Chương 80: Chapter 80: The Dragon’s Fall
The battlefield was a sea of chaos. The dragon's roar shook the earth, sending shockwaves of terror through the ranks of Elara's army. Soldiers scattered beneath its massive wingspan, their faces pale with fear. The black-scaled beast towered over the battlefield, its eyes gleaming with dark magic, and its presence radiated an aura of destruction that threatened to unravel everything they had built.
Elara gripped the artifact of fire, feeling its warmth pulse in her hand, steadying her resolve. The flames of the artifact burned brighter, responding to her will. She knew the dragon was their greatest threat, and if they didn't act quickly, it would decimate their forces. This was the final challenge, the last stand before victory or ruin.
"Form up!" she shouted to the mages who had gathered behind her. "We bring that beast down now!"
The mages nodded, their faces set with determination. Elara could feel the crackle of magic in the air as they prepared their spells. They had trained for this moment—combining their elemental magic with the power of the artifacts. It was their only hope.
Marcus returned to her side, his sword already bloodied from the battle. "We're ready when you are," he said, his voice low but unwavering.
Elara looked at him, and for a moment, the weight of the moment pressed down on her. This was it—the culmination of everything they had fought for, everything they had sacrificed. If they failed now, there would be no second chance. But Marcus' eyes met hers, filled with trust and confidence, and it gave her the strength to push forward.
"Let's do this," she said, her voice strong.
With a shout, Elara and the mages unleashed a torrent of fire, ice, and lightning into the sky. The combined force of their magic shot upward, striking the dragon with an explosion of light and energy. The beast roared in fury, its wings beating against the wind as it tried to evade the attacks, but the power of the elements was relentless. Fire scorched its scales, ice froze its wings, and lightning crackled through its body.
For a moment, it looked like the dragon would fall—but then, the dark magic surrounding it surged, pushing back against the elemental assault. The dragon roared again, shaking off the ice and flames as if they were nothing. Its rider, the Ancient commander, raised his staff, and a pulse of dark energy erupted from the dragon, slamming into the mages and sending several of them flying.
"No!" Elara screamed as she watched the blast hit her forces. She pushed through the pain in her chest, summoning more of the artifact's power. She couldn't let it end like this. They had come too far.
She stepped forward, raising the artifact high above her head. The flames around it flared even brighter, engulfing her in a fiery aura. Elara closed her eyes, reaching deep within herself, calling upon the power she had been so hesitant to wield—the power of her ancestors.
"Ilyana," she whispered, her voice carried by the wind. "Help me."
In that moment, she felt the connection—the bond between her and the Ancient bloodline, the power that had been passed down through generations. The flames in her hands responded, growing hotter and more intense until they were no longer just fire—they were pure, elemental fury.
Opening her eyes, Elara aimed the artifact at the dragon, her will focused on one thing: bringing it down.
"Now!" she shouted, and the mages followed her lead, channeling their remaining strength into one final, devastating attack.
The blast of magic shot toward the dragon, a blinding beam of fire, ice, and lightning all intertwined. The dragon roared in defiance, its rider raising his staff once more—but this time, it wasn't enough. The combined force of the magic overwhelmed the dark energy protecting the beast, and with a final, earth-shattering roar, the dragon fell from the sky.
Its massive body crashed into the battlefield, shaking the ground and sending up a cloud of dust and debris. Elara's forces erupted into cheers, the sound filling the air as the dragon's death signaled a turning point in the battle.
But Elara didn't have time to celebrate. The Ancient commander had survived the fall, and now he stood amidst the wreckage of the dragon, his eyes glowing with dark energy, his staff raised for one final strike.
"Marcus, with me!" Elara called, charging forward.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He was by her side in an instant, and together, they advanced toward the commander. The air crackled with tension as they closed the distance, the dark magic swirling around the Ancient like a storm.
"You cannot win," the commander hissed, his voice echoing with the power of the Ancients. "The darkness will consume everything."
"Not today," Elara replied, her voice steady as she raised her sword.
With a final burst of speed, she and Marcus attacked in unison. The commander met their blades with his staff, dark magic clashing against the light of the artifacts. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the ground, but Elara didn't relent. She pressed forward, her sword cutting through the dark energy surrounding him.
For a moment, it seemed like the commander might overpower them, his magic growing stronger with each strike. But then, Elara saw an opening—a split second where his guard was down.
Without hesitation, she thrust her sword forward, the blade piercing through the commander's defenses. His eyes widened in shock as the sword struck true, and with one final, desperate gasp, the dark magic around him dissipated.
The Ancient commander fell to the ground, his staff clattering beside him.
Elara stood over him, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. The battlefield was quiet now, the last echoes of the battle fading away. It was over.
They had won.
Tình trạng nguồn điện hàng tuần
-- Xếp hạng
Quyền lực 
-- Đá
Quyền lực