Snake stepped out of the armory wearing his serpent armor, the legendary suit the world had not seen in centuries. The black scales shimmered with molten silver, crawling with runes of venom and prophecy. Every liroid present felt their breath tighten.He no longer looked like the quiet, brooding serpent.He looked like war.When he climbed the stone platform, the entire valley fell silent.Snake lifted his voice, not loud, but cutting through the air like a blade.“I know many of you think I am not worthy to command you.”A ripple spread across the army, thousands strong.Snake continued, lips twitching with a dark humor:“Yes… You’re right.I am younger than most of you, and I’ll admit…I bite my tongue before spitting a command at Irinrod.”Laughter rolled through the camp, and even Irinrod smirked.Then Snake’s tone dropped, deep and raw.“But I must say this…I am truly sorry.My mistake… brought us here.”Silence again.Snake’s voice cracked, once.“All I ask is that you fight…

The Devourer was no longer fighting; it was surviving.Fry slammed its molten body into the massive beast, melting its armor-like hide.Dragon leapt from Fry’s back, using the monster’s horns as footholds, flipping mid-air, and driving a flaming spear into the Devourer’s spine.The monster shrieked, a sound that split mountains.Fry’s tail wrapped around the Devourer’s jaw, forcing its maw open.Dragon landed beside his beast, holding the Devourer’s head down.“Come on, Fry. LUNCH.”Fry inhaled, the air burned, then exhaled a column of molten crimson flame.The Devourer thrashed, bones liquefying, claws melting, entire limbs dropping off like sand.Dragon wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, breathing hard.“Snake better be winning his fight. If he dies before I gloat, I’ll resurrect him just to slap him.”SNAKE VS. VERATH — THE END OF A SHADEVerath staggered, its body collapsing into black shards of smoke.Snake’s blades dripped with glowing venom.His serpent spirit wrapped a

Snake’s roar split the entire battlefield.The giant serpent behind him doubled in size,its scales shifting from black to violet-gold fire,its eyes burning with something not Liroid, not mortal, not sane.Tan stumbled, not in fear, but in recognition.“No…No, no, no…This is not Liroid Berserk.This is…something else.”Snake didn’t give him time to think.He vanished.A blur.Faster than any Liroid had ever moved.Tan barely raised his arm before,CRASHSnake’s blades crossed over Tan’s chest, carving an X that sprayed god-blood in molten arcs.The mountains shook.The sky cracked with lightning not summoned by any god.Tan staggered, clutching his wounds, eyes wide with disbelief.“WHO TAUGHT YOU THIS?”Snake’s voice was layered,his own voice intertwined with his serpent’s echo.“No one.This is what happens…when a father watches his child die.”Tan tried to retreat.Snake appeared behind him.Two more cuts.Tan screamed,not in pain, but in rage.“You carry HIS blood,KIRIA’S b

Evilside’s body trembled, her eyes rolled white, and her voice dropped into the Primordial Liroid Tongue, a language older than the founders, older than Cellok, older than even the first gods.Her voice layered, echoing with the tones of ten thousand dead Liroids:“Li ver fowq grail mofri leptac beklin.”The ground shuddered.The roots in the valley writhed.Every Liroid, no matter their guild, age, or rank, dropped to their knees.And in one unified answer, they roared:“Serp nor grek!”“For the serpent that bled!”Then Evilside collapsed, unconscious.Her hair spilled over the floor like a shroud of night.Dendra, battered and bleeding from her rage, lifted her gently and laid her on her cotton mat.Her face was still wet with tears.Her breathing uneven.Her aura flickered like a dying sun.THE GODS GATHER — AND DENDRA TRANSLATES THE DOOMOutside, the gods stood in stunned silence.Shol of Healing, who had healed entire worlds, whispered:“I know the Liroid tongue…But that was anc

The field smelled like iron and lilies. The air still thrummed as if the earth itself were trying to right its heartbeat after being ripped open.They buried him where the tree would take him, beneath the hollow that had consumed so many liroid bones over the centuries. The liroid rite turned the few living hours into a furnace of grief: the songs were quieter now, the wails deeper.Hands that had held swords trembled as they laid down scraps of woven cloth, as they placed polished blades and children’s toys into the pyre. Where tradition demanded three years of mourning, the valley gave three months; even mercy bent beneath the weight of necessity.Dragon stood at the edge of the pyre, jaw clenched, eyes hollow with the same emptiness all wolves carry when they lose a colt. He stroked the ash with a gauntlet and did not look up when the flames took the offerings. “I miss that colt,” he said to no one and to everyone, and his voice snagged on the smoke. Rage, her face rimed with tear