At Lord Sarubo's call, the cloud he'd singled out parted before fading to nothing, revealing two dragons that made every other one present look ugly and tiny.
Their emerald scales reflected the sunlight like actual crystal, their huge horns curved upward as though to touch the blue sky, and their amber eyes that shone like mini suns robbed the breath of everyone they glanced over.
All except for Lord Sarubo, and the sneaky reptiles knew it.
"O great Adept. We of the Taerar Green dragons humbly greet you," one of the dragons, the one on the left, said in Dragontongue while beating its wings and stirring up a small storm.
All the fighting below had ceased, and every participant now gazed upward at the confrontation happening. Many faces, chief of them belonging to the surviving knights, were twisted in confusion.
Now that the leaders of the two sides of this war were convening, and right in front of them to boot, they wanted to know where they stood. Their fates were hanging in the balance.
This was their lives, and they couldn't understand?
While the knights dealt with the reality of how fucked they were, Greem and a few of the other Adepts paid close attention to the exchange. While speaking the language was difficult if you weren't a dragon, understanding it just required you to read the right books.
"Taerar Green Dragons? I have heard that name before. Your race is subordinate to the Thalgus Emerald Dragons," Lord Sarubo's expression said, using the common language Adepts everywhere used.
"As expected of one as great as you. Your knowledge is vast and makes you deserving of praise. I am Raistlin, the leader of this clan, and I humbly request to leave here with my young ones."
Greem swore he could sense the mocking smile in the projection's tone. "Just those of your clan?"
"Just those of my clan," Raistlin said without wavering.
As a dragon, and a Fourth Grade one at that, even his whisper would burst the eardrums of any humans close to him and even give them internal injuries. It went without saying that his declaration was heard by everyone present, no matter how far away they were.
The knights as usual exhibited strong confusion and unease. Willis on the other hand, began to struggle and push back against his bonds. He coiled his neck and stared at his father, roaring with wild abandon in the same Dragontongue.
"Father no! We can't give up! These are my men. I can't just leave them to die. Please, we still have a chance. Help me fight. If we work together, we can push back these invaders and send them back to where they came from."
Lord Sarubo smiled, his eyes narrowing with cruel underpinnings.
Raistlin, with the calmness he'd displayed since the start of this meeting, twisted his neck to look at his struggling son. "Willis, do you still not understand who you are? These humans are just subordinates. Aufreyr and Ysondre are your clansmen. Do you want to exchange their lives for your insignificant followers?"
The Holy Knight's dragon transformed face grew oddly conflicted as it looked around and found Ysondre frozen solid in a block of crystal blue ice. Aufreyr too lay right by him in a pool of blood that flowed from the holes created by the bone spikes sticking into him.
He shut his large eyelids after taking in both sights and tears the size of buckets began to drop. His heart burned with the truth. The witcher knights had lost the war, and his men and the plane were going to pay the price.
With Sarubo's permission, the two Fourth Grades descended and grabbed their clansmen, even the one Sanazar had left with a neck looking like a sausage half eaten from the side.
Willis grabbed Aufreyr, his dejection conveyed perfectly despite his size and movements. He took one last look at his men, the questioning and betrayed looks on their faces before flapping his four wings and kicking off the ground.
He followed after his father and the others, disappearing into the distance with them and leaving a completely silent battlefield. Silence that didn't really last when the shell-shocked knights recovered from their stunned states.
A loud and far reaching horn blared and the dumbfounded knights, those that took their reality crumbling events better anyways, scrambled for their colts if they had any or used their own two legs and began a mad dash to get away as fast as possible.
Their days of being the top dogs and going unchallenged were over. There were new dogs in town. Bigger ones with vicious teeth and more than eager to use them.
Contrary to the expectations of many of the escapees though, none of them were chased down. Not even those who remained where they were and looked like they'd been told their whole lives were fake. A story.
What they didn't know was that while there were indeed too many of them, the main issue with their group came from their hardcore belief in the nonsense peddled by their leaders and said leaders themselves.
It made them a stubborn and annoying bunch. However, now that the one at the very top of the witcher knight pyramid had been dealt with, all that remained was the king and a few second and third grades.
Fügen, Sanazar, and Violeteye would soon set out on separate hunts. Those men wouldn't last the month. When that happened, the Adepts would extend offers to the headless knights, and no doubt most of them would accept.
☀☀☀
Far away enough from the Adept's tower that they couldn't be seen, Raistlin, Willis, and another Fourth grade elder gathered and gazed at the aggravating monument that ruined their centuries of work.
"Lord Father, what was that earlier? We had such a good opportunity. He was just one Fourth Grade. Don't tell me we couldn't have defeated him if we joined forces?" Willis said angrily.
"You are still too young. If you knew what we knew about the Adepts…" Raistlin looked at his son and shook his head. He turned to the other dragon. "Singe. Tell him."
The Green Dragon called Singe served as the prophet of their clan. Every respectable dragon clan (which was all of them) had one. In addition to being the only direct way of communicating with the dragon god, they were also second in the hierarchy of their clans, directly below the leader.
Their words held weight that couldn't be measured.
"Willis. You have to understand where your father is coming from. The decision he made saved all of our lives. That adept was not a mere Fourth Grade. He's a Great Adept… a Sixth Grade."
The young dragon grew furious and stood tall on his four legs, shaking the small mountaintop.
"So what if he's Sixth Grade? The plane's upper limit is Fourth grade. He can only display that level of power while he's here. If we had joined forces, we could've destroyed his projection and crushed that damned tower!"
Elder Singe sighed and shook his massive head.
"Things aren't so simple. He's a Sixth Grade being. That means he has a personal origin domain that he can establish to break past the plane's limits and project his true strength here. After that, all he has to do is kill us in the short amount of time the plane will use to expel him. With all of us gone, what do you think will happen?"
Willis turned away from the question, unwilling to voice out the most likely scenario. The projection would indeed be gone, but so too would they, leaving the battle of the plane's fate to his subordinates and the Adepts.
And as much as it pained him to even think about it, the outcome of that would be the same as the one his father just facilitated. The plane would be doomed, just their dragon clan would be missing its pillars.
Taking his son's silence as sense finally taking root in his immature mind, Raistlin chimed in. "That's why the last time we spoke I said the plane was doomed the moment the Adepts found it. If we were more powerful, we'd have been able to beat them back. But even then, if I needed to sacrifice you, Aufreyr or any other young ones, I'd rather just give up this plane."
Several thousands of years. All the work done to turn this plane into the ideal nurturing ground for their clan, gone. Even with the immense power and lifespans giving them wildly different perspectives on life and existence as a whole, it still stung to watch their efforts crumble to nothing right before their eyes.
Still, it was better than the alternative. Raistlin was certain this pain would be amplified, ten, hundred times over if even one of the young dragons lost their lives to this war. Such a development could never be allowed to occur.
"There is no reason for us to remain. Let's return," Raistlin spread his wings and roared. "Do not underestimate these adepts. They are quicker and greedier than they appear to be. We must hurry to the valley and shift the dragon altar. The resting place of the ancestors also needs to be moved to a more secure location."
☀☀☀
Back in the Adept's camp, things were not…lively per say, but it was more upbeat compared to the grieving dragons.
The battlefield was being cleared and looted for any valuables, the corpses of the knights in particular serving as fresh materials for a new line of voodoo beasts.
While those responsible for this went about their tasks, inside the tower, Lord Sarubo had organized private meetings with those who performed astoundingly in the invasion, and it was Greem's turn.
He entered a barely lit hall, finding the projection floating in the center, its legs crossed in a meditative pose as if the space beneath it was solid.
No matter how he felt about the clan, just the knowledge of this man—no, god's grade—and the enlightening display of him toying with the dragons earlier cautioned Greem to be on his best behaviour.
He paid his respects and waited for the projection to respond.
"I have been watching you, monitoring your growth. You have extraordinary talent as an outsider."
Greem stood stock still, his shock locked down completely.
"There's no need to be afraid," the projection said, its tone conveying a sense of calm. "Foreigners like you aren't a rare sight in Lethon. Since you completed your advancement there, it means the plane will has approved your presence. Your identity as an Adept is ironclad. It cannot be taken by anyone."
Letting a long moment pass, Greem bowed once again before standing straight. "Thank you Lord Adept."
"Mhmm. Alright, enough of that. You performed very well in the war. Take these as your reward. The heart of the Flame Fiend and a First Grade demonic cleaver."
Following those words, a heavy weight settled into Greem's waiting hands and revealed itself to be a heart, one the size of his head. It oozed an aura of violence and chaos that was nearly visible, the tiny tremors of its defiant beats felt in Greem's hands.
Hovering in the air before him and matching him in height, a black cleaver that looked like it'd been forged by a drunkard turned slowly. He grabbed its pipe sized hilt and got pulled forward by its weight.
It had to weigh a ton at least, he deduced. Just like the heart, the abyssal aura poured from it like a fountain, making him wonder if both items belonged to the same creature.
That wasn't important though. He focused back on the heart, his irises almost turning into hearts. His mind ran wild with thoughts and ideas. How long had he dreamed of getting this thing?
The mass killing, the irritating orders and treatment of the clan… all of it was for this, and boy was it worth it. He got so excited that he even forgot where was for a good minute.
"I heard you wish to obtain the runic energy knowledge of the knights."
Greem stored his rewards and stood to attention, nodding.
"I have a task for you then. Listen closely…"