In southern Seleucia lay Sunset City.
Having weathered thousands of years of shifting fortunes, its battered ramparts were scarred and pitted with age, looking out over an endless expanse of scorched earth.
Years ago, Kazul had entombed countless faithful beneath a catastrophic wave of molten magma. Now, this land had drawn new visitors—the main host of the allied army.
The ground quaked. From the distance came a succession of dull thuds and the piercing blare of horns. The Cult of the Dragon soldiers upon the ramparts raised their heads in terror, only to behold a vast, surging tide of troops marching forward in overwhelming numbers, sweeping across the entire horizon. Massive flying dreadnoughts and wyverns mingled in the sky like schools of fish in a vast sea—a truly awe-inspiring spectacle.
Before long, the coalition army had Sunset City half-surrounded. Before millions of allied soldiers, countless tanks, warships, and magitech armored suits, this millennial ancient city seemed like a solitary island adrift in an ocean, on the verge of being swallowed by a colossal tidal wave.
"That's... the coalition's main force!"
"Tiamat above, it's those damned Imperials!"
"How did they get here so fast?! Lord Kazul clearly erected a forbidden zone across the outer perimeter—even we can barely cross it! How on earth did these Imperials make it through?!"
"Gods above—"
"Could it be that the Cinder Emperor made his move?"
Panic and confusion rippled through the dragon cultists inside Sunset City at the arrival of the coalition's grand host. They knew full well that this army had already crushed the Green Dragon Sect and the Blue Dragon Sect in succession.
Their Red Dragon Sect was the sole remaining branch of the Cult of the Dragon, as well as the last hope for Lady Tiamat's descent upon the mortal realm. They had nowhere left to retreat.
Atop the walls, a half-dragon officer hoisted the banner of the Red Dragon Sect and roared at the top of his lungs to rally their spirits. "Do not fear! They are nothing more than traitors who stole the Dragon Queen's power! We are the true, untainted scions of Tiamat!"
"That's right! They're just a bunch of despicable thieves! Before the majesty of the Chromatic Dragon Queen, they won't stand a chance!"
Just then, a man wearing a five-headed Dragon Queen mask and draped in heavy, five-colored vestments ascended to the peak of the profane altar within the city. Looking down upon the gathered cultists from on high, his expression was fervent and impassioned.
"Brothers and sisters—this is the trial bestowed upon us by the great Chromatic Dragon Queen! Once this crucible ends, we shall become the rulers of the world!"
His voice trembled, sounding like a sob, yet caught in a choke, sounding thoroughly eerie.
"It's His Majesty Felipe!"
"No, you should say His Holiness the Pontiff! He has shed his mortal flesh, received the bloodline of the Mother Goddess, and achieved that glorious sublimation!"
The cultists gazed upon the man standing atop the altar with looks of envy, longing, and reverent awe, unable to conceal the excitement in their voices.
Everyone knew that this former guardinal godblood had earned the favor of the Mother of Evil Dragons. Bathed in draconic blood at the altar, he had received the supreme honor of becoming an exalted, formidable humanoid dragon.
Within the Cult of the Dragon, this was the most coveted blessing of all.
Yet the cultists had no idea that Felipe's soul was wailing in agony within that shell, wishing countless times to end his own life, yet never succeeding. Tiamat was remaking him into a half-dragon vessel, eroding him until his soul was utterly annihilated.
At this moment, tears welled in his eyes. Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind, yet he could utter none of them. He wished for death, but had no recourse, forced to watch helplessly as he was reduced to Tiamat's pawn.
Under the gaze of countless onlookers, Felipe spread his arms and lifted his chin, chanting aloud in a frenzy: "When magma drowns the earth and ash cloaks the heavens, the Mother of Evil Dragons shall descend upon the world, shatter the old order, and usher in a new age!"
"For Tiamat!"
"Praise the great Mother of Evil Dragons!"
They screamed themselves hoarse, their cries brimming with fanaticism. But right then, the deep, resounding voice of a hobgoblin boomed from afar.
"Zealots of the Cult of the Dragon! Your wanton atrocities have violated every standard of morality and law, posing an outright provocation to civilization!"
"In the name of civilization, in the name of order, our coalition shall utterly annihilate your Cult of the Dragon, returning Seleucia to glory and enlightenment, and liberating the people of this land!"
"Long live the Empire!"
"Long live His Majesty Cassius!"
"Victory to the coalition!"
The allied host in the distance erupted. Cheers and battle cries rolled across the plains like a tempestuous sea, instantly drowning out all other sound within Sunset City.
Immediately afterward, artillery roared. Countless arcs trailing thick smoke crisscrossed high in the sky, weaving a dense canopy of fire that threatened to blanket the entirety of Sunset City.
It was firepower of unprecedented magnitude. For this campaign, the Empire had mobilized nearly one hundred thousand heavy artillery pieces, hundreds of magitech armor units, and thousands of steam tanks. Such firepower was more than sufficient to level the city to the ground.
Boom!
The ancient walls shuddered, fractured, and began to crumble under the bombardment, swaying precariously as the terrified defenders teetered on the brink of annihilation.
Yet amidst the shrieking bombardment, paying no mind to the shells raining from above, Felipe kept his arms spread wide with the same fanatical visage. Raising the Scepter of Calamity high, his entire body shook violently as if in an internal struggle, and he bellowed, "All things are illusions; only the great Mother of Evil Dragons endures forever!"
Countless twisted, ancient Draconic runes were etched like living worms into the cold stone, forming a dizzyingly intricate, profane ritual circle.
Deep-set grooves branched out from beneath five dragon-headed pillars, converging toward a bottomless circular well at the very center of the altar. A stench of brimstone and putrefaction seeped steadily from the shaft.
It was the tainted energy of the earth's leylines, forcibly channeled here and born of the bitter grievances of countless faithful buried deep below—foul and potent.
Around the altar stood a dense sea of people, yet they were devoid of any sign of life.
Along the outermost perimeter stood two hundred ragged, battered men, women, young and old, their wrists bound tightly behind their backs with rough cord. They were the last batch of captives in Sunset City.
A heavy reek of sweat, coppery blood, and urine rose from their midst, turning the stomach.
Their faces bore only numb despair or frozen terror. Driven forward like cattle to slaughter, they formed the altar's first ring of flesh and blood.
In the inner circle knelt five zealots clad in bizarre scale armor, their bodies pressed tightly against the five dragon-headed stone pillars in poses of supreme reverence. Their scale armor matched the five sinister hues: white, black, green, blue, and red.
These cultists, bearing distinct draconic traits, wore expressions of pure madness. Their hollow eyes stared blankly at the pontiff at the center of the altar, their lips moving soundlessly as though chewing upon sacred prayers.
Bound to a cross at the center of the five dragon-headed pillars was a half-dragon elder. His face, etched with wrinkles and scales, held a mix of extreme devotion and an indefinable confusion. His fingers rubbed a five-headed dragon emblem on his chest, and his murky eyes mirrored the fading, blood-red sun at the horizon.
His name was Gregory Rost, formerly a godblood duke of Seleucia. Now, he had been deformed into this monstrous shape, reduced to Tiamat's final sacrifice.
Enforcing this suffocating order were the Cult of the Dragon's most loyal henchmen.
Clad in dark, heavy dragonscale armor, the Serpent Guard Legion stood like cold statues between the crowd and the altar, clutching venom-coated blades. Behind their faceplates lay only darkness, and the glances they occasionally cast over the crowd were filled with inhuman indifference.
Closer to the altar were the Evil Dragon Knights. The edges of their armor were studded with sharp metal spikes shaped like dragon teeth, and the hilts of their swords were carved with vicious draconic visages. Any sign of disturbance or attempt to step out of line was met with a swift, lethal strike.
In addition, over a dozen young and adult red dragons circled overhead, their raised maws letting loose unified roars that shook the heavens.
Felipe's face remained hidden within the shadow of his five-headed mitre, revealing only the rigid contour of his jaw and tightly pressed lips.
He raised the Scepter of Calamity high. The eyes of its red dragon head flared with two points of sinister crimson light.
A raspy, chilling voice, carrying a bizarre penetration like countless serpents slithering across sand, swept across the entire city, drowning out the horns and artillery fire of the coalition outside the walls.
"All things are illusions; only Tiamat endures forever!"
"The hour has come, Children of the Dark Scales!"
Felipe's voice buzzed with resonance from the dragon vein leyline, sending a tremor through the very marrow of everyone surrounding the altar. "The coalition fools believe their cannons can diminish the Dragon Queen's glory? Such arrogance!"
"Today, with iron and blood, with the flesh, bones, and screams of mortal vermin, we shall present the most bountiful offering to the Mother of Evil Dragons!"
Kargas shouted harshly.
Several Evil Dragon Rose Knights stepped forward at once, overturning heavy chests of treasure into the designated grooves along the edge of the altar.
Gold coins, gemstones, ornate vessels, and even pearl-encrusted relics were dumped into the runic channels like trash.
The glint of jewels looked remarkably cheap and eerie against the dim Draconic runes.
The crisp clinking of tumbling gold coins sounded, in that moment, like a death knell.
"Praise Tiamat!"
Kargas's voice carried a twisted supplication. As he spoke, the riches dumped into the channels seemed to combust under an unseen flame, rapidly blackening and melting into a thick, metallic black sludge that gurgled along the grooves toward the central well.
An even more pungent stench of brimstone billowed upward, as though the earth itself were digesting these tokens of greed. The dragon cultists appeared to be using the last wealth plundered from the entire city to buy the fickle Dragon Queen's protection.
When the last glint of gold faded into the channels, Kargas turned abruptly toward the two hundred bound prisoners along the perimeter.
His scepter pointed at them, his voice freezing cold. "Commence the sacrifice!"
"Understood, Your Holiness!"
The Serpent Guard Legion sprang into motion.
They fanned out in silence, moving swiftly and with deadly precision, tearing into the ranks of the sacrificial offerings like reapers mowing grass. Their venomous blades did not strike at vitals; instead, they coldly slit the wrists of every single prisoner!
Splat!
The sound of blades slicing through flesh rose in rapid succession, accompanied by a sudden explosion of heart-wrenching screams and sobs.
"No, I don't want to die!"
"Spare me!"
All struggling proved utterly futile against the cold steel. Scalding blood, like countless crimson serpents, erupted from two hundred wounds, splashing across the freezing altar and being swallowed instantly by the greedy runic channels.
Blood! Fresh, steaming blood, steeped in the final terror and agony of mortal life!
It surged along the precarved paths, converging from all directions toward the five points of the pentagram, before roaring along the thicker main channels straight into the shaft at the altar's center.
The well no longer vented brimstone, but a suffocating geyser of gore!
The entire altar seemed to awaken, emitting thirsty gulping sounds. Dark crimson light raced through the runes and channels, burning brighter and brighter until the altar glowed like the interior of a hellish furnace.
The air warped under the rising heat. The reek of blood, mingled with sulfur and an indescribable, primeval musk unique to ancient dragons, formed a sickening fog.
The sky suddenly darkened, and not on account of the setting sun.
Churning storm clouds coalesced into a colossal vortex directly above the altar, its center shimmering with a sinister light composed of five intermingled hues.
An unfathomable aura of majesty—ancient, tyrannical, and brimming with all-consuming greed—slammed down like a physical sledgehammer!
Every living creature on this land, whether cold-blooded serpent guards, despairing prisoners, or fanatical cultists, felt their hearts seized by an icy, massive claw. Their knees buckled, nearly forcing them to the ground.
Even from the allied lines in the distance, a stir of chaos broke out.
At the center of that blood-red vortex, a phantasmal silhouette large enough to blot out the moon and stars slowly coalesced!
The silhouettes of five menacing dragon heads loomed within the roiling clouds—the white dragon head exhaling frost, the black dragon head dripping potent acid, the green dragon head wreathed in poisonous clouds, the blue dragon head crackling with blinding lightning, and the crimson dragon head blazing with infernal hellfire!
The projected will of Tiamat had descended!
Five pairs of slit pupils, each a different color, looked down coldly upon the minuscule pontiff on the altar and the offering he presented.
Immediately following, a soul-rending roar swept through the entire city, shattering countless windowpanes in an instant!
It was the dragon fear, divine majesty incarnate, proclaiming an evil deity's fleeting regard.
The red dragons grew wild with excitement, raising their heads to bellow toward the sky, while the cultists dropped to their knees in ecstasies of adoration, continuously chanting Draconic prayers.
Without a shred of hesitation, the five scaled zealots drew daggers and plunged them into their own chests, carving out their beating hearts and using their final ounce of strength to place the still-warm organs upon the five dragon-headed pillars.
"The Dragon Queen bestows her grace!"
Gazing up at the phantom in the sky, Felipe's voice cracked, warped by wild ecstasy and crushing pressure.
Yet at the center of the altar, Gregory lifted the prepared dagger with trembling fingers, hesitating to strike, a glimmer of reluctance in his eyes.
Felipe spun around violently, leveling the Scepter of Calamity at Gregory. "The time has come to offer your heart to the great Chromatic Dragon Queen! What are you hesitating for?!"
"I..."
Gregory's voice was laced with confusion and struggle.
Though the evil dragon's will had corrupted and seized control of his mind, as a legendary paladin and former grand marshal of Seleucia, his soul still cried out in unyielding defiance.
Chapter 843