Myx—a fiend that was now the sole enemy of the dragons.

The bronze dragon Beolo and the blue dragon Susumi had been slain in a matter of moments, their colossal forms shredded by the dragon-shaped horror whose body seemed wholly woven of crimson blood. Milos's power had grown so fearsome that no mere "realm" or tier of strength could measure it.

Perhaps his destructive might had not yet reached that of the greatest abyssal beings or gods themselves. After all, in one sense, he was but a convict newly broken free of his cage, a newborn still weak and unsteady. He would need time—time to devour, to learn, to grow.

But even in this half-formed state, as he himself had said, he bore absolute dominion over the dragons of the Isle of Dragons. Numbers no longer mattered.

"It's useless," he said laughing, his voice wet and liquid. "It's true that I am not yet the equal of my kin beneath the deep seas. Yet unlike it, I have seized the most vital gift of all—the power you call ‘thought and reason.' I am more clever than it will be. Give me time, and its strength will be mine as well."

When the dragons saw Milos absorb their dragonbreath and hurl it back in a focused blast, annihilating Beolo in an instant, none dared attempt the same trick again.

Instead they swooped low, tearing up earth and stone, fortifying the boulders with earth magic until they were as hard and heavy as iron mountains, then hurling or battering them against the foe.

Milos continued to monologue idly, though his talk of his "kin" meant nothing to them. As the first massive boulder struck, his body burst apart into a storm of bloodied fluid.

Yet such destruction meant nothing to him. His liquefied body simply oozed across the rocks, creeping onward, never halting even his speech.

Several dragons, clutching great stones in their claws, slammed into him at once. Stone collided with stone. Writhing gore sprayed the field.

"Indeed," he mused, "in this state I am ill-suited for the world beyond this isle. That bomb you detonated once—yes, it made this whole world spurn us more fiercely. To step outside like this would be troublesome. I shall have to fashion myself a new ‘garment' first."

The mass of blood suddenly condensed into a crimson talon. It snatched several dragons mid-flight, slamming their writhing bodies together with irresistible force.

The captive dragons shrieked in fury, clawing, biting, striking with wings and tails. But their blows meant nothing. Their scales struck at crimson blood, but Milos merely reconstituted himself anew.

The crimson fluid seeped into the gaps of their bodies, corroding scales and penetrating through flesh before slithering into secret vulnerabilities known only to the dragons themselves—yet which were as familiar as his own body to Milos.

The dragons wailed in anguish as Milos invaded their wills. Blood and flesh twisted in unison. Milos forced them together, molding them like clay or even children's blocks.

"Ahh, this is better. Weak but serviceable enough. Let's see... yes, here. So that is how Wendel bent your wills.

"Hah! Found it. He knew your flaws perfectly. He truly could've done anything he wanted with the lot of you. Merciful and weak, huh?"

Bones writhed and knitted. Muscles tore and rejoined. Blood vessels burst and re-threaded themselves beneath shifting skin. Within crushed skulls, brains were pulped and pumped into new tissues.

Exposed sinew stretched across twisted joints, while extra eyes were gouged out and flung aside. The dragons were pressed and fused into a monstrous, patchwork shell.

The heavens flared as a spear of searing lightning crashed down upon Milos's twisted body. The strike, wrought by the faerie dragon Biqu and the white dragon Doris in concert with many others, carried the destructive force of near-eighth-tier magic. Thunderbolts scorched the patchwork flesh as currents raged through Milos's abominable frame.

For a moment, lightning crackled over Milos's body. Flesh charred where the magic had struck. Milos seemed stunned, even paralyzed.

"It works!" Doris cried, her voice ringing. "So long as we do not use our breaths, magic can still wound him! Biqu, gather more magic. I will try to encase him in ice!"

The white dragon Doris, long deemed a foolish child, now stood resolute, fire blazing in her eyes with killing intent. Magic gathered as her kin lent her their strength through Biqu, whose faerie magic channeled fearsome power into her hands.

Doris possessed absolute affinity for ice. With the gathered power, she would be able to launch a spell of the highest order.

But just as the dragons' eyes lit up in hope, Milos stirred. His eyes opened. Laughter burbled out of his mouth.

"Ah, a wasted effort. Digging through my memories takes longer than I thought. It seems I've yet to adjust to the way you creatures think. The faerie dragon, yes? You crave magic? Then take it."

He had not been paralyzed at all. He was merely distracted as he rifled through his memories. The lightning had left him unscathed. Somewhere within his stolen dragon's blood dwelled resistance to such power—perhaps the heritage of a blue dragon coursing through him.

With a casual scrape of his talons, he sent a wave pulsing outward. It swept through Biqu. Instantly, mana exploded from her as her magic surged out of control.

The faerie dragon, bound in fusion with Doris, lost control of her strength.

She struggled with all her might to contain it, but Milos knew their weaknesses too well. He was aware of weaknesses that even the dragons themselves were not.

Biqu's will broke as her mind was drowned beneath boiling mana. The power she had accumulated, the gathered strength of all the dragons channeled into Doris through her, surged into a frenzy.

Uncontrolled and unstoppable, the berserk torrent of power surged into Doris's body, flooding her magical circuits before her spell was ready. The magic was too vast, too violent; it annihilated everything.

Dragons' magical circuits lay within their very flesh. Once overwhelmed, their latent affinity would often trigger magic on their own.

Doris had no chance to resist. The force of wild mana rammed through her, crystallizing her body into a towering sculpture of ice in an instant. She plummeted. When she struck the earth, her frozen form shattered into a thousand shards.

Space split apart. A flash of argent light erupted behind Milos. With the last of her strength, Aurelian made her move. A silver blade of radiance, streaking like a comet, pierced the warped shell of blood and dragonflesh.

This silver dragon's power, strange and celestial in nature, was the one force Milos could not easily repel. The blade pierced deep, exploding within his body in a storm of shearing cuts. Flesh ripped and bones shattered in a burst of destruction.

"...Ah, it does sting." Milos's voice was pitched low, almost contemplative. "So it is true. Only your power can harm me. Do you like it, this gift you bear? It is no native thing. It comes from the stars. That is what makes you unique. I have awaited you. A foe who can wound me deserves... special attention."

Yet Aurelian's strike had not pierced the true core of Milos's body. The shell of twisted flesh, the armor of fused dragons, had shielded Milos's essence. Her blade had cut him, true, but only superficially.

She gritted her teeth, ready to wrench her silver sword free and strike again. But then she felt something new, something she had never known: resistance. The blade of light, born of her own power, able to rend even the fabric of space—was held fast.

"Surprised?" Milos's voice coiled around her. "That blade may be able to cut me, but did you think I could not cut you back? Weak thing. I should end you now."

Starlight flared along the silver blade—only it did not belong to Aurelian. It shot upward along her weapon, a torrent of starlight surging toward her. She strained, but the blade would not release her.

A black shadow crashed into Milos, tearing him away from her. It was Pompeii, the black dragon, his might still able to shake off the abyssal fiend.

"You—what are you—"

Before Milos could finish. Pompeii drove him into the waiting jaws of the green dragon Goelia. With a single swallow, Goelia devoured them both.

"Let's go."

Goelia spoke but a single command to Aurelian. His hopeless eyes met hers—eyes filled with nothing but fury and a gambler's desperate wager on the slimmest chance of tomorrow.

Aurelian was that chance. The rest of the dragons no longer mattered.

From high above, the bone dragon Mog'Kaw descended. In midair he tore open his own chest, revealing the heart that burned with necrotic flame—the core of his life, and the key to a final sacrifice. The heart's other purpose awakened. It ripped open a passage to the undead plane, even within the space that Milos had locked down.

The gate flared open. Mog'Kaw's body collapsed. Without hesitation, Aurelian dove through, seizing the escape created by his sacrifice.

The next instant, Goelia's titanic form convulsed. Inside his belly, where Pompeii and Milos were bound, a sun ignited. Blazing fire tore him asunder.

Light seared the sky, so brilliant it eclipsed the sun itself. Caesar had detonated his own core, releasing power beyond anything he had ever unleashed.

"Pure energy..." Milos's voice returned, calm amid the ruin. "...This is beyond the realm of dragons. Even I can't block it directly. To think I'd be stopped, even for a moment... A gate to the undead plane? I can't head there just yet, but I'll adapt soon enough."

As the glare faded, his true form emerged again. His patchwork shell of dragonflesh was gone, vaporized by Caesar's sacrifice. He held up the severed head and spine of Pompeii, torn clean from the black dragon's body, as he turned his smile upon the ranks of surviving dragons.

"This black one's hide was sturdy enough to shield me. How fortunate. Now, it seems..." His lips curled. "...I have more than enough material for my next body."