CHAPTER 115: BONE DRAGON 3

The Bone Dragon stood in the deepest, darkest part of the chasm, a monument of obsidian bone and malevolent, green light. It was a creature of impossible size, its skeletal form a masterpiece of natural, terrifying architecture. Its empty eye sockets glowed with a faint, necrotic fire, and the very air around it seemed to warp and shimmer with the sheer, oppressive weight of its power. It was not just a beast; it was a god of death, a silent, eternal king in a kingdom of the dead.

It let out a roar, a sound that was not a sound at all, but a silent, bone-chilling wave of pure, unadulterated death that seemed to shake the very foundations of my soul. The whispers of the a thousand dead souls that had been a constant, mournful hum in the background of my thoughts now rose to a deafening, terrified scream.

I stood at the edge of a high, rocky precipice, my own form a small, insignificant shadow against the backdrop of this monument to death. The plan I had formulated in the quiet, sacred space of the ancient dragon-tamers’ chamber was a desperate, suicidal gambit. But it was the only one I had.

[System: The probability of success for a direct, head-on assault is approximately 0.001%. I would advise a more... subtle approach.]

’Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ I shot back, my own mind a chaotic battlefield of conflicting emotions. ’And for the record, subtlety is my middle name.’

I didn’t move. I just watched, my eyes scanning the terrain, my mind a whirlwind of calculations and strategies. The Bone Dragon was not just a mindless beast. It was intelligent. It was patient. And this... this was its home. Its kingdom. To defeat it, I would have to turn its own home against it.

My gaze fell on the massive, fossilized dragon skeletons that littered the valley floor. They were not just the remains of the dead; they were a part of the landscape itself, their massive, arching ribcages forming natural caves, their colossal, horned skulls silent, watchful sentinels.

And they were unstable.

A slow, predatory smile touched my lips. I couldn’t fight the dragon directly. Not yet. But I could fight the graveyard.

I began to move, my own form a silent, flitting shadow as I navigated the treacherous, bone-strewn landscape. I didn’t approach the dragon. I circled it, my movements a quiet, deliberate dance as I began to weave my own, intricate web of traps.

My first target was a massive, fossilized ribcage, its arching bones a natural, cage-like structure. I used my Shadow Creation ability, not to form a weapon, but to create a series of small, dense, and very heavy spheres of solidified darkness. I placed them at the base of the ribcage’s supporting pillars, my movements a silent, delicate dance.

Then, I moved on. I found another, similar structure, and then another, my own shadows a silent, deadly army as I worked. It was a slow, painstaking process, a game of cosmic Jenga played with the bones of ancient, dead gods.

And all the while, the Bone Dragon watched, its empty eye sockets fixed on me, its intelligent, malevolent gaze a physical, palpable thing on my back. It was curious, I realized. It saw me not as a threat, but as an interesting, if insignificant, diversion.

Good. Arrogance was a weakness I knew how to exploit.

My second trap was more subtle, more insidious. I began to manipulate the necrotic energy that was so thick in the air here, my own shadows a conduit for the corrupted, ghostly power. I wove the energy into a series of ethereal echoes, phantom images of myself that flickered in and out of existence, their movements a chaotic, disorienting dance. I filled the air with the ghostly sound of a hundred different footsteps, the whispers of a thousand different voices, all designed to confuse, to disorient, to overwhelm the senses.

The Bone Dragon, for the first time, seemed to react. Its massive, skeletal head turned, its glowing, green eyes trying to track the movements of my phantom army. It was working. I was getting under its skin.

Now, it was time for the first, probing attack.

I moved to a high, rocky precipice that overlooked the dragon’s resting place. And then, I unleashed a small, controlled burst of the Phoenix’s flame. It was not the massive, world-burning inferno from the Student Council War, but a single, focused beam of pure, holy fire. It shot through the air, a brilliant, searing light in the oppressive gloom of the chasm, and struck the Bone Dragon squarely in the chest.

The effect was not what I had expected. The flame, which could incinerate a lesser beast in an instant, simply... dissipated against the dragon’s obsidian bones, leaving behind only a faint, sizzling scorch mark. The beast didn’t even flinch.

[System: The Bone Dragon’s skeletal structure is infused with a high concentration of necrotic energy. It is highly resistant to both light and fire-based magic.]

Good to know, I thought, a cold, hard knot of anxiety forming in my stomach.

The Bone Dragon, its earlier, amused curiosity now replaced by a new, more dangerous emotion, annoyance, finally moved. It didn’t attack me directly. Instead, it let out another of its silent, soul-shaking roars. And as it did, the very ground around it began to tremble.

The bones of the smaller, lesser dragons that littered the valley floor began to stir, to rise, their forms a clattering, chaotic symphony of death as they assembled themselves into a small, but very deadly, army of skeletal minions.

The Bone Dragon, it seemed, had a few tricks of its own.

The minions, their own eye sockets glowing with the same, malevolent green light as their master’s, charged at me, their movements a silent, deadly dance of bone and shadow.

This was it. The real fight was about to begin.

"Volkin," I whispered, my own voice a low, commanding murmur. "To me."

My spectral wolf, his own form a blur of silver and black, burst from my shadow, his golden eyes glowing with a fierce, protective light. He met the charge of the skeletal minions head-on, his spectral fangs and claws tearing through their fossilized bones with a brutal, silent efficiency.

I moved as well, my own shadow blade a blur of motion. I was no longer a strategist, a manipulator. I was a warrior. And this... this was my element.

The battle was a frantic, desperate dance of shadow, steel, and bone. The skeletal minions were relentless, their attacks a chaotic, uncoordinated, but surprisingly effective, barrage of tooth and claw. They were mindless, yes. But they were also fearless. And they were many.

I used every skill in my arsenal. I trapped them in Shadow Binds, their fossilized bones cracking and groaning under the pressure of my ethereal chains. I blasted them with Shadow Bombs, the concussive force of my dark magic sending showers of bone and dust into the air. I wove a complex, disorienting web of illusions with my Shadow Echo ability, my phantom clones a confusing, chaotic distraction that drew their fire and bought me precious, vital seconds.

But for every minion I destroyed, two more seemed to rise from the graveyard’s cursed earth. It was a war of attrition, a battle I knew I could not win. My own mana reserves, which had already been depleted by the earlier, more subtle stages of my plan, were now draining away at an alarming rate.

And then, I remembered. The traps.

"Volkin, fall back!" I roared, my own voice a desperate, commanding bark.

My spectral wolf, who had been a whirlwind of death and destruction in the heart of the skeletal army, immediately obeyed, his own form a blur of motion as he retreated to my side.

I led the minions on a chase, my own movements a desperate, calculated dance of retreat and evasion. I led them through the valley of the dead, past the massive, silent skulls of the ancient, forgotten dragons. I led them to the very place where I had laid my first, and most deadly, trap.

The skeletal minions, their own minds a blank slate of pure, unadulterated aggression, followed without hesitation. They swarmed into the massive, cage-like structure of the fossilized ribcage, their own mindless pursuit of their prey their ultimate undoing.

And then, I sprang the trap.

With a final, desperate surge of my own dwindling mana, I detonated the spheres of solidified darkness that I had so carefully placed at the base of the ribcage’s supporting pillars.

The effect was instantaneous, and catastrophic. The ancient, fossilized bones, their structural integrity compromised, groaned in protest, and then, with a deafening, ground-shaking crash, they collapsed, a massive, deadly cage of bone and shadow that crushed the skeletal minions in its unforgiving embrace.

I stood in the aftermath of the destruction, my own chest heaving, my own body a symphony of pain. The last of the skeletal minions were gone, their malevolent, green light extinguished forever.

But the battle was not yet over.

The Bone Dragon, its army destroyed, its own pride wounded, let out a final, terrible roar, a sound that was a mixture of pure, unadulterated rage and a new, more dangerous emotion.

Respect.

It recognized me now, not as an insignificant pest, but as a worthy opponent. It began to gather its power, its massive, skeletal form beginning to glow with a terrifying, green necrotic light. I could feel the raw, untamed power of its magic, a wave of pure, absolute death that washed over me, chilling me to the very bone.

I had successfully baited the hook. The Bone Dragon was preparing to unleash its ultimate attack, the one that would, for a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, reveal its single, fatal weakness.

I retreated into the shadows, my own heart a frantic, panicked drum in my chest. The first part of my plan was complete. But the second, and far more dangerous, part was about to begin. The build-up was over. The real battle, the one that would decide my fate, and the fate of this entire, cursed land, was about to begin.