The night was so still you could hear your own breath. A thick fog, cold and chilling like a wet blanket, covered the ground, seeping into every crevice, every leaf. Each wisp of white mist was a breath of winter, carrying the scent of cold earth and dampness. A gentle breeze, not a strong wind, but sudden bursts of icy air, would momentarily part the fog, revealing fleeting glimpses of the obscured landscape, only to be swallowed again by the mist. A numbing chill spread through the skin, as if the very bones were trembling with cold. The moon, weak and hazy, offered only a meager illumination, leaving much of the scene shrouded in mysterious darkness. "Where are we?" Drakon asked, his voice hoarse, his breath misting in the frigid air. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, trying to see through the heavy darkness. Only a weak, hazy moonlight illuminated a small portion of the trail ahead. Blackfang was silent for a moment, then sighed. "I don't know. But this smell of damp earth and

Killer’s arrogance was a palpable thing, a suffocating wave of menace washing over the ravaged landscape. "This land, eight hundred miles in every direction, is the territory of the Armoured Ones. You dare trespass here? I shall gladly grant you a grave within these lands, a gift to our king," he declared, his voice dripping with self-assured cruelty. The words were a blatant display of power, a deliberate attempt to intimidate. He reveled in his perceived dominance, the chilling certainty of his own invincibility radiating from him like heat from a forge. Drakon’s response was a carefully calculated move, a subtle shift in the power dynamic. His smile was serene, almost unsettling in its calm amidst the looming threat. "Indeed, death follows my words," he said, his voice a low, resonant hum that cut through Killer’s bluster. "My methods are… brutal. Before I end me, may I ask one final question?" The question hung in the air, a challenge veiled in politeness, a subtle assertion of hi

Killer's voice, a surprised growl, cut through the din of battle. "What in blazes is that? That gigantic circle?" He craned his neck, eyes wide with disbelief, gazing at the swirling runes above. Blackfang's cheer was a joyous sound amidst the carnage. "Excellent work, Drakon! You did it!" Relief flooded his voice. Drakon, his left hand outstretched, declared, "Dawnbreaker descends." His fiery fingertip traced a path towards the colossal circle of arcane runes, the gesture igniting a furious dragon of pure flame. The beast soared towards the glyphs, its passage cleaving through clouds and wind, the rain instantly evaporating into steam beneath its scorching breath. Thunder boomed, lightning cracked across the sky in dazzling displays, and the dragon's roar, a sound of untamed power and incandescent fury, seemed to shake the very foundations of the heavens. Killer's gaze hardened, fixed on Drakon with a newfound intensity. "Now I understand the source of that immense power Iron Serpe

The deluge roared, a monstrous beast gnawing at the foundations of the world. Drakon, his face etched with grim determination, shouted over the tempest, "BlackFang, ascend! The flood claims all that lingers low!" BlackFang, small against the fury of the storm, felt a tremor of fear. *I can't fly like him,* he thought, a silent plea echoing in his heart. Yet, obedience was ingrained, a reflex honed by years of rigorous training. He launched himself into the churning waters, the icy grip of the flood a chilling embrace. "Higher! Higher still!" Drakon's voice was a lifeline in the maelstrom. Then, a miracle. A spark, incandescent and fierce, bloomed within BlackFang's eyes. A miniature Drakon, a blazing sun in miniature, coalesced around him, its fiery essence lifting him effortlessly into the air. He soared, a tiny speck against the vast, grey canvas of the storm, a testament to the power he now wielded. BlackFang's voice, a whisper against the thunder, cut through the chaos. "I've m

The Iron Serpent's words were barely out when a cluster of grotesque, obsidian-scaled snakes slithered towards the victim. The dying man, his body wracked with pain, could only groan as the snakes, with terrifying precision, sank their fangs deep into his flesh. The screams ceased abruptly, the final, desperate gasps for air silenced. Killer watched, his gaze fixed on the snakes' fangs. Initially, a bright red liquid—the victim's blood—filled the needle-sharp points. But as the deadly venom mixed with the blood, the crimson hue darkened, transforming into a sinister black. Killer understood. These weren't ordinary snakes. The Iron Serpent's snakes possessed a unique adaptation, a horrifying evolution bred by the Armored Ones: they consumed human blood, a perverse fulfillment of their predatory instincts. "Well done, Iron Serpent. You've executed the Bound Demon King's orders with efficiency," Night Shadow Crow complimented, his voice devoid of warmth. "Indeed. Please convey my resp