Isaiah watched from his seat of power as Seattle’s forces let loose on the invading army. A hundred screens, each one the size of a tablet, showed him exactly how thoroughly his people were outnumbered.

  But while the war elves had Warcallers and Wardwrights, Tacticians and Healers, his people had him. His drones – thousands of them – buzzed through the air like a swarm of locusts. The majority were entirely non-lethal. Scouts meant to convey information rather than fight against armies. However, there were still hundreds that had been equipped with a wide variety of weapons.

  Using Ethera Detection, he sighted in on his targets. Hundreds of elves, scattered across the entire army, glowed on his screens. He directed his lethal drones forward. Cloaked as they were, they were almost entirely undetectable, so they approached without any opposition.

  Meanwhile, his army repeatedly fired on the attacking force. The cannons were the most effective weapons in his arsenal, but there were enough powerful riflemen among the defenders that they managed quite a bit of damage on their own.

  It would not be enough, though.

  “Mr. Lindstrom,” Isaiah said, trusting Projection to send his voice through the appropriate drone.

  On one of the screens, the assassin nodded, saying, “I hear you.”

  “Targets will be marked in three, two, one,” Isaiah intoned. “Now.”

  His scout drones attacked, but not with the full brunt of their lethality. Instead, they were only meant to paint the targets with visible ethera. And in that respect, they were perfectly effective.

  Lindstrom needed no more prompting. A couple of miles away from the army, and perched at the top of the Space Needle, he fired. A moment later, the most powerful Warcaller among the army exploded. A second later, another gunshot rang out, and a nearby Healer fell.

  Over and over, the marked targets fell.

  They represented the lynchpin of the war elf host. Tacticians, Healers, and Warcallers. Without them, the elven army would lose cohesion and be forced to fight without the powerful buffs those support personnel could provide.

  But the counterattack didn’t end with Gunnar Lindstrom. The rest of the defenders sighted in on those same targets, burying them beneath as much gunfire as they could provide. Not to be left out, the cannon operators added their roiling balls of ethera to the mix.

  The targeted attack fell upon the war elves with mixed results. Most of the defenders’ gunfire never made it past the shields. By contrast, the cannons were much more effective, though the rate of fire meant that they could only do so much damage.

  Meanwhile, Gunnar put them all to shame. Each shot utterly destroyed a marked elf. As he fired, he announced each success by saying, “Target down.”

  If nothing else, Isaiah could appreciate the man’s effectiveness, efficiency, and professionalism.

  Sequestered in his command center, he felt oddly disconnected from the battle. He wasn’t. Every time one of the elves attacked and destroyed one of his drones, Isaiah felt a jolt of pain – both physical as well as spiritual. Each one was an extension of his soul, a distinction that transferred at least a measure of his power to them. The downside was that they provided a conduit through which damage could reach him.

  Desdemona Charontis had taken advantage of that, rendering him briefly unconscious. Her ploy had been well-planned, and if Hart hadn’t proved himself far more reasonable – and a good deal less reactive – than Isaiah had given him credit for, it probably would have worked.

  Which was a scary prospect made even more terrifying because Isaiah had pinned almost all of his hopes on remaining informed. That the Daughters had snuck the plot in under his nose was more than troubling, especially when the elves had done something similar.

  His only defense was that his city played host to every race that called Earth their new home. There were elves, gnomes, and dwarves aplenty, and that wasn’t even considering the traders who routinely visited. A half-dozen other races were represented as well, though to a far lesser extent.

  Until now, there was no reason to notice a few extra elves.

  They’d hidden in plain sight – evidence that he’d need to make some serious changes. But before he could do anything of the sort, he’d need to finish off the attackers.

  Thankfully, Elijah Hart was on his side.

  The man was far more powerful than Isaiah’s most generous estimates, and he’d already killed more than a hundred Warcallers. Lindstrom had destroyed about half as many, proving his own strength. Though Isaiah knew that neither could have been nearly as effective without him directing their efforts.

  But that was how it should be.

  He specialized in information. They did the fighting. Working in tandem, they were much stronger than if they tried to go it alone.

  It was just too bad their personalities often got in the way. And in Isaiah’s more retrospective moments, he could acknowledge that his own issues contributed to that lack of cooperation.

  It also laid bare the destined failure of Operation Dragon Slayer. Despite the resources Isaiah had put into that contingency plan, there was no way it would be successful. Not with Hart’s power.

  At present, that could not matter, though.

  Even as Lindstrom picked off high-value targets, the cannons and defenders shifted their focus to the rank and file. Without the protection of their Wardwrights, and absent the augmentation from Tacticians, they only had their own power to shield them from attacks.

  It was not enough.

  Isaiah couldn’t help but smile as wave after wave of gunfire – both physical and ethereal in nature – fell upon the attackers. Elves died in droves, but they soon reached the walls. Using abilities to help them scale that edifice, they soon climbed to the top.

  Seattle’s own Tacticians boosted the defending army’s effectiveness, but in melee combat, they were no match for the higher-level and more focused enemy combatants. The only advantage on the side of Seattle’s defenders was their positioning. Only so many of the enemy could mount the wall at any given time, which formed a natural chokepoint.

  A good commander might’ve managed to overcome that disadvantage, but their command force – at least thirty-thousand strong – had problems of their own.

  Or rather, a single problem in the form of a giant, emerald scaled dragon.

  When Isaiah had first seen the form, he’d assumed it was just another of Elijah Hart’s bestial shapes. But it only took a little insight to recognize that it was different. More real. It fit in ways that Isaiah couldn’t quite articulate. He just knew it was as much the man’s natural form as when he appeared in the guise of a human.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Perhaps that contributed to the oppressive feeling it emitted. In fact, that overbearing aura was one of the reasons Isaiah had recovered so quickly from being rendered unconscious. It had jolted him awake, which allowed him to deal with the assassins who’d been sent to remove him from power.

  Their bodies were cooling nearby.

  Two had been higher level than him, but they’d lacked meaningful cultivation, making them easy targets. How long had Desdemona Charontis been planning the attack? Years, at the very least. And he’d never seen it coming.

  He shook his head, vowing to do better in the future, but knowing that he needed to keep those plans where they belonged. At present, he could only focus on the task at hand, which meant directing his city’s defense.

  He refocused in an effort to do just that.

  *    *    *

  Elijah ripped through the war elves like they were made of paper. Blood, bone, and flesh flew through the air, punctuated by the not-so-subtle beat of cannon fire. He knew he couldn’t keep it up for long. His draconic body needed too much energy to sustain that level of activity, and it wouldn’t be long before it started to feed upon itself. The environment on Earth was simply incapable of meeting his needs.

  But for now, he was an unstoppable juggernaut.

  The war elves put up a good fight, though that was almost entirely due to their numbers. Elijah well knew the dangers posed by a swarm of weaker enemies – especially after what he’d seen from the wasps in the Broken Crown – so he refused to allow himself to lose focus. To that end, he used Grove Conduit and Blessing of the Grove, conjuring a life-giving rainstorm that filled him with vitality.

  It also helped mitigate some of the effects of the far-too-thin atmosphere.

  The wounds inflicted by the elves were painful enough, though by that point, Elijah had long since learned to cordon that pain into its own facet of his mind, where he could ignore it. Enduring it was no easy feat, though it was aided by the adrenaline of battle. Soon enough, he would have to deal with it, but only once Seattle was safe from invasion.

  As strong as Elijah was, killing thirty thousand people was no easy or quick endeavor. Long minutes passed as he tore through them. There was no quarter expected and no mercy given. The elves stood their ground to the end, even though they did so while trembling in fear at the monstrous presence that had descended among them.

  He didn’t let up as he exterminated one elf after another. Their meager constitutions and low-grade armor were no impediment to his attacks, and each swipe of his claws or bludgeoning from his tail killed multiple enemies. After everything he’d endured in the Primal Realm, it was almost cathartic, simply letting loose among enemies who could not stop him.

  And that was the problem.

  Power was addictive. Killing people who deserved it was even more so. And it was all too easy to lose himself in the joy of uncontested might, to allow himself to embrace the tyrant within.

  Elijah refused to walk that path. He would do what was necessary, but he had to remember his conscience. His humanity. The lessons in morality he’d learned from his parents, from his sister.

  Still, he didn’t hold back. He couldn’t afford to let the elves live. They’d already proven themselves a grave danger to Earth’s people, and he knew that if he let even a few of them survive, they would come back, and probably stronger than ever. Elijah didn’t fear them – not personally – but rather, he was afraid that he wouldn’t be there the next time they attacked.

  Because as much progress as the rest of humanity – and the alien settlers who now called the planet home – had made, they weren’t ready to meet such a challenge. The war elves were conquerors by nature as well as culture. And they were good at what they did.

  Without Elijah’s interference, they would have eventually toppled Kalki. And he had no doubts that, despite the defenses implemented by Isaiah, they would have conquered Seattle as well.

  So, he fought.

  He killed.

  Long minutes turned into more than an hour as the battle raged on, both in front of him and along the city’s walls. And then, at last, after that hour had stretched into most of a day, Elijah realized that there were no more enemies to kill. Most of the command cluster had been ripped into pieces, but some had managed to remain mostly intact. Still dead, but impressively whole.

  That was when a drone fluttered close. Elijah nearly swiped it out of the air, though he stopped himself just in time.

  “A little more than a thousand escaped,” Isaiah said through the ethera-powered machine. “They have taken refuge within the Conclave compound, though it seems that they are incapable of activating the Spires.”

  “The Conclave personnel?”

  “Presumed dead. Otherwise, they would have used the Spires to flee.”

  Elijah nodded his great, draconic head. It made sense. An oversight on the part of the elves, to kill the space mages that might affect their escape. However, the war elves had likely never considered the notion that they might be forced into a retreat. From everything Elijah knew of them, their pride wouldn’t allow them to accept the potential for such a possibility.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Elijah said.

  “Please do not destroy the Spires,” Isaiah requested.

  Elijah didn’t acknowledge the appeal, though it made things much more delicate. The Conclave compound wasn’t large enough to accommodate his dragon form, and he’d intended to simply bring the collection of buildings down around them. Further complicating matters was that there was still a possibility of survivors. And finally, Elijah felt incredibly tired. Like he’d just completed a triathlon.

  So, he shifted into the Shape of the Scourge and sprinted across the desert.

  The Conclave Spires weren’t far from the city, but the war elf command had been situated on the other side. So, he needed to cover a few dozen miles before he finally reached his destination. Thankfully, with his increased power, doing so only took about fifteen minutes.

  Along the way, he used Guise of the Stalker, so when he reached the compound, he did so entirely unnoticed. Hundreds of elves lined the walls, though Elijah was entirely disinterested in them. He wanted the person in charge. To bypass the walls, he used two instances of Cloud Step, which allowed him to reach an altitude of hundreds of feet. He landed in the center of the Spires.

  It didn’t take Elijah long to identify the leader.

  He wore an elaborate variation of Warcaller’s armor, the red enameled metal etched with dense runes. More importantly, he was screaming at a handful of other elves, demanding that they figure out how to activate the Spires. They clearly had no clue how to do so, which only enraged him further.

  Elijah could see that much of his anger came from fear.

  He’d seen the dragon, after all. Terror was an appropriate response.

  Without hesitation, Elijah continued the extermination he’d begun miles away. The first attack came when he pounced on the leader. His claws initially skated off the enameled metal, but he managed to nick the elf’s neck. Not enough to cause him to bleed out, but more than sufficient to impart his afflictions upon the unfortunate would-be conqueror.

  The elf staggered as Ethereal Sepsis and Spreading Blight took hold. A second later, his veins darkened under the venomous attack, and he fell to his knees. Those nearby were affected as well, and Elijah activated Phantom Shift. Six copies blurred his form as he raced across the compound’s central courtyard.

  He mostly attacked with the claws on his feet, but he wasn’t averse to using his jaws. To protect himself, he flitted from one copy to another, never allowing himself to be pinned down.

  Progress was slow, though – largely because the scourgedrake form was never meant to be an army killer.

  But Shape of Spores was.

  After his initial barrage, Elijah shifted into the shape of the shelled biped and activated Throne of Spores. Fungal tendrils erupted from his shoulders as well as the ground, wrapping themselves around the still stunned elves. They fought back against the constrictive force, but very few were powerful enough to break free before their lives were squeezed out of them. Those that did manage to escape those tendrils were inevitably enveloped by the cloud of yellow spores that came from the fungal tentacles’ destruction.

  Even as they choked from the rot infesting their bodies, Elijah used Nature’s Claim. Mushrooms exploded from their backs, adding to cascade of damage. And all the while, Elijah plodded among them. Nearly every attack leveled against him bounced off his scales – or his shell – without inflicting any damage. The ones that did land barely harmed him, and those minor wounds healed in less than an instant.

  He was indestructible.

  It wasn’t long before the elves on the walls leaped free and took off across the desert. Elijah had no real interest in chasing them, but he recognized the necessity. Leaving even one alive would almost assuredly be a mistake. So the second the enemies within the compound were dead, he leaped free, shifted into the Shape of the Scourge, and sprinted after the scattering elves.

  They were superhumanly fast, but they couldn’t outrun Elijah.

  Still, it took some time to chase them all down, and by the time he managed it, night had fallen.

  In the distance, he still heard cannon and rifle fire, which told him that the battle for Seattle’s walls continued. With a reptilian sigh, he turned and ran towards the city, aiming to end the battle once and for all.

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