Ridley’s eyes shifted through the landscape, seeing the insects that had brought themselves together to storm
his temple.
His prize by right of conquest. Striking from multiple angles, it was both the helldivers and Mustangs Miniskirts. Clarity struck him, almost out of necessity, as he recognized his enemies, what they were, and the tactical implications suddenly became clear. He was viewed as a far greater threat than either army viewed the other— which was correct. They had then chosen to take a united stand against him, as so many other races once had…
It had not saved them from him. It would not save these vermin either. Their death warrants were signed in blood the moment they chose to stand instead of kneel.
Ridley strode forth with glee, striking down soldiers of both groups as he charged into the fray. Ridley cooked a helldiver soldier with plasma, blazing flames finding the cracks in his armour and roasting him from the inside, before wrapping his tail around the rifle of one of the miniskirt armada, crushing the weapon and its bayonet before picking the man up. It would have taken Ridley no time at all to simply squeeze down and break the man in two, but the dragon chose to take his time, squeezing softly enough to allow him to hear the bones slowly bend and snap, slicing into the man’s own organs. Ridley relished every moment, as the soldier’s eyes bulged and shook. For a moment, the Unmade general’s other thoughts receded—the thoughts of his bondage, of his troublingly scattered mind, of his troops questionable competence,
should have already made short work of such insipid weaklings—and his mind focused with glee on the misery he could still cause to a single person.
The little creature in his grasp struggled, gasped, and whined as best as it could, its power to resist gradually weakening into a bid to struggle for what little life it still had. Vomited blood stained the front of the soldier’s uniform with glistening crimson, and Ridley supposed he could keep his toy would last another minute—
A gunshot rang out, and a bullet bulldozed through the weakling’s head, the blast plinking harmlessly off Ridley’s natural armour. Without a second to spare, the drake’s head turned, smile fading as it was deprived of its plaything, to witness a full squad of soldiers, complete with heavy gear.
“C-captain, I’m… sorry. I just couldn’t watch—”
“Enough!” An authoritative voice shouted, firmly, but not harshly. “Focus! Or that won’t be the last one he kills.”
A black-haired man stepped into view, stripes and decoration all across his crisp blue uniform and an expression of barely contained rage simmering upon his face.
Ridley’s eyes narrowed in anticipation, a nasty grin spreading across his maw. His own soldiers swiftly moved in to harass the blue-clad commander and his Armada, but the dragon knew that they were far, far fewer in number.
Abominations with scythes charged, only to be cut down by gatling gun fire, while other creatures that had stayed back and let loose blasts of flame and acid were being picked off by precision fire. Precious few were making a dent, and for the first time since he’d picked it up again, the simian by his side stirred. The monkey’s broken leg dangled uselessly by its side, and its one good eye looked to the battlefield, then to Ridley, in concern.
“Oo-aa-aa-ahh?” The creature questioned, but the old reptile ignored the query as he charged the enemy lines. Monkeys were stupid, after all. It was why every monkey here had fallen into his trap.
Ridley turned into a dervish of death, ignoring or taking bullets as he responded with so many dead men for every blow landed. He’d feel many of these hits another day, but right now his focus was on reaching their captain, so glancing blows meant little to the archosaur.
Or at least, until the Armada’s commander snapped his fingers.
The pain was staggeringly familiar, but the angle was unexpected. Flames burst into life across Ridley’s body, causing him to stagger. He looked up with naked hate bursting from his eyes at Mustang, ready to roar his dissatisfaction. Mustangs next snap came faster.
The second wave of fire and pain almost pushed Ridley off his feet from the pain alone, but by now rage had taken over. He found his answer quickly, tail-blade striking out and grabbing one of the newly made corpses on the battlefield.
Roaring, Ridley let loose a hail of plasma on his new shish-kebab, before throwing the burning corpse directly at the commander and forcing Roy to jump back.
Ridley continued throwing his makeshift molotovs, leaving Mustang on the defensive. The revulsion, disgust and hatred he saw in the man's eyes stirred something, and for the first time he felt the need to speak.
“Hehehe…even here…” the Dragon managed, his voice reverberating and breaking in places. “Humans are… so weak to the death of their own kind…”
Roy stood up with Eyes of dispassionate ice, the Space Pirate’s barbs killing any mercy left in them.
It was then that Ridley heard the screams, and knew his plan was complete.
Unmade forces and Vert squad alike were barraged in droves, explosives ranging from radioactive shells to toxic clouds, acid and nightmarish beasts that began consuming those they fell upon as soon as they arrived at their destination. The artillery barrage painted his forces and vert squad in equal measure with fire and death, and the temple area around them was quickly covered in smoke, gas, and so much charred meat.
It would not be enough to take down the entirety of either force, but it kept intruders from interfering without heavy cost.
Ridley’s eyes gleamed as he felt the power kept from him for so long course through his veins. With a horrible, slimy crunch of muscle and bone, his frame enlarged, the dragon taking his true size in front of the commander.
Roy didn’t waste a second pondering this and brought his hand up— only for Ridley to blast a gust of air against the lieutenant's body with his wings, leaving him just short of the oxygen needed to snap properly.
In an instant, the dragon quickly took to the air, fire foaming from his mouth. A barrage of artillery fire peppered Roy’s position, leaving the area covered in smoke, and the dragon threw wide arcs of flame in all directions, devastating the gathered armies without a care for who or what he struck. Flames erupted all across the battlefield as Ridley unleashed his innate desire for carnage, his super-heated breath engulfing the area in an inferno of fiery devastation.
The beeping came quickly, of course, but he had done his job, and the old wyrm descended in a straight dive. With a thunderous crack, his massive frame struck the ancient stone as he crashed into the temple just a few feet away from the Miniskirt general. Orange eyes glimmered as Ridley gave an ugly smile.
For the first time since he had been brought here, the feeling of ice in his veins settled, replaced by a yawning fire, as he stared down the Armada’s Commander in chief.
This was what the old pirate
lived for.
Ridley using an application of focus to briefly become a full-sized flying dragon instead of a miniaturized ground-bound birb