Starting out as a Dragon Slave-Chapter 176: Absorption of the Patriarch

With a gesture of calculated brutality, Mordred contracted his hand around the beating heart, feeling the organ compress under the pressure of his fingers. Then, in a movement of unprecedented violence, he tore his hand from the patriarch’s thorax, taking with it shreds of flesh and fragments of broken bone.

The gaping hole left in Varnor’s chest was as wide as a fist, its jagged edges allowing a flow of dark red blood to pour out, quickly spreading across the metallic floor of the bridge. The body of the powerful dragon, deprived of its vital organ, collapsed heavily with a dull thud that resonated throughout the circular space.

His last breaths escaped in muffled death rattles, his eyes gradually losing their golden gleam to grow dim in death. Patriarch Ignivara, terror of battlefields and formidable tyrant, drew his last breath in a pool of his own blood, defeated by an enemy he hadn’t even had time to identify.

[Elimination confirmed - Varnor Ignivara, Patriarch of House Ignivara]

[Victim’s physical statistics detected:]

[Strength: 2847 points]

[Endurance: 2156 points]

[Agility: 1834 points]

[Speed: 1923 points]

[Do you wish to absorb these statistics?]

[Yes/No]

Mordred immediately responded through thought, his mind still focused on deadly combat mode:

- "Yes. Immediate absorption."

A wave of pure, raw power began to spread through his organism, but the process of integrating a dragon patriarch’s statistics was complex and required time. His body had to gradually adapt to the massive influx of power to avoid rejection or lethal overload.

But before the power transfer was fully completed, a voice charged with absolute rage and immeasurable pain tore through the air of the command bridge:

- "ASSASSIN! CURSED BE YOUR NAME!"

Syléane had frozen during the first seconds of the attack, paralyzed by disbelief at her father’s sudden death. But the reality of the situation struck her like a sledgehammer blow, unleashing within her a devastating fury that instantly transformed the room into a furnace.

Her draconic aura, until then contained by social conventions and military discipline, literally exploded, setting the atmosphere ablaze with suffocating heat. The air itself seemed to catch fire, creating waves of thermal distortion that made the tactical hologram flicker. The temperature rose so rapidly that the nearest officers had to hastily retreat to avoid being burned.

Her scales glowed like embers, emanating a blinding luminosity that transformed the command room into a hell of flames and fury. Her eyes became two braziers of liquid gold, expressing a thirst for vengeance that surpassed anything Mordred had observed in dragons.

- "I’m going to flay you alive! I’m going to make you regret being born!" she roared, drawing her draconic sword in a movement of perfect fluidity.

The weapon, forged from stellar steel and imbued with igneous magic, instantly ignited upon contact with her rage. The blade, a meter and a half long and ten centimeters wide, became incandescent, emitting heat so intense that the air around it undulated like above a forge furnace.

She leaped toward Mordred with feline agility, covering the six meters separating them in two powerful strides. Her fighting style was radically different from her father’s: where Varnor favored brute force and domination, Syléane relied on speed, precision, and technique.

Mordred, his [Instinctive Awakening] still active, barely dodged the first strike thanks to his superhuman reflexes. The flaming blade passed within millimeters of his neck, the burning air singeing the scales on his right arm. He felt the intense heat pierce through his natural defenses and superficially burn his skin.

Immediately understanding that he didn’t possess the tactical advantage in this confined environment, surrounded by enemies and facing an adversary in berserker rage, he made the decision to retreat. His mission was accomplished: Varnor was dead, and prolonging the combat would only risk his own life unnecessarily.

He brutally deployed his mana wings, creating a temporary energy shield to protect himself from the next attack. The wings, streaked with translucent veins, extended over two meters wingspan and emanated an aura of power that made the present officers instinctively retreat.

But Syléane was already upon him, her blade describing a deadly arc aimed at decapitating him with a single blow. The movement was so fast that even with his enhanced capabilities, Mordred couldn’t activate his [Intangibility] in time. The technique required a fraction of a second of concentration to modify his molecular structure, time he didn’t have.

The draconic blade struck with the force of a forge hammer and the precision of a surgical scalpel. The stellar steel, heated white-hot by its owner’s rage, sliced through his reinforced scaly defenses as if they were made of paper.

Mordred felt a searing pain explode in his right flank. The incandescent metal penetrated deeply into his flesh, traversing muscle layers and stopping just before reaching his vital organs. The blade’s heat instantly cauterized the wound, preventing hemorrhaging but amplifying the suffering a thousandfold.

His blood, dark red almost black, immediately spurted onto the metallic floor of the bridge where it sizzled upon contact with the surface heated by Syléane’s aura. The coppery smell of blood mixed with the emanations of burned flesh, creating a nauseating blend that filled the room’s air.

The power of the blow projected him backward several meters. He violently struck a control console, the impact knocking the wind out of him and sending flashes of pain throughout his back. The console’s electronic circuits exploded in a shower of blue sparks, adding to the ambient chaos.

Mordred rolled on the ground, his combat reflexes taking over despite the pain. He straightened with an awkward but quick movement, one hand pressed against his gaping wound to try to limit the hemorrhaging. Between his fingers, he felt warm blood flowing slowly, carrying away part of his strength.

Syléane, her eyes blazing with a fury that had surpassed the stage of anger to become a force of pure destruction, was already moving to deliver the fatal blow. Her blade drew a perfect trajectory, aiming for the heart with millimetric precision. Her reptilian face was deformed by an expression of absolute hatred, her fangs bared in a predator’s grimace.

- "Die, assassin! May your soul burn in eternal flames!"

Understanding that he wouldn’t survive another direct exchange with an adversary of this level on open ground, Mordred desperately gathered the last reserves of his mana for an evasion maneuver. His wound made his movements less fluid, but combat adrenaline partially compensated for this weakness.

He activated his energy wings at full power, creating a magical propeller that catapulted him out of range of the flaming blade. The movement tore a cry of pain from him when the muscles of his wounded flank contracted brutally, but he managed to narrowly avoid the strike that carved a deep three-centimeter gash in the ship’s reinforced metallic floor.

Syléane’s sword, frustrated by its target, sliced through the metal like a knife through butter, testifying to the destructive power contained in this weapon and the technical mastery of the one who wielded it.

Without waiting to see the results of her missed strike, Mordred bounded toward the command bridge exit. Each step tore a grimace of pain from him, but his determination to survive far exceeded his physical discomfort. Behind him, he heard Syléane screaming frantic orders in the draconic language:

- "Close all exits! Let no way out remain open! Alert all units! An assassin is escaping from the bridge! Capture him alive! I want to interrogate him before killing him slowly!"

The present officers, emerging from their stupor at their supreme commander’s assassination, rushed to control panels to activate emergency security protocols. Alarm sirens began to sound throughout the ship, a strident and continuous sound that signaled maximum threat level.

Mordred traversed the mothership’s corridors at a speed that defied his wound. His [Instinctive Awakening], though weakened, still allowed him to maintain a sustained pace despite blood loss. Around him, the entire ship transformed into a deadly trap: armored bulkheads began to close, internal defense systems activated, and soldiers flowed from all directions.

The guards who tried to bar his route quickly discovered that a wounded assassin was even more dangerous than an assassin in full form. Mordred eliminated each obstacle with mechanical efficiency, his strikes delivered with lethal precision that left no chance to his adversaries. He didn’t have time for prolonged combat: each second of delay reduced his chances of survival.

As he progressed toward the lower decks where evacuation routes were located, Mordred felt a profound transformation occurring in his organism. Patriarch Ignivara’s physical power, finally fully absorbed by his biological system, circulated in his veins like a river of molten lava.

His muscles densified and strengthened, each fiber becoming more resistant and powerful. His bones solidified, acquiring a density close to that of steel. His nervous system optimized, accelerating his reaction times and sharpening his senses to a superhuman degree. Even his natural regeneration capacity improved, the wound in his flank slowly beginning to close.

More importantly, his mana reserves multiplied exponentially. The magical energy of a dragon patriarch, accumulated over centuries of existence, swelled his own reserves like a torrent feeding a lake. He felt this new power flowing within him, transforming not only his body but also his fundamental mystical capabilities.

[Complete absorption finished:]

[+ 2847 Strength points (Total: 8934)]

[+ 2156 Endurance points (Total: 7823)]

[+ 1834 Agility points (Total: 6945)]

[+ 1923 Speed points (Total: 7234)]

[Regeneration status: Activated]

[Current wounds: Accelerated healing in progress] 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

His breathing, until then labored due to pain and effort, gradually stabilized. The sensation of weakness caused by blood loss faded, replaced by a feeling of power and vitality he had never known before. Even the throbbing pain of his wound became bearable, masked by the euphoria of transformation.

He clearly felt each improvement falling into place: his muscles gaining mass and density, his reflexes sharpening, his perception of the environment refining. It was as if his entire body was being reconstructed and optimized in real time.

He finally reached one of the emergency evacuation decks, where escape routes led directly to the ship’s exterior. The battlefield air, charged with smoke and magical emanations, rushed through open hatches. In the distance, he could see spell flashes and hear the crash of battles raging between human and draconic forces.

Behind him, he still heard Syléane’s screams of rage as she personally directed the search. Her voice, deformed by fury, resonated in the metallic corridors:

- "Search every corner! Check every conduit! He must not escape! I want his head!"

Mordred activated his mana wings once more, preparing his final escape. But before diving into the battlefield chaos, he turned one last time toward the mothership’s interior.

In the depths of the flying fortress, Syléane held her father’s lifeless body in her arms, her tears of rage falling on the dull scales of the fallen patriarch. Her pain was palpable, even at this distance, a mixture of filial grief and thirst for vengeance that consumed her from within.

- "I swear on the blood of our lineage... that you will pay for this crime... No matter who you are, no matter where you come from... I will hunt you to the ends of the world... and you will know agony a thousand times worse than what you inflicted on him..."

Her voice, broken by emotion but charged with implacable determination, carried to Mordred’s ears. He knew he had made a mortal enemy, an adversary who would know neither rest nor mercy until her vengeance was accomplished.

But for now, the mission was a success. Varnor Ignivara, pillar of the draconic army and mastermind of the final offensive, was dead. His disappearance would create a void in the chain of command, delay military operations, and perhaps offer human forces the respite they desperately needed.

Mordred plunged into the thick smoke of the battlefield, his heart still pounding with combat adrenaline and the exhilaration of victory. The wound in his flank, though still painful, no longer bled thanks to his improved regeneration capabilities.

A thin smile of satisfaction formed on his lips as he disappeared into the confusion of war. In the distance, the flames of the fire he had lit in the enemy’s heart were already beginning to spread. Patriarch Ignivara’s death would mark a turning point in this conflict that had seemed lost from the start.

Behind him, in the mothership’s bowels, chaos gradually settled in. The senior officers, deprived of their commander-in-chief, tried to maintain operational cohesion, but the shock wave of the assassination was already propagating throughout the military hierarchy.

And somewhere in the metallic corridors, Syléane Ignivara clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms until they bled, swearing on her father’s soul that this death would not go unpunished.