Chapter 1032: The End of Eternity

The aged black dragon, his body extensively modified with advanced mechanical augmentations, and the golden dragon etched with countless magical runes, suddenly broke away from the fiercest heart of the apocalyptic battle. One surged forward, the other followed closely behind, both charging toward the southern coast of the continent of Talrond. Their abrupt departure immediately triggered a reaction from the overwhelming mass of “Chaos Dragons” that blotted out the sky.

Above, the heavy, chaotic storm clouds churned violently, boiling like a cauldron as lightning crackled and formed deep within the roiling masses. Beneath the clouds, a godlike amalgamation—an entity composed of countless twisted limbs and formless matter—let out a thunderous roar. Its colossal form distorted the very light around it. This supreme ruler of Talrond, the “Pantheon” created by the dragons themselves over a million years ago, seemed to sense the rebellious intent behind the two dragons’ sudden flight. Though it had long since lost all reason, it still radiated an anger so fierce it seemed to warp the heavens and earth.

The sky split open, tearing a rift across the horizon above Talrond. Countless cold, unblinking eyes gazed down from the chasm at the burning dragon realm below. From the rift came a cacophony of hissing tongues and roaring throats. The Chaos Dragons clung inverted to the edge of the rift, casting frenzied, murderous glances toward Hragor and Andar. Under the watchful gaze of these “gods,” the continent’s edges began to crumble inch by inch. Steel melted away, protective shields vanished into thin air, and powerful missiles were swallowed by shadows before they could even reach the divine presence. This was a destructive gaze beyond mortal comprehension.

But Omega’s resistance was swift. One dragon legion after another surged in from afar, instantly filling the voids left by the gods’ consuming gaze. Even larger arrays of weapons activated among the distant mountain ranges, unleashing their remaining ammunition into the rift behind the Chaos Dragons. The weather control systems, originally designed to maintain ecological balance, were reactivated. Storms, thunder, rain, and snow were all marshaled to counter the sky’s growing fracture.

Hragor and Andar charged toward the sea, the shadow of death relentlessly closing in behind them. Despite thousands of kin and countless autonomous war machines fighting desperately to hold back the onslaught, the two dragons felt the specter of death never once leave their sides. Behind them, the continent burned, the ocean boiled, and lightning flashed through the dark clouds. More than once, Hragor felt a searing pain along the scales of his tail, but he never once dared to look back.

The dragons had waited one million eight hundred seventy thousand years for this moment. To turn back now would mean utter ruin.

How long they flew, no one could say. Hragor and Andar broke through Talrond’s borders, passed beyond the dragon realm’s coastal waters, and emerged from the frozen Arctic Ocean. Behind them, glaciers shattered, scattered islands crumbled, and the gods’ wrath pursued them relentlessly across the vast distance. At last, before their eyes, a magnificent “giant screen” appeared.

A towering wall of clouds spiraled slowly above the sea. Though its rotation seemed sluggish, deadly cyclones and violent storms brewed constantly along its edges. Hurricanes whipped up tens of thousands of tons of seawater, and the oncoming tempest forced even legendary warriors to retreat. They had reached the edge of the Eternal Storm—the final boundary between the dragon realm and the human world.

Without hesitation, Hragor and Andar plunged into the raging storm. The “Wrath of the Gods” from Talrond crashed after them against the towering cloud wall. But this time, the divine fury that could destroy all things failed to tear through the barrier. The thick, swirling clouds seemed to harbor an incredible power, pushing back against the gods’ assault. For a moment, the two forces locked in a stalemate.

Inside the Eternal Storm, lightning flashed incessantly, torrential rain poured down, and fierce winds carried biting cold and razor-sharp ice crystals capable of killing even the strongest magical beasts instantly. Yet to Andar and Hragor, it all felt like a gentle spring breeze.

Compared to the divine wrath outside, the storm’s interior was almost tender.

The golden and black dragons circled twice through the tempest. They exchanged a glance midair, then without hesitation, dropped altitude and dove toward the storm’s deepest “base.”

Through the hurricane, through the downpour, through the eternal vortex, Hragor experienced a fleeting hallucination—he seemed to be transported back one million eight hundred seventy thousand years, to the first time he had set out for this battlefield. He lifted his eyes and saw wave after wave of dragons emerging from the clouds, golden light bathing their long, powerful bodies. The sea stretched endlessly below, and their spirited kin prepared for battle aboard massive ironclad warships and floating fortresses.

But a bolt of lightning exploded nearby, shattering the vision into fragments. Hragor opened his eyes to see only the cold, chaotic storm raging around him. Beside him stood his old friend, now aged and twisted beyond recognition by mechanical modifications, his scales faded to pale white.

Hragor parted his lips, as if to speak, but in the next instant, he felt himself pass through an invisible “veil.” A faint chill touched him, and then all sound around him vanished. The world fell silent.

He had entered the base of the Eternal Storm, the deepest heart of this secret realm sealed for one million eight hundred seventy thousand years.

Within the dark blue space, all things were frozen in a distant past. The black, icy sea was solidified as if frozen in time. Countless twisted, grotesque “divine images” lingered at the edges, locked in their attack postures. The dragon formations were also frozen, becoming ghostly phantoms within this suspended time. At the very center stood a metal tower, elegant and pristine white, rising silently from the sea.

Its skyward-reaching silhouette remained etched deeply in the memories of Hragor and Andar.

Gliding over the sea, the two dragons headed toward the tower. The space was so quiet that the sound of their wings slicing through the air was the only noise. Then, another sound reached their ears—a faint, crystalline cracking, like ice slowly fracturing. In this stillness, it was impossible to ignore.

Hragor instinctively looked up. On the translucent “sphere” enclosing this frozen time, tiny cracks were spreading. Outside the sphere, chaotic shadows swirled slowly, and indescribable streams of light shimmered within the heavy ocean waters.

Andar’s voice came softly beside him: “It’s attacking this space… I thought it would hold longer.”

Hragor’s voice was low and steady: “It failed to hold it back one million eight hundred seventy thousand years ago, and it won’t succeed today. But that’s alright. Everything has changed. History will not repeat itself here.”

As they spoke, they passed the last metallic ring surrounding the tower and approached a platform on its upper half. They descended, and in midair, their massive dragon forms began to shift. In the blink of an eye, their huge bodies transformed into human shapes.

Hragor stood steadily at the edge of a crescent-shaped platform. Beside him, Andar landed as well—though the aged leader stumbled on his final step, nearly falling.

Hragor quickly reached out to steady him. After regaining his balance, Andar smiled wryly and shook his head. “It’s been so many years since I last flew… When Omega controlled me, it was easier. Now, I can barely land smoothly.”

Hragor simply patted his shoulder, then lifted his gaze toward the far end of the platform.

A figure clad in pale golden robes stood there. As Hragor’s eyes met the figure, it seemed to glance back—only to vanish silently into thin air the next moment.

It was himself from one million eight hundred seventy thousand years ago—leaving behind only a phantom in this place.

Andar watched quietly. He seemed about to speak but instead sighed softly, shaking his head. Then he stepped forward, with Hragor close behind. They passed the spot where the vanished figure had stood.

Minutes later, they reached the other end of the platform’s curved corridor. Following the path etched in their memories, they arrived at the foot of a staircase near the tower’s summit.

Before them stood a massive gate. Beside it was a middle-aged man with short gray hair, a prominent nose, and a resolute face—the ruler of the Holy Dragon Principality, Grant Duke Balogur Knarl.

“I didn’t expect you to arrive so soon,” Hragor said with a faint smile. “Long time no see.”

“Long time no see,” Balogur replied, his usually stern face softening with a rare smile. “I thought you might never find this place. When I saw you flying in, I even considered lighting a beacon to guide you.”

“Honestly, I thought I’d never find it either…” Hragor closed his eyes briefly, smiling. “But when I closed them, everything here was still so clear.”

“Enough nostalgia,” Andar’s aged, deep voice interrupted. “We still have one last step to complete. Balogur, have you checked everything?”

“While waiting for you, I did a rough inspection inside. The power of the Eternal Storm combined with the gods’ might has frozen everything here. Time hasn’t destroyed our work—it’s still in perfect condition, not a trace of decay. I managed to start the elevator to the lower levels and activated the deep energy core. That slightly loosened this time-space. I think we’re ready to proceed.”

Hragor looked into Balogur’s eyes and couldn’t help but say, “After all these years, you’re still the best engineer.”

“Your praise honors me, leader,” Balogur said, stepping aside with a welcoming gesture. “Come—after all this time, the three of us are finally off duty.”

The ancient, heavy gate slid open silently. In this frozen moment of time, one hundred eighty-seven million years had done nothing to erode the miracle once wrought by the dragons’ united strength. Andar and Hralgor stepped through the threshold, as the lights around them flickered on one by one.

Balogur followed closely behind.

They passed through a short corridor, then through a massive airlock—far too large for any human frame—and arrived at a circular platform where a cylindrical elevator awaited.

The elevator’s surface shimmered with blinking lights, its sleek alloy shell marked with clear, simple symbols conveying vital information. This style was a stark contrast to the decadent, decayed Talrond of 187 million years later—something Hralgor hadn’t seen in many years.

Without a sound, the elevator descended, carrying the three humanoid dragons deep into the heart of the “High Tower.” Inside the shaft, they passed through layers of isolation barriers and heavy gates. The entire descent lasted a full thirty seconds before the elevator came to a halt in a vast chamber that resembled a control room.

As they stepped out, the lights brightened in unison. Before Hralgor stretched a spacious hall, supported by pillars in the ancient draconic style. Between the columns were numerous seats, all exactly as he remembered from the depths of his memory.

They quickly found their places—three seats unmistakably theirs, positioned at the very front of the hall, still pristine despite the passage of countless ages.

A faint tremor rippled through the air, carrying with it a chilling aura of malice and madness—an overwhelming power beyond mortal comprehension.

Yet compared to the intensity of the past million years, this presence had been diminished countless times over, weakened enough that Hralgor could resist it with sheer will.

He knew this “weakening” had come at a tremendous cost.

The three exchanged no words. They moved forward silently, settling into their seats. Balogur began manipulating the many buttons before him; Andar activated the systems under his charge; Hralgor placed his hand on a crystal protrusion embedded in his seat, delicately weaving the intricate magical conduits within the crystal. Slowly, an ancient creation stirred from its long slumber.

Before them, a massive arched window brightened, transforming into a projection screen displaying the outside world. The image was clear: the sky near the “High Tower,” the light steadily seeping in, and ghostly dragon formations suspended in the air.

Andar’s gaze lingered on the spectral dragons. His hand hovered near a panel on the right side of his seat, but before initiating any command, he whispered, “Want to take one last look? Once we start, we won’t see them again.”

Hralgor’s eyes also fixed on those phantoms of the past. Within the images, he found many familiar faces—old friends, former lovers, children long gone. Names lost in the Rebellion War 187 million years ago flowed quietly through his heart. Yet he closed his eyes.

“Navigator Andar, I authorize engine activation. Let these phantoms be freed—they have long dwelled within us.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Andar took a deep breath and initiated the final sequence.

In the next moment, a deep rumble echoed from within the colossal, ancient beast. The hall trembled, signaling the long-delayed maiden voyage—postponed for millions of years—was finally underway.

Hralgor felt a steady, resolute acceleration.

Outside, the frozen time of 187 million years began to unravel. The sea churned, ancient phantoms dissolved one by one, and the metallic “High Tower” at the center of the maelstrom slowly rose. First, the sharp prow pierced the sky like a sword; then the towering hull emerged; next came the auxiliary engine clusters arrayed midship, the bulging reactor arrays, antennae and radar systems, and finally the massive main engine nozzles…

This was no tower.

This was a spaceship.

(End of chapter)