Chapter 272: Dragonshadow City
Dragonshadow City stood as a desolate ruin, suspended above the vast Abyss, its edges clawing at the endless void. The Cold Wind howling through the Abyss never ceased, its mournful shriek echoing endlessly through the abyssal dark. Built upon a colossal monolith that jutted from the edge of nothingness, the city’s towering walls and crumbling spires gazed down into a yawning chasm of infinite depth—the Howling Chasm, plunging deeper than seventeen miles into the earth’s core.
“Hoo—” A guttural howl split the air as Spines ears trembled in the face of the Hurricane-level winds that lashed Dragonshadow City without mercy. The storm threatened to tear away anything foolish enough to stand atop the city’s battlements or attempt to fly across the abyss.
Yet even in this endless tempest, the chasm teemed with danger. Bek Wind Sprites and Void Binding Spirits reveled in the ceaseless gale, while Phantom Ghost Dragons and Undead Dragons soared high above the city, circling the domain of their Shadow-lord.
Once, this had been a thriving trade hub of the drow. But the Jezled Clan’s Shadow Dragon had conquered the city of Charsen, enslaving its people. Over the centuries that followed, the dragons systematically eradicated the drow population, twisting them into creatures of shadow and replacing them with their own dragon-blooded offspring. As time passed, the city was dragged further and further into the Shadow Plane—its very foundation becoming a fragment of darkness.
At its apex ruled Mortifer Jezled—the dread Shadow Dragon known as the "Whisper of the Night," the architect of this nightmare realm.
In a narrow alley choked with shadow, a cloaked man spoke in a hushed tone:
“Dania尔… you heard, didn’t you? The old Home bastard is planning another strike against the surface world.”
“Mm.”
“According to our intelligence, he’s found a passage to Anzeta.”
“The Shadow Dragons, Shadow Throatlurkers, even the Shadow Spirits—they’re all mobilizing. Something big’s coming.”
Dragonshadow City was not solely under Mortifer’s dominion. Beneath the crushing tyranny of the Shadow Dragon, resistance had taken root. Even the drow—known for their inherent evil—had become tragic victims. Now, scattered underground, small rebellious cells had formed, refusing to yield.
The largest of these was the Brotherhood, led by the human Feriton Lais and the drow elf Dania尔 Belran. Hundreds had joined their cause, and they had even succeeded in killing a newborn Shadow Dragon.
On the streets, Shadow Shifters patrolled, their senses sharp, sniffing the air for any trace of betrayal.
Instantly, the two warriors chanted a spell, dissolving into the shadows, their forms vanishing as they slipped into their secret meeting place.
Feriton continued, voice low and tense:
“Maybe now’s our chance. We strike—Spines the Half-Shadow Dragon governor, that abomination of a shadow-blooded drow. That filth.”
“But when Mortifer returns… all our efforts will be meaningless.”
Silence.
Neither leader needed to speak the truth aloud. They both knew the depth of Mortifer’s power. Once, an army of thousands—the Phadran Host—had marched against Dragonshadow City. But beneath the shroud of Black Mist, they were all transformed into Undead Shades, their souls devoured as sustenance for the Shadow Dragon.
In the endless darkness of The Underdark, Mortifer was near-omnipotent.
The rebellion was little more than a game to him—a pastime. He often let rebels escape, not out of mercy, but to savor their growing despair, to relish the absolute control of cat and mouse.
Feriton burned with rage, yet was powerless. He could not even end his own life—because any soul that died within this land was forcibly reborn as an Undead Shade, condemned to eternal undeath, never granted peace.
“Is there truly no one who can defeat him?”
“…At least… we must try.”
“Maybe we could reach out to Anzeta—the kingdom above. If we strike from within, and they attack from without… we could kill him on the surface.”
Dania尔 let out a bitter laugh. He removed his hood, revealing the sharp, black elven ears that marked him as a drow.
“Impossible.”
“I’ve studied our ancestral texts. Anzeta is the most desolate, remote place on the continent. In such a wasteland… how could there be anyone capable of defeating Mortifer?”
“We may have to pray for a Divine Being to descend.”
Silence again.
Feriton had tried countless times. Each rebellion ended in failure. He even suspected Mortifer was using him as bait—drawing out more rebels to feed his amusement.
Suddenly—a deep, resonant roar split the sky.
Then came the shrieks of Shadow Dragons, the wails of Undead Shades, and the chaotic clamor of the city.
“What in the name of the Abyss is happening?”
“An invasion?”
Feriton and Dania尔 exchanged a glance—hope flaring in their eyes.
They hastily donned their cloaks, then cautiously pushed open the creaking door, stepping into the dark, rotting streets.
Sure enough, the ranks of Undead Shades, Shadow Shifters, and Shadow Throatlurkers were rushing through the alleys. Even the Shadow Dragons were in disarray, flapping wildly through the air.
Feriton stared, stunned.
“What in the Nine Hells is going on? They’ve never mobilized like this!”
“Feriton—look! Quick!”
“Dragon,” Dania尔 whispered, his voice trembling.
“What?”
Feriton turned sharply, instinctively raising his eyes to the sky.
The sight that met him would burn into his memory forever.
A crimson dragon—vast, terrifying, far larger than Mortifer—spread its wings across the heavens, as if encasing the entire city in its shadow. The hurricane-force winds howled, yet the beast remained steady, its massive wings unfurling with deliberate grace, unshaken by the storm.
Its form was solid, dense—no translucent or spectral haze. This was no transformed Shadow Dragon. This was a true dragon, flesh and blood.
Four jagged horns curled from its skull, its body thick with power. Across its chest ran web-like cracks, and at their center pulsed a crystalline flame core—bright, alive, burning with a light that defied the darkness.
Before this alien dragon, the Shadow Dragons and their minions—once fearsome in their own right—quivered like dogs cornered by a predator. They screamed in terror, their voices raw with fear, yet the crimson dragon stood unmoved.
“Mortifer,” it growled, a grin spreading across its maw. Its eyes blazed with an uncontainable hunger for destruction.
A blinding flash erupted from its chest—the crystal flared with a light so pure it shattered the eternal shadow.
For the first time in ages, Dragonshadow City was bathed in daylight. Even deep beneath the Underdark, a sliver of true light pierced the abyss.
The dragon became, for that moment, a sun to the underground world—a beacon of hope and dread.
Slowly, it opened its jaws.
From within, a torrent of fire poured forth—like the wrath of Karex descending from myth, like the end of all things.
It was the Chaos Breath. The Purifying Flame.
It would burn everything to ash, leaving only the raw, unformed essence of Chaos behind.
(End of Chapter)
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