The battle became a festival of destruction.
Bel soared through the chaos like a living apocalypse, his massive wings beating against the shattered wind, each flap shaking the ground beneath.
With lightning around him and fire flickering from his maw, he was the culmination of a war machine.
Dragons swarmed, their roars cutting through the storm. But he wasn't afraid.
He opened his jaws.
A stream of fire burst forth, searing red-orange, carving a blazing scar across the sky.
The air turned white, then detonated in a series of thunderous shockwaves. The sky lit up like a second sun, and the wind caught fire.
In the aftermath, the air shimmered with intense heat. Ash drifted like black snow, coating the battlefield.
Every breath burned in the lungs. The world felt heavier, denser.
A single breath had warped the world itself.
One dragon screamed as the fire cleaved through its body, erupting behind it in a sunburst of flames.
