Leon sat atop an unconscious black dragon like a man resting after a long day's work. The beast's body was broken, wings torn, scales cracked and bleeding, but its chest still rose and fell weakly beneath him. His right hand rested lazily on his knee while his left gripped Void Blade, the obsidian katana buried deep in the dragon's torso.
The clearing around him looked like a battlefield. Dozens of dragons, each at rank seven, lay sprawled across the jagged terrain. Some groaned faintly; most didn't move at all. Their once-glorious wings were mangled, their armor-like scales dented or shattered. And in the middle of it all sat Leon, his face calm and expressionless and his tattered shirt fluttering in the mountain breeze. His clothes were in ruins, barely clinging to his frame, yet his skin was flawless. Every cut and burn he'd taken had long since healed.
