Major Edit coming up; For tier 0/g-rank level will be bumped up to 50!
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The Toxic Jungle slept uneasily beneath the pallid light of dawn. Toxic clouds coiled between the warped trees, their trunks half-plant, half-rot, bleeding acid where they split. The air shimmered with faint green motes, remnants of poison pollen drifting lazily through the still canopy. Beneath that canopy stood a host vast enough to shake the forest when it moved; six hundred dragons and draconic kin, arrayed beneath banners black as eclipse.
Artorius stood at their head. The jungle stretched behind him like a conquered dream, tamed now under his reign. The pyramid of Zalroth still burned faintly on the horizon, its once-bright feathers of alchemical fire long since reduced to dull, smoking ash. His armies had swelled since the conquest of this biome. Bands of wild dragons; ferals, scavengers, wanderers who once prowled the acidic jungle now wore his sigil. Mercenary banners fluttered among the ranks: the Iron Coil, the Silver Fang, the Twilight Knots. All had come at his call, drawn by scales, conquest, or the irresistible gravity of his growing legend.
Artorius' gaze swept the horizon. Beyond the jungle's edge rose the mountains, jagged peaks lit by lightning, the realm of Raijin, Lord of the Thunderstones. Storms rolled constantly over that land, birthing clouds like azure anvils. Bolts of blue fire cracked the sky in an endless drumbeat.
Then a hiss broke the stillness. Ouroboros slid from the shadows at the pyramid's edge, scales glimmering with faint light. "Finally found out what our helpless dragon left behind was doing!"
Artorius turned to face him. "Really now? What is he up to?"
"Follow." The serpent led him through the vine-choked corridors of the ruined structure, down into the lower chambers where the acid had eaten most of the stone into pitted honeycomb. There, by the half-melted altar of Zalroth's rites, a faint light flickered.
A dragon knelt before a pool of quicksilver, his claws scribing runes into the liquid surface. The mirror rippled faintly, forming an image, the faint outline of Zalroth's silhouette.
The alchemist dragon, one of Zalroth's surviving artisans left behind after her flight, didn't hear them approach. He muttered hurriedly, his voice a whisper: "My Lady Zalroth, the scaleless one marches. His host swells. He prepares to invade the Thunderstones."
"Good," a chuckle came from the mirror, "let him come. There is a trap waiting for him. The Thunderlord and I will be working together to see to his destruction."
Listening as the dragon revealed the composition of his forces and their general plans, Artorius stayed hidden in the shadows until the dragon was done and the connection was cut. Ouroboros lunged before he could make his get away.
The serpent's tail snapped around the alchemist's throat with serpentine precision. The dragon choked and thrashed, acid dripping from his maw, but Ouroboros squeezed tighter until the air left his lungs. "Caught mid-scheme," Ouroboros murmured with relish. "You really need to up your game!"
Artorius stepped closer, his shadow falling across the bound dragon. "So," he said quietly. "You were a spy after all, Vurnath?"
The captive's voice rasped. "Y-you cannot stop it. Raijin waits in the north. Zalroth comes through the south from behind you. They will crush you between storm and poison."
Artorius' expression did not change. "They'll find I'm harder to crush than I appear," he said as sent a karate chop to its neck knocking it out for good.
Ouroboros' laughter hissed through the chamber, low and delighted. "Oh, delicious. They think you the fool walking into their jaws."
Artorius smiled faintly, a sharp, knowing smile. "Let them think it. We will overturn the whole board." Picking up the knocked out dragon Artorius ordered, "Summon the council."
-
They gathered beneath the black tent that crowned the heart of his camp. The jungle hummed around them, cicadas clicking like clockwork, acid rain hissing against the shields propped outside.
Artorius stood before a map drawn on stretched hide, rivers and mountains rendered in glowing sigil ink. His finger traced the Thunderstone, jagged ridges rising from the north like the spine of a god.
"Zalroth and Raijin believe they have the advantage of terrain," he said. "They're wrong. Raijin commands the storms, he'll want to fight in the open air, to let lightning favor his wings. Zalroth, however, will move through the lower ridges. She will be cautious, acid and thunder are poor bedfellows. She'll wait until my army commits before striking."
He looked to Kelthar. "We still have the mist generator?"
The water dragon nodded. "It should be repaired, refined. Once activated, it can blanket an entire valley in enchanted fog for three days. It'll mask sound, scent, even aura. Perfect for ambush."
Artorius nodded once. "Then that's our answer. We strike first but not at thunder. The serpent dies before the storm arrives."
Taelrin grinned, slamming his hammer down into the soil. "We march on the Thunderstones, draw their eyes to the front. The serpent will think we're occupied, that's when we gut her from the mist."
"Exactly," said Artorius. "Our cavalry rides ahead, fast, and visible. They'll engage Raijin's forces and make him think the battle's begun. Meanwhile, our main force, the infantry, archers, and scouts will circle through the southern ridges under cover of fog. The acid army will walk into our trap before it realizes it's alone."
Ouroboros' voice purred. "A serpent caught in its own coils. Fitting."
"Prepare the generator," Artorius ordered. "We move at dawn."
When morning came, the jungle trembled under the sound of wings.
Six hundred dragons rose as one, a living storm of scales and steel. The cavalry, sleek dragons beasts armored in black steel took the lead, lances gleaming. The Black Dread soared above them, mighty and terrible, his wings eclipsing the light. Behind, the infantry and archers moved in disciplined formation, banners snapping in the toxic wind.
As they left the Toxic Jungle behind, the air began to change. The ground hardened, the green rot giving way to dark stone and crackling glass. The first peaks of the Thunderstones loomed ahead, mountains wreathed in perpetual lightning, their slopes carved by rivers of magnetized metal. Thunder rolled constantly, echoing like a heartbeat.
The mist generator pulsed faintly at the center of the formation, carried on the back of an armored drake. With every beat, tendrils of fog spilled forth, at first wisps, then clouds, until the world itself seemed to vanish behind a white veil.
Ouroboros lifted his head, tasting the air. "Perfect," he hissed. "They'll never see us coming."
"Good," he said, then turning to his cavalry and the Black Dread he commanded. "Go on ahead, we will join you once we deal with this thorn in our side. Keep our enemy busy, don't fully engage them, just keep them busy and tied up for us."
"It will be done," the Black Dread nodded his head as he and the cavalry rode on ahead to face the Thunder dragon.
-
Emerging from the Toxic Jungle, Zalroth stretched her wings, letting the thick humidity of her hideout slip from her feathers. It had been great thinking on her part to create several backup bases if ever her home fell.
The scent of decaying flora clung to her, but it no longer mattered, her prey was on the move. Her scouts had returned hours earlier, breathless and wide-eyed. "My lady," one had said, bowing low, "the scaleless one marches through the Thunderstone biome."
"Good, we have him were we wanted," the acid dragon smiled wickedly however she paused when she noticed the scout swallow nervously. "What its it? Spill it!"
"My lady," he added, unsure if he wanted to be here when he spoke these next words, "The pyramid… your sanctuary… It's gone. Burned. The scaleless one's fire rained from the skies. Nothing remains but glass and stone." He bowed so low his snout scraped the stones.
For a heartbeat, there was silence, a silence so deep the air itself seemed to recoil. Then Zalroth's aura flared. Acid steamed off her feathers in torrents, hissing across the ground. "He dares," she snarled, every syllable cracking the air. "He dares defile what was mine."
The scout quailed, trembling, but she did not look at him again. Instead, she spread her wings wide, the stormlight reflecting in every venom-slick feather. "March!" she roared to her troops. "We burn his bones where he stands!"
And so, when the fog began to thicken, when the world dimmed into that unnatural stillness, she was already half-blind with fury, the perfect prey for the ambush waiting ahead for her.
She followed, creeping out of the jungle's twisted shadows and into the jagged valleys of the Thunderstones. Every step brought her farther from the warmth and life she thrived in, and deeper into the cold, fractured land of stone and storm.
Her feathers glistened with condensation, every scale sharp under the diffuse gray light. Around her, her army moved with uneasy precision: acid drakes skittering at the edges, translucent serpents coiling through fissures, and hydras trailing streams of steaming venom. The terrain grated against her instincts, too cold, too jagged, too alive with electricity rather than sweltering heat.
"Report," she hissed, the rage in her seething as she spat acid at anything that moved, her voice cutting through the mist like acid. A scout descended from a high ridge, wings fluttering. "Still no word from the messenger, my lady. Raijin's host will soon be in position but they take their time."
Zalroth's tail lashed, droplets of acid sizzling where they struck the stone. "He delays," she muttered, voice low and sharp. "The thunder fool plays at arrogance. No matter. When the scaleless one dies, I will not need him."
Yet her attention was drawn elsewhere. The fog thickened around them, coiling unnaturally, hiding shapes and shadows where none should exist. Even her own reflection shimmered on a shallow pool beside her, doubled, distorted. "This fog…" she murmured, a flicker of unease crossing her face. "It is not storm-born."
Then came the whisper, not sound, but movement. Something vast and deliberate shifting in the haze. "Shields!" she snapped. But the warning came too late. The mist surged, swallowing her vision, and the first wave of the unseen army struck.
Shadows moved through the haze as her army struggled to form ranks, their bodies weaving together in serpentine patterns of war. And then the drums began. "Strike now," a command echoed faintly, carried through the fog like the whisper of a war god. The world exploded.
The first volley came from the sky, arrows laced with explosive flame, and runic lightning tore into Zalroth's ranks, embedding into scales and soft tissue before bursting. The acidic drakes shrieked, their own bile boiling from the sudden surge of heat. Her formation wavered, hissing in confusion, wings beating to dispel the mist but it only grew denser.
"Fire into the fog!" Zalroth roared, her throat glowing as she unleashed a torrent of acid. The acidic vapor seared across the valley, melting rock and turning the nearest flora into bubbling sludge.
A rumble passed through the ground beneath her talons. Then came the charge. Shapes burst from the mist, dark figures clad in warped steel, eyes glowing faintly beneath helmets fashioned in the likeness of dragons. The front line struck with brutal precision, Artorius' infantry. Spears drove forward, shields slammed in formation, their armor sealed tight to resist her acidic breath. They hit the front ranks of Zalroth's drakes like a hammer striking glass, cutting through them in disciplined, practiced waves.
From above, shadows swept through the fog, the winged archers led by Gryssira. Their arrows fell in silent, glowing arcs, each shot guided by well honed instinct. For every hiss of acid that cut the air, three more of Zalroth's soldiers fell. The fog hid the attackers perfectly; the acid dragons struck only at ghosts.
Zalroth's fury boiled. "You dare hide from me?!" she screamed, spreading her wings wide. The thunder overhead rolled, but even the storm seemed distant, muffled by the choking mist.
She inhaled deeply, drawing in the toxins of her Word of Power that spilled from her lungs, and unleashed her full breath. Acid cascaded in a fan of emerald death, dissolving trees, rock, and soldiers alike
Ouroboros' laughter slithered through the haze, disembodied. Zalroth's heart stuttered. She turned, searching for the source of the voice but then came another impact, stronger than before. From the cliffs above, massive stones, coated in alchemical tar, fell among her army, detonating with deafening roars.
Still, her warriors fought. The hydras at her rear broke through the infantry, their multiple heads snapping and spitting boiling venom. For a moment, it looked as if the tide might shift but then the earth beneath them erupted. A shape tore through the fog with scales of blue and green, the water Lindwurm.
He called upon his water to heal the wounded soldiers then descended upon the hydras like an avalanche of death and fury. One clawed swipe tore a head free; his breath, pressurized water, reduced another to bones. The hydras scattered, their acidic blood hissing uselessly against his armored hide.
Zalroth's wings flared wide, her body coiling, fury igniting her veins. She leapt forward, rising above the chaos. "Face me!" she screamed. "Scaleless wretch! Come claim your prize if you dare!"
The fog parted before her words. Artorius stepped through it, calm as still water, his harness reflecting both the lightning of the Thunderstones and the emerald gleam of her breath. Ouroboros coiled around his shoulder, tongue flicking with amusement. Peering at her closely he let the system reveal her information; [Noble Feather Serpent — Level 26]
"Zalroth," Artorius said, voice even. "You should have stayed hidden."
She hissed, acid dripping from her fangs. "You desecrate my home, my lands and you tell me to hide?"
"This is the way of the Nest," he replied. His eyes narrowed, the mist swirling around him like breath. "Now you'll learn its final lesson."
She didn't wait. Her tail lashed, spitting acid shards that hissed through the air like bullets. Artorius moved, flowing around every motion with a ripple of anticipation. The acid splashed across his enchanted plate, hissing, but failing to penetrate. In the same instant, he raised his hand and spoke a word. "Crystal!"
Wind cracked like a whip. The air condensed into a spear of crystal, striking her mid-wing. The blow sent her reeling, scales scattering in a mist of acid. She roared, retaliating with a beam of molten bile that melted a ridge in half, forcing him to leap aside.
They clashed again and again, Artorius moving with inhuman precision, his reflexes sharpened by the Trial of Swiftness, his strikes guided by draconic instinct. Zalroth fought like a storm of poison and fury, her wings cutting the air, her claws flashing like green lightning. Each impact shook the valley.
She tried to crush him under her tail, but he caught it, his hand glowing with the Power of Flame before he twisted, dragging her off balance. Her head swung low, fangs snapping toward his face. He drove his lance upward in the same instant.
Steel met scale. The tip pierced beneath her jaw, driving through cartilage and muscle until the blade erupted from the back of her skull. The shock froze her body mid-motion, her wings spasming, acid spilling uselessly onto the stones.
For a heartbeat, the valley was silent. Then she collapsed. The battle was over before it began as he got a lucky blow in. Her body hit the earth with a thunderous crack, sending ripples through the fog. Acid poured from her wounds, hissing and steaming, pooling around her fallen form. You have slain:[Noble Feather Serpent — Level 26]
Congratulations! You have leveled up. Race: [True-Blood DragonMen] → Lv. 17
Stat gains: +1 STR, +1 DEX, +1 CON, +1 PER, +1 CHA
Artorius stood over her, chest rising and falling, his armor streaked with green. Ouroboros slithered down his arm, coiling over the dead serpent's eye. "Well," the serpent whispered. "That was almost merciful."
Artorius didn't answer. His gaze lingered on her face on the faint shimmer of intelligence that still flickered there even in death. This was a powerful lesson, even the mighty can fall. He turned away, signaling to his soldiers as the fog began to thin. The battlefield stretched before him smoking, ruined, littered with corpses that glowed faintly green in the stormlight. The air reeked of ozone and venom.
Then a crawling heaviness pressed down from above, as if the sky itself exhaled in disapproval. The fog halted mid-drift. The acid pools stilled. Artorius along with everyone else paused, sensing something immense. A presence had turned its gaze toward the valley.
Worse yet it began to smell, a thousand chemical signatures colliding at once. Metal. Acid. Ether. Burnt sugar. Ozone. Alkali. The scents layered in impossible combinations, each one reacting against the next.
Looking at the world react violently to the presence, gas thickened into liquid. Liquid crystalized in the span of a heartbeat. Solid shapes evaporated into vapor without heat. Colors warped like prisms caught in a chemical hallucination and within that distortion, a silhouette formed.
A colossal serpent made of shifting phases of matter: feathers that sublimated into smoke, scales that crystallized then dissolved, a body flickering between fluidity and sharp, angular geometry. Where wings should have been, plumes of vapor spiraled with violent elegance.
Her eyes were the worst, two churning vortices of reactions cycling faster than thought. Then the System whispered with clinical detachment: [The Chemical Feathered Serpent ??? is displeased with you!]
And just like that, she was gone. Not vanished unmade, reverting to formlessness, like a reaction that refused to complete. Artorius let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
The acid host was broken once they saw their mistress fallen. Ouroboros tilted his head, forked tongue tasting the air. "Don't consume her?"
Artorius looked up at him wondering why and even asked that, "Why?"
"Her path doesn't fit you. You will just mix-up and dilute your build."
Artorius could see his point, the word she carried of Acid really did not suit him. His eyes drifted toward the horizon, where lightning split the distant peaks. "But Kelthar might."
The water lindwurm, standing among the wounded, raised his gaze at the mention of his name. Artorius gestured toward the corpse. "Take her heart and consume her soul. Learn from it if you can. I want you to improve your offensive ability!"
The dragon looked shocked that he was offering him his kill, then bowed the faint gleam of gratitude in his eyes. He moved toward Zalroth's corpse, the mist swirling as he began the ritual. The other soldiers stood back, watching as he pierced her chest and drew out the still-warm heart, its glow pulsing faintly between his claws.
Artorius turned away, the thunder rolling in the distance. "One lord down," Ouroboros murmured, voice curling like smoke. "And one more waiting in the storm."
Artorius' expression hardened. "Raijin." He looked up toward the peaks where the lightning danced, and the storm seemed to answer his gaze with a growl of thunder. "Get ready to move out in five," he shouted at his men. It was time to get this over with.