7. Aurora

Chapter 7

Aurora

Best day ever!

So many new skulls to collect, so little time. I'll have to remember to ask Nikita to take me scavenging after the war is over. In my head I'm singing the coconut song with every swipe of my talons as I behead a enemy.

As the battle rages on, every swing of my claws brings a sense of grim satisfaction. Each fallen foe is a weight lifted from my heart, a minor victory amidst the chaos of war. It's a strange sort of family bonding, but there's a grim camaraderie in the heat of battle. My daughter and her mates, young and fierce, are learning to fight as one, their movements synchronized as they face off against the relentless tide of Driders.

Nikita and her mates are a force to be reckoned with, their ferocity matched only by their skill on the battlefield. Together, they decimate the ranks of the Drow and Duergar with a relentless efficiency. Theirs is a dance of death, a deadly ballet of steel and blood amidst the swirling chaos.

Meanwhile, I leap from one dark creature to the next, my talons tearing through flesh and bone with ease. My white fur is stained with the crimson hue of spilled blood, a macabre canvas painted in the heat of battle. Each strike is precise, calculated, as I move with the grace and agility of a predator on the hunt.

The air is thick with the scent of sweat and blood, the cacophony of battle drowning out all other noise. The ground trembles beneath the weight of the combatants, and the sky above is painted with streaks of fire and smoke.

Amid the chaos, there is a strange sort of beauty. It's a brutal, unforgiving beauty, but there's a poetry to it, nonetheless. Each movement is a dance of life and death, a testament to the primal instincts that drive us forward in the face of adversity.

As the battle rages on in the depths of the Underdark, a flicker of communication reaches me from the surface realm. My family is stationed above. Reach out to check on me and tell me about the children, their voices a comforting presence amidst the chaos of combat. Alaric relays news of the Drow's emergence at the winter palace, his words tinged with a mix of concern and determination.

He and my father, Nicodeamus, stand as stalwart defenders against the encroaching darkness, their combined strength a formidable barrier against the enemy. With each clash of steel and roar of flame, they revel in the thrill of battle, dispatching their foes with a grim satisfaction.

Yet, amidst the fury of combat, a nagging question gnaws at the edges of my consciousness. How did the Drow amass such numbers without anyone noticing? The sheer scale of their forces hints at a deeper conspiracy, one that goes beyond mere chance or happenstance.

I can't shake the feeling that the Fae Kings, rulers of the surface realm, know more about what's happening than they're letting on. Their silence speaks volumes, a tacit acknowledgment of a truth that they are unwilling to reveal. The thought sends a chill down my spine, a cold realization that we may face a threat far greater than we initially realized.

But there's no time to dwell on uncertainties now. The battle rages on, and our focus must remain fixed on the task at hand. With each strike of my claws and each breath of flame, I fight not just for victory, but for the safety of my family and the realm we call home. And as the echoes of battle reverberate through the darkness, I steel myself for the challenges that lie ahead, knowing that the true test of our strength is yet to come.

As the chaos of battle momentarily subsides, a sense of unease settles over me like a shroud. Instinctively, I roar out a warning to my kin, a primal signal of danger that echoes through the family bond. This lull in the fighting feels too deliberate, too orchestrated — a calculated ploy to lull us into a false sense of security.

My daughter and her mates, attuned to the subtle nuances of our connection, share my apprehension. The Drow are up to something, of that much we are certain. With a silent exchange, we reaffirm our vigilance, refusing to let our guard down even for a moment.

Above us, Rex's Wyrm dragon roars, a thunderous sound that reverberates through the air. His emerald flames engulf the right side of the battlefield, bathing the enemy in a corrosive torrent of acid. The anguished screams of creatures fill the air, a symphony of suffering that underscores the ferocity of our retaliation.

To the left of us, Tiamat unleashes her breath weapon, a kaleidoscope of elemental fury that scorches the earth and sky alike. Her presence is a force to be reckoned with, a reminder of the power we wield in the face of our adversaries.

But even as we unleash our might upon the enemy, a new threat emerges from the shadows. The Drow, ever cunning and relentless, attempt to flank us, seeking to exploit any weakness they can find. It's a fatal gambit, one that speaks to the depths of their desperation.

Amidst the chaos, Nikita's army of the dead grows, a macabre legion of reanimated corpses that march to her command. The fallen Drow and Duergar rise once more, their lifeless forms bound to her will. It's a chilling sight, one that would strike fear into the hearts of any who oppose us—if Nikita weren't fighting alongside us.

In the heat of battle, alliances' shift and loyalties are tested. But amidst the turmoil, one thing remains certain — we stand united against the darkness. Our bonds of kinship and duty are unbreakable in the face of adversity. And as we steel ourselves for the trials that lie ahead, I draw strength from the knowledge that we fight not just for ourselves, but for the future of our realm.

As the battle rages on, my attention is drawn to a pressing concern that weighs heavily on my mind—feeding the dragons. Tiamat and Rex, our greatest assets on the battlefield, are expending a tremendous amount of energy as they unleash torrents of fire upon our enemies. With each breath, they consume vast stores of magical power, a resource that must be replenished if we are to maintain our advantage in the fight.

For a moment, my heart clenches with worry as I watch them exert themselves to the brink of exhaustion. The strain is clear in their every movement, their draconic forms wreathed in flames as they unleash their fury upon the enemy. It's a sight that fills me with both awe and apprehension, for I know that their power is not limitless.

But then, to my relief, I notice a subtle shift in their behavior. Amidst the chaos of battle, they feed upon our fallen foes, their jaws tearing into flesh and bone with a savage hunger. It's a gruesome sight, but it brings a sense of reassurance.

With each morsel they consume, their strength is replenished, their energy reserves restored. It's a reminder of the primal instincts that drive them, the need to consume and replenish in order to survive. And as I watch them feast, a wave of relief washes over me, knowing that our greatest assets will not falter in the heat of battle.

In the midst of the chaos and carnage, feeding the dragons becomes my sole focus. It's a task that requires constant vigilance, ensuring that they remain nourished and energized to continue fighting. For they are not just our family — they are our greatest weapons, and their strength is the key to victory on the battlefield.

As the battle rages on, I continue to watch over them, a silent guardian amidst the chaos. And with each passing moment, I am filled with a renewed sense of determination, knowing that as long as our dragons stand strong, we will not falter in our fight against the forces of darkness.

As Death and War, in the forms of Nikita and Michael, move like specters through the chaos of battle, I can't help but marvel at their grim efficiency. With each swing of their weapons, they cut down the enemy, only to raise them up again as undead minions under their command. It's a macabre dance, a twisted symphony of destruction and resurrection that unfolds before my eyes.

Enemies become allies in the blink of an eye, their loyalty shifting with each strike of Death's scythe and War's blade. It's a testament to the power they wield, the ability to command the very forces of life and death in the heat of battle. And as they move, their movements are a blur, their forms merging seamlessly with the swirling chaos around them.

Meanwhile, the four dragons—Tiamat, Knox, Rex, and Draven—unleash their breath weapons upon our enemies with devastating force. Flames and frost, acid, and lightning rain down upon the throngs of Drow and Duergar, engulfing them in a maelstrom of elemental fury. The air is thick with the acrid scent of burned flesh and earth, a grim reminder of the toll that war exacts upon the living and the dead alike.

Despite the carnage that surrounds us, there is a grim sense of purpose in the air. Each strike, each breath weapon unleashed, brings us one step closer to victory. And amidst the chaos and destruction, I find myself drawn into the rhythm of battle, my senses heightened as adrenaline courses through my veins.

During the swirling chaos, I stand firm as a beacon of strength amidst the storm. And as the battle rages on, I steel myself for the challenges that lie ahead, knowing that as long as we stand united, we will emerge victorious against the darkness that threatens to consume us all.

As the dust settles and the echoes of battle fade into the distance, the dragons descend from the sky, their majestic forms shifting back into their human guises. With weary yet determined expressions, we stand together as a family, surveying the aftermath of the carnage we've wrought upon our enemies.

In the eerie silence that follows, we move methodically, dispatching the last of the foes that still cling to life. With each blow, a sense of finality washes over me, the weight of our victory mingling with the lingering echoes of the fallen.

Slowly, I shift back into my human form, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle upon my shoulders like a heavy cloak. As I take stock of the battlefield, I find myself counting the hundreds of skulls littering the ground, a morbid tally of the lives lost in the heat of battle. The Elves that came with us most lay dead on the battlefield. It's probably for the best, if I'm being honest.

A sense of melancholy washes over me as I realize that there will be no time for me to collect them now, to add them to my growing collection. It's a grim reminder of the sacrifices we've made in the name of victory, the toll that war takes on both the living and the dead.

But then, my god-daughter Nikita approaches, her presence a beacon of light amidst the darkness that surrounds us. With a wave of her hand, she conjures two glasses of blood, offering one to me with a smile of reassurance.

"Today is a good day, Aurora," she says, her voice filled with quiet confidence as she sips from her own glass. I nod in agreement, accepting the glass and taking a sip, the rich metallic taste a bittersweet reminder of the price of our victory.

"So many skulls, so little time," I lament, a pang of regret tugging at my heartstrings. But Nikita's gaze is unwavering, her eyes scanning the battlefield with a sense of purpose.

"Skaldi's ancestor wants the skulls," she declares, her tone firm. "Make sure they are harvested and cleaned."

With a snap of her fingers, her minion manifests, followed by a legion of demons eager to carry out their grim task. And as they set to work, I can't help but feel a surge of anticipation. My collection is growing exponentially. Best day ever!