The missile slammed into the dragon's shoulder with a blinding flash and a thunderous roar.
The resulting explosion lit the sky in hues of crimson and gold, casting Inigo's cockpit in sharp contrasts. His HUD flared from the shockwave, warning lights blinking across the display, but the Apache held firm. Smoke and shattered scales spiraled through the air, trailing behind the flailing behemoth.
The dragon screamed.
It wasn't just a roar—it was agony. Rage. Pain. Shock.
From Ironmark, the people could hear it even through the thick stone of their walls. The ground trembled, birds scattered, and even the bravest warriors flinched. It was the sound of a legend bleeding.
"She's hit!" a sentry shouted from the watchtower.
On the edge of the plaza, children cried. Mothers clutched them close, not out of fear—but awe. For the first time in living memory, the Red Wyrm of Emberreach was not invincible. She bled. She burned.
"She's falling!" someone screamed.
