At the far end of the catacombs, the Dragon Empress watched her forces defeat wicked souls—each clash ringing with the clang of claws against spectral bone, the coppery tang of magic‑charged air, and gritty dust swirling around talons—in the simplest, crudest, yet most effective way—through sheer strength.
Although the catacombs' rules had been overwritten and the dragons lacked the Warden's Will, the Dragon Empress' own Will, carried in her heavy, condescending gaze, sent shivers through folded wings, tails flicking in unease, and a collective indrawn breath, intimidating the wicked dragons and allowing her troops to sweep in and clean up the mess.
Of course, those dragons could neither be killed nor erased, so they were imprisoned once again beneath much heavier seals.
It took time, but everything proceeded smoothly.
The Harbinger lurking in the shadows was, in the end, one of the weakest versions and could manipulate only concepts.
