CHAPTER 115 – THE RITUAL SITE

JOHNNY WOLVESBANE

Lysander, undeterred by the incompleteness of his power surge, wasted no time. With a resolute determination etched on his face, he descended upon our foe, the Pestilence Dragon, like a comet streaking across the night sky. His dragonic hand reached out, seizing the monstrous creature's snout in a vice-like grip. The clash of scales echoed through the battlefield as he unleashed a torrent of magical energy, channeling it into a devastating attack.

"Baryon... Hellblaze!"

The air crackled with anticipation as his words hung in the air. Then, in a blinding flash, the Pestilence Dragon began to disintegrate, its form unraveling atom by atom in a cataclysmic cascade. A wave of crimson energy surged forth from Lysander's draconic appendage, engulfing the creature in a blaze of destruction until it dissolved into nothingness, leaving only echoes of its existence behind.

With the threat neutralized, the battlefield fell silent, but there was no time for rest. My attention snapped to the looming figure of the Corrupted Dragon Lord, her obsidian eyes ablaze with malevolent intent as she fixated on me. Anticipation coiled in the air as she prepared to unleash her devastating sonicwave shout, but I knew I had to act swiftly, before her destructive power could be unleashed upon us.

"Dracaryx! Activate Tachyon Cut!"

With a primal roar that echoed through the air, I called upon the power of my Tachyon Dragon, the embodiment of speed itself. In an instant, I leaped from its head, propelled by a surge of energy faster than light. The wind whipped past me as I hurtled towards my target, the obsidian-eyed mermaid known as the Corrupted Dragon Lord.

With a ferocity born of desperation, I extended my werewolf claws, their razor-sharp edges gleaming in the pale light. In a blur of motion, I pierced through her chest, my claws tearing through flesh and bone until they found their mark - her heart. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she crumpled to the ground, her lifeblood staining the ocean waves crimson.

As I plummeted through the air, the world a dizzying blur around me, my Tachyon Dragon swooped down with lightning speed to catch me, its powerful wings beating against the wind. Beside me, Lysander, his own transformation incomplete, fell through the sky with a grace that belied his predicament.

Below us, the aftermath of our battle unfolded like a grim tableau. The radiated remains of the Pestilence Dragon lay sprawled across the landscape, its once-mighty form reduced to a seething mass of molten rock. The Dragon's Fortress, once a bastion of dark power, now lay in ruins, its twisted spires and crumbling walls a testament to the havoc we had wrought.

As we surveyed the scene below, a somber realization washed over us. The obsidian-faced mermaids, once fierce adversaries, now lay scattered amidst the wreckage, their lifeless bodies twisted and broken. It was a sobering sight, a grim reminder of the cost of our victory.

"They are all... dead," Lysander murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow.

"So it seems," I replied, my gaze fixed on the desolate landscape below. In the wake of our triumph, there was little solace to be found, only the lingering echoes of a battle waged and won.

The aftermath of the battle left us with more questions than answers. It was clear that Gazelle's bombing of Atlanticus served as both a warning and a preemptive strike against any potential Dragon Lord aligned with the human empire. But the emergence of the Corrupted Dragon Lord and the obsidian-faced mermaids caught us all off guard, adding another layer of complexity to an already tangled web of intrigue.

The enigmatic Erudite we had encountered earlier held the key to unraveling these mysteries, but as we landed near the bell tower, he was nowhere to be found. What was puzzling was his decision to spare the bell tower, despite the chaos of battle raging around us. It stood untouched, a silent sentinel amidst the chaos. The Erudite's purpose and significance shrouded in mystery.

Whatever discourse had transpired between Lysander and the Erudite seemed to have bought us precious time, sparing the bell tower from destruction. Though slightly tilted and bearing minor damage, it remained functional, its crimson light still pulsating with latent power, a beacon for dragonoids seeking transformation.

As the Tachyon Dragon gently touched down on the Dragon's Fortress, I swiftly reverted her form back to Meike, deactivating the Vesryn Pulse. With a flick of my wrist, I released Lysander from the constraints of his Dragon Lord Commandment, allowing him to regain his human limbs.

But our attention quickly shifted to the countless injured dragonoids strewn across the fortress grounds. Some were grievously wounded, missing limbs or bleeding profusely. Without hesitation, Meike sprang into action, her healing prowess coming to the fore as she tended to the wounded with a gentle touch and a determined spirit.

As Lysander surveyed the scene before him, his gaze swept over the molten remnants of the Pestilence Dragon, its once-mighty form now reduced to a bridge connecting the Dragon's Fortress to the Northern Alterra Continent. His attention then shifted to the tilted bell tower, a silent sentinel standing amidst the wreckage, and finally to the ancient Cathedral Exa looming in the distance.

"Everything looked the same as that night," Lysander muttered, his voice heavy with reminiscence.

"You mean the previous timeline?" I ventured, seeking clarification.

Lysander nodded solemnly. "Exactly. This was the very scene where you, in the previous timeline, led the remaining skysoldiers to raid the Cathedral Exa and deliver me to the Regression Magic Ritual Site."

His mention of the Regression Magic Ritual sent a shiver down my spine, a stark reminder of the promise we had made mere moments ago. In exchange for his freedom, Lysander had agreed to divulge the secrets of the Regression Magic, knowledge that could potentially safeguard Meike and everyone else from future threats.

"Lysander, about the deal we made," I interjected, eager to fulfill our agreement.

"I know," he replied with a knowing smile. "Follow me."

With a sense of purpose, I trailed behind Lysander as he navigated the familiar surroundings with ease, as though he had traversed these paths countless times before. Together, we approached the towering entrance of the Cathedral Exa, its massive wooden doors groaning protest as Lysander pushed them open with determined resolve.

The interior of the Cathedral Exa defied all expectations. Instead of the typical grandeur found in most cathedrals, we were met with a scene of desolation and decay. A dried-out fountain stood at the center of the space, its once-flowing waters now a distant memory. Atop the fountain, a withered tree stood as a haunting reminder of life's fleeting nature. Pews, arranged vertically rather than horizontally, lined the walls, casting eerie shadows in the dim light.

Lysander's eyes scanned the room, searching for something that seemed out of place. With a furrowed brow, he spoke, his voice tinged with regret. "There should be an organ or a piano here, but its absence is likely the result of my tampering with time. Not that anyone would be here to play it anyway."

His words left me puzzled, but I followed silently as he pressed forward, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall. Eventually, we reached the altar, where the cross of Exceria stood as a solemn sentinel. Without hesitation, Lysander began to move the altar table, revealing a hidden passage below. With a torch in hand, he ignited the flame with a flick of his magic and descended into the darkness, leading the way.

As we ventured deeper into the underground passage, a sense of unease settled over us. After what felt like an eternity, we emerged into a wide chamber, its walls adorned with strange symbols and arcane sigils. It was unmistakably a ritual site, just as Lysander had predicted.

But his demeanor suddenly shifted, his expression contorted in anguish. "No... this isn't right," he murmured, his voice trembling with fear. "This isn't how it's supposed to be!"

Concern etched across my features, I approached him tentatively. "What's wrong, Lysander? What do you see?"

But his only response was a haunted look in his eyes, a silent testament to the horrors that lay ahead.