A massive draconic construct descended from above, where it had been circling unseen above the treeline. Its wingspan blocked the early morning sky, its body a construct of congealed blood at a scale that dwarfed everything else Drusilla had assembled.
It exhaled.
Not fire—blood. Pressurized streams of animated blood that carried enough force to strip bark from trees at two hundred feet, carrying dark energy that could corrode metal and overwhelm origin energy defenses.
Jaenor looked up at it.
He raised one hand.
Chaos energy gathered in his palm, visible now—a sphere of energy that cycled through colors that had no names, that shifted between states of existence too rapidly to track.
He threw it upward.
The impact against the draconic construct was silent. There was no explosion, no dramatic detonation. The chaos energy simply encountered the construct's dark energy structure and began unraveling it.
