69novels Page 164
Page 164
A colossal necromantic array unfolded in the central plaza of Hellgate Fortress. Runes symbolizing death were inscribed at the center of the array, while the wails of countless vengeful spirits surrounded its edges. All the demons that stepped into the array's range, who should have no natural lifespan limit, began to age uncontrollably. Their chaotic power, originating from the abyss, was being frantically drained by the death array, much like the life force of beings in the prime material world.
Cyric's spellcasting did not stop; the power of the Limit of Wishes spread like ripples, causing all hostile demons to lose their ability to teleport and escape, turning the entire Hellgate into a giant prison.
Another group spell was released, and the power of all the demons within range was rapidly draining away, as if their bodies were being hollowed out by an invisible hand.
Next, a torrential downpour of instant-death spells specifically designed to kill living beings poured down, instantly turning the weaker demons into skeletons.
Finally, there was the attack on the mind; the powerful mental shockwave plunged the remaining demons into even greater chaos and panic.
Cyric rampaged through the demon army like a husky charging into a pile of chicks. The six-armed serpent demons and the Balor fire demons—those high-ranking demons who were incredibly powerful in the eyes of mortals—were no match for the elderly lost dragon, whose power was fully unleashed.
A Balrog attempted to attack Cyrek with its decapitation sword, but was easily seized by the Lost Dragon's claws. Corroded by the power of death, the once majestic Balrog instantly turned to burning dust, without even a chance to resist.
The six-armed serpent demons attempted to besiege Cyric, but were instantly killed the moment they got close by the death aura surrounding the Lost Dragon. Their prized martial arts and magic were utterly useless in the face of such overwhelming power.
"You said," Lyra Silverhand suddenly spoke, her voice filled with a strange anticipation, "that if Cyric keeps causing trouble like this, maybe he can help us take care of the Abyss Lord...?" (The rest of the text appears to be gibberish and unrelated to the preceding sentences.)
The idea stunned everyone. They looked at the youngest of the seven sisters with a mixture of shock, confusion, and disbelief.
Lyra realized her words were somewhat inappropriate, and her cheeks flushed slightly: "I mean... if Cyric could really deal with those three Abyss Lords, wouldn't our problem be solved?"
Casalos did not respond to Leila's question.
A desolate and ancient aura, like the cold desolation of fate itself, began to swirl around the iron dragon. It was a sense of existence that transcended mortal comprehension, as if the river of time had stood still at this moment, and the workings of all things were waiting for the revelation of some prophecy.
The chaos composed of the four basic elements manifested in Casalos's dragon eyes—the passion of fire, the changes of water, the resilience of the land, and the freedom of the wind. They merged, collided, annihilated, and were reborn deep within those indigo vertical pupils, forming a miniature world origin.
The dim, daylight-shielded glow emanating from beneath the steel scales now shone as brilliantly as a Bejuri gem. Each scale seemed to carry an independent destiny, together weaving a vast network spanning the past, present, and future.
Infected by this calming aura stemming from "fate," the group, who had been discussing, gradually fell silent. They could feel the awe emanating from the depths of their souls, an instinctive reaction when facing fate itself.
In everyone's perception, this was Casarosz using the power of the Dragon God of Destiny, Chronips, to deduce some complex events that even he couldn't directly understand. As a favored one of the Dragon God of Destiny, the Iron Dragon possessed the ability to peer into the river of destiny, but the use of this ability obviously came at a huge price—at least that's what the propaganda said, and no one would actually come to Casarosz to verify such a thing.
Elminster involuntarily held his breath. He had seen far too many powerful spells, but even he was deeply shaken by this near-divine power. Kelburn and Elasdra exchanged glances, their eyes filled with awe for the unknown. Even the usually unruly Storm Silverhand fell silent, his silver eyes fixed intently on the iron dragon that was "prophesying."
Time seemed to have passed for a long time, yet it also felt like it had only been a moment.
"If we wait any longer, we'll be in big trouble..."
After a long while, the ancient aura of destiny emanating from Casalos began to slowly fade, replaced by the vibrant and life-filled aura of a young dragon compared to that of an ancient destiny. Although this aura, like Casalos's mouth, was disliked by Elminster and the others, at least the oppressive feeling that affected their souls was gone, making them all feel much more relaxed.
Elasdra was the first to speak, asking, "What do you mean? Will Cyrek pose a threat to us?"
"I think I know what happened." Casalos's voice regained its usual rationality and calmness, but his tone was unusually grave. "Regardless of who pulled Cyrek from the River Styx and transformed it into its current form, it's not a normal lost dragon."
It paused, allowing the information to process in everyone's minds, before continuing, "It has an inseparable connection to the River Styx, yet it is anchored to the Prime Material Plane and is not considered an otherworldly being. However, the Prime Material Plane lacks the foundation to sustain its existence and power."
Elminster frowned. "You mean to say that its current state is unstable?"
"It's not just unstable," Casalos shook the massive dragon head, "it can only prey on things that have been touched by the waters of the River Styx to obtain 'nourishment' to sustain itself, maintain its existence, or continue to grow and develop. And this predation is compulsory—if it cannot continuously obtain this 'nourishment,' it will gradually weaken and eventually disappear."
Suddenly, something dawned on Elminster's face, and a look of realization dawned on his aged features: "The River Styx flows not only through the underworld, but also through the abyss!"
"Exactly," Elasdra continued, a glint of understanding in his silver eyes. "So, these demons have become the most delicious prey for this Death Hunter!"
Casalos nodded, his dragon beak cracking. "This Abyss Gate is a sumptuous buffet for Cyrek! He's not here to cause us trouble, but to hunt!"
Storm Silverhand then realized how wrong his previous judgment had been, and his expression turned somewhat grim: "So it didn't even consider us a threat?"
"To a hungry predator, you 'vegetarians' are certainly not as appealing as those 'feasts'." Casaroz's tone regained its mockery, which relieved everyone slightly—even those who weren't very familiar with Casaroz, like the Lord of the Mist of Elasdra, had studied his personality. Since this iron dragon, who had killed three saints, still had the mood to mock, it meant the situation was still somewhat under control.
But now a problem arises—
Iron Dragon's voice suddenly turned serious: "If we don't stop it, within half an hour at most, it will abnormally enter the next age, becoming an extremely old Lost Dragon. And if any of those three Abyss Lords are accidentally devoured by this mad dragon..."
Casalos didn't finish his sentence, but everyone present understood its meaning. An extremely old lost dragon was terrifying enough, but if you added the power of the Abyss Lord...
Storm Silverhand's silver eyes widened in disbelief as he asked, "You mean, we now have to help the demons fight this mad dragon?"
21. Nothing in this world is ordinary.
"Storm Silverhand, sometimes I really wonder if your skull contains a digestive system!"
Casalos's voice still echoed in the air, its silvery-white metallic scales already whistling as it plummeted downwards. It folded its wings, its massive body like a meteor forged from fine steel, tearing through the rain as it crashed towards Hellgate Fortress. Raindrops struck its scales, instantly evaporating into white mist, leaving a hazy trail behind it.
Iron Dragon didn't care about the reaction of the "little cuties" on the magic ship behind it. It knew those guys' temperament too well—they would definitely catch up.
All attention is now focused on the fortress below, shrouded in an aura of death, where Cyric is feasting. Each demon that dies makes its Styx-derived aura even more profound.
On the walls of Sultanza, the purplish-black protective barrier trembled slightly. Three enormous figures burst forth from the inverted spires.
The fangs' flamboyant thorns stood upright like steel brambles, each one shimmering with arcane light; the Thinker's bronze body gleamed with an ancient luster in the sunlight, and the wind pressure generated when its wings were spread caused the surrounding shadowy bats to scatter in fright; and then there was the Tide Chanter, whose harp undulated like waves, each pluck of its strings echoing the sounds of ancient ocean tides.
"Looks like our little Iron Dragon is going to play the hero again." Shaving's voice carried its usual "sharpness," but his actions showed no hesitation. This Fanged Dragon, which ranked among the top forces in Faerûn with its arcane magic, began to weave complex spell arrays while flying, with one protective barrier after another unfolding around it.
The Thinker, on the other hand, appeared much more composed. Its wise eyes swept across the battlefield: "Cirik's power growth is exceeding expectations. At the current rate of absorption, I think it will break through to the very old age stage in at most twenty minutes."
"Then let's resolve this within twenty minutes." The singer's voice and the melody of the harp intertwined, creating a solemn sound like the beating of drums.
Two bronze dragons, one large and one small, then flew down from the floating city, their war aura and the bards' battle songs enveloping the battlefield.
A loud dragon roar suddenly rang out.
It was just an ordinary dragon's roar, not even particularly loud. On this battlefield, amidst the continuous rain and rumbling thunder, the sound should have been as insignificant as a drop of water in the ocean. However, the moment it rang out, the entire battlefield fell silent.
This was the command issued by the iron dragon. Steel clashed, thunder roared, and lava boiled, like a sharp sword drawn from its sheath, instantly cleaving through the continuous drizzle and sweeping away the oppressive atmosphere that had been pressing down on the clouds.
Behind the steel defense line, the young anaerobic dragons, who were resting, suddenly raised their heads. Their massive bodies, whether lying down or prone, tensed up in an instant, and their silver-white, dark green, and deep blue metallic scales stood up simultaneously, emitting a dense metallic scraping sound.
"Kassaroz's command." The voice of the cobalt dragon Azukmizes was calm and firm, ripples of force spreading across its blue scales. As an athelian dragon that had followed Casalozs for many years, it was already accustomed to this kind of summons without warning.
"Ha! Finally, it's our turn!" The nickel dragon Lanmuyik furiously swung its tail, smashing a nearby boulder to pieces. "We've been holding back for so long, our bones are practically rusting!"
This is an instinct of obedience stemming from the very nature of order. For the Atheros, responding to the call of the Supreme Dragon is as natural as breathing.
There was no hesitation, no questioning, only immediate and perfect execution.
The dragons' reaction, however, carried a different flavor. Their long necks were raised high, emitting a melodious, plaintive harmony. The sounds contained both support for their comrades and trust in their friends. In the years they had fought side-by-side with the Atheros, they had come to regard Casaloz as a leader they could entrust with their mission—a dragon who didn't trust Casaloz wouldn't be here.
The half-dragon legion, however, reacted at the complete opposite. The moment the dragon's roar resounded, a fanatical light blazed in the eyes of these warriors, whose bloodline had been awakened by the power of the dragons. They knelt in unison on one knee, fist to their chest, and roared a deafening cry: "For the Dragon Lord!"
It was a fanatical loyalty bordering on religious. In their hearts, Casaloz was not only a lord, but a god who bestowed power upon them. For this dragon lord, they were willing to go through fire and water without hesitation.
What surprised the allies the most were the ordinary humanoid soldiers in the Deepwater Territory army. They had no dragon blood, no special powers, but when orders were given, they displayed military skills that far exceeded Faerûn's understanding.
Soldiers eating immediately put down their utensils with swift and clean movements; engineers maintaining equipment quickly completed their final checks, tightening every screw to perfection; soldiers resting instantly became alert, as if they had never slept at all. There were no loud shouts, no frantic running; everyone knew what they were supposed to do and where they were supposed to go.
"Two and a half minutes." On the steel defense line, a war mage from Silvermoon City stared incredulously at the exquisite otherworldly pocket watch. "They completed the full mobilization in just two and a half minutes!"
The elven commander of the Knights of Mystron, standing nearby, gasped: "This efficiency... even our most elite knights couldn't achieve it."
"Because they are the real... army," an old dwarf warrior murmured, carefully choosing his words but unable to find a better description: "Not knights who fight for honor, not mercenaries who fight for gold, but... an army."
The steel golems rumbled into motion, their massive metal bodies displaying a mobility disproportionate to their size, propelled by tracks. Dragonvein warlocks had already woven short-range teleportation arrays in mid-air, pale blue arcane light sending troops out of the defensive lines in droves. Astral constructs streaked across the sky like silver meteors, escorting light magical ships carrying troops towards the battlefield.
Meanwhile, on the magic ship.
"They've gone mad! They've all gone mad!" Storm Silverhand, one of the Seven Sisters of the North, the master harpist, and wielder of the Silver Flame, finally reacted, her long silver hair flying wildly in her rage. "Without the cover of a defensive line, leading the troops directly in front of the demons is suicide!"
Her concerns were not unfounded. The ironclad defenses were crucial for the allied forces to withstand the demon army; only by relying on the firepower advantage of the defenses could they fight against thousands. Now, Casalos had suddenly pulled his main force out of the defenses, which was tantamount to voluntarily giving up his greatest advantage.
"The way to stop a predator doesn't necessarily have to help the prey being targeted." The old tree-man Tulang, a chosen one of Sylvanas, the embodiment of a thousand-year-old oak tree, spoke in a calm voice, imbued with the wisdom of time. "In nature, when a predator sets its sights on its prey, what do the other competing predators do?"
The Golden Dragon Druid, Eros Krujipala, Melikay's favorite, one of the guardians of the High Forest, and the future Archdruid of the North, chimed in: "Stealing prey is the most common form of competition."
"You mean..." Elasdra Silverhand, the High Lady of Silvermoon City and one of Mystra's most powerful chosen ones, mused.
"The army of Deepwater Territory isn't going to rescue the demons." Elminster, the wisest of the wise, a legendary mage who had lived for over a thousand years, the most trusted chosen one and lover of the old goddess of magic, stroked his scorched beard, a knowing glint in his aged eyes. "They're going to steal food from Cyric."
This statement stunned everyone. Indeed, for Cyric, who needed to devour demons to maintain and enhance his power, each demon was a precious "food." If the Deepwater army could eliminate most of the demons before it could devour them…
"Harpist's Bard," the Golden Dragon Druid reverted to his golden dragon form, raising his massive head, his green eyes sweeping over Storm Silver Hand, "due to the appearance of that lost dragon, the time has come for a decisive battle!"
Before the words were even finished, the golden dragon leaped off the deck. Its body stretched out in mid-air, and its fin-like, sail-like wings, which snaked along its sides to the tip of its long tail, rippled like waves and shone brightly in the sudden sunlight.
The others didn't hesitate any longer. Elminster waved his hand, and the radiance of a group flight spell enveloped everyone. Kelben Black Staff and Lyra Silverhand exchanged a glance, then leaped hand-in-hand off the deck. Storm, though still burning with rage, knew his limits; a flash of silver sword light, and he transformed into a streak of light, shooting towards the battlefield.
Forel Blackhammer, warrior of Nubien, the Lion God, and lord of the Three Pig Lands, was a general who was supposed to be on duty but was suddenly seized command by Casaloz's dragon roar. He was extremely excited: "Haha! Today I'm going to make history!"
Helm the Dwarf, the shield of the dwarven guardian god Gorm Gushin, the pillar of Sandaba City, followed closely behind, the warhammer "Mountain Collapse" already in his grasp.
The Lord of the Mist stood on the deck of the magic ship, his hands gripping the bulwark as he gazed down at the ever-receding black dots, still unable to make up his mind to jump—from beneath the cloak concealing his true face, a meaningful whisper escaped his lips: "I'm not foolish enough to willingly participate in the games of you chosen gods..."
Meanwhile, Casalos, who was falling rapidly, felt an unprecedented sense of urgency.
The deduction of the pseudo-Laplace's demon continued, with more and more fragments of information piecing together in its consciousness. Every spell Cyric displayed, every ability he used, revealed a terrifying truth: Cyric was no longer the same as before; it carried far too many things that shouldn't exist in Faerûn—even if the traces of those powers were so subtle.
Back at the foot of Deepwater Mountain, Casalos had come into close contact with Jaeger and Shar, and could not possibly forget the aura of these two ancient deities. The Dragon Cult's methods of utilizing negative energy, especially negative energy based on dragon magic, were blatantly directed at Tiamat. However, what unsettled Casalos most was another possibility.
If Tiamat was involved, then her nemesis Bahamut could not possibly remain uninvolved. However, the platinum dragon, who had not yet become "Lord of Justice," was adept at concealing his tracks, especially when it came to such evil deeds; he would never leave any detectable evidence.
Cyric, the lost dragon that should have been just a minor character, may have become a key piece in the power struggle among the gods amidst the turmoil.
In the original timeline, Samaster was the culprit who instigated the final dragon frenzy. But now, with the shift in the timeline, perhaps some god wants to find a different executor? Or perhaps they have other options?
Regardless, Cyric is a more uncontrollable and dangerous executor.
As Hellgate drew ever closer, the vision of Cyric's frenzied devouring of death grew ever clearer. Demons that, even if destroyed, should not have died but merely returned to the abyss, met their end under the influence of its blasphemous power, transforming into pure death that continuously strengthened Cyric's power.
Of course, Casalos was still absolutely confident—it wasn't fighting alone. Behind it was the well-trained army of the Deepwater Territory; beside it were the elite forces of Faerûn; and more importantly, those who followed it, whether willingly or unwillingly, were almost all chosen people of the benevolent gods! (The last sentence appears to be unrelated and possibly a fragment from another context: "Is Mei in the forest? Is Lin Kong in the forest?")
This is its greatest source of confidence in confronting the conspiracy of those evil gods.
22. Monologue
The rain curtain was thick, but it couldn't block out that silvery-white shooting star.
Casalos folded its wings, and its massive body made a dull rumbling sound as it plummeted downwards, a sign that it was approaching the speed of sound.
Raindrops pounded on the vortexes created by the metal scales, evaporating due to the vibrations, then rapidly cooling, leaving a hazy condensation trail behind it. Its indigo vertical pupils were fixed on the fortress below, shrouded in the aura of death—Hellgate Fortress's blasphemous barrier resembled an inverted black bowl, isolating the entire fortress from the outside world.
Through the pseudo-Laplace's Demon's precise calculations, Casalos had located a relatively weak point in the barrier. It was a zone of concentrated "stress" formed by the repulsion between the magic power originating from the abyss and the Faerûn magic network, and also the best location for it to break through.
A deep dragon's voice rolled from its throat, a prayer to the dragon god of fate. But it was not a true prayer—Casaros was never a devout believer. It had long been "spiritually connected" with the dragon gods, and even if it had never seen Chronipus in person, it was probably very close.
This is the self-cultivation of an actor.
The primal power awakens within it.
That is a power older and purer than dragon magic, perhaps originating from the very beginning of creation. The Disintegration may stem from the primordial power and authority that Asgrath bestowed upon the Bejuri Gem Dragon, capable of tearing apart all the established surface rules and order of Faerûn and even the entire multiverse.
The silvery-white scales suddenly burst forth with a grayish-white light, as if they could illuminate the light of destiny that revealed the past and the future, illuminating the true structure of the Hellgate's blasphemous barrier—countless twisted runes intertwined into a net, within which the chaotic power of the abyss flowed like black blood.
Then it suddenly spread its wings, forcibly changing its trajectory when it was still a hundred meters away from the barrier, converting all its kinetic energy into lateral speed. At the same time, primordial power condensed on its forepaws, which it did not usually use for combat, forming an invisible blade.
Stab it!
The moment the dragon claw collided with the barrier, the entire battlefield trembled. The ear-piercing sound, like metal slicing through steel, etched the direct confrontation of two different levels of rules into the souls of every living being on the battlefield. The desecrated barrier, representing the chaos and corruption of the abyss, was instantly negated by the power of the Destiny Dragon God disguised as the force of disintegration.
The black barrier surface rippled violently, like the surface of a lake tossed with a boulder. Around the point of contact, countless fine cracks began to spread, emitting a crisp sound like shattering glass.
"Roar!"
Casalos roared, channeling more primal power into its dragon claws. The cracks rapidly expanded, eventually tearing a gaping hole about ten meters in diameter through the barrier. Although the gap was healing at a visible pace, it was enough for Casalos.
It literally became a bolt of lightning that pierced into the barrier.
The moment they entered, an overwhelming stench of sulfur, so strong it made even dragons nauseous, assaulted their nostrils, mingled with the stench of decay, blood, and death. The air here was polluted by the power of the abyss; every breath felt like inhaling poison.
But Casalos did not pause for a moment. As it entered the barrier, four summoning arrays were already unfolding around it.
Fire, ice, rock, and gale—four distinct yet complementary elemental forces clashed in the air. From each magic circle emerged a colossal figure tens of meters tall.
The Fire Elemental Lord is made entirely of flames, leaving trails of fire in the air with every step; the Water Elemental Lord is like a moving giant wave, surrounded by surging waves; the Earth Elemental Lord is as heavy as a mountain, the rock textures on its body telling tales of ancient vicissitudes; and the Wind Elemental Lord is a never-ending storm, with lightning leaping within its body.
The four elemental lords spoke in unison in a language no one could understand, their voices like the roar of nature itself.
Casalos's body then underwent a dramatic change. The silvery-white metallic scales gradually lost their metallic luster, replaced by a chaotic color scheme in which the crimson of fire, the deep blue of water, the heaviness of earth, and the transparency of wind constantly flowed and changed.
Four Elements Chaos Form – This is Casalos's most well-known combat form to date, and it is also the ultimate manifestation of his mastery of the four basic elements and the power of fate as an elemental master.
Immediately afterward, the four elemental lords' bodies disintegrated, transforming into pure elemental power that converged upon Casalos. This was not a simple aggregation of power, but a deeper fusion. Under the precise control of the pseudo-Laplace's demon, the four elemental forces, which should have been in conflict, achieved perfect balance. Fire fueled their power, water solidified their bones, rock forged their armor, and gales wove their wings. When the fusion was complete, what appeared above Hellgate Fortress was no longer an ordinary iron dragon, but a purely elemental, chaotic being exceeding one hundred meters in length and with a wingspan of over three hundred.
"Hiss..." Casaroz took a deep breath, feeling the surging power within his body. At this moment, the high damage, base attributes, and spellcasting levels of the four high-level elemental creatures were all seamlessly transferred to him... Although it was only a temporary boost, he already possessed magic power surpassing any ancient dragon.
Below, the demon army had already noticed this uninvited guest.
"It's a dragon! A dragon has broken in!" a six-armed serpent demon shrieked, its six arms wielding different weapons simultaneously.
"Kill it!" The Balrogs roared, spreading their wings as hellfire raged on the decapitation swords in their hands.
Countless flying demons rose into the sky like black locusts, including Flomos, Quassamos, and various other unnamed abyssal creatures; their numbers were enough to blot out the sky.
Faced with this overwhelming enemy, Casalos simply opened his dragon beak slowly, and the power of the four elements gathered in his throat. The heat of fire, the cold of water, the weight of earth, and the sharpness of wind—the forces that should have canceled each other out achieved a strange harmony under the chaotic harmonization.