On the far side, the bridge vanished into an eerie, swirling mist—dense, unnatural, and impenetrable. It cloaked everything beyond in an ominous veil, concealing whatever secrets or horrors lay ahead.
Yet even as they stood at the edge, others in the distance were already fantasizing—believing that beyond the mist lay riches unimaginable, treasures capable of rewriting their fate.
But when Drakion beheld what loomed before him within that mist—his heart froze.
A flicker of raw, dreadful emotion passed through his eyes.
He was shocked... and devastated—utterly—by what he saw. To the extent that his heart felt as though it were weeping blood.
Skeletons and remains of golden dragon bones lay scattered all around. They couldn’t see the end of them from where they stood. The ground itself was soaked in the blood of dragons—dyed in golden red, casting a haunting, eerie glow over the entire scene.
Drakion didn’t know when the sorrow tore from his throat—a mournful, thunderous Draconic roar—as he could hear the wails of the fallen dragons. Their cries echoed through the land like the sound of blood weeping from shattered souls, and it made Drakion’s heart bleed with fury.
A thirst for vengeance ignited within him, searing hot and relentless. His eyes turned cold, their depths swirling with wrath as killing intent surged from his core, yearning to annihilate any who dared desecrate this sacred ground.
"Drakion, snap out of it!"
Drax’s voice rang in his head like a sudden clash of thunder.
"Don’t let it control you—snap out of it right now!"
Drakion felt a sharp jolt at the back of his head, as though struck by something invisible—and then, everything began to clear.
The crushing grief slowly ebbed, though its echo still lingered. The thick haze of murderous intent dissipated from his heart, leaving behind clarity... and a heavy silence.
"What... happened?" Drakion asked, rubbing the back of his head. He looked again at the corpses and dragon bones—they were still there, unchanged—but they no longer drew out the same heart-wrenching sorrow he had felt moments before.
Even so, a dull sadness remained—deep and aching—as he wondered how the once-mighty Dragon Clan could have been butchered so mercilessly.
"It seems the enemy’s power still lingers here," Drax sighed within his mind. "It’s provoking that scene within you."
At those words, Drakion’s eyes narrowed.
How powerful must the enemy have been... if even their remnants could stir such chaos in the heart?
As he pondered this, a realization struck him like lightning.
"If I was nearly consumed by it... what about the others?"
Drakion spun around—and froze.
The members of the Vorr Clan stood behind him, their eyes glowing crimson, overflowing with bloodlust and unquenchable rage. The aura of revenge radiated from them like a tidal wave.
"You guys—snap out of it!" Drakion called out urgently.
But there was no response.
Only the sound of scales unfurling, bones reshaping, and claws emerging.
In the next heartbeat, they all transformed into their dragon forms—feral, driven by madness.
"What now?" Drakion asked Drax, his voice low with tension. If Drax had saved him from the jaws of that influence, surely he had a solution.
"Well... I hit your head," Drax replied nonchalantly, appearing beside Drakion with a shrug. "Maybe you should try hitting theirs too."
Drakion blinked. "Seriously?"
Was that really going to work?
"I never thought I’d have to do this... to my own clan," he muttered, then clenched his fists and sprang into action.
"Devouring Art: Devourer Void Step!"
With a blur of darkness, Drakion vanished and reappeared in front of Lizzy, who had taken the form of a blood dragon—her scales glistening with a dangerous crimson sheen.
She roared as she saw him, lashing out with her massive claws. Drakion dodged swiftly, ghosting past her strike, and in the same motion, appeared beside her head—delivering a clean punch to her temple.
Lizzy staggered in her dragon form, her head shaking as if dazed.
"Well... did it work?" Drakion muttered, still floating in the air as he glanced back between battling the others.
But what he saw made his heart sink.
Lizzy’s eyes were still blood-red. The killing intent still burned in her gaze.
"It didn’t work, you see," Drakion snorted.
"Yes, I can see," Drax snorted back with equal disdain.
"Well... maybe you should try using your Emperor Draconic Aura—hit them with your fist," Drax suggested calmly.
"How do I do that?" Drakion asked, a frown creasing his brow.
"That would require your Draconic form—only then will you have full access to your dragon soul," Drax replied.
Drakion sighed heavily at the thought.
"I never thought I’d transform into a dragon just to fight my own clan members..."
"Draconic Art: Draconic Transformation!"
Drakion’s body began to swell, a storm of energy spiraling around him as his Draconic features erupted outward. In the next breath, the man was gone—replaced by an obsidian-black dragon with eyes of molten gold. His wings unfurled with a crack of thunder, stretching over twenty meters wide, while his serpentine body extended fifteen meters in length.
He radiated an unspeakable, abyssal aura—one that devoured all it touched. It was as though an insatiable star had taken form, consuming the very light and essence of the world around it.
Though his eyes gleamed with golden majesty, they bore the weight of a righteous emperor’s will. Yet deep within those radiant orbs, a terrifying devouring force churned endlessly—one that whispered of oblivion. This was not the energy of mere royalty or dominion.
It was the echo of the Progenitor of all Dragons.
Within his very essence, elements coiled and clashed—thunder, fire, ice, sword, blood, and death—swirling in chaotic harmony at the core of his being.
Drakion didn’t know why... but ever since he had seen the Progenitor, he felt it—his aura no longer resembled that of a dragon emperor. It surpassed it.
"Wow... are those living dragons?"
"I never thought there would be so many here..."
"Look at that black one—it’s terrifying."
Drakion blinked, startled by the sudden voices. He turned his gaze toward the bridge—and was stunned.
They stood there, watching him with awe and fear, and Drakion’s mind reeled.
How... how did they get here?
And just like that, he felt it again.
Brother Misfortune had paid him another visit.
Why, of all moments, were they able now to cross the bridge?