Vesuvius towered above the grass fields, his dragons and wyrms beside him, silently watching their armies assemble.
Countless soldiers wore metallic suits of armor with glowing pipes and runes, giving them slightly futuristic looks and contrasting with the archaic, long, crimson capes on their backs. They stood motionless and silent, imposing figures astride their equally armored mounts—mutated draconids and dracodactyles.
The blades of their halberds, topped with red gems, occasional magic staffs, and the various banners' shafts stood like a forest of weaponry. The dark formations stretched seemingly for miles.
To his shock, he even noticed handguns hanging from their belts—the entire army was evidently equipped with modern weaponry, despite their ornamental armors and capes.
At a glance, Vesuvius could distinguish various groups and races within their ranks—kobolds, koborcs, other players, natives of the conquered planet, and the human and elven dragonkin he had brought from Lorenia.
"In your absence, I took it upon myself to enhance the grand draconic army," said the emerald dragon to his right, her voice burning with pride. She raised her claw, gesturing at the assembled soldiers. "Their armor combines super-resistant alloys and mana-infused materials with advanced enchantment and integrated forcefield generators for self-repair and enhanced integrity."
Vesuvius's mind wandered, the techno-magic details barely registering. He only needed to know the armor was improved. However, he let the younger dragon continue, appreciating her pride in her work.
Only when she finished did Vesuvius speak. "Soldiers, minions, and warriors. Today, I, the Dimensional Voidstar Dragon King—". He paused, slightly embarrassed by his title, but quickly continued, "—command you to march against our enemies. At last, it is time to stop retreating and strike back."
Then he spread his wings, casting a momentary shadow over the army as he blocked the sun. "March and secure the bridgehead! And to my fellow vassals—" Vesuvius turned his gaze toward the wyrms and dragons, knowing he couldn't simply order them into battle without offering rewards, as per draconic tradition, "What you or your soldiers conquer will be yours."
His horns flashed, and the scenery shifted before him. An enormous portal opened, revealing a majestic white city nestled against an enormous mountain, adorned with countless waterfalls and silver spires that gleamed in the light.
Altarius turned to see a dark-haired elf standing by the balcony, his figure cloaked in regal, golden robes that shimmered against the backdrop of the setting sun. In his hand, he held a crystal glass, delicate and clear, with a trace of the finest wine. His eyes, usually calm and commanding, now watched the armies encircling the city with a hint of desperation masked under royal demeanor.
He served the man long enough to know he had given up.
"Your Majesty, perhaps we should consider surrender. There is no—"
"Nonsense! Surrender to monsters? To mere lizards?" the king interrupted, his voice rising with incredulity. "You must have lost your senses, General. We are high elves; we will die with our pride intact rather than—"
Before he could finish, Altarius drew his blade. A burst of golden light filled the room, and the king collapsed, headless, onto the balcony floor.
Bowing his head, Altarius whispered to the fallen monarch, "I am sorry, Your Majesty, but the city is full of innocents—children and women. I cannot let pride lead them to slaughter."
As silver-armored soldiers stormed into the room, none dared to draw their weapons. Instead, they stood frozen, their eyes shifting uncertainly between the general and their slain king. With a heavy heart, Altarius sheathed his sword and commanded in a firm voice, "Order the mages to lower the barrier. We will surrender."
This was the salvation he had been seeking. Kingdoms, cities, and counties were succumbing to a frenzy of cannibalism and murder, with reapers and demons showing no mercy. He would rather surrender to dragons than to such death and despair.
He had lived long enough to remember a time when the high elves were still ruled by the ancient moon dragon.
The guards bowed and hurried away. Soon after, a silver-robed elf entered. "General, I see you have done what must be done. We, the high children of our goddess, must live to survive."
"As you say, Archpriest. Prepare funeral rites for His Majesty." Despite the necessity of his actions, Altarius could not shake the bitter taste of betrayal. Yet, the lives he swore to protect and the oracle of the goddess held more importance.