Storm clouds spun frantically as three newly born beings descended from the void left by the sphere.

  Ophion slithered back to his master, standing behind her, his immense body almost covering the entire horizon.

  The crackling from the Ophireans pierced the air relentlessly, growing stronger as they approached the injured Devourer.

  All three bore distinct colors. The largest, armed with spiked protrusions along its spine, glowed a near-cyan blue. It hissed the loudest, its eyes venomously fixed on its prey.

  The second, flatter and more serpentine, raised a cobra-like hood to threaten its foe. Its radiant green shimmer pulsed with the supercharged energy within.

  Lastly, the smallest—though no less dangerous—was long and lean, its brass-like scales gleaming with a deadly sheen. Venom dripped from its fangs, a lethal mixture that hissed as it fell.

  Pressed beneath the energy radiating from Deveralna, Var’Lathen panicked. Seeing the three Ophireans descend from the sky only deepened its unease.

  Though Ophion was at most a tenth of its size, Var’Lathen knew better than to underestimate a smaller foe. It had been wounded by beings even tinier only moments ago, and the memory burned vividly in its mind.

  "I won’t let you have time to think." Deveralna’s voice split the air as she appeared before the dragon’s nose.

  A lance of pure energy burst forth, ionizing the air as it grew stronger with every breath she took.

  Var’Lathen twisted its massive body, barely dodging.

  "The problem with a body this large..." Deveralna drew her arm back, exhaling as she hurled the lance with terrifying force. "...is that there are too many places you can’t protect!"

  The strike grazed its scales, scorching them. The Devourer tried to retaliate, but it was far too slow.

  Deveralna spread both arms wide. White scales crept up her forearms, transforming her hands into draconic claws. Lifting her chin, she leaned forward, coiling her tail beneath her for momentum.

  Air itself failed to catch up with her speed as she vanished into the sky, lightning trailing in her wake. A moment later, a deafening shockwave followed, splitting the air with concussive detonations.

  The Devourer saw only her afterimages flickering around its vast form. It braced for impact—yet the strike never came.

  Instead, the Ophireans moved, their attacks perfectly synchronized with their Progenitor.

  Raining from the heavens, the three plasma serpents each bit into a segment of its long body, tearing through scales and sinking deep into flesh.

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  The copper-scaled one injected a venomous blend of paralytic and necrotic poison into its veins. The trio ripped away chunks of tissue, carving wounds that oozed with plasma and blood.

  From a distance, Ophion watched in silence. His eyes gleamed with an alien intelligence as his split tongue flicked in and out, tasting the storm.

  A faint light flickered in his pupils—then dimmed. As though responding to an unheard command, the three Ophireans turned toward him, hissed in unison, and retreated.

  Var’Lathen writhed in agony. Yet it was only the beginning.

  A blinding flash erupted where the serpents had struck—two lightning bolts meeting head-on.

  The air thickened with energy. Particles rippled and bent, and at their center appeared Deveralna, both arms drawn back, claws glowing white-hot.

  "Dracon Sunder."

  In a breath, she dropped both arms, unleashing a cross-shaped burst of energy that tore through everything in its path.

  Blood vaporized instantly, sizzling into nothing. The air imploded into the void left by her strike, detonating as it collapsed. Flesh, bone, and energy were torn apart in a single cataclysmic instant.

  The boom that followed was inhuman—a shriek of power that split the sky itself.

  Yet the storm clouds held firm. Claimed by the Remnant’s will, only she could dispel them now.

  A colossal piece of Var’Lathen’s body fell from the heavens, crashing to the world below.

  At the eye of the storm, Deveralna reappeared.

  "Ophion."

  The single word froze the Devourer. The pain still coursing through its body deepened with dread.

  ‘What happened to her? Why is she so strong? So... different?’ the creature thought, a flicker of fear rising within it.

  As the serpent of light ascended beside her, Var’Lathen sensed its doom.

  Ophion vanished into the storm, swallowed by thunder. Lightning struck in torrents, blinding and violent.

  From the heart of the tempest, Ophion descended again—like a meteor of divine judgment. His jaws opened wide.

  Deveralna raised her hand. At her command, Ophion shattered into countless glowing fragments.

  "Devourer," she called coldly, drawing its full attention. "Let me show you what a true dragon is—the real, divine form. Something greater than your imitation of excellence."

  Her eyes held neither hatred nor mercy—only solemn pity.

  A sphere of light formed in her palm, growing until it rivaled a boulder. Ophion’s particles swirled around it, orbiting instead of merging.

  Then she released it.

  The orb rose into the storm, drawing form from light itself.

  "Ophion," Deveralna whispered, breath soft and reverent, "awaken into your true form—the Sovereign of Storms."

  The world held its breath. Lightning and thunder froze mid-roar, the air gone utterly still.

  A shape emerged from the light—an elongated body of plasma, its scales forged from molten luminescence hardened into divine metal. Cobalt, silver, and white hues refracted through its form, gleaming like the inside of a star.

  Sacred streaks of energy orbited its body, shifting like living halos.

  Ophion’s head was regal, crowned with two horns of crystallized lightning that shimmered and pulsed with divine power. Around his neck, a crescent halo of plasma beat in rhythm with the storm, illuminating the world in searing light.

  When he breathed, the air itself seemed to exhale. Each movement traced radiant arcs, fading like auroras.

  Fins of light ran down his spine, frozen waves of thunder made solid.

  His eyes burned with shifting colors—blue, white, and the brightness of stars. Each glance left trails of pure radiance.

  Var’Lathen could only stare, overwhelmed. It knew. Ophion, the Sovereign of Storms, was something far beyond its reach.

  The aura emanating from the reborn dragon was suffocating.

  Ophion drew breath. The storm gathered within his open maw, condensing into a single, apocalyptic core.

  The Devourer stirred, pride wounded. It, too, inhaled deeply, gathering its own energy in defiance.

  ‘Let’s see who’s better, little snake!’

  Their eyes locked.

  "Do it, Ophion," Deveralna said quietly.

  And the heavens prepared to shatter.