The Imperial Dragons had arrived. From every direction, like a tide, forces descended: the Summer Dragoness with her blazing vanguard tore through the eastern ramparts, flames and embers licking the cracked stone as dragons of gold and bronze surged ahead. To the west, the Space Dragoness arrived upside-down at first, then righted herself with casual grace, followed by a formation of shimmering space-jumping drakes, their wings cutting through the sky like blades through silk.
To the north, the Plague Dragoness led a creeping column of diseased and war-hardened beasts, while the Dream Dragoness folded reality at the edges, twisting perception and leaving defenders seeing double, triple, half-formed illusions of themselves. The Life Dragon's front moved with less aggression, but every movement of emerald wings warped the terrain beneath, bringing twisted growths and unpredictable flora into play.
Artorius's gaze swept the battlefield like a living map. He was in his command room which offered a perfect bird eye vantage point of everything going on in the dragon emperor's corpse and realtime reports that came in thanks to psychic messages. Each wave of attackers sent ripples through the defensive networks; each falter or gain was a new data point.
Thanks to his trait of Strategic he was able to process all of this and change this as they needed. "Eastern ramparts are strained but holding," one dragon reported.
"Reinforce the outer positions there," Artorius replied. A gesture, and his orders were sent out, already flyers and psychic messages were being sent and runners as well for backup.
"North spine, plague advance slowing. Reinforce vertebrae 12 through 18 with poison-resistant contingents. Healing units preemptive along soft tissue corridors," he added.
"Western shoulder joint, space dragoness' forces are overextending. Prepare trap squads, collapse false corridors along the radius and ulna," he sent his order out when he got word what the invaders were up to ther..
"Southern tail, life's influence is unpredictable. Use growth channels to funnel enemy forces toward prepared kill zones along vertebrae 43 through 49," he dictated, his voice calm.
Every command had consequences. Reinforcements moving from one place to another and some places had to hold out for hours as the distance was vast. Wing bones were tall as mountains, ribs formed arches and valleys, and vertebrae rose like towers and terraces. Yet Artorius anticipated each movement, predicting delays and leveraging natural terrain features. Even the smallest detail, an exposed cartilage ridge, a hollowed-out chest cavity, a broken spine column could be a choke point or ambush site.
Reports came in constantly through psychic channels. "Eastern ridge collapsing under fire. Enemy vanguard overextended on wing membrane." Another: "Space units detected near Citadel approach. Teleportation pattern inconsistent." Another: "Northern spine—Plague advance slowed. Disease field contained for now."
Artorius issued counter-orders with precision. "Eastern ridge, deploy incendiary counterwave. Northern spine, rotate veteran squads forward. Reserve positions ready along vertebrae 20 through 25. Western shoulder, activate the probability storms we held back and let those space dragons deal with them."
In front of him he watched as the battlefield was ever shifting, it was like a living organism. He saw in real time soldiers moved across ridges, along vertebrae, over wing bones. Fire, decay, illusion, and unpredictable growth collided in a maelstrom of combat. Smoke spiraled up from hollow cavities in the ribs. Magic flared in controlled bursts along defences embedded in bone. Waves of Imperial assault collided with prepared fortifications, sometimes retreating when met with overpressure wards, sometimes forced into kill zones along claw passages and scaled ridges.
The Citadel itself shook with clashes that was happening not to far away. Artorius observed in his command post how forces were stretched along the spine, ribs, wings, and tail. Every front required monitoring. Every ridge and cavity could become a focal point of destruction if mismanaged. But he did not panic. He did not intervene personally in every skirmish. Instead, he observed patterns, nudged pressures, directed responses, and exploited missteps.
Hours of fighting passed. The Imperial Dragons shifted tactics, pressing one wing, testing the tail, probing the spine. Artorius noted where overextensions appeared: Space Dragoness' drakes occasionally teleported into low zone close to the ground; Summer Dragoness' fire pushed defenders too far along fragile wing ridges which could catch fire; Plague Dragoness' advance slowed along areas with different phenomena, leaving a gap he could exploit.
His soldiers moved right on command making the battlefield itself appear as if it was obeying his commands. Artorius leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the waves of assault, seeing the natural terrain, the skeletal ridges, the exposed bone valleys, and the chaos of battle below.
The Imperial Dragons would not be stopped easily. They were tough, coordinated, relentless, and smart. Yet Zytherion's corpse was now Artorius' battlefield. Every rib, every wing, every vertebra, every hollow cavity was a piece of his chessboard. Every movement was anticipated, every overextension noted, and every tactic countered before it could become disastrous.
From the skull to the tail, from the wings to the body, all was under his purview. He had been preparing for this inevitably for a very long time and had made this corpse a living nightmare to try to invade. It was smart of the imperial dragons to team up against him which to be honest he did not expect them to get over their differences and their ambitions. He assumed they would only get together when it was too late and two or three of them were left which would have been easy picking.
Still it was a big mistake for them to come invade him in his home base. He knew this place like the back of his hand and with how much they built it up they were not getting in try as they want. Every defense was layered, redundant, and designed to function even if command was disrupted.
Even if they did somehow well, let's just say there was even more waiting for them. Their defences was in-depth. There was no single wall to break, no gate whose fall meant defeat. Every ridge, every rib arch, every exposed marrow corridor functioned as an independent defensive sector capable of sealing itself off, reconfiguring, or sacrificing outer layers to preserve the core.
And they were ready for the long haul. Supply lines were internal and protected. Ammunition, healing resources, and reinforcement reserves were stored in sealed marrow vaults spread across the corpse, ensuring no single strike could cripple logistics. Psychic relay nodes allowed commanders to communicate even when physical routes were cut, and every officer carried fallback command authority in case Artorius himself was isolated.
Plus his soldiers had lived here. Trained here. Bled here. The corpse was familiar terrain, not alien ground. They were ready to face enemies that outnumber them and overpowered them.
Seeing that they were not going anywhere even though they outnumbered him and not making the headways they expected, the imperial dragons stepped in. That was something he wished they didn't do.
He leaned over the polished surface of the command table, eyes scanning the three-dimensional map projected from psychic wards and scrying star arrays. "Commander," came the report, tight and immediate. "We are receiving confirmed sighting of the Space Dragon. She's no longer directing from afar.
Artorius straightened, eyes sharpening as the map shifted, new vectors unfolding across the western sectors. "So," he murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else. "You've decided to step onto the board."
He watched in real time as the western sectors of Zytherion's corpse warped violently as distance lost meaning. Ribs folded into themselves, bone corridors elongated and snapped short without warning. Entire defensive formations vanished from one location only to reappear half a league away
"She's rewriting traversal," one commander reported. "Not collapsing terrain, she's bypassing it." Artorius's fingers tightened briefly on the edge of the command table. "As expected," he said calmly. "She won't waste time grinding against fortifications."
Artorius did not hesitate. "Release the twins," he ordered. "Twilight and Dawn. Full synchronization. Do not pursue her, lockdown and deny her." He was not sending them into their death, he had been preparing the royal dragons that followed him to fight the imperial dragons.
There were many dead royal dragons that fell in the last battle and he had been feeding it to them with the help of Ouroboros. Already the twins now had the power of the shadow and gem royal dragon.
The response was immediate from the twins.
Far above the western wing-bones, two presences emerged in perfect opposition. Dawn, radiant and blazing with ordered stellar fire, unfolded wings of gold-white light that burned through spatial distortions like a rising sun. Twilight followed, darker, cooler, her presence smoothing the jagged edges of warped reality, imposing boundaries where none should exist.
He watched as they clashed, expand on fighting
Reports shifted tone within minutes. "Western advance slowed. Space jumps failing. Enemy formations… grounding."
Artorius allowed himself a single breath of relief before the next alert arrived. "Southern marsh-front escalating," came the psychic message, strained and sharp. "Plague Dragoness has entered the field. Direct manifestation."
The southern tail regions darkened on the map. Entire stretches of bone turned sickly green as corruption spread across the terrain. The plagues did not advance quickly, she let them settled, letting it do its work.
He straightened. "Deploy Ocean and Sky. Together. No delay." The response thundered across the southern skies.
The Ocean Dragoness arrived first, tides roaring where no water should exist. Tides of great pressure crashed through corrupted zones, washing away spores and disease-fields with crushing force. Sky followed above her, winds screaming as lightning threaded through stormclouds that formed instantly around her wings.
Plague's miasma met salt, pressure, and purification winds. Where corruption tried to cling, wind tore it loose. Where disease adapted, tides drowned it. The Plague Dragoness responded in kind, reshaping pathogens mid-conflict, but the duo denied her the time she needed.
"Southern spread contained," came the update. "Heavy resistance, but holding." Artorius nodded once. Two Imperial Dragons engaged. Two fronts stabilized.
Then reality itself began to slip. Dream arrived without any warning. One moment the northern sectors were under pressure; the next, command reports began contradicting themselves. Units reported victories and losses simultaneously. Time stamps no longer aligned. Artorius closed his eyes briefly. "Dream Dragoness," he said softly. "Of course."
She did not push directly. She never would. Instead, the battlefield lost coherence. Falsehood overlapped with truth. Defensive responses triggered against phantoms while real threats slipped through unnoticed.
Artorius did not issue a general counter. "Star Dragon," he said, voice precise. "She's yours."
The Star dragon was already waiting for her and his presence did not dispel dreams, it outshone them. Stellar light pushed back any dream mist. The real world shone bright. Where dreams tried to slip in, the Star Dragon burned them away, forcing the battlefield back into a single, brutal reality. Artorius marked her front as contained and shifted focus just in time for the next tremor.
Life was on the moved. Entire front of Zytherion's corpse simply began… growing. Bone softened. Flesh regenerated. Defensive structures were overgrown by verdant, hostile ecosystems that did not care who they crushed.
Artorius inhaled slowly. "Psychic Dragon," he said. "With me." For the first time since the invasion began, he prepared to leave the command center. He had no choice. They were outnumbered.
He had hoped at the very least to take down another imperial dragon before things came to a head. Now they had to hope they could hold back their foes. "Ouroboros take care," he called out to his second in command as he head out.
"Take care," the little snake called out as he flew out of the citadel and towards where the life dragon was spotted. The Psychic dragon joined him on the way, removing himself from a front he was taking charge in.