Revealing the True Form[343]

The sudden appearance of a massive greatsword, radiating with golden energy, sent shockwaves through the grand ballroom.

Gasps of horror and piercing screams filled the chamber as noblewomen recoiled in terror. The entire gathering stood frozen, all eyes locked on the stage, where Wayne's devastating strike descended upon Countess Katrana Prestor.

Even Regent Duke Bolvar Fordragon, who had moments ago seemed disinterested in the noble festivities, snapped to full attention, his weary eyes widening in shock.

For a fleeting moment, there was no sound—not even a scream.

Then, with a thunderous impact, the countess was launched through the air like a ragdoll, her body slamming into the stone wall at the back of the hall.

Bolvar remained motionless, watching in stunned silence. He had been dragged to this tedious aristocratic gala, invited personally by the countess, only to witness her fall to what appeared to be a sudden assassination attempt.

In the years since Stormwind's reconstruction, nothing of this magnitude had ever occurred—certainly not an open attack against a noble of such high status.

The entire hall erupted into panic.

But before Bolvar or anyone else could process what had just transpired, a deafening, guttural roar shook the very foundations of the palace.

A rush of violent wind blasted outward from the broken wall.

A shrill, inhuman shriek—one that did not belong to any mortal woman—pierced the air.

The nobles and soldiers scattered in horror as reality itself seemed to distort. The space around the countess's collapsed form twisted and warped, a powerful surge of draconic energy distorting the atmosphere.

Then, in the blink of an eye—

Her body exploded outward.

Black scales erupted from her skin. Massive wings tore free from her back. Jagged horns twisted out from her skull.

Her delicate noble frame expanded, warping into something monstrous—something colossal.

The transformation only took seconds, but in that brief span, Countess Katrana Prestor ceased to exist.

And in her place stood the monstrous form of a black dragon.

Onyxia.

The true puppet master behind Stormwind's corruption.

Her massive body, stretching nearly fifty meters, now barely fit within the banquet hall. Her powerful limbs crashed against the chamber walls, sending stone and wood crumbling into dust. The ceiling cracked and buckled, unable to contain the sheer size of the beast.

A tidal wave of chaos and terror rippled through the room.

Nobles shrieked in horror. Soldiers panicked, their weapons shaking in their hands.

Many fell to their knees, realizing, in one horrifying instant, that the noblewoman they had revered for years was never human to begin with.

However, unlike the others, Wayne did not hesitate.

As the walls collapsed around him and the hall descended into madness, he lunged forward, straight toward the beast.

His feet struck the ground with explosive force, launching him through the dust and rubble with blinding speed.

He would not waste this moment.

His first strike had wounded Onyxia—not fatally, but enough to leave a deep, three-meter-long gash carved across her draconic brow. Thick, dark ichor spilled from the wound, staining her monstrous face.

The attack had done more than just injure her—it had shocked her.

For the first time in centuries, she had been hurt. Her stunned expression twisted into rage and disbelief.

This insignificant human…

How dare he.

How dare he strike her.

But before she could fully process the betrayal—before she could even summon the rage-fueled firestorm boiling in her throat—

Wayne was already upon her. This time, he channeled every ounce of chaotic magic into his blade.

The golden energy surged, expanding the sword's radiance even further.

Wayne twisted his grip on the hilt, redirecting his momentum, and swung downward once more—aiming directly for the dragon's massive amber eye.

The instinctive fear of death surged through Onyxia's mind.

She had no time to think—only to react. Her massive forelimb jerked up, claws extended, to block the devastating strike.

But Wayne was faster.

With a sickening, bone-splitting sound, the enchanted blade carved through her claw, severing it completely. The massive, severed limb crashed to the floor, drenching the ruined banquet hall in a rain of dragon's blood.

The black dragon let out a roar of pure agony, her voice shaking the very city. The pain of the wound was unlike anything she had experienced in millennia.

For the first time in centuries, she felt something she had nearly forgotten.

Fear.

But Wayne was not finished.

As Onyxia reeled from the loss of her limb, he closed the distance once again, his blade a golden blur in the moonlight.

Onyxia roared, attempting to retreat—but she was too slow.

The blade struck true.

With one final, merciless swing, Wayne cleaved through her second limb, sending yet another severed claw plummeting to the ground.

A second fountain of blood sprayed into the air.

The agonized, earth-shaking roar of the Black Dragon Princess echoed across Stormwind, sending waves of dread through the city.

From the noble district to the Trade District, from the towering Cathedral of Light to the military barracks, citizens froze in place, staring up at the night sky, their faces pale with terror.

Then, in the next moment three more dragon roars answered her cry.

A violent tremor rattled the countess's estate as distant walls collapsed in a domino of destruction. From different wings of the manor, three colossal black dragons—each with menacing amber eyes and dark, serrated scales—burst into the open, their massive wings sending gusts of hurricane-like winds through the city streets.

The sky above Stormwind darkened further, as these massive beasts unfurled their wings and soared toward the back garden, their eyes locked onto their fallen princess.

Their arrival was not the only thing Wayne had anticipated.

As Onyxia's call for aid rippled through the Earl's mansion, dozens of what had once been human guards suddenly began to twitch and contort unnaturally. Their armor cracked and fell apart, revealing dark, gleaming scales underneath.

Flesh twisted, bones snapped and realigned, and muscles stretched into grotesque, towering forms—

Within seconds, these men were no longer human soldiers, but drakonid warriors—massive, three-to-four-meter-tall humanoid dragons, their tails thrashing, their eyes burning with violent intent.

The illusionary disguises that had allowed them to infiltrate Stormwind's elite were now gone.

These were Onyxia's most loyal guards, the twilight-scaled black dragonkin, who had lurked in Stormwind's shadows for years, waiting for a moment like this.

And now, they rushed toward their fallen princess with unrelenting fury, ignoring the terrified screams of the few nobles who had not yet fled.

But for all their rage, they were still too far away.

The princess was still alone.

And Wayne was not done.

Onyxia's piercing cries filled the night as Wayne's golden blade continued its relentless assault, cutting glistening wounds across her massive, scaled form.

She was trapped—unable to escape, her bulky size rendering her vulnerable to Wayne's ruthless precision.

Her wings—shredded and arms—severed. Her once-regal form—reduced to a lumbering, bloodied mass.

The once mighty manipulator of Stormwind's nobility, who had played her puppet games from the shadows for years, was now little more than a cornered beast, unable to fend off a single warrior.

Had Wayne not been deliberate in his strikes, she would have already been reduced to nothing but tattered flesh beneath his holy blade.