A torrent of destruction poured down.
It was no longer fire, but the essence of death, a rushing flow of resentment.
Wherever the dragon breath passed, the air wailed and twisted, emitting a pungent stench of sulfur and scorched souls.
The horror of shattered dreams had yet to fade from Corleone's face when the world-ending breath lunged before him.
Time and space seemed to be eroded and stretched by the dragon flame; he could clearly "see" the rolling faces of agony within the blaze, and feel his skin, hair, and even his soul spontaneously curling up before the aura of destruction.
At the critical moment, a dark shadow slammed into him, knocking him aside—it was the silent Guard Captain.
Corleone tumbled several feet sideways, the rough ground scraping his palms and cheeks, his velvet robes tearing.
Almost simultaneously—
"BOOM—!!!"
The desecrating dragon flame submerged the spot where he had just been standing.
There was no sound of an explosion, only the "hiss" of space being erased.
The altar base, harder than steel, vanished instantly like ice and snow under sunlight, leaving only a smooth, mirror-like depression with glazed edges.
A few splashing droplets of dragon flame etched through the ground, leaving bottomless small holes.
Corleone looked back, the color completely drained from his face.
It wasn't fear of what had passed, but the blankness of having his entire perception of the world overturned.
The logic he relied on to understand the world seemed utterly laughable before this pure, overbearing destruction.
"My Lord! Move!" The Guard Captain roared as he pulled him up, his arm slashed by rubble into a long, bloody wound, yet he still swiftly dragged Corleone toward a pile of rocks deep within the platform.
"No! That's mine! It must obey the call of the bloodline!" Corleone struggled, his eyes fixed on the desecrating existence in the sky, flickering with unwillingness and humble supplication.
However, the Dead Dragon, having just been forcibly dragged back to the living world, had lost interest in this "ant" who had luckily escaped.
Its chaotic consciousness, filled with resentment, only viewed this world full of life as the greatest provocation to "death."
"ROAARRRRRRRR—!!!!!!"
Another soul-tearing roar rang out, more frenzied than before.
The Dead Dragon's massive body writhed violently in the air, its rotting wing membranes flapping against the air, kicking up a death storm laden with a stench of blood.
It no longer targeted a specific goal, but vented its boundless rage at being dragged out of eternal silence toward the ruins, the Blood Lake, and the sky beneath its feet.
"Boom!"
A ghastly green breath swept across the edge of the Blood Lake's ancient altar; the altar and the corpses upon it evaporated instantly, leaving only a deathly silent glazed surface.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The dragon flame was like a paintbrush wielded by the Grim Reaper, leaving trails of destruction across heaven and earth.
On the high slope, Henry, Karl, and nearly a hundred survivors captured from other parts of the ruins were facing a dead end.
They were bound and tied together in a line.
The dragon flame swept in like a tide, and the rocks were silently annihilated.
A young Mercenary let out a shrill scream, desperately trying to break free from the ropes and retreat.
"You fool! Stop!" his companions shouted in shock and anger, but it was too late.
The force of one person lunging forward was instantly transmitted through the taut rope.
Screams, curses, and the sound of falling rang out together; the linked queue was like a pulled chain, as seven or eight people tumbled into a heap, ropes tangling and dust flying.
This minor commotion might have been insignificant in this world dominated by dragon roars, yet it was like cold water splashing into a pan of hot oil, instantly attracting the attention of that desecrating existence.
The Dead Dragon's mountain-like head jerked to a halt, then turned with a heart-stopping slowness.
Two massive hollows burning with ghastly green soul-fire "looked" toward this depression, toward the survivors struggling for life in a tangled heap.
Time seemed to freeze.
Henry felt the coldness of that gaze, piercing through skin, bone, and marrow, directly freezing his soul.
He saw Karl's pale face, a mixture of extreme terror and the deathly silence of resignation.
The only sounds left were the chattering of teeth and the gasps of the dying.
The Dead Dragon's abyss-like maw slowly opened once more.
Deep within the maw, a dark vortex gathered from countless agonizing faces rotated violently; a speck of ghastly green fire began to condense and expand, emitting the prelude to destruction.
Despair shrouded them like the deepest night. Even struggling had lost its meaning.
They were like insects in amber, waiting for their fate of being completely erased.
Henry closed his eyes.
Karl hung his head.
Death descended... one breath, two breaths... the expected annihilation did not arrive.
There was only a deathly silence and a terrifying warning growing clearer in their minds.
Henry and Karl snapped their eyes open.
An unforgettable scene met their eyes:
The Dead Dragon, about to unleash its dragon flame, had its head frozen in mid-air.
The ghastly green light condensing in its maw flickered uncertainly, but did not fire.
Its hollows burning with soul-fire no longer "looked" at them, but slowly lifted, casting toward the dark clouds higher in the sky.
Its massive body recoiled slightly, its rotting wing membranes pulling tight against itself, as if a wounded beast had sensed the approach of a natural predator and was on extreme alert.
A terrifying pressure—older, deeper, and more indescribable than the Dead Dragon's aura—swept across heaven and earth like an invisible tsunami.
"The sky... has changed..." Karl murmured blankly.
The sky had indeed changed.
Dark clouds as thick as ink surged from all directions, pressing down low, swallowing all light and sound, giving one a sense of suffocation as if at the bottom of a boundless ocean.
The light in the ruins dimmed sharply, falling into the boundary between chaotic twilight and dark night. Only the faint glow of the Blood Lake and the soul-fire of the Dead Dragon provided an eerie source of light.
"Zzzzt—!"
A dazzling flash of golden lightning tore through the dark clouds and vanished in an instant.
That light was so brilliant, holy, and majestic that it momentarily illuminated the ruins below, the Dead Dragon's body as if facing a great enemy, and the shock on the survivors' faces.
A second flash, a third... more and more golden lightning flickered and surged within the dark clouds, like countless thunder dragons roaring deep within the cloud layers, emitting a rumbling thunder like the drums of heaven and earth.
Against this chaotic background of alternating light and shadow, behind the low-hanging ink-dark clouds... it was hard to tell if it was an illusion.
A blurry, indescribably massive outline—as if it could support or crush the sky—was faintly visible.
That outline seemed to possess the silhouette of more than one head, twisting and changing under the cover of the lightning.
But the ultimate deterrence it emitted—reigning over all living things—caused every being in the ruins, whether it was the Dead Dragon, Corleone, or Henry and Karl, to feel their souls tremble and their blood nearly freeze at this moment.
Something... had descended.
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