The Milf's Dragon-Chapter 129. Blood of My Blood

The second attack came.

Not in then morning when defenders weren’t their freshest. Not when at night when exhaustion was at its peak.

Midday, when the sun was high and dragons’ night-adapted eyes were at their weakest. Vorthraxx had grown up among them. He knew their biology, their rhythms, their vulnerabilities. He’d designed this war to exploit every advantage.

Owen stood on the eastern wall when the first wave crested the horizon. His Dragon’s Eye pierced the distance, counting, categorizing.

Three thousand demons. Heavier units than the first attack. Siege equipment rolling forward on massive wheels. And among them were...

Dragons.

Owen’s breath caught.

They flew among the demon ranks, their scales darkened, their forms twisted. Some still showed traces of their original colors...a flash of blue here, a hint of green there...but the miasma had done its work. Purple-black corruption ran through them like veins, distorting their shapes, elongating their limbs, twisting their wings into something wrong.

"How many?" Verida appeared beside him, already in battle form.

"Twenty. Maybe thirty." Owen’s voice was flat. "They’re not just corrupted. They’re fighting with the demons. Coordinated."

Verida’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes died. "I know some of them. Trained with them. Fought beside them."

"Can you fight them now?"

"I have to." She spread her wings. "That’s what makes this war hell."

She launched off the wall.

The battle erupted.

Owen watched from his position—forbidden to fight, ordered to witness. His fists clenched at his sides as dragon fire met demonic magic, as claws tore through corrupted flesh, as the sky filled with combatants who had once been family.

A demonic dragon—emerald scales now blackened, eyes burning with purple fire—slammed into Verida mid-flight. They tumbled through the air, locked together, each trying to find a fatal hit. Verida’s toxic aura flared, eating at the corrupted scales. The demonic dragon screamed—a sound that held dragon and demon both.

"Dra’Karlen..." Verida breathed the dragon’s name in Recognition. Grief flashed on her face Then she drove her claws through his chest.

The demonic dragon fell.

Verida hovered for one moment, watching him descend. Then she turned and rejoined the fight.

Owen forced himself to watch. To remember. This was what Vorthraxx had done...not just declared war, but turned dragon against dragon. Made them kill each other so that whichever side won, dragons lost.

---

The battle lasted four hours.

When it ended, another forty dragons were dead. The demonic dragons had been eliminated...all twenty-seven of them...but the cost was written in every face that returned.

Verida landed heavily on the wall, her side torn open. Not by demons...by a dragon she’d once called friend. Her toxic aura flickered weakly.

"Medic!" Owen caught her before she collapsed. "MEDIC!"

They carried her to the healing halls. The wound was bad... claw marks from a corrupted dragon carried miasma contamination. The healers worked through the night, cutting away corrupted tissue, flooding her system with purifying magic.

By dawn, she was stable. But her wing was damaged. Permanently.

"She won’t fly again," the head healer told Dominus quietly. "Not in battle. Maybe not ever."

Dominus absorbed this without visible reaction. "She lives. That’s what matters."

"Is it?" Verida’s voice came from the bed. She’d heard. "What use is a Greater Dragon who can’t fight?"

"Greater Dragons aren’t just fighters." Dominus moved to her side. "They’re symbols. Leaders. The dragons need to see you survive. Need to know that even wounded, even broken, you’re still here."

Verida’s eyes closed. Tears leaked from beneath her lids.

"I killed Dra’karlen today," she whispered. "We trained together for two centuries. He was at my bonding ceremony. Held my first hatchling." Her voice broke. "And I killed him."

"He chose Vorthraxx’s path"

"He chose something he believed in. I don’t know what. I don’t know if it was really him at the end, or just the miasma wearing his scales." She opened her eyes. "That’s the worst part. Not knowing if the dragon I killed was already gone, or if I murdered my friend while he watched from inside."

Dominus had no answer.

And Neither did Owen.

---

That night, Owen found Dominus alone in the throne room.

The Dragon King stood at the window, watching the wounded sky. His back was straight, his expression unreadable, but Owen had learned to read what wasn’t shown. The weight of command. The grief of losses. The knowledge that harder choices waited.

"You’re planning something," Owen said.

"I’m always planning something."

"This is different." Owen moved closer. "This is—" He searched for the word. "Final."

Dominus was quiet for a long moment. Then: "When Vorthraxx comes...when he brings everything...someone needs to survive. Someone needs to carry forward what we were. What we could have been."

"The dragons who follow him..."

"Chose him. Yes." Dominus’s voice hardened. "That’s the part that makes this unforgivable. He didn’t just fall. He took others with him. Convinced them that his grief, his rage, his war was worth dying for. Worth killing for."

"How?"

"Because he meant it. Every word. Every promise. He truly believes that the world wronged him, that the gods and mortals deserve destruction, that dragons who won’t fight beside him are traitors to their own kind." Dominus turned. "And some dragons believed him. Not because they’re evil—because they loved him. Because they saw his pain and wanted to help. Because he made them feel like they were fighting for something meaningful."

"That’s manipulation."

"That’s leadership." Dominus’s eyes held centuries of understanding. "The same skills that make a great king can make a great tyrant. Vorthraxx learned everything from me. How to inspire loyalty. How to give people purpose. How to make them believe in something larger than themselves." He paused. "I just never thought he’d use it against me."

The weight of those words pressed down.

"When the main force comes," Owen said slowly, "they won’t just be demons. They’ll be dragons who chose this."

"Yes."

"And you’ll have to kill them."

"If they won’t surrender. If they won’t see reason." Dominus’s voice was steady, but his hands trembled slightly. "I’ve already lost one son. I may have to kill dozens more who were like children to me."

"Can you do it?"

Dominus looked at him. Those golden eyes held everything...grief, rage, love, duty.

"I have to."

---

Dawn brought more reports.

The main demon force was moving. Four legions, as predicted. But the scouts had more to report—something that made their voices crack as they delivered it.

"At the front of the army," one scout said, "leading the vanguard. Dragons. At least fifty of them. All transformed. All bearing his banner."

Vorthraxx’s banner. The Desecrator’s standard.

Leading the charge against their own kind.

Dominus received the news in silence. Then he dismissed the scouts and stood alone for a long moment.

Owen waited.

Finally, Dominus spoke. "Fifty dragons. Fifty of my children, marching to kill me." His voice was quiet. "I knew most of them personally. Trained them. Watched them grow. Celebrated their achievements." He turned. "And now I have to stop them. By any means necessary."

"You could try to reason with them."

"I could. I will. Before the battle, I’ll fly out and offer them one last chance to return." Dominus’s wings spread slightly. "But I know what they’ll say. I know because Vorthraxx taught them to say it. They’ll tell me that I failed them. That I chose duty over love. That the world deserves to burn. That dragonkind needs to rewrite the laws of the world"

"And then?"

"And then I’ll do what I must." He moved toward the door. "Come. There’s something you should see before the end."

He led Owen through the palace, down corridors Owen hadn’t explored, to a chamber deep in the mountain’s heart.

The Hatchery.

It was smaller than Owen expected. Intimate. A single chamber lined with nests, but only one glowed with an inner light while the rest were dark and dormant. In a partial death state...

"The future," Dominus said quietly. "If we fail, this are what remain. Sealed in the deep shelters, waiting for someone to open the door."

Owen looked at the eggs. Dozens of them. Potential lives. Potential dragons who would never know their parents, their culture, their history.

"I’ll remember," he said. "When I wake—when I find them—I’ll tell them about this. About what you fought for."

Dominus nodded. "That’s all I can ask."

They stood together in the quiet chamber, surrounded by sleeping life.

Outside, the army marched.