All Chapters of REAWAKENED S-RANKED DRAGON LORD: Chapter 41
- Chapter 50
69 chapters
Old Memory Tales
The silence following the erasure of the termite swarm was not a peaceful one; it was a vacuum, a hollow space where the laws of physics had been momentarily suspended and were now rushing back to fill the void. The sheer magnitude of what Kael had done hung in the air like a physical weight, thick with the scent of ozone and pulverized stone.Kael, usually the picture of stoic, immovable grace, suddenly buckled. It was a sight so jarring that Kei and Lyra both felt a jolt of visceral fear. His right knee hit the smooth, pulverized stone with a sharp, echoing crack. His hand, still white-knuckled around the hilt of his sheathed sword, trembled with a violence that made the metal rattle against the scabbard. His chest heaved, his breathing coming in ragged, desperate gasps—the sound of a man whose lungs had been emptied of all oxygen, or perhaps a man whose very soul had been momentarily hollowed out to act as a conduit for that terrifying, void-like strike."Kael!" Kei shouted, taking
Old Memory Tales
The silence following the erasure of the termite swarm was not a peaceful one; it was a vacuum, a hollow space where the laws of physics had been momentarily suspended and were now rushing back to fill the void. The sheer magnitude of what Kael had done hung in the air like a physical weight, thick with the scent of ozone and pulverized stone.Kael, usually the picture of stoic, immovable grace, suddenly buckled. It was a sight so jarring that Kei and Lyra both felt a jolt of visceral fear. His right knee hit the smooth, pulverized stone with a sharp, echoing crack. His hand, still white-knuckled around the hilt of his sheathed sword, trembled with a violence that made the metal rattle against the scabbard. His chest heaved, his breathing coming in ragged, desperate gasps—the sound of a man whose lungs had been emptied of all oxygen, or perhaps a man whose very soul had been momentarily hollowed out to act as a conduit for that terrifying, void-like strike."Kael!" Kei shouted, taking
The Demon King's Part
The sky in the Underworld was not a sky at all, but a vast, suffocating expanse of jagged obsidian and swirling violet miasma that pulsed like a bruised throat. There was no sun here, only the faint, sickly glow of soul-fire rising from the pits below, casting long, distorted shadows that moved independently of the objects that cast them. It was a realm of stagnant air and eternal echoes, where the very atmosphere tasted of copper and ancient, unwashed grief.Deep within the Obsidian Citadel—a fortress carved from a single, massive mountain of solidified sorrow—sat the Demon King, Dravil.He did not sit on a throne of gold, nor one of jewels. Such things were the trinkets of mortal men who feared their own end. His seat was composed of the calcified remains of kings who had once thought themselves untouchable. Their ribcages were intricately entwined to form the high backrest, their jawbones acting as armrests that occasionally chattered and clicked when the cold, subterranean wind wh
Corrupter
The humidity in the city of Oakhaven didn't just hang in the air; it clung to your skin like a wet wool blanket that had been dipped in exhaust fumes and ancient, stagnant river water. Elias Thorne adjusted the collar of his stiff dress shirt, feeling the grit of a grueling twelve-hour shift at the architectural firm settling into his pores. The neon signs of the downtown district were just beginning to flicker to life, buzzing with a low-frequency hum that seemed to vibrate against his very molars.Oakhaven was a city built on top of old, crumbling secrets—a place where the shadows seemed several inches too long and the wind whistled through the gaps between skyscrapers with a sound that almost resembled human whispering, or perhaps a long-forgotten plea. But Elias, at twenty-six, had no time for urban legends or the eerie atmosphere of the city’s older quarters. He cared about the structural integrity of the Miller project, the looming deadline for the new waterfront blueprints, and
Countryside Issues
The golden hour in the valley of Oakhaven was usually a time of profound, undisturbed peace. The sun, a bloated orange orb, dipped low behind the jagged spine of the western ridge, casting long, honey-colored ribbons of light across the rolling fields of barley and the meticulously tended gardens of the Miller family. Thomas Miller, a man with skin the texture of cured leather and hands that smelled perpetually of damp earth and cedar, was finishing his evening rounds. To the world, the Millers were a simple family, a relic of a slower age, living on a patch of land that had been in their bloodline for four generations.His wife, Martha, was on the porch, the rhythmic creak-thud of her rocking chair acting as the heartbeat of the farm. She was snapping green beans into a ceramic bowl, the crisp pop of the vegetables the only sound other than the distant lowing of the cattle. It was a scene of domestic perfection, the kind of stillness that felt like it could last for a thousand years
Silverneck Estuary [Riverbed Issues]
The sky over the Silverneck Estuary was the color of a fresh bruise—deep purples and sickly, jaundiced greys swirling together as the sun sank beneath the horizon, bleeding its last light into the salt marshes. Silas leaned his weary frame against the weathered, salt-pitted gunwale of his skiff, the Maria. His calloused hands, mapped with the scars of forty years at sea, moved with a rhythmic, muscle-memory precision as he mended a jagged tear in his hemp netting.The water here was usually a cacophony of life. On a normal evening, the estuary was a shifting mirror of silver scales and the constant, rhythmic popping of bubbles as the bass and perch broke the surface to feed on the evening hatch of midges. The gulls would be screaming overhead, and the water would hum with the vibration of thousands of tiny fins.But tonight, the water was dead.It wasn't just a lack of noise; it was a vacuum. The surface of the estuary was as flat and polished as a sheet of obsidian, so still that it
Memories of the Eclipsera
The Eclipsera academy was a cathedral of silence, a place where the air felt heavy with the dust of ten thousand years and the lingering scent of parchment, cedar, and old magic. Eleanor sat tucked away in a remote corner of the third tier, a space where the shadows were long and the flickering candlelight seemed to struggle against an ancient, oppressive gloom. She was surrounded by towering shelves of ironwood, each laden with tomes bound in dragon-hide and silver, their spines etched with runes that hummed with a low, sub-audible frequency.She had been searching for hours—searching for a map, a lineage, or perhaps just a reason for the coldness that had begun to settle in her chest. But as her fingers traced the embossed gold leaf on a nameless volume, the physical world began to blur. The smell of the library faded, replaced by something sharp, sweet, and overwhelmingly familiar: the scent of crushed pine needles and the ozone-heavy mist of a hidden waterfall.It wasn't just a th
Dragons times
In the Age of Scales, when the sky was perpetually bruised by the beat of leathery wings and the sun was often eclipsed by the passage of the Great Wyrms, the world operated on a different set of laws. Reality was not the rigid, predictable thing it would later become; it was fluid, responding to the immense gravitational pull of dragon-mana. During those days, "strange happenings" were not merely anomalies—they were the weather.One such occurrence took place in the soaring spires of the High Peak Valley. It was a Tuesday, though time held little meaning when an Ancient Red could sleep for a century and call it a nap.Without warning, the gravity in the valley simply inverted. The mountain goats, hardy creatures accustomed to the vertical cliffs, found themselves falling upward into the swirling violet mists of the stratosphere. The waterfalls did not crash into the basins below; instead, the water beaded into perfect spheres of sapphire and drifted toward the clouds like a thousand
Seer
Eleanor suddenly jolted up, her eyes wide open.She clenched her chest, heart beating faster than ever before.The walls of the library seemed closer, drawing in, losing away the effects of reality.She blinked, again and again.What just happened? What... She couldn't understand, but there was something she did pinpoint.Firstly, everything felt like the days had gone dark, but suddenly, what she saw, a vision?.... None of it made sense.She stood up, deciding to take a stroll through the garden, which Eclipsera had luckily built to keep the feeling of refreshment in the air.Stepping outside the library, with the warm breeze touching her skin, made everything feel so unreal for a moment. Well, nothing has been real since the moment her father passed on.Since the day, the world turned against its only defenders, which were the dragons. Since the day, someone decided to built an academy and name it after his name. Since the day, the understanding of what the Pure Blood were, started
Nesting Pit
THE TRUE EVENT:Dash and Cynthia carefully went through the winding tunnels, which surprisingly had no termite through the first moment.It seemed fate smiled at them the instant they decided to save that particular person, who the termite carried off in its mandible, the only problem now would be that there had been no sign of the Termite almost anywhere.It would seem the Day would almost turn into a miserable search, through a pathway which stinked of rotten wood, and damp fresh grasses.Cynthia had to take a pause, she cleaned her eyes, not wanting to take a step further, "... I'm sure this tunnel would continue forever, until we finally stop at a deadend, become tired, before suddenly getting attacked by a viscous Termite, ready to tear us limb by limb. I'm sure no one would want such a thing, and although we are rank S members, we should still be logical in this situation. LOGICAL!!."Dash turned his head, looking at Cynthia from over his shoulder, "... I know you are Afraid—""