Chapter 834: The Beast Trapped in the Mire
The Blue Dragon Descendant Legion of the Wind-Swept Ravines was utterly annihilated beneath the relentless artillery bombardment of the Empire, buried beneath a sea of yellow sand and debris. The Allied Forces’ main army launched a lightning-fast offensive, swiftly capturing dozens of cities and conquering the vast expanse of the Taliro Great Desert, along with its surrounding territories—entirely reclaiming the western region of the Seleucus domain, once under the control of the Blue Dragon Sect.
The Taliro Great Desert, perpetually arid and scorching, had long been a land of hardship. Most of its population had clustered along the banks of the Irl River Valley. By conquering these key cities, the Allied Forces seized control of the most vital resources in the desert—water, food, and habitable land—enabling them to dominate this immense, unforgiving wasteland.
In ancient times, the desert kingdoms had risen from the fertile Irl River Valley, gradually expanding across the entire Taliro Desert over centuries. For millennia, empires had risen and fallen in endless cycles of war, fiercely contesting the region’s rich river valley. Only with the rise of the Sacred Fedran Empire had this long-standing struggle finally come to an end.
Now, the Blue Dragon Sect’s years of tyranny had driven the people to despair. Their brutal exploitation—treating citizens as sacrificial offerings and mere tools—had festered resentment across the land. Yet fear of the Dragon Worship Cult’s overwhelming power had kept the populace from rebellion.
But now, the tide had turned. With the destruction of the Cult’s main force and the capture of city after city, the Allied Forces had rallied local rebel factions. The people of the region greeted them not with resistance, but with open arms—“bringing food and drink to welcome the victorious army.”
From this moment on, the Allied Forces had already obliterated both the Green Dragon and Blue Dragon Cults, reclaimed more than half the territory of the Kingdom of Seleucus, and stood on the brink of fulfilling their grand objective: the Restoration of Seleucus.
Yet one tragic truth remained: less than thirty percent of the Allied Forces were native to Seleucus. In reality, the northern Empire of Ashen now controlled the majority of the kingdom.
A cruel, fated cycle had returned. The people of Seleucus had just expelled one set of Dragon’s favored tyrants—only to be replaced by another, newer breed of Dragon worshippers, now ruling as their new overlords. No matter how hard they fought, the shadow of the Dragon always loomed over this land.
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Taliro Great Desert – Kafar City
Once the capital of the ancient desert kingdom, Kafar City stood at the heart of the Irl River Valley, nestled in the most fertile oasis of this barren wasteland. Now, it was the last city still under the dominion of the Blue Dragon Sect.
On the central pyramid altar, Mahmud—wearing a golden dragon mask and a blue-scaled robe—raised his scepter high, surrounded by fervent cultists. His voice rang with manic excitement:
“Brothers and sisters! We have not lost! This is but a trial bestowed by the Dragon Queen!”
He was the ruler of Kafar, the last heretical Dragon Bishop in the entire Taliro Desert. The rest had been captured by the Imperial Guard and executed on gallows.
With a wild sweep of his scepter toward the south, Mahmud declared:
“I have received the Divine Will! Lava will cover the earth, ashes will shroud the sky! The Great Mother of Monsters will descend—ushering in a brand-new age!”
“Believers of the Mother Dragon, if you endure this final moment, we shall witness the Radiant Era when Dragons rule the world!”
“Praise the Mother of Monsters!”
Below him, the cultists erupted into a frenzy, their voices rising in a thunderous, soul-shattering chorus—waves of sound crashing like storm surges, echoing long into the desert night.
Amid the roaring chants, several massive Dragonkin soldiers dragged a group of human prisoners toward the blood pool at the altar’s summit. The captives—ragged, scarred with whip marks and burns—were bound to stone pillars with coarse hemp ropes. Their bodies, already broken, were soaked in the filthy, stagnant blood pool.
Mahmud pointed his scepter at them, voice cold and venomous:
“These wretched humans! They dared to defy the Dragon’s rule, to hinder the Mother’s descent—and even murdered several noble Dragonborn! Their crime is unforgivable. They shall die in agony, sacrificed to the Dragon Queen!”
“Blood sacrifice! Blood sacrifice!”
“Kill them!”
“These lowborn, despicable creatures deserve punishment!”
The cultists roared in unison, their fury so intense they seemed to forget most of them were human themselves.
One prisoner, bound to the pillar, strained every ounce of strength to raise his head. He stared at the cultists with burning hatred, then let out a fierce, mocking laugh:
“Hahahaha! Followers of the evil Dragon! Traitors to mankind! You tremble! The warhorses of the Allied Forces are already approaching! You will all be hanged—paying the price for your sins!”
“Silence him!” Mahmud snarled.
A Dragonkin soldier stepped forward, swiftly wrapping a rough rope around the prisoner’s mouth, muffling his voice to a muffled whimper.
This man was Baldor Lov—the leader of Kafar City’s rebel force. He had led a band of defiant souls, slaying dozens of Dragonborn and even hunting down a young Blue Dragon.
“Kill him!”
“Damn human!”
The cries grew louder, piercing the sky.
Mahmud raised both arms high, his voice frenzied:
“Great Mother of Monsters! Mother of Chaos! Your five heads are crowns of greed, your wings shadows of tyranny! Let chaos blood be drunk! Grant us the power to shatter the chains of order!”
The scepter’s dragon eyes flared with five-colored profane light, a jagged beam lancing down into the blood pool. Instantly, the liquid erupted in chaos—vivid streams of light writhed like serpents, spiraling upward into a swirling vortex of blasphemous energy.
“By the name of my queen, Tiamat!” Mahmud roared, pointing the scepter at one of the prisoners.
“Consume this fragile shell! Re-form it into the claws of a dragon!”
A guttural roar echoed from the void. The scepter unleashed a corrupted dark beam. The prisoner convulsed violently. His pupils were instantly consumed by the swirling, chaotic light.
The blood pool churned. The prisoner’s skin began to melt like wax, burned black and peeled away under the evil power, revealing raw, crimson flesh. The agony was beyond human endurance—his scream was inhuman, a shriek of pure torment.
Then, the filthy dragon blood surged into his wounds, mouth, nose, and eyes. His body inflated like a balloon. Bones cracked with a sickening, acid-like crunch. His spine stretched and twisted, sprouting spines through his back. His limbs bent and snapped, reforming into jagged, bony claws, wrapped in thick mucus.
The most horrifying transformation was his head.
His skull split open in agony, then grotesquely mutated—fusing into three deformed, pulsating flesh tumors.
One bore crimson scales, belching black smoke.
One sprouted massive blue horns, sparking with crackling arcs of lightning.
The third split open into a monstrous maw, dripping green venom, lined with rows of jagged, needle-like teeth.
Human features were utterly obliterated—eyes burned with profane flames, filled with endless rage and pain.
Mahmud smiled, eyes gleaming with ecstatic delight:
“Perfect! By Tiamat, this is flawless!”
“No… kill me… please…”
The prisoner, now barely recognizable, raised a twisted, dragon-like claw toward Baldor. In his eyes—just for a moment—a flicker of humanity, of fear and pleading.
But it vanished instantly, consumed by the profane flames. Only madness, hunger, and a craving for destruction remained in the hollow sockets.
“Mmm… mmm…”
Baldor’s eyes burned crimson. Tears of fury streamed down his face. He writhed desperately, straining to break free, to die alongside his fallen comrades—but the blood pool held him fast.
In less than a minute, a three-meter-tall, unstable abomination rose from the blood pool, letting out a rasping, guttural growl.
It was no longer human. It was a monstrous construct—twisted, overgrown flesh and filth stitched together with grotesque dragon organs. Its body was a patchwork of mismatched scales, pulsating veins, and exposed muscle. Five elemental energies clashed within it—flames, ice, decay, lightning, poison—causing its limbs to burn, freeze, rot, and spasm in violent alternation.
Yet the cultists did not recoil. Instead, they plunged into deeper frenzy.
“A miracle!”
“This is the Queen’s gift!”
“A perfect weapon! The Empire’s men will tremble before it!”
Mahmud drew an iron chain, wrapping it around the creature’s torso. With a feral grin, he roared:
“Behold! This is the endpoint of mortals! Fight for our Queen! Live only to destroy!”
The heavy chain clanked as the beast stood tall, its monstrous form roaring over the blood pool, splashing crimson droplets into the air.
Mahmud wiped his scepter clean, then turned to Baldor with mocking amusement.
“Human… I have a splendid idea. Why not make you the first meal of this child of Tiamat? To die in your comrade’s jaws—how fortunate you are!”
Baldor stared back, eyes filled with pure hatred, wishing to tear the priest limb from limb. But before he could react, Mahmud barked an order.
The creature turned—its three malformed heads fixed on Baldor. No recognition. Only hunger. Only the desire to devour life.
“Go! Tear him apart!”
Mahmud laughed wildly.
Baldor struggled, but the blood pool held him fast. He could only watch, helpless, as the monster lunged forward—its maw wide, dripping with blood and venom, its breath reeking of fire and rot.
Just then—a sharp, metallic crack split the sky.
A blur of motion, blazing with heat, shot through the air from afar.
“Boom!”
A violent impact tore through the monster’s back. The crimson beam pierced its heart, shredding it apart. Blood and organs erupted from its chest in a geyser of gore. The body collapsed forward, its three heads spitting blood, flesh, and viscous slime.
Even in death, the creature’s eyes remained locked on Baldor—filled with desperate hunger, regret, and a lingering desire to have killed its prey sooner.
“Who?”
“Who dares disrupt the sacred ritual?”
Mahmud screamed, panic flashing in his eyes.
High above, a small invisibility-capable aerospace warship slowly opened its hatch. From within, towering figures—massive, armored in thick, dragon-scale plates—leapt out, poised for battle, ready to descend.
Steel Tide adjusted the tactical glasses over his right eye and whispered into his chest radio:
“Fourth Legion reporting. 2,453 enemy objectives detected. Average Challenge Rating 3.47. Highest CR 15. Danger level assessed as low. Our forces can handle this independently. Eighteen Third-Generation Dragon-Scale Monks and nine Fourth-Generation are ready for immediate deployment. Requesting attack authorization.”
On the altar, Mahmud raised his scepter, roaring toward the warship:
“Another of those Empire abominations! Bring it down!”
In an instant, torrents of flame, lightning, and toxic gas rained down from the sky—yet they splashed harmlessly against the warship’s semi-transparent energy shield.
“Full attack.”
A grin spread across Steel Tide’s face. He leapt from the hatch, and behind him, twenty-plus Dragon-Scaled Cultivators followed without hesitation—plunging from hundreds of meters above the desert.
“The rebels who stole the Dragon Queen’s strength! Kill them!” Mahmud shrieked, his face twisted in rage, raising his staff to unleash a divine spell.
But before he could cast, a volley of crimson-orange missiles streaked from the warship’s belly—screaming through the air, trailing fiery trails, homing in on the altar.
“Boom!”
An explosion tore through the air—dust, fire, and debris exploded outward. Over a hundred cultists were vaporized. The altar itself cracked and trembled, on the verge of collapse.
Mahmud staggered, nearly falling from the platform. He looked up—only to find the sky swallowed by a thick smoke screen. The rebels were gone.
“Bang! Bang! Bang!”
The ground shook as Dragon-Scaled Cultivators landed in the smoke, vanishing into the haze. Equipped with thermal imaging goggles, they began hunting the cultists in the fog.
“I can’t see!”
“Watch out!”
“Damn it—where are they?!”
The cultists panicked. Their shouts were drowned beneath the roar of explosions.
Suddenly—a scream.
A cultist was struck from behind, impaled through the chest. The blade split him in two.
“Bang!”
A gunshot rang out. Smoke curled from the blast arrow rifle. A storm of bullets tore through the air, turning another cultist into a shredded, mangled mess.
Gunfire. Screams. The tearing of flesh. The snapping of bones. Figures moved through the thick smoke—silent, swift, merciless.
The remaining cultists stood frozen, lost in terror, as if under the shadow of death itself.
A feast of slaughter. A one-sided massacre—had begun.
(End of Chapter)
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