The King Of Warriors (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5709

All across the clouds, other Draconian titans dove with thunderous roars.

A Fire Dragon opened its jaws, exhaling a furnace blast so fierce that entire squads below became drifting ash.

A Lightning Dragon beckoned bolts the width of ancient pillars. White-blue ribbons crashed downward, flash-frying armor and flesh alike.

A Wind Dragon twisted the very air into howling cyclones that shredded robes and bodies. Beside it, a Water Dragon breathed spears of soul-freezing ice, turning fleeing shapes into brittle statues that shattered under their own weight.

This was no battle. It was a one-sided culling.

Under the crushing weight of Draconian power, Skyfiend disciples could not muster even a fraction of their usual strength. Spells fizzled, treasured weapons glanced off scale and sinew, and desperation turned to panic.

Screams, pleas, and the wet tear of rended flesh blended into a single, ceaseless dirge. Before Nethergate Sect's grand gates, the earth itself became a living butcher's trough, rivers of blood running between severed limbs that still twitched in the dirt.

Gideon watched, eyes bulging until red veins burst. Yet even his fury gave him no shield. A few formidable Draconians circled him, their maws dripping heat and lightning. He parried, stumbled, parried again, each breath closer to ruin.

High above, Jared stood aloof. His gaze remained as cold as starlight on midwinter ice.

He lifted one palm. The Demon Seal Tower appeared in his hand, its stone tiers glowing with a muted, holy haze. Wayward soul fragments—half-formed wraiths trying to flee the slaughter—spiraled helplessly into the tower's waiting maw and were sealed in silence.

Within mere moments, the once-boastful Skyfiend Sect lay crushed. Only Gideon survived, left intentionally alive, beaten to his knees by dragon pressure.

Detritus of battle smothered the ground: severed arms, shattered talismans, broken blades. Blood pooled in hot, steaming channels, the copper stench rising like a funeral pyre.

Disciples of Nethergate Sect watched from a distance, awe mixing with savage satisfaction and, toward Jared and his Draconian army, a deepening reverence that bordered on fear.

Jared walked forward, each step measured and unhurried, until he stood over the trembling form of Gideon.

"N-No... do not kill me... Mr. Chance, have mercy..." Gideon's voice broke into sobs, tears and mucus streaking the dirt on his face.

"Where is the Skyfiend Sect's main stronghold?" Jared's question carried no inflection, as though he inquired about the weather.

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