The mighty dragons, beings of ancient terror and pride, were being processed like wheat in a thresher. The sky rained glittering, frozen dust that settled over the coral foundations of the city, acting as high-grade fertilizer for the mana-infused flora. In less than three minutes, twenty thousand elite dragons had been erased from the sky, their lives serving only to overcharge Alvian's floating fortress.
Miles away, hovering in the safety of the backlines aboard a stealth-cloaked Syndicate frigate, Voice Four watched the monitors in absolute, paralyzing terror.
The female handler gripped the edge of the console, her knuckles white. The tactical map, which should have shown a sea of red dots overwhelming the lone blue dot of Azureus, was instead showing a massacre. The red dots were simply vanishing the moment they touched the city's airspace.
