Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Like Malekith, Darkus is also a mechanic-based monster.

Of course, in addition to their mechanics, they also have numerical bonuses, making them a perfect combination of both mechanics and numerical values, making them like a walking bug on any battlefield.

However, in terms of mechanics, Darkus and Malekith are very different. This difference is like the difference between fire and lightning. The former burns, while the latter leaps. Although both are mechanisms, their methods are completely opposite. All of this is related to the characteristics of the brass ring and the magical wind.

Darkus's abilities are similar to the Flash's; he is incredibly fast, almost able to travel through the flow of time. His movement is not simply running, but a distortion of time and space.

Malekith, however, was different. He could choose any target location and teleport himself there, completely ignoring the limitations of distance, height, and direction. It felt as if space itself yielded to him, obediently moving aside to comply with his will.

It's impossible to say which one is stronger or weaker.

They had tested it out when they had free time: if Malekith's first attack failed, he was completely helpless against Darkus. The reverse was also true; Malekith could teleport, while Darkus could move at lightning speed. One was like a flash of light leaping through space, the other like an afterimage in the flow of time.

Of course, this is a contest between mechanisms. Once Darkus activates Veszal, things change.

Darkus tried riding the trident like flying on a sword, or holding onto it and letting it carry him, or riding a broom like the witch—it was undeniably uncomfortable. But he still couldn't move long distances or run indefinitely like the Flash.

His speed is explosive.

What the naked eye can see is that one second he was at the same spot, and the next second he appeared a hundred meters away. Then, he disappeared again. He could appear anywhere else the next second.

The flickering light, like footage edited by time, is discontinuous yet deadly precise.

With the aid of the trident and magic, he could appear in mid-air. Lightning crackled around him, the wind was torn apart like cloth, and he transformed into a pale blue afterimage, piercing the sky.

Leaping onto the clouds, stepping with the left foot on the right, ascending to heaven!

However, he didn't dart around like Malekith. After parting ways with Malekith, he went to the armor plating assembly area, waited for Springtwin to be fully armed, then sat on the back of the dragon and flew into the sky, following the procedure.

Dakos just sat there, quietly enjoying the breeze, waiting for the crucial moment to arrive.

Malekith appeared, appearing on Springtwin's back. His appearance was completely unexpected, like a shadow suddenly appearing in reality. His sudden presence made it impossible to tell whether he had been teleported there or materialized from thin air.

He looked at the dragon throne, then at Genevieve, who was sitting to the side playing with a dagger. Upon seeing him, Genevieve sheathed her dagger and stood up. The dagger made a soft click as it was sheathed, as if applauding the visitor. Then, Genevieve shrugged at him.

As they shrugged, they both wore speechless expressions.

"Hey! How can you sleep?" Malekith's tone was as sharp as ever, mixed with a hint of disbelief.

Darkus opened his eyes and glanced at Malekith, who appeared before him. He let out a long, loud yawn, as if trying to inhale all the surrounding air. He removed the blanket from his face and wiped the sleep from his eyes with the leather part of his fingernail, his movements extremely natural, as relaxed as if he were in an office.

"Otherwise what? Like you?" he replied nonchalantly, gesturing with his hand covered in eye boogers as he spoke.

“I have spoken with Imrek.” Malekith shook his head first, then spread his hands.

Dacules had already stood up, handed the blanket to Genevieve, and stepped down from the throne. Hearing Malekith's words, he said nothing, but instead patted the horn on his sash.

Judging from his understanding of Imrek and Malekith's reaction, there was little difference between talking and not talking at all.

Is there ever a crown prince who reigns for seventy years?

This is a joke, but in reality, thirty-year-old Charles and seventy-year-old Charles are completely different people.

Time can grind willpower to dust and ambition to stone. Age, cognition, experience, and the changing times will gradually erode a person's edges.

This change is even more pronounced among the elves, since they are an immortal species.

If Charles is the Crown Prince for seventy years, then Newell is the young master for five thousand years.

But Newkel gave Darkus a completely different feeling. It was like a child with a mother is a treasure, enjoying it immensely and unable to extricate himself.

Malekith, Asanok, and even Moras and Heliben—these ancient beings who have lived for thousands of years—are all like this. Their mindset is different in each era; the Imrek of today is not the Imrek of the end.

This is just a mindset, without any other factors attached.

Malekith's expression shifted from speechlessness to seriousness. He glanced at the Spicazuma Horn, his already long face stretching even further, the seriousness turning into a sinister look. His tongue swung incessantly in his mouth, sometimes puffing out his left cheek, sometimes his right. The wind swept past him, ruffling his cloak like a slowly billowing flag.

"The dark clouds will soon disperse," he said slowly after a long silence.

The voice was deep and somber, as if announcing a funeral.

"Shall we do it, you or me?" Darkus patted the horn again.

"you do not know?"

“What?” Darkus tilted his head.

“You should really polish your horn,” Malekith said, then looked at Genevieve. “You don’t seem to be doing a good enough job in that regard?” His tone was laced with sarcasm.

Darkus wore a speechless expression, closed his eyes with obvious disgust, and then waved to Malekith, signaling him to get lost. The movement was lazy, like shooing away a noisy bird.

When he opened his eyes again, Malekith had vanished.

And the dark clouds dispersed, just like rain that hadn't started falling one second but started pelting down the next; the clouds vanished in a short time. It was as if they weren't dark clouds at all, but a kind of visual interference, a dynamic texture cast with an illusion, deceiving even the sky and altering the flow of the wind.

The moment the dark clouds dispersed, Arslan Silverstar, riding on the back of Sharp Claw, almost thought the sky had been torn apart.

It wasn't a gradual brightening, but a sudden revelation. A thick layer of magical mist disintegrated in an instant, like a curtain licked by flames, turning into shattered silvery-white mist, which was swept away, torn apart, and swallowed up by the air currents in the high altitude.

The entire sky was like an overturned iron pot, bubbling with light.

The air suddenly became extremely light.

The wind pressure swept across the griffin's wings, stirring up a series of soft hisses. Arslan subconsciously raised his head, his eyes squinting between the wind and the light.

Then he saw it: the entire high-altitude fleet and flight formation, appearing as if from another world.

This is a soul-stirring unfolding.

Below him and in the lower atmosphere, fourteen red dragons glided in perfect arcs. Their bodies gleamed in the sunlight, like embodiments of iron and fire, the runes engraved on their armor plates pulsating in the wind. Each dragon maintained the same angle of inclination, gliding precisely along a circular path, the airflow created by their tails and wingtips spiraling like long, serpentine snakes, perfectly spaced from one another.

It was a ritualistic order, an ultimate balance of speed, power, and training.

High above, amidst the lingering shadows of clouds, a falcon formation soared, its flight paths leaving faint trails of light across the sky, like streaks of light etched across the heavens. Close ahead of them were a herd of lizardmen pterosaurs; he could see the strange figures of the spirit lizard riders, their comical yet chilling silhouettes appearing eerily unsettling in the sunlight.

He stood within a flock of thirty-two griffins, their wings flapping amidst the remnants of clouds, their feathers whipped and swirled by the high-altitude winds. Knights from Itaien and Iris flew side by side, their armor gleaming, their cloaks billowing in the gale. The griffins' wings beat rhythmically between the light and shadow, a frequency like the heartbeat of war, one beat after another, shaking the sky.

He looked up at the giant eagle formation.

Those enormous winged shadows pierced through the sunlight like moving shadows; they came from different kingdoms and different places, yet they moved forward in a strange order.

At the forefront was Elahir, its feathers a tapestry of golden brown and copper red, as if sunlight were burning in the air; only its head was a sacred, pure white, like a snow-covered holy peak. When its wings were spread, they almost covered the entire field of vision, and light filtered through the gaps between its feathers, creating beams of radiant holy light.

At that moment, Arslan almost forgot to breathe; it was not just a formation, but more like the spread of a civilization's wings.

Further outwards was the raiding ship fleet. Countless airships circled in the outer ring, staggered high and low, layer upon layer, like a floating steel city.

Sharp claws flapped their wings violently in the wind, compressing the air beneath them into shockwaves that exploded like water being smashed into a boulder. He could even feel the runes on the armor heating up slightly, a rhythmic, pulsating heat, like a heartbeat resonating in metal.

Sunlight streamed through the broken clouds, illuminating the entire sky. The light was not static, but flowing, like liquid gold cascading down from the heavens.

It casts hundreds of diagonal lines across the sky through the wind, through magic, through dragon wings and ship shadows. Each streak of light is like a crack in fate, weaving together into a vast, living net of light. The light and shadow flicker, flow, gather, and disperse on the armor and dragon scales, enveloping the entire airspace in a surreal halo.

He held his breath.

In that instant, he realized that he was not only seeing a military formation, but also another dimension, a world in motion.

That beauty of order, that formation structure so precise to the extreme... Asur, Duruci, Asley, Enil, four bloodlines, four civilizations, like four rivers converging in the sky.

The flames of the red dragon, the roar of the griffin, the cry of the falcon, and the call of the giant eagle intertwined with the hum of the fleet to create a magnificent symphony.

This scene, without a doubt, is from the Age of Miracles.

The wind swept by, and the dark clouds completely dispersed.

The sky was blindingly bright, so bright that it was almost impossible to open one's eyes. The sunlight was like a knife, cutting through the air and the shadows.

Darkus reached the point where Springtwin's neck connected to his body, steadied himself, leaned slightly forward, and peered down. After a glance, he looked at Genevieve beside him.

"You seem a little agitated?"

“Of course! Aren’t you excited?” Genevieve’s eyes sparkled like gems reflecting in the dragon’s flames.

"Is it alright?" Darkus replied indifferently, with barely a smile playing on his lips.

After saying that, he took down the horn hanging on his belt, looked around, and looked at the formation located in a higher atmosphere.

"Fifty years of effort will be culminated in this one battle!"

Then, he took a deep breath and blew the horn with all his might.

At that moment, the sound of the horn tore through the sky, echoing like thunder, resounding throughout the entire heavens. That sound was not merely a horn, but a command, a vow, an irreversible declaration.

The wind trembled, the remnants of clouds were shaken into fragments of mist, and the light was shaken to a tremble.

The crucial moment has arrived.

After Darkus and Genevieve secured themselves, Springtwin roared first, then slowed down. He was waiting, waiting to adjust.

When the two roars appeared to his left and right, a small equilateral triangle formation appeared. Previously, while circling, Berg-Shuen had been behind him, and behind Berg-Shuen was Cecin Hal.

The trajectories of the three dragons interlocked in the air, forming a perfect triangular formation.

Springtwin roared again.

This roar was no longer a call for coordination, but rather—an attack!
Then it turned its body, and the body that was originally leaning to the left leaned even more, and finally entered a semi-rolling state, that is, upside down, with the dragon's back facing the ground and its belly facing the sky.

In an instant, Darkus felt his head throb with blood. As the dragon moved, his body was upside down, pulled by gravity and inertia. Fortunately, he was already used to this kind of flipping that almost squeezed his soul out of his body.

Don't underestimate the Red Dragons just because they are few in number; they are the main force among the main forces.

In Nagarus, the red dragons would engage in regular training, covering a wide variety of subjects.

Sometimes, marking lines are drawn on the ground to guide the red dragon into the arena. Once inside, the red dragon will unleash its breath. The sight is enough to leave any onlooker speechless; the enormous dragon flames, like molten gold flowing through the air, sweep across the ground, instantly turning the marked area into a hellish landscape.

The safe distance beyond the marked line was the territory of Truch's army. The soldiers within felt and experienced it as if, after calling in air support, ground attack aircraft had entered the fray, strafing with their cannons and dropping bombs and incendiary shells. Flames swept overhead, the air roared as it burned, and their armor vibrated slightly in the heat, much like warhorses desensitized to the sound of gunfire. Meanwhile, the ballista operators launched their attack, optimizing their firing angles, finding the perfect moment to strike.

In addition to this most impressive dragon breath suppression drill, there was also an aerial pursuit.

The red dragons conduct high-altitude maneuver training in formation, optimizing and iterating their skills. They swoop down from high altitudes, lock onto targets within a limited time, spew flames, and then return to a predetermined altitude in the shortest possible distance. Speed ​​and reaction tests unleash the red dragons' physical potential to its limits.

Coordinating operations with raiding ships, etc.

The goal is to maximize the synergy between the elves and the dragons, making them one. Both sides know what they need to do and how to handle and respond to various complex situations, instead of acting like headless flies, fighting blindly and haphazardly.

This training instilled discipline in the Red Dragon and taught Duruci the proper measure of strength. It also strengthened the Red Dragon itself, gradually honing its muscle density, scale toughness, and overall load-bearing capacity.

In the past, the red dragons would not have done this, but now they do.

This is the benefit of training and the use of armor plates.

As they begin their dive, the dragons' gaze never leaves their target, greatly simplifying the aiming process. Their pupils contract to slits, reflecting light with an orange-gold hue.

The scene below magnified at a terrifying speed, the air burning around them.

"what!"

As Springtwin entered its near-vertical dive, Darkus cried out. It wasn't fear, but pure catharsis. Blood rushed through his veins, he was overloaded, and even his soul was flung into the wind.

At the same time, Berg Shuen and Cecil Hal also entered a dive, their three trajectories streaking across the sky like meteors, echoing each other and intersecting to form a triangular death mark.

Further away and above, the outlines of giant eagles, warfalcons, pterosaurs, griffins, and raiding fleets all simultaneously readjusted their formations. The air was torn to shreds, and the entire sky roared.

This is the beginning of the war, and also the moment the sky falls. (End of Chapter)