With a few words of power, Peter summoned his circle to join him on the back of the massive Vital Hydra that Matthias had become. The mighty form felt like an extension of the land Peter had bound himself to. His magic—and that of his circle—moved freely and easily through the stone and vines that made up the colossal body.

  Up close, the Hydra was overwhelming.

  Massive plates of living stone shifted like continental shelves beneath Peter’s boots. Veins of emerald light pulsed faintly through bark-thick vines that braided the creature’s form together. Moss clung along ridges of granite-like hide, slick with rain. The scent of wet earth, crushed greenery, and raw mana rose with every titanic breath Matthias drew.

  Wind tore around them at this height. Rain lashed sideways in silver sheets, stinging Peter’s face and plastering his robes to his skin. Below, the battlefield churned in violent motion—steel flashes, bursts of flame, writhing bodies, spreading crimson. The sheer scale of it threatened to overwhelm the senses.

  “Alright, first things first—safety!” Peter shouted over the storm.

  He shaped a layered dome around them, weaving vine and stone together into a protective shell. Roots cracked and grew into place with sharp reports, knitting into a dense lattice overhead. Rain hammered against it in a steady drumbeat. Stray spells splashed across its surface in flares of light that bled harmlessly into the woven matrix.

  Without prompting, his entire circle entered a meditative state as they linked themselves to Matthias.

  The connection was staggering.

  Peter felt every footfall as if it were his own—felt the compression of soil and fractured rock beneath titanic weight. He sensed the heat blooms of dragon breath before they struck. Spells that hammered into Matthias’ bulk registered as distant tremors in his bones. The Hydra’s awareness stretched outward in widening rings: coastline, shallows, stormfront, sky. Every heartbeat of the battlefield echoed within that shared consciousness.

  Peter preserved his mana for the moment. It was his circle’s duty to ensure Matthias never succumbed to accumulated wounds. Already, threads of restorative energy flowed downward from their ritual, seeping into cracked stone and torn vine.

  Peter, however, had been granted permission to go on the offensive.

  He had even been promised dragon meat if he brought a few down.

  Reaching out to the storm, Peter held the image of spider webs in his mind as he constructed his spell. He did not simply summon lightning—he coaxed it. He felt pressure building in the clouds, electric tension crawling across his skin. The air sharpened, metallic in his lungs.

  With a sharp gesture, he pulled.

  Lightning crashed downward with a deafening report that swallowed the battlefield in white. The bolt struck a dragon mid-flight and exploded outward into branching filaments that snapped and tangled through the air like living threads. The web stretched across dozens of wings.

  Ozone burned thick. Dragons screamed, scales glowing dull orange beneath the coursing arcs. Muscles seized. The lightning did not fade—it clung and tightened.

  Entangled bodies collided with thunderous impacts. Wings snapped. One dragon’s skull struck another’s flank hard enough to crater scales. They fell in spiraling masses, trailing smoke and crackling energy.

  Peter watched them crash into the tide below, their impact bursting outward in a ring of pulverized monsters and splintered armor.

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  Dragon fire answered.

  Flames washed across Matthias’ flanks in sheets of orange and gold. Steam roared upward as fire met rain-soaked stone. The scent of scorched vegetation flashed sharp but brief before being swallowed by the storm. Spells detonated in violet and crimson bursts, splashing against his hide.

  But Matthias did not advance.

  He stood at the edge of the battlefield like a living bulwark.

  Rain streamed down the vast planes of his body. Steam cloaked him in shifting veils of white. The ground trembled beneath his presence alone, yet he held position—absorbing, enduring, measuring. The enemy hordes surged forward but hesitated at the sight of him. Many were still reeling from the falling dragons; others balked at charging something so impossibly vast.

  Peter seized another surge of lightning and cast out a second web. Again the sky split open. Again dragons shrieked and tumbled.

  Then motion along the coast drew their attention.

  At first, Peter thought the storm distorted his vision.

  Then the horizon moved.

  An island offshore shuddered. Water cascaded down its sides in roaring waterfalls as it began to rise. Trees clung stubbornly to its shell. Soil and boulders slid in miniature landslides. A massive turtle’s head breached the sea, displacing the ocean in a rolling surge that slammed against the coastline.

  Its eyes opened—vast and ancient—and burned with fury.

  The cry it released vibrated in Peter’s bones. It rattled loose pebbles from Matthias’ shoulders and rippled through the storm clouds above.

  The Island Tortoise stepped onto land.

  Each footfall drove columns of water and mud skyward. The shoreline fractured beneath its weight. When it opened its maw, the pressure in the air shifted.

  The beam of water that followed was not a stream—it was a compressed torrent, white and screaming. It carved through rain and storm alike, striking a dragon mid-turn. The creature separated cleanly, its halves falling in different arcs.

  Salt spray mingled with blood.

  The Island Tortoise swept its second blast across the ground forces preparing to engulf Matthias’ position. Bodies disintegrated into vaporized mist. Armor peeled apart like paper. Entire lanes were carved through the advancing mass.

  That was the opening.

  Matthias answered.

  His tail moved with continental inevitability. The air displaced ahead of it with a booming concussion. When it struck, the front ranks of the enemy ceased to exist in any recognizable form. The ground cratered outward in a rippling shockwave.

  Then he stepped forward.

  Now his foot came down amidst the enemy.

  Mud, shattered bone, and broken armor compressed beneath unimaginable weight. The impact sent tremors racing outward. Monsters were thrown from their feet; others simply vanished beneath him. The earth groaned—but did not break.

  He advanced in tandem with the Island Tortoise.

  Dragon turtles followed in the Tortoise’s wake, plodding forward like oversized cavalry. Hunger flashed in reptilian eyes as they joined the fray.

  Dragons still circled at range, unleashing breath weapons from afar. Fire bathed Matthias’ bulk, but the heavy rain robbed it of its fury. Steam poured from his flanks in thick curtains.

  On the ground, hordes finally committed fully, leaping and clawing at his legs as he pushed deeper into their ranks. Vines lashed out like living whips, cracking with lethal precision. Antionette’s horse-sized dungeon ants surged like a black tide around his advancing feet, mandibles snapping, chitin slick with rain and gore.

  Matthias’ many heads descended in sweeping arcs.

  Each maw opened like a blooming carnivorous flower, rows of grinding stone-teeth lined with thorns. Hundreds vanished with each pass. Crunching reverberated upward through Peter’s boots.

  The Island Tortoise fired again into the sky, slicing through dragons attempting to cluster for coordinated strikes.

  Then the ritual completed.

  Green radiance burst outward—not blinding, but overwhelming in presence. Vitality surged through the Hydra form in a tidal wave. Cracked stone fused seamlessly. Torn vines regrew thick and vibrant. The air itself seemed to inhale.

  All the damage sustained until that moment was erased beneath the surge of healing energy.

  The dragons faltered.

  Before they could regroup, the first wyvern tore through a dragon’s wing in a spray of dark blood. Furious manticores dove from the cloud cover above, manes whipping, tails lashing, shrieks piercing through thunder.

  The battlefield shifted.

  It was no longer a siege.

  It was a harvest.

  With thundering steps, Matthias and the Island Tortoise advanced toward the fallen dragons scattered across churned earth and broken coastline. The smell of ozone, salt, blood, and crushed vegetation hung thick in the rain-heavy air.

  They began to feast.

  “Don’t forget my share,” Peter sighed, stomping one foot lightly as lightning flickered across his fingertips. “I bet dragons are magically delicious.”