The wind screamed like a dying beast.
Atlas barely had time to process the scale of the attack—hundreds of fire dragons descending upon Berkimhum's capital like a storm forged in hellfire. Their wings churned the air into chaos, and their roars shook the city to its bones.
He rode atop one of them now—a massive crimson beast with obsidian talons and molten veins pulsing beneath translucent scales. Its breath was hot enough to melt steel. Its muscles coiled like living thunder.
But no matter how many he killed, their attention was still fixed on the city—and they were getting closer
The song ended.
And then, as if by some divine cue, the dragons moved.
Not with grace.
Not with war cries.
With surrender.
They tilted forward midair—hundreds of them—and let gravity carry them like falling stars toward the fractured dome below.
Atlas lurched forward, voice torn from his throat: "NO!"
But it was already happening.
One dragon. Then five. Then fifty.
'Impact.'
