CHAPTER 66 – BOMBS OVER THE WALLS
JOHNNY WOLVESBANE
Explosions echoed relentlessly, each one a stark reminder of the peril facing Scrap Town. Like clockwork, every few minutes, artillery fireballs descended from the sky, wreaking havoc on various parts of the town. The streets teemed with dragonoids, their panicked eyes reflecting the flames and chaos around them. With each bomb's impact, shards of metal flew, scattering across the once-familiar terrain.
The devastation painted a grim picture: a scene of unparalleled chaos and destruction. It felt as if the very essence of hell had manifested on these streets.
"What could possibly be their motive for targeting this place?" Captain Kevin's voice was filled with frustration as he pounded his fist against the metro entrance wall. "Scrap Town holds no strategic value for the Empire of Alterra. Why unleash such havoc on these slums?"
Indeed, Scrap Town offered little strategic significance, making the relentless assault puzzling. It seemed less like a strategic maneuver and more like a ruthless raid, intent on destruction and devastation.
"Captain," a dragonoid soldier interjected, urgency evident in his voice, "what's our next move?"
"We need to get the civilians to safety, underground," Captain Kevin declared, determination setting his jaw. "Initiate the evacuation immediately!"
"Understood, Captain!" The dragonoid soldiers responded with a crisp salute before dispersing to carry out their orders.
Upon Captain Kevin's directive, the dragonoid soldiers swiftly organized themselves, guiding the frantic residents of Scrap Town toward the safety of the underground metro. Even Meike joined the effort, her presence a beacon of assurance amid the chaos.
"Members of the Airstrike Squad, assume your dragon forms and neutralize those airborne threats!" Captain Kevin's voice resonated with authority.
"Understood, Captain!" The soldiers responded in unison, saluting sharply.
In an instant, a radiant crimson light emanated from the Cathedral Exa's bell tower, enveloping the dragonoids. This luminescence bore the essence of the Dragon Lord Commandment. As the light embraced them, the dragonoids underwent a breathtaking transformation, morphing into majestic dragons spanning seven meters in height. Among them soared Feather Dragons, Jet Dragons, Balloon Dragons, and even Harpy Dragons, each a testament to their unique lineage.
With powerful wingbeats, the dragons ascended, aiming to confront the human jets menacing the town. Yet, before they could close the distance, a devastating barrage of Lightning Arrows, a specialized anti-air spell, surged from the skies. Explosions of lightning engulfed the dragons, sending them plummeting earthward, their majestic forms reduced to lifeless husks.
The loss was staggering—twenty-five dragons, gone in an instant. Compounding the tragedy was the mystery of their assailants. If the soldier's earlier intelligence held true, anti-air mages lurked around Scrap Town, poised to strike at any airborne threat with ruthless efficiency.
The situation felt hopeless, a strategic stalemate that rendered our forces powerless against the relentless onslaught from above. Attempting to engage the human bomber jets with our dragons seemed futile, given the lethal prowess of the anti-air human mages awaiting any airborne resistance.
A troubling realization dawned on me: the dragons summoned by the bell tower's Dragon Lord Commandment paled in comparison to those activated by the Vesryn Pulse. These creatures lacked the robust physical and magical defenses necessary to withstand even a single spell.
Frustration boiled within me, manifesting as clenched fists and gritted teeth. Despite my desire to make a stand, I found myself shackled by my own limitations. The dormant Mark of Vesryn mocked me, its power tantalizingly out of reach. In this dire moment, uncertainty clouded my thoughts: What role could I possibly play in this unfolding catastrophe?
Yet, amidst the despair, a spark of determination ignited within me. Weak or not, I remained a Dragon Lord—a title not easily dismissed. Even if reduced to mere dead weight, I refused to yield. After all, even a broken clock manages to be right twice a day.
Gazing toward the western horizon, my eyes settled on the towering walls that encased the slums. Though constructed from aged scrap materials, these thirty-meter concrete barriers still offered a semblance of protection, particularly against ground units of the human empire.
Shifting my focus skyward, I activated my heightened werewolf hearing. The deafening roar of fighter jets had subsided, replaced by an eerie silence punctuated only by the distant hum of engines. Perhaps the jets were refueling or reloading, preparing for another devastating wave of attacks. I observed their contrails, noting a consistent pattern: they approached from the east, executed a sharp U-turn, and retreated in the same direction.
My attention then shifted to Captain Kevin, engrossed in a flurry of communications, his voice a steady stream of directives aimed at mobilizing the remaining dragon forces. Recognizing a potential misstep, I moved swiftly to intercept his communicator.
"Captain Kevin Pirius, I will assume command of your units," I declared, my voice laced with authority.
"Of course, Milord," Kevin responded, his posture immediately deferential as he bowed, offering the communicator in a gesture of submission. “All yours.”
Placing the radio close to my lips, I issued a decisive command. "All units, this is Centurion, the Second Dragon Lord, assuming command effective immediately. Hold your positions on the ground; do not engage in aerial combat."
"Understood, Milord," came the swift response from one soldier.
"Acknowledged, Commander," echoed another.
The immediate compliance from the dragonoid units caught me off guard. Despite my current lack of power, the respect and authority I wielded remained intact. It seemed they still perceived me as their potential savior—a sentiment Meike had sensed from our initial encounter.
A subtle shift in the wind caught my keen werewolf senses. Ears perked, I detected a faint, distant sound originating from the eastern skies, the direction indicated by the lingering contrails. With the bomber planes soaring at an altitude of approximately five thousand meters, any attempt to engage them risked exposing our dragons to the deadly anti-air mages below.
While the enemy's strategy appeared well-crafted, it bore imperfections—gaps that hinted at a flaw in their overarching plan. Instinctively, I sensed that I was contending with a foe unlike any I had previously encountered, introducing a layer of complexity to our unfolding confrontation.
My focus sharpened on defense as I positioned the radio closer to my mouth, addressing the units with precision. "All units, be advised: enemy bomber jets approaching from the east. Transform into dragon forms and hold your ground. I repeat, assume dragon form and hold position."
In a dazzling display, Scrap Town erupted with flashes of crimson light as dragonoid soldiers morphed into their formidable dragon forms. Eyes locked on the eastern horizon, they awaited the first sign of aerial intrusion.
"Maintain formation and detonate airborne threats," I commanded, a confident smile gracing my lips.
Moments later, the ominous silhouettes of approximately twenty bomber jets materialized against the sky, soaring at an intimidating altitude. While the dragons possessed the capability to launch fireballs skyward, the variables of aircraft speed, wind resistance, and the Coriolis effect rendered direct hits improbable. Our strategy pivoted solely to defensive measures.
As the first bombs descended, the dragons unleashed a barrage of fireballs, intercepting the projectiles with deadly accuracy. Explosions erupted midair, transforming potential devastation into a mesmerizing display of pyrotechnics, a testament to our stalwart defense and coordinated efforts.
As subsequent waves of bomber jets approached, the pattern remained consistent: bombs released, dragons intercepting with fiery precision, and the retreat of the assailants. This repeated with the fourth and fifth waves, culminating in the detonation of all airborne threats. The resulting smoke cast a looming shadow over Scrap Town, obscuring visibility and diminishing the bomber jets' accuracy.
This conflict had evolved into a battle of attrition. Our defensive posture effectively neutralized the immediate threat, preventing the human bomber jets from decimating the town. Their finite supply of munitions posed a clear limitation, while the dragons benefited from a seemingly inexhaustible mana supply from the bell tower.
However, the illusion of stability shattered when a deafening explosion resonated from the town's southern sector. My gaze quickly shifted, confirming my fears as I observed a breach in the aging cement wall.
"Milord! The southern wall has been compromised!" A dragonoid soldier urgently relayed the distressing news. "The breach was orchestrated by a lone human mage—an Erudite!"
The emergence of an Erudite, known for their formidable magical prowess, signaled a dangerous escalation. Our defensive strategy faced a new, unpredictable challenge, demanding swift action and strategic adaptability to protect Scrap Town from imminent peril.
CHAPTER 66 – BOMBS OVER THE WALLS
JOHNNY WOLVESBANE
Explosions echoed relentlessly, each one a stark reminder of the peril facing Scrap Town. Like clockwork, every few minutes, artillery fireballs descended from the sky, wreaking havoc on various parts of the town. The streets teemed with dragonoids, their panicked eyes reflecting the flames and chaos around them. With each bomb's impact, shards of metal flew, scattering across the once-familiar terrain.
The devastation painted a grim picture: a scene of unparalleled chaos and destruction. It felt as if the very essence of hell had manifested on these streets.
"What could possibly be their motive for targeting this place?" Captain Kevin's voice was filled with frustration as he pounded his fist against the metro entrance wall. "Scrap Town holds no strategic value for the Empire of Alterra. Why unleash such havoc on these slums?"
Indeed, Scrap Town offered little strategic significance, making the relentless assault puzzling. It seemed less like a strategic maneuver and more like a ruthless raid, intent on destruction and devastation.
"Captain," a dragonoid soldier interjected, urgency evident in his voice, "what's our next move?"
"We need to get the civilians to safety, underground," Captain Kevin declared, determination setting his jaw. "Initiate the evacuation immediately!"
"Understood, Captain!" The dragonoid soldiers responded with a crisp salute before dispersing to carry out their orders.
Upon Captain Kevin's directive, the dragonoid soldiers swiftly organized themselves, guiding the frantic residents of Scrap Town toward the safety of the underground metro. Even Meike joined the effort, her presence a beacon of assurance amid the chaos.
"Members of the Airstrike Squad, assume your dragon forms and neutralize those airborne threats!" Captain Kevin's voice resonated with authority.
"Understood, Captain!" The soldiers responded in unison, saluting sharply.
In an instant, a radiant crimson light emanated from the Cathedral Exa's bell tower, enveloping the dragonoids. This luminescence bore the essence of the Dragon Lord Commandment. As the light embraced them, the dragonoids underwent a breathtaking transformation, morphing into majestic dragons spanning seven meters in height. Among them soared Feather Dragons, Jet Dragons, Balloon Dragons, and even Harpy Dragons, each a testament to their unique lineage.
With powerful wingbeats, the dragons ascended, aiming to confront the human jets menacing the town. Yet, before they could close the distance, a devastating barrage of Lightning Arrows, a specialized anti-air spell, surged from the skies. Explosions of lightning engulfed the dragons, sending them plummeting earthward, their majestic forms reduced to lifeless husks.
The loss was staggering—twenty-five dragons, gone in an instant. Compounding the tragedy was the mystery of their assailants. If the soldier's earlier intelligence held true, anti-air mages lurked around Scrap Town, poised to strike at any airborne threat with ruthless efficiency.
The situation felt hopeless, a strategic stalemate that rendered our forces powerless against the relentless onslaught from above. Attempting to engage the human bomber jets with our dragons seemed futile, given the lethal prowess of the anti-air human mages awaiting any airborne resistance.
A troubling realization dawned on me: the dragons summoned by the bell tower's Dragon Lord Commandment paled in comparison to those activated by the Vesryn Pulse. These creatures lacked the robust physical and magical defenses necessary to withstand even a single spell.
Frustration boiled within me, manifesting as clenched fists and gritted teeth. Despite my desire to make a stand, I found myself shackled by my own limitations. The dormant Mark of Vesryn mocked me, its power tantalizingly out of reach. In this dire moment, uncertainty clouded my thoughts: What role could I possibly play in this unfolding catastrophe?
Yet, amidst the despair, a spark of determination ignited within me. Weak or not, I remained a Dragon Lord—a title not easily dismissed. Even if reduced to mere dead weight, I refused to yield. After all, even a broken clock manages to be right twice a day.
Gazing toward the western horizon, my eyes settled on the towering walls that encased the slums. Though constructed from aged scrap materials, these thirty-meter concrete barriers still offered a semblance of protection, particularly against ground units of the human empire.
Shifting my focus skyward, I activated my heightened werewolf hearing. The deafening roar of fighter jets had subsided, replaced by an eerie silence punctuated only by the distant hum of engines. Perhaps the jets were refueling or reloading, preparing for another devastating wave of attacks. I observed their contrails, noting a consistent pattern: they approached from the east, executed a sharp U-turn, and retreated in the same direction.
My attention then shifted to Captain Kevin, engrossed in a flurry of communications, his voice a steady stream of directives aimed at mobilizing the remaining dragon forces. Recognizing a potential misstep, I moved swiftly to intercept his communicator.
"Captain Kevin Pirius, I will assume command of your units," I declared, my voice laced with authority.
"Of course, Milord," Kevin responded, his posture immediately deferential as he bowed, offering the communicator in a gesture of submission. “All yours.”
Placing the radio close to my lips, I issued a decisive command. "All units, this is Centurion, the Second Dragon Lord, assuming command effective immediately. Hold your positions on the ground; do not engage in aerial combat."
"Understood, Milord," came the swift response from one soldier.
"Acknowledged, Commander," echoed another.
The immediate compliance from the dragonoid units caught me off guard. Despite my current lack of power, the respect and authority I wielded remained intact. It seemed they still perceived me as their potential savior—a sentiment Meike had sensed from our initial encounter.
A subtle shift in the wind caught my keen werewolf senses. Ears perked, I detected a faint, distant sound originating from the eastern skies, the direction indicated by the lingering contrails. With the bomber planes soaring at an altitude of approximately five thousand meters, any attempt to engage them risked exposing our dragons to the deadly anti-air mages below.
While the enemy's strategy appeared well-crafted, it bore imperfections—gaps that hinted at a flaw in their overarching plan. Instinctively, I sensed that I was contending with a foe unlike any I had previously encountered, introducing a layer of complexity to our unfolding confrontation.
My focus sharpened on defense as I positioned the radio closer to my mouth, addressing the units with precision. "All units, be advised: enemy bomber jets approaching from the east. Transform into dragon forms and hold your ground. I repeat, assume dragon form and hold position."
In a dazzling display, Scrap Town erupted with flashes of crimson light as dragonoid soldiers morphed into their formidable dragon forms. Eyes locked on the eastern horizon, they awaited the first sign of aerial intrusion.
"Maintain formation and detonate airborne threats," I commanded, a confident smile gracing my lips.
Moments later, the ominous silhouettes of approximately twenty bomber jets materialized against the sky, soaring at an intimidating altitude. While the dragons possessed the capability to launch fireballs skyward, the variables of aircraft speed, wind resistance, and the Coriolis effect rendered direct hits improbable. Our strategy pivoted solely to defensive measures.
As the first bombs descended, the dragons unleashed a barrage of fireballs, intercepting the projectiles with deadly accuracy. Explosions erupted midair, transforming potential devastation into a mesmerizing display of pyrotechnics, a testament to our stalwart defense and coordinated efforts.
As subsequent waves of bomber jets approached, the pattern remained consistent: bombs released, dragons intercepting with fiery precision, and the retreat of the assailants. This repeated with the fourth and fifth waves, culminating in the detonation of all airborne threats. The resulting smoke cast a looming shadow over Scrap Town, obscuring visibility and diminishing the bomber jets' accuracy.
This conflict had evolved into a battle of attrition. Our defensive posture effectively neutralized the immediate threat, preventing the human bomber jets from decimating the town. Their finite supply of munitions posed a clear limitation, while the dragons benefited from a seemingly inexhaustible mana supply from the bell tower.
However, the illusion of stability shattered when a deafening explosion resonated from the town's southern sector. My gaze quickly shifted, confirming my fears as I observed a breach in the aging cement wall.
"Milord! The southern wall has been compromised!" A dragonoid soldier urgently relayed the distressing news. "The breach was orchestrated by a lone human mage—an Erudite!"
The emergence of an Erudite, known for their formidable magical prowess, signaled a dangerous escalation. Our defensive strategy faced a new, unpredictable challenge, demanding swift action and strategic adaptability to protect Scrap Town from imminent peril.
