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Uriel paid no attention to the message that flashed in his mind like a divine lightning strike. It was as if the system were too distant, unable to reach him in that moment of wild ecstasy. He was overtaken by a primal, almost animalistic excitement, as if each beat of his heart echoed the rhythm of an ancestral war.
With a beat of his wings that sent snow flying up like a white curtain, Uriel lunged forward, flying low over the battlefield. From his throat came a guttural roar, followed by the brutal blast of [Ice Dragon's Breath]. The blue light shot from his mouth like a wave of freezing destruction—so cold, so intense, that the air itself seemed to scream in agony.
Each time that breath touched the lizard soldiers' bodies, they froze instantly. There was no time to scream, no space to flee. Their eyes widened in shock before turning to crystal, their scales hardened like stone before shattering. They were transformed into grotesque ice statues, frozen in eternal terror.
Uriel flapped his wings again, rose into the air, and like a winged meteor, dove down with full force into the ground. His colossal five-meter body crashed against the frozen statues with overwhelming violence, smashing them one by one. Shards of ice and flesh scattered like macabre confetti across the blood-stained snow.
Farther ahead, Eskandor roared with effort as he buried his enormous axe into a lizard soldier's head. The blade sank with a sickening crunch, splitting the skull in two as blood sprayed in jets across his blue skin. Panting, he looked up—and then he saw him—Uriel, the dragon, the god of ice and fury, annihilating the enemies as if they were dry leaves in the wind.
Eskandor's eyes gleamed. A flash of fear? Yes. But there was something more. Something burning in his chest like a forbidden flame. He had never wanted to be there. He was dragged into this sudden war without preparation, without even understanding why he followed that being. It was fear. Pure fear.
But now… now he felt something different. It consumed him from within. A mix of fascination and trembling, as if standing before a force that defied the gods themselves. He no longer remembered his reasons. The world had reduced to a single vision: the dragon.
Uriel, with wings spread, spewing bluish death, with his powerful body sweeping away the remains of the enemy army. That was no ordinary creature. That was an omen. That was living wrath. That was the final judgment.
"This is glorious… This is true power! Hahaha! How wonderful!"
For the first time since he had met Uriel—only a few hours ago, though it felt like days—Eskandor felt conviction. The most certain, the purest, the most logical thing to do… was to follow that sacred monster. And he wasn't alone. Other giants, even amid the confusion of battle, were beginning to think the same. It was nearly impossible not to.
Uriel was killing everyone. He left so few enemies that it was almost embarrassing. The lizard soldiers were strong, yes, but before that creature… they were merely prey. Some giants had been injured, sure, but nothing truly life-threatening.
Minutes later, the field was nearly silent. The last lizard soldier of the Blood King thrashed in Uriel's jaws, which chewed him with a sick pleasure. His single eye, deep blue like the moon in a storm, narrowed in delight. Blood dripped from his sharp fangs, falling in thick drops onto the filthy snow.
"So good… what is this… a true delicacy… There's plenty for me… I wonder if the frost giants will want a taste too?"
He raised his gaze, his massive head turning slowly like a living mountain. And then he saw Eskandor running toward him.
"Oh, glorious majesty! You were so incredible that Odin himself will need to create a new eye just to behold you with proper reverence!"
He dropped to his knees, punching his fists into the snow, and began speaking nonstop like a devotee in rapture.
Uriel simply sighed, a cold vapor escaping his nostrils.
"Shut your mouth. Take all the corpses to the Fortress. We'll have a feast."
Without waiting for a reply, he spread his wings in a powerful beat that made the snowflakes dance around him and took off with a thunderous boom that shook the earth.
He needed to get away. He didn't know if Odin could hear him, and honestly… he didn't want to find out. But more than that, there was a growing discomfort in his chest—a strange shame brought by Eskandor's words. If that damned fool spoke one more word, he'd probably kill him. The first few had already been too much.
"Didn't you hear what our glorious lord just said?! Are you deaf, you blockheaded beasts?! Move, now!"
Eskandor's voice cut through the air like thunder, charged with fury and reverence. His shout echoed through the flanks of the frozen mountain, making the snowflakes tremble in the air. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his eyes fixed on Uriel's massive silhouette as he vanished with his majestic wings beating heavy against the cloudy sky.
The frost giants, newly arrived and still panting from the run, straightened with a start. Without a word, they began to gather the mutilated and frozen bodies that had withstood Uriel's ice storm—pieces of lizard soldiers that still retained some shape, even if grotesque.
But two of them stopped. Slowly, they turned toward Eskandor, who stood in the same spot, unmoving, merely watching. His face was somber, marked by an expression that teetered between disdain and fatigue. There was something in his eyes—a contained flame, a silent impatience ready to explode.
The two giants exchanged quick glances, and then malicious smiles spread across their faces. The kind of smile that comes before a provocation.
"Eskandor… you're not going to do anything? Just going to stand there, pretending to be a commander? I doubt His Majesty will be pleased to hear you didn't carry a single corpse," said one, with a slow, mocking voice, raising a bluish eyebrow.
The other let out a low laugh, almost a grunt, and crossed his arms. The challenge was made.
Eskandor slowly tore his gaze from Uriel—as if it were sacrilege to look away—and fixed it on the two giants. His eyes now shone with a mixture of disdain and superiority. He stepped forward, the snow crunching beneath his weight.
"Thanks for the warning…" he said, his voice low but sharp as an ice blade. "But His Majesty already has my word. And his word… is worth more than any physical proof, more than any act. He knows that."
He paused. The wind blew between them, whistling like an ancient warning.
"And you?" Eskandor's gaze narrowed, like a predator locking onto prey. "What do you have to offer besides cheap words? Because from what I see, I'll be the one informing His Majesty that you're not following his orders."
Without waiting for a reaction, Eskandor crouched, the muscles in his arm tensing as he lifted three bloody lizard soldier corpses. He settled them on his shoulders with a firm movement and began walking toward the fortress, without looking back.
The two giants watched him in silence, their smirks slowly fading. The weight of Eskandor's words, and perhaps something else—a certain fear of Uriel's gaze—finally pushed them back to their task. The battlefield began to stir again, one step at a time, under the shadow of the dragon.
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