The battlefield had become a theater of chaos. Smoke, frost, and embers twisted together, curling like living things in the dim light, distorting the shapes of the remaining Kingspawn. Only a handful remained, trembling, their weapons slick with frost and scorch marks, eyes wide with disbelief. The earth was marred with deep craters, frozen fissures, and scorched earth—every inch a testament to the devastation wrought by Tormond.
Tormond stood at the center, blade gleaming like a shard of dawn, and Draconic Tempest coiled behind him, the dragon's sapphire scales glinting even in the smoke-thick haze. Its body rippled with controlled energy, tail snapping in anticipation, claws flexing against the scorched ground. It hissed low, a sound that seemed almost alive, vibrating through the battlefield like a pulse. Every observer felt it—not a roar, not a threat—but the presence of a predator that knew every heartbeat of its prey.
A soldier dared to step forward, forging a Windblade Strike. The weapon shimmered in his shaking hands, slicing the air in an arc meant to threaten. Tormond's eyes narrowed, subtle as a predator assessing prey. With a slight tilt of his blade, he guided the wind around the man, redirecting the attack harmlessly. The dragon responded instantly, its tail lashing in a Sapphire Coil Whip, striking the soldier with bone-crushing force. He crashed into a frozen crater, limbs snapping against ice shards, steam hissing from the sudden collision of frost and embers. He tried to cry out, but only a strangled gurgle escaped before silence took him.
Nearby, another soldier froze mid-step, hand gripping a broken spear as if courage alone could hold him upright. Tormond's gaze flicked to him. Every instinct betrays you before you even act, he thought, a predator's calculation humming in his mind. A flick of the wrist unleashed Gale Serpentine, a violent arc of wind that shredded the spear into splinters and knocked him sprawling. The dragon's sapphire eyes followed him like a cat watching a mouse, tail flicking impatiently as though disapproving of the prey's weakness.
From afar, Mikayle, Ivan, Yuhan, and Marco watched, their expressions frozen between awe and terror. Mikayle's lips parted, pale and trembling. "He… he's faster than thought itself."
Ivan's grin sharpened, but tension creased his brow. "Control… absolute control. One wrong move, and they're all gone."
Yuhan swallowed hard, voice barely audible. "It's like the battlefield itself obeys him."
Marco's fists clenched, jaw tight. Wind tore at debris and banners alike, frost shards sliced past, and embers danced in chaotic swirls. "This… this isn't normal," he muttered, eyes tracking every movement of the dragon and Tormond.
A group of soldiers attempted to form a defensive cluster, raising shields as if they could hold back the storm. Tormond tilted his blade. Gale Serpentine surged in a precise arc, shredding shields. Aqua Vortex Chains braided crystalline binds around the cluster, freezing joints mid-step. Inferno Trail erupted beneath their boots, scorching armor and flesh alike. Steam hissed as fire met frost; the cluster shattered. Soldiers screamed, frozen and burning at once, limbs cracking, weapons useless.
The dragon moved fluidly, twisting its body in perfect synchrony with Tormond. Teeth clicked and claws scraped against stone as it arched above the battlefield, tail flicking with calculated intent. A soldier lunged with trembling courage, forging an ice spear. The dragon's tail swept in Sapphire Coil Whip, knocking him sideways. Aqua Vortex Chains wrapped the spear midair, freezing it instantly, while Inferno Trail ignited shards as they fell, leaving steaming craters in the scorched earth.
Mikayle's breath caught. "He sees everything… anticipates everything…"
Yuhan shivered. "It's alive… the battlefield obeys him like he's the heart of it."
Tormond advanced slowly, the dragon coiling like a living extension of his will. Windstorm Arc tore through shields and weapons alike, Frostbind Chains froze legs mid-stride, and Inferno Trail seared exposed flesh. Flames melted frost into hissing steam, gusts scattered embers, and jagged ice shards embedded themselves in the ground. Soldiers stumbled, scrambled, and fell, each movement anticipated and countered with terrifying precision.
A soldier attempted a desperate Flame Edge, swinging a fire-forged sword in frantic hope. The dragon arched, striking in Dragonstorm Convergence—wind lifted embers, water froze them midair into jagged shards, fire ignited them into a deadly hailstorm. The soldier never landed a blow; armor shattered, limbs broke, scream cut short. Steam hissed, curling into the air, carrying the scent of burnt metal and ozone.
Amid the chaos, Tormond paused—not out of hesitation, but to observe. His eyes swept over every surviving soldier, the faintest crease of thought passing across his features. Each movement, each twitch of a limb, each faltering breath registered in his mind. It was a predator's scrutiny, sharp and silent, calculating intent before it could even form.
He didn't need to strike. Not yet. The soldiers' own fear betrayed them: a raised hand, a shifting stance, a heartbeat too fast. The battlefield became a living map, each figure a dot marked for elimination. From the dragon coiled behind him to the scorched earth underfoot, every element seemed attuned to his will, waiting for the moment he chose to release it.
Mikayle noticed it first, whispering, "He… he's studying them… like they're prey."
Ivan's grin sharpened, but his eyes were wary. "Not just studying… he's already decided their fate."
Yuhan's hands shook as he realized the implication: the calm before Tormond's strike wasn't mercy—it was assessment. Marco clenched his fists, tension coiling in his chest.
Even the wind seemed to slow in his presence. Ember sparks hung in midair for a heartbeat, frost crystals formed patterns that mirrored his movements, and the faint hiss of the dragon behind him grew into a low, synchronized rhythm, echoing the precision in Tormond's mind. It was a moment of eerie calm, a silent declaration of dominance. The battlefield itself had bowed, anticipating the storm he would unleash next.
One soldier, trembling but stubborn, attempted to charge through the hail of shards. Tormond tilted his blade, dragon coiled, tail flicking. Gale Serpentine and Aqua Vortex Chains worked in tandem; the soldier's feet were trapped midair in frozen coils as fire from Inferno Trail scorched his armor. He hit the ground with a wet thud, smoke rising from his melting boots.
The observers felt the battlefield as if it extended to them. Mikayle whispered, "If this is just a fraction… what happens at full power?"
Ivan's grin returned, sharp and predatory, tinged with unease. "The storm incarnate… it hunts like a god."
Marco's fists twitched; Yuhan's hands shook. The ground itself seemed to shudder under Tormond's rhythm, the air bending and snapping with every strike. The dragon hissed again, teeth glinting, tail flicking, eyes scanning every twitching enemy. It was alive, predatory, and terrifying.
Another soldier attempted a flank, forging twin ice blades. The dragon reacted instantly, Sapphire Coil Whip lashing out. Aqua Vortex Chains froze the blades midair, while Inferno Trail seared the edges. Limbs shattered, weapons splintered, smoke hissed as fire and frost collided. The soldier crumpled, mouth open in a frozen scream.
Tormond's steps were minimal, deliberate, each flick of the wrist and tilt of the blade orchestrating a symphony of destruction. Every heartbeat is a question. Every instinct, my answer. Wind cut through shields, ice twisted around ankles, fire licked the scorched earth. Steam hissed, embers scattered, shards of frost embedded themselves in the broken ground. The dragon mirrored his thought, coiling, striking, and lashing with perfect coordination.
Mikayle, Ivan, Yuhan, and Marco all exhaled slowly, their minds struggling to comprehend the absolute control before them. Mikayle whispered again, awe-stricken, "Even if they tried… no army could stand against him."
Tormond paused, surveying the battlefield. Smoke rose in lazy spirals, frost gleamed where embers had not burned it away, and the scattered Kingspawn were either fleeing, broken, or dead. The dragon coiled high behind him, tail flicking, teeth clicking softly. Even amidst the chaos, a predator's calm prevailed.