Chapter 44

Thousand Legs in human form pressed down on Little White Dragon like a cliff of stone, weight and shadow smothering breath.

The giant bug had only tickled her fear of big things; up close, it was laughably weak, bark without bite.

This human-shell, though, matched every divine construct she’d devoured—hard edges, lived malice, a storm that remembers.

If the human form’s this strong, why bother with that useless insect husk? Little White Dragon felt played, like a fish flipped by a wave.

No time to stew in it. Thousand Legs could stitch herself back together absurdly fast—one bolt from the heavens, and her wounds shut like rain over a lake.

Against monsters like that, Little White Dragon’s usual grind—death by a thousand paper cuts—was a river trying to erode steel. Useless.

She only grew more alive under lightning, like a stormflower opening. There was no weakening her.

That left one answer: explode with killing power in a single breath, end it in one clean stroke, and deny her the sky’s medicine.

“What a pain,” Lilith murmured, the words a cool blade. One dragon couldn’t carry this alone. She needed her pack.

Lilith met Nidhogg’s gaze in midair; the Black Dragon’s eyes were night-glass, understanding flashing like a star. He nodded. Ready.

Little White Dragon felt their intent align. Her body tightened like a bowstring. As Thousand Legs advanced with a thunder-spear, she sprang, a white blur slicing wind.

“Oh? Not running?” Thousand Legs’ voice curled like smoke. She lifted the long spear, a flick upward, and blocked the charge like a gate slamming shut.

“Gotta get close if I want your head,” Lilith said, blade singing. Primordial Ark bit onto the thunder-spear, its strange build locking like a trap-jaw.

Her legs kicked off the earth; she launched like a rabbit from frost. In the air, she grabbed the Ark as a lever, spun once, and planted a neat bootprint across Thousand Legs’ face.

Hands full of spear and duel, Thousand Legs never saw it coming. Pain sparked; she bared her teeth and glared, then let the spear fall.

Blue-violet lightning skinned her palms, shaping into claws that lunged for Lilith’s face, a hawk out of storm.

Little White Dragon didn’t flinch. Calm first, then motion—she met the strike head-on, eyes steady like moonlight on dark water.

It wasn’t faith in her cheekbones. It was Nidhogg.

Black chains shot out and nailed Thousand Legs’ limbs, yanking the clawed hands back like hooked tides. As a bug, she might have wrestled. In human flesh, she couldn’t match the Black Dragon’s brute tide.

“Can’t touch me, nyah-nyah,” Little White Dragon taunted, hands on hips, a playful grimace bright as a fox-mask.

Her slender tail whipped the Primordial Ark around her twice, charging it; one blade circled the other like a whetstone around a spine. The air around Lilith cracked with thin wounds, leaking hot energy.

“Hey! Eat my blade!” Words snapped like banners in wind; the Ark returned to her grip. Its spinning edge chewed the space between them like a chainsaw, as if it wanted to erase the world ahead.

“Damn,” Thousand Legs hissed. She tried to rip Nidhogg’s chains, to meet steel with storm, but the Black Dragon’s power held like iron roots. No angle remained; she had to take the blow.

She tore a slab of lightning from the sky, forged it into a shield right before her face, a bright wall of thunder to catch the cut.

Lilith didn’t rush. She let the Primordial Ark hammer the barrier, knowing the heart of the strike wasn’t the spinning teeth—it was the bloom caged within.

“A hundred arts—Overrelease! expulsion!”

Her shout cracked the air. The energy packed inside the Ark burst all at once, a white flood swallowing the shield. Lightning shattered like glass.

The remaining force slammed straight into Thousand Legs. She screamed, a ragged cry lost in rain; the blue-violet light unravelled from her skin like scattered birds.

Under the Ark’s bite she twisted, grotesque and desperate, like a fish pinned beneath a saw, thrashing for a sliver of river.

Little White Dragon kept her guard tight. Instinct tugged like a cold string—something resisted the killing stroke. This wouldn’t finish her.

Sure enough, as the Ark’s stored power bled dry, Lilith stepped back, widening the distance. Thousand Legs, all torn flesh and raw sparks, turned into a living lightning rod.

Black stormclouds knitted above, and every nearby bolt threw itself at her, mending her meat with heaven’s fire like stitches of light.

“What a headache,” Little White Dragon said, deadpan. She watched the hard-won wounds close and the health flood back, and felt her jaw set.

Only—this time, something about her felt different. The storm looked at her through Thousand Legs’ eyes.

“You—you dare do that to me.” Thousand Legs’ glare burned; her hair speared upward, rage or lightning lifting every strand.

“I’ll make you pay!”

Her roar ripped the sky; a bolt slammed into the ground beside Little White Dragon, sizzling heat and metal tang searing the air.

The scorched smell snapped Lilith’s mind clear. This wasn’t just another heal. The storm had changed its face.

“Phase change,” Lilith said softly, voice like a blade returning to its sheath.