Chapter 852: Player's Counterattack
At the moment the Dragon Head was severed, the remaining green and blue heads instinctively reared upward, emitting agonized, soul-shattering wails.
Then, their faces twisted into expressions of sheer terror, their necks writhing as they lunged at Alje and his Giant Eagle—snapping at them with feral fury, even preemptively blocking their escape route.
“Now! It’s your turn to intervene!” Alje roared, his voice cracking the sky. He dodged another vicious bite with split-second precision.
A deafening Dragon Roar echoed from above. Hundreds of Crimson Scale Conquerors surged down like two torrents of emerald flood, racing toward the blue and green heads. Each wielded a razor-sharp spear, radiating immense stature and terrifying power, driving their blades deep into the flesh of the Colorful Dragon Beasts.
In an instant, the two remaining heads were riddled with gaping wounds, gushing scalding, crimson blood. Shreds of meat flew through the air like scattered debris.
The surviving Crimson Scale Conquerors grew even more frenzied. Circling the colossal beast, they relentlessly swung their weapons, carving deeper and deeper into its body. The wounds multiplied, blood poured forth in torrents.
The battlefield became a maelstrom of crimson mist, swirling through the air. The two-headed dragons beneath the Conquerors flapped their wings, generating violent gusts—like a blood-red storm engulfing the Colorful Dragon Beast, determined to flay it alive.
Within that bloodstorm, the beast screamed in agony, thrashing its massive, deadly limbs in a desperate attempt to crush the swarm of “flies” that circled it.
But no matter how it struggled, the Conquerors evaded with unmatched agility, leaving fresh wounds in its flesh with every pass.
Soon, the Colorful Dragon Beast was severely wounded—its once-mountainous, monstrous form now a patchwork of scars. Swords, blades, bullets, all had torn into it. Blood flowed like cascading waterfalls, pooling on the ground, converging into a thick, crimson river that poured into a massive crater blasted by shellfire—forming a blood-soaked lake.
Its breath grew ragged, its wails weaker. The beast shuddered violently from pain and blood loss, then collapsed with a thunderous Boom, shaking the earth, sending dust flying, and splitting the surface world with colossal cracks.
The seemingly invincible giant, the nightmare that had claimed tens of thousands of Allied Forces, lay dead—slain beneath the relentless siege of the Crimson Scale Conquerors.
It was the bloodline of Tiamat, forged from the sacrifice of a million Serecian commoners, the union of body and spirit from hundreds of Dragon Blood Monsters. Yet, even so, it fell—crushed beneath the gale-force onslaught of the Conquerors.
“Amanata above! It—it’s dead! It’s been killed by those Dragon Riders!”
“Victory to the Allied Forces! Justice prevails!”
“Long live—”
As the monstrous form collapsed like a mountain in ruin, the Allied soldiers first stared in stunned disbelief—then erupted in a euphoric roar. Their cheers surged forward, spreading like wildfire across the battlefield. Every soldier shouted for this monumental victory.
And then—something even more astonishing unfolded.
From the weakest point of the Seleucus Defensive Line, a series of massive portals ripped open in midair.
“Charge!”
“For the Empire!”
“For Emperor Kai Xiusu!”
Amidst a cacophony of shouts and the thunderous roar of engines, countless Players flooded forth from the portals—like a floodstorm, covering the entire field. It was a sea of figures in bizarre, colorful armor.
Every War Mission drew nearly a million Players. But this was a special [World War Mission]—the final chapter of the Dragon Cataclysm. So many had come, it was impossible to count.
Players surged forth, pouring through the portals like a relentless tide.
Caught completely off guard, the Dragon Worship Church cultists were unprepared. This had been the weakest point of the line—now, it became the strongest bastion of the Allied Forces.
The counterattack had begun.
“Forward!”
“For Faction Contribution!”
“Maximize Damage Output! This Super Giant Boss is a God-given target!”
“This thing drops Legendary Materials! We’re gonna get rich!”
Dozens of Colorful Dragon Beasts, now forced into the frontline positions by the sheer flood of Players, were instantly surrounded. Like a ship adrift in a stormy sea, they were battered by waves of relentless offensive fury.
To the Seleucus soldiers, these beasts had been monstrous, invincible horrors. But to the Players, they were just another objective to seize.
Like piranhas scenting blood, they surged forward—greedily tearing at the giant’s flesh, treating it like helpless prey.
“Roar—!”
One beast charged into the crowd, crushing hundreds of Players beneath its massive frame. But instantly, hundreds of Hook and Line ropes shot up from nearby, impaling it and pinning it to the ground.
The beast thrashed violently, shaking the earth, but couldn’t break free. Then, like ants swarming a fallen tree, Players climbed the ropes, scaling its body, slashing open its scales and skin with long swords—systematically dismembering it.
One by one, the Colorful Dragon Beasts fell with a final roar. The Dragon-Worshiping cultists, overwhelmed by sheer numbers, had no chance to fight back—they were drowned in the tide of Players.
In the sky, the tide turned just as dramatically.
The cultists and Dragon Blood Monsters pouring through the holes in the Wind Wall were now hindered—driven back by the overwhelming number of Players.
They came on flying mounts—Pegasus, Wyverns—others hovered with flight magic, charging headlong into the enemy lines. Bullets, shells, fireballs, lightning—every kind of offense rained down, threatening to drown the cultists in a storm of destruction.
“Those Soulless Ones…”
Philippe ground his teeth, his face darkening with fury. The scales across his brow bulged with veins.
Soulless Ones.
That name now echoed across the land—their title, their identity, etched into history. They were Undying, mad, relentless. Their presence meant chaos, madness, and death. Even Hell and Heaven whispered their tales.
Wherever they appeared, order shattered.
And now, he watched his entire Dragon Worship Cult army being swallowed by the patchwork tide of Players—his cultists and monsters screaming in pain, falling from the sky like rain.
His rage erupted.
With a flick of his Scepter of Woe, he struck the back of the giant two-headed dragon, reigniting its strength. The beast’s eyes flared with terrifying light, its monstrous face distorting further.
Slowly, it opened its bloody maw, exhaling a foul stench. From its throat, a beam of death—radiating chaos, evil, and annihilation—shot into the sky, cleaving through the clouds.
Boom—
The black light swept across the sky like a scythe of death. Dozens of Players vanished into nothingness, reduced to ash. Aerospace warships were severed mid-air, their experience points shattered.
But the Players didn’t flinch. Instead, they stared—fixated on the giant dragon, on the man atop it.
“That crown looks valuable…”
“Five dragons! That guy must be high-ranking in the Dragon Worship Church—this is a legendary catch!”
“Seize the kill credit—now!”
Despite the all-destroying black divine light, they charged forward—spell after spell, shell after shell, bullet after bullet—pouring out in a torrential storm aimed at Philippe.
Philippe stood motionless, face dark and grim. His hands trembled as he gripped the scepter.
“They dare… treat me as prey?”
“Insolent… unforgivable.”
His eyes blazed with profound fury. He raised the Scepter of Woe—and above him, the phantom image of a five-headed dragon materialized. Flames, lightning, frost—within seconds, the surrounding thousand meters were engulfed. Thousands of Players were erased in an instant.
“Anti-Magic Barrier!”
“Mages, help!”
“Get a high-magic-resistance tank up front—this guy’s spellcasting is too strong!”
Chaos erupted in the sky. A group of Protection School mages formed a massive arcane barrier, barely holding back Philippe’s divine spell. Meanwhile, several Holy Knights in heavy armor, wings sprouting from their backs, stepped forward, shielding hundreds of Players behind them.
But Philippe merely tapped the dragon’s head with a casual flick of his finger.
“Pathetic little ants… no matter how many come, they mean nothing.”
The dragon opened its maw again. A torrent of intense, searing flames erupted—engulfing the paladins’ position. The thermal surge warped the air itself.
“Can’t hold out much longer!”
“Priest, cast a Protection Spell!”
“This guy does elemental damage! Get a Protective Energy shield up!”
Panic surged among the Players. But the dragon’s fire melted through paladin shields and armor, reducing their bodies to charcoal.
The Colorful Dragon Beast roared again, flapping its vast wings—sending a violent storm that scattered hundreds of Players. Then, a Lightning Breath burst forth.
Crack!
A flash of pale-white lightning tore across the sky, forming a terrifying grid. Dozens of scattered Players were struck mid-air, falling in a rain of smoke and ash.
Philippe raised the Scepter of Woe, shaking it high. The sky churned—clouds roiled, gathering above him, making him resemble a god descending from the heavens.
“Leave—Mortal Entities!”
Boom!
A thunderbolt struck, fire blazing across the sky. The giant dragon loomed in the dark clouds—imposing, terrifying, a manifestation of Tiamat’s might. Thousands of Players were consumed in its wrath.
“Shake before the power of the Dragon, you ignorant mortals!”
Philippe’s voice rang with euphoric triumph. Each swing of his scepter brought death to tens of thousands.
Yet still, the Players came—like moths to flame, endlessly flowing toward the Pope of the Dragon Worship Church, the former King of Seleucus.
As more and more gathered, the giant dragon began to show wounds—its wings torn, ragged, howling in the wind.
Far away, on an aerospace warship, several Anti-Magic Sniper Rifles had already locked onto Philippe’s position.
Bang!
The rifle fired—its bullet tore through the air, pierced multiple layers of magical shields, and shot toward Philippe’s vital spots from multiple angles.
But at the last moment, Philippe looked up. He clenched his fist. Black divine energy wrapped around him, enveloping the bullets.
In an instant, the bullets reversed course—flying back at lightning speed, returning to the rifles. The recoil exploded, shattering the snipers’ heads.
“Are you kidding me?”
“This boss is untouchable!”
“I don’t care—death is just death!”
Players groaned, but still, they charged—over and over, refusing to yield.
Because in a battle like this, killing the boss meant a reward that could change their entire gaming destiny. Even if it cost their life force—worth it.
Soon, tens of thousands of Players filled the sky, marching forward in full force—like a floodwave. Even the hill-sized giant dragon seemed small in their midst—just a rock in a churning sea, about to be swallowed.
And then—Misha intervened once more.
A blinding column of white fire, stretching across thousands of meters, pierced the sky, roaring toward Philippe with a deafening Boom.
This time, Philippe—already strained by the chaos—was unprepared. His divine shield shattered under Misha’s dragon breath. The blast struck his chest, hurling him over a hundred meters through the air.
Misha’s gaze remained cold. Her slender fingers slid slowly downward. The flame column descended—like a red-hot, glowing longsword—splitting the massive two-headed dragon cleanly in two.
The sound of flesh burning, the dull, agonized wail—echoed through the sky. Blood poured like a waterfall. The mountain-sized body split apart, crashing to the ground, sending up a storm of dust and debris.
Philippe, protected by Tiamat’s divine power, survived the fall. He looked toward Misha—his eyes dark with hatred, his vertical pupils narrowing into slits.
“Damned rebels.”
But again—fireballs and shells rained down. His face darkened. With a flick of the scepter, he tore space itself, teleporting hundreds of meters away—landing atop the Tiamat’s Altar in Sunset City.
(End of Chapter)
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