The impact of Vix's landing sent shockwaves across the battlefield, the ground beneath him fracturing like fragile glass. Boulders crumbled to dust, trees snapped like twigs, and the air itself trembled under the sheer weight of his presence.
Then—his body began to change.
A deep, malevolent crimson glow erupted from within him, outlining his already towering form in an aura of raw power. His wings expanded, stretching out like the harbingers of annihilation, crackling with surging arcs of red lightning. His frame, already monstrous, grew larger, more imposing, each muscle infused with divine destruction.
Vix let loose a roar so deafening, so overwhelming, that the very sky seemed to crack apart. It was not just a roar—it was a summons.
Across the vast kingdom of Nebula, they heard it.
Seven colossal figures, perched atop ancient pillars overlooking the kingdom, stirred. Their eyes, once closed in slumber, snapped open—each pair glowing with untamed, primeval fury. Ancient dragons. Lords of the sky.
One by one, their maws parted, and a symphony of death rang through the heavens.
The sound was unbearable—a chorus of ruin itself.
Then, without hesitation, they took flight.
Like titans of the storm, seven dragons tore through the sky, their colossal forms blotting out the stars as they soared toward their kin. Their massive wingspans cast terrifying shadows over the battlefield as they instantly appeared and formed an unbreakable circle around Vix.
The King of Nebula stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat as sheer horror twisted his regal features. A ripple of dread spread through the kingdom as alarms blared, citizens gasping in terror—the Seven Dragons of Protection had awakened. And they had left.
Panic threatened to erupt in the streets, but the king moved swiftly. He stormed onto a grand platform, his presence radiating authority as his mana surged outward, carrying his voice across the entire kingdom.
"Do not fear!" His voice boomed, drowning out the rising murmurs of uncertainty. "Return to your homes and remain indoors until further notice!"
At once, hundreds of royal guards mobilized, flooding the streets in synchronized movements, ushering people into their homes with urgency. The kingdom was on lockdown.
The king exhaled sharply, retreating back to his throne. He clenched his fists, trying to steady the growing unease gnawing at his chest. Something was terribly wrong.
"Bring me Price," he commanded.
Moments later, Price entered—the only man still alive who had been present when the Seven Dragons first descended upon this kingdom, forging the Pact of Protection in exchange for land. The only one who knew the weight of their movements.
The king's voice was tight, laced with the gravity of the moment. "Tell me what the hell is happening."
Price's expression was grim as he stepped forward, his voice carrying an air of controlled dread.
"From my readings…" He hesitated, before exhaling. "It appears their king has summoned them."
The king's eyes widened.
Price continued, his voice lower now, as if speaking it aloud would cement the nightmare into reality.
"As we know, the Seven lords only move by the will of their King. They have never left their posts before—not once. The only reason they would all abandon their watch without their king's order… is if a threat has emerged."
His next words sent a chill down the king's spine.
"A threat so large that it has forced the Eighth Dragon Lord into a position so dire… that it had no choice but to call upon its brethren."
The king rose from his throne, his fingers twitching as they gripped the armrests, a wave of unease washing over him. The tremor in his hands was subtle but undeniable as he clenched them into fists, trying to suppress the growing sense of dread. His voice, barely above a whisper, trembled with the weight of the question, "What kind of threat could possibly force them to act?" His eyes, filled with fear, never left the old scholar standing before him.
Price, the last living man who had seen the dragons land centuries ago, bowed his head slightly before speaking. "Your Majesty… I fear it is not a matter of 'what'—but of who."
The king's breath caught in his throat. "A person?"
Price's ancient eyes darkened as his voice grew grave. "The Seven Dragons have not stirred in four thousand years—not even for a moment, except to renew the pact of protection with each new king. As you know, they have remained dormant, their loyalty unshaken, the land safe. There have been no reports of strange happenings anywhere within the kingdom, or even outside of it, beyond the borders you govern." He took a slow, deliberate breath, and then his next words seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.
"So by that, the only conclusion I can draw…" He hesitated, his voice carrying the dread that had gnawed at him for days. "A calamity unlike any Nebula has ever known is now awake. And it has begun its hunt—for the dragons."
The king's face went pale, his blood running cold at the implication. Four thousand years. No dragon had ever moved unless summoned by their king, and even then, it was rare. They were protectors, guardians of the land. Yet now, all seven dragons had awakened, called forth to the sky by something they feared—a force strong enough to rouse even the Eighth Dragon Lord from its forest.
"Then what…" The king's voice faltered, struggling to keep steady. "What the hell do we do now?"
Price's eyes narrowed, his voice low and bitter with the weight of ancient knowledge. "We wait. And pray… that whatever this force is, it dies by the hands of those dragons."
The king's footsteps echoed through the grand chamber as he approached the window, his mind heavy with the weight of the events unfolding beyond the palace walls. His gaze was distant, focusing on the distant sight of the seven dragons circling high above the forest, their immense wings cutting through the air like a powerful storm. The air crackled with the intensity of their presence, each roar reverberating through the kingdom.
A soft, measured knock broke his reverie.
"Father?" The voice belonged to Elara Nebula, his daughter, her tone filled with concern as she stepped into the room. She had heard the roars from her chamber, her worry growing as the earth seemed to tremble beneath her feet. "What happened? What's going on?"
The king did not respond immediately, his eyes scanning the sky outside. With a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted a hand to gesture for her to come closer. Elara walked over, her eyes squinting into the distance. The sight before her was beyond anything she had ever witnessed—seven mighty dragons, ancient protectors of the kingdom, flying in a perfect formation around a circle. The eighth dragon, its massive body cloaked in black and red scales, loomed ominously, exuding an aura of power and dread.
She looked back at her father, the question burning in her eyes. "What's going on...?"
Before he could speak, she turned her gaze to Price, who was standing by the door, his face as grave as her father's. "Price! Tell me what's going on!" she demanded, her voice sharper than usual, her royal authority shining through.
As Price opened his mouth to respond, the king raised a hand to stop him. "Go back to your studies, Price," he said, his voice calm but firm.
Price nodded obediently, bowing slightly before leaving the room, his footsteps fading down the hall.
The king turned to his daughter, trying to mask the uncertainty that gnawed at him. He placed a hand on her shoulder, offering a forced smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Do not worry, Elara. We'll be fine," he said, his voice steady—though the uncertainty behind his words was palpable.
Dante and SteelArm stood frozen, their eyes wide with disbelief as eight colossal beings loomed overhead, their massive bodies blotted out the sky entirely. The dragons' sheer presence was overwhelming, their immense wings beating with the power of a storm.
Vix's gaze shifted downward, focusing on the lone figure advancing with unwavering confidence. His eyes narrowed in silent judgment, but the rest of the dragons followed his line of sight. One human. One man walking forward, undeterred by the vast, terrifying creatures hovering above him.
"A single man?" Brix, the Dragon of Flames, scoffed, his voice laced with incredulity.
"... He's absorbed my lightning and now appears to wield it as his own," Vix responded, his voice colder than before. The rest of the dragons shifted their attention to Stiles, their expressions a mix of curiosity and caution as the implication of Vix's words sank in.
"I see," Brix said, his voice thick with amusement, his fiery eyes glowing with disdain. "So, you've called us all from our slumber because you require assistance from us, is that it?" A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated from deep within his chest, his laughter echoing like thunder.
Before any more words could be spoken, the bloodlust emanating from Stiles exploded once again, a violent surge that seemed to reach into the skies. The air thickened with an almost tangible malice as the blood-red aura radiated outward, overwhelming everything in its path. The dragons, who had once dismissed him as insignificant, now turned their full attention to him.
"Stop talking so much," Stiles muttered coldly, his voice as sharp as a blade.
Without warning, the serpent of blood—an extension of Stiles's wrath—erupted from his body, a grotesque and beautiful manifestation of his fury. It shot upward like a streak of crimson lightning, its massive form weaving and twisting through the air until it struck Brix's foot with terrifying precision. The blood-forged serpent clamped down, its fangs sinking deep into the dragon's scales. But these weren't ordinary fangs. They pierced effortlessly, bypassing the dragon's hardened exterior and injecting a venomous, bleeding toxin into Brix's very being.