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Encircled by dragons, Milos now faced the mightiest race in all the world. Nearly every dragon still alive was converging in hopes of striking him down.
The old charge of being a heretic dragon had quickly been cast aside. What stood before them was the abyssal fiend that had dwelt for centuries within the body of the Dragon King, Wendel Myx—a fiend that was now the sole enemy of the dragons.
The bronze dragon Beolo and the blue dragon Susumi had been slain in a matter of moments, their colossal forms shredded by the dragon-shaped horror whose body seemed wholly woven of crimson blood. Milos's power had grown so fearsome that no mere "realm" or tier of strength could measure it.
Perhaps his destructive might had not yet reached that of the greatest abyssal beings or gods themselves. After all, in one sense, he was but a convict newly broken free of his cage, a newborn still weak and unsteady. He would need time—time to devour, to learn, to grow.
But even in this half-formed state, as he himself had said, he bore absolute...
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