The Eminence of a True Monarch of the Shadows

[Third Person's PoV] 

The Ancient Dragon, sworn to the service of Baran, stretched its massive claw through the air. Its talons glowed with an ominous crimson light, radiating power that caused the very fabric of space to ripple and tear. A rift shaped like the claw appeared, edges shimmering with raw energy.

With a slow, deliberate motion, the dragon stepped into the void. Its gargantuan form vanished into the rift, which sealed behind it with an eerie silence, as though it had never been. On the other side, the dragon unfurled its leathery, weathered wings, each one spanning the horizon like a stormfront. With a single mighty beat, it propelled itself into a corridor of endless stars and swirling dimensions, the boundaries of worlds blurring together as it soared effortlessly between them.

The journey was relentless yet graceful, the dragon passing countless realms that flickered like mirages in the distance. Some worlds teemed with vibrant life, while others were vast, desolate wastelands. Hours passed in this liminal space before the dragon paused, its glowing eyes narrowing. With another sweep of its claws, it carved a fresh tear into the fabric of reality, the rift spiraling outward in jagged patterns.

Emerging through the portal, the dragon descended swiftly. The air vibrated with its arrival, a thunderous THUD shaking the earth as it landed. The sheer force of its presence flattened the nearby vegetation and sent tremors through the land. Around it, dragons of all shapes and sizes filled the skies, their scales glinting like jewels in the sunlight. Some perched on jagged peaks, their reptilian eyes observing the intruder with idle curiosity, while others circled in formation, their wings casting vast shadows over the ground.

Before the Ancient Dragon stood a dark and foreboding throne carved from obsidian and drenched in a crimson hue that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. Seated upon it was Antares, the Monarch of Destruction, his towering form radiating an aura of unrestrained malice. His piercing eyes, slitted like a dragon's, locked onto the approaching beast.

The Ancient Dragon lowered itself, folding its wings as it knelt before its lord. It bowed its massive head until its snout touched the earth, its voice deep and resonant.

"My Lord…" the dragon rumbled. "Baran is no more."

Antares' expression darkened, his lips curling into a sneer. "That pathetic wretch. Even after all we did to resurrect him, he gets himself killed again. By the same being, no less?"

The dragon hesitated, its colossal frame trembling slightly. "The Shadow Monarch did not kill him, my Lord."

Antares' eyes flared with golden fury, narrowing into razor-thin slits. A palpable wave of destructive energy rolled off him, warping the air and causing the Ancient Dragon to quiver in fear.

"What?" he snarled, his voice like the rumble of an impending cataclysm. His clawed hand gripped the armrest of his throne, crushing it to rubble under his strength. "If Ashborn didn't do it, was it the Rulers? Did those cowards finally dare an ambush?"

The Ancient Dragon's voice wavered as it responded. "It… it wasn't the Rulers either, my Lord."

Antares leaned forward, his monstrous visage looming closer. His voice dropped to a deadly whisper, colder than the void. "If not Ashborn or the Rulers, then who else could slay a Monarch?"

Silence stretched unbearably as Antares' piercing gaze bore into the dragon. The tension was suffocating, the air thick with unspoken threats.

At last, the Ancient Dragon spoke. "It was… the sister of the Shadow Monarch. She alone struck down Baran, without aid from Ashborn. He merely… stood back and watched."

Antares froze, his aura flickering as disbelief momentarily extinguished his rage. He blinked, then threw back his head and roared with laughter, the sound echoing across the land.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA! BARAN—SLAIN BY A MORTAL GIRL? AHAHAHA!" His laughter was wild and unhinged, reverberating with a mix of amusement and scorn. But as abruptly as it began, the laughter ceased. His expression hardened, and a snarl twisted his features.

"That useless, pathetic wretch," he hissed, slamming his fist against the armrest. His eyes gleamed with a cold determination as he sank back into thought.

'This cannot continue,' he mused. 'We've already lost too much. I thought to spare Ashborn, perhaps use him as a tool to birth more Monarchs, but no… This is beyond unacceptable. We must act swiftly, or the scales will tip irreparably in favor of the Rulers.'

"My Lord…" the Ancient Dragon's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Antares' gaze snapped back. "What is it now?" he barked, irritation lacing his tone.

The dragon hesitated before speaking. "I bring a message… from the Shadow Monarch himself."

Antares tilted his head, his lips curling into a mocking smirk. "A message? From Ashborn? How quaint. Go on, speak."

The dragon lifted its head, confusion evident in its voice as it recited, "'You aren't the only being capable of wielding destruction.'"

As the words left the dragon's mouth, a dark rune materialized on its chest, swirling with a void-like blackness that devoured all light. Antares' eyes widened in shock, realizing too late what was happening.

The rune pulsed violently, and in an instant, the Ancient Dragon's massive body detonated, releasing a cataclysmic explosion that tore through the land like a nuclear inferno.

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

Purple flames were unleashed as a title wave of destruction consumed the entire area, ripping through the land and sky alike. The shockwave from the explosion tore apart mountains, vaporized rivers, and reduced even the sturdiest structures to mere dust in seconds. 

Dragons that had been soaring the skies or resting nearby were obliterated before they even had time to react, their roars of defiance cut short by the overwhelming power of the detonation.

The Rune of Destruction, left by Cid as a trap, unleashed energy so catastrophic that reality itself seemed to buckle under its force. The sky above the epicenter cracked, showing glimpses of an abyss beyond, as if the explosion had torn the veil between worlds. Antares' once-grand throne was obliterated, along with the entire plateau it stood upon, leaving only a gaping crater that radiated a malevolent purple glow.

Antares, caught in the heart of the explosion, was forced to call upon the full extent of his Monarch powers. His body glowed with an ominous red energy, forming a barrier of destruction to shield himself from the brunt of the attack. Even so, his form trembled under the sheer force of the assault, his throne of power turned into a desperate fortress against the Rune's wrath.

As the flames finally began to subside, Antares emerged from the devastation, his armor cracked and his skin scorched, his crimson aura flickering weakly. He stared at the remains of the Ancient Dragon, now reduced to nothing but ash, and then at his hand which was gone, remained only as a stub.

His fury was palpable, his eyes glowing with renewed rage. He growled, "Ashborn... you dare...? This is no different than an act of war"

Antares clenched his fists, his aura flaring back to life, stronger and more volatile than ever. "So... he wishes to remind me of my title as the Monarch of Destruction, does he? Very well, Shadow Monarch. If this is the game you wish to play, I will show you what true destruction looks like."

He extended his arms toward the sky, calling forth his full power. The land began to quake, and the air grew heavy with an oppressive aura as he prepared to summon the remaining Monarchs. His voice boomed across the ruined landscape, carrying his will to the furthest corners of their realm.

"To all Monarchs, heed my call! Assemble before me! We will bring an end to Ashborn, his so-called family, and this pathetic world that shelters him!"

As his command echoed through the air, Antares' gaze darkened, his resolve hardening. He no longer saw this as a simple battle of strength or dominance. This was personal now—a war not just against Ashborn but against everything the Shadow Monarch represented.

The Monarch of Destruction would stop at nothing to eradicate his enemy. And the Rune of Destructions all it had done was stoked the fires of his vengeance.

…

Cid was sitting on the edge of a bed, Naked, on his lap were the heads of both Esil and Claire each with a look of ecstasy as they licked his cock. 

They appeared to be sweating, while their stomach appeared bloated, from their pussies globs of cum were seen spilling out onto the bed. 

Cid chuckled as he patted their heads, "It seems my gift has been delivered accordingly…"