Part 3
Soaring above the fog, Sir Patrick Colem advanced atop his imposing white dragon, its scales gleaming under the pale morning sun.
Behind him, a formation of nearly two thousand dragon riders followed, their smaller scarlet-colored mounts roaring in unison.
"Tsk… how annoying," Patrick scoffed, adjusting the reins. "Why does this fog stretch out so much?"
From that height, the valley looked like a carpet of living clouds. No sound rose from below—no echo of drums, no cries from the ground army. Only the beating of wings.
He tried to descend.
"Come on, Leo. Let's go down and see what's there."
But the dragon didn't move.
Its wings trembled, muscles tense like drawn wires. Patrick noticed the shaking, the ragged breathing.
"What's wrong, Leo?" he asked, with a hint of irritation. "We need to get in there!"
The dragon let out a low roar, a sound closer to a whimper than a protest. It tried to turn its body, refusing to continue the descent.
"Enough already, Leo! Listen to me!" he shouted, pulling hard on the reins.
Then, the air changed.
The pressure dropped in an instant.
A freezing wind blew from within the fog, carrying a whisper… or perhaps a voice.
"Impressive survival instinct…" echoed a melodic, almost enchanting voice. "Something humans should learn."
Patrick turned immediately.
Through the haze, a winged figure emerged slowly, as if the fog itself had given it life.
Its face was hidden behind a white theatrical mask, split down the middle, and its black wings spread with blasphemous majesty. Its body was slender, almost elegant, wrapped in a dark suit.
"Who the hell are you? Show yourself!" Patrick shouted, drawing his sword.
The being tilted its head in a theatrical gesture.
"Forgive my manners… my name is Satirus, and you all… are my next canvas."
Its voice sounded like a layered echo, bouncing in the air at different heights, as if it were speaking from everywhere at once.
Patrick's dragon drew back with a roar, eyes wide open.
The demon smiled behind the mask.
"Such a noble creature…" he whispered. "A shame you have no way out."
He raised a hand, and the valley's fog churned like a stormy ocean.
Winged shadows began to emerge one after another, decayed dragons with torn wings, deformed birds with human eyes, giant bats screeching with women's voices.
The soldiers tried to regroup, shouting orders that were swallowed by the roars.
The entire sky darkened.
"To formation! Attack from the flanks!" Patrick ordered, yanking the reins.
The dragons charged into battle.
Fire streaked through the air in orange arcs, clashing against the darkness Satirus manipulated like a living cloak.
The smell of rotting flesh and heated metal filled their lungs.
Patrick swung his sword, cleaving one of those flying beasts in half. Black blood splattered his armor, and his dragon roared in fury.
But no matter how many they struck down, more emerged from the fog, inexhaustible.
The sky turned into hell.
Fire mixed with screams, riders fell wrapped in flames, and the roars of zombie dragons echoed like trumpets of the world's end.
Patrick cursed, steering his mount toward Satirus, who watched the massacre with delight.
The demon applauded slowly, like an artist admiring his masterpiece.
"Sublime," he said softly. "Chaos has its own music… don't you think, boy?"
Patrick clenched his teeth.
"Damned demons! What are you doing so far from Umbra?!" he roared, lunging forward.
His sword clashed against Satirus's rapier. The impact released a burst of black energy.
Satirus laughed, retreating with impossible grace.
"Umbra? Oh, no, dear…" he replied with an elegant spin, vanishing and reappearing behind him. "This isn't Umbra."
"This is the stage… and you are the protagonist of a tragedy."
Patrick twisted in the air, trying to land another strike, but Satirus blocked it with a fluid motion.
Violet sparks burst between their blades.
The white dragon roared fiercely, unleashing a torrent of flames that engulfed the entire sky.
Fire wrapped around Satirus… and yet his laughter echoed from within the inferno.
"Fire burns, fear inspires, the hero is consumed…"
Satirus chanted in a theatrical tone.
"And the curtain… falls!"
"Stupid human! Do you think fire can harm me?" Satirus laughed, brushing aside the flames with a flick of his cape. "I was forged in it."
When the demon lifted his gaze again, the riders were diving toward the fog.
Ahead of them, Patrick brandished his sword, now wrapped in blinding light.
"Fire might not hurt you… but light is your downfall!" he shouted, raising his weapon toward the sky.
"Light Skyfall!"
A dazzling halo opened above them, expanding like a sun tearing through the clouds.
Gravitational pressure surged in an instant, and the air became thick, heavy.
Both were violently forced downward, swallowed by a spiral of light and darkness.
Patrick's dragon roared in agony before crashing with a deafening boom.
The impact sent up a cloud of dust and fog, leaving a massive crater in the ground.
Patrick rolled across the dirt, gasping, his armor cracked and his face covered in blood.
The surviving riders landed nearby, staggering amidst the burning remains of their dragons.
"Patrick! You're alive!" one shouted.
The young man gave a weak smile.
"Heh… of course I am…" he laughed through coughs. "I'm not dying that easily."
He approached the inert body of his white dragon and placed a hand on its forehead.
"Sorry, Leo… I couldn't save you, buddy."
For a moment, the air seemed to calm.
The soldiers regrouped, exhausted but exhilarated, celebrating their commander's bravery.
Patrick laughed with them, laughing like someone who believed they had just beaten an impossible raid boss.
Until a clap broke the silence.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
"Bravo… bravo…" said a melodic voice from within the mist. "Such interesting beings."
Patrick straightened immediately, raising his sword with what little strength he had left.
"Soldiers! Formation!"
The riders lined up, shouting with determination despite their exhaustion.
Their wounded dragons roared in unison, ready for one final effort.
Then the fog parted before them, revealing a winged silhouette descending slowly, wrapped in shadow.
Satirus was unscathed.
His cape swayed elegantly, and his mask reflected the light as if smiling.
"That's how I like it… brave humans," he whispered with delight, spreading his arms like an actor at center stage.
He gave an exaggerated bow, wings unfurled behind him.
"The first act was beautiful…"
"Now," he said, lifting his face with a cruel smile, "it's time for the second act."