Tycondrius stood up immediately.
His heart was pumping rapidly. His skin tingled with excitement, anxiety, and the lust for murder. The core of his Divine Armor whined and whirred, struggling to keep his mana from going berserk.
Not just the risen sun-- the entire sky had been blotted out by a scale-ridden existence above.
Its wings spanned the city.
No part of it suggested a maw or a tail.
It looked... *nothing* like its spawn.
It was merely... hideous and... and wrong.
Was that it?
Was that the true form of the enemy?
Yes, it was massive. Yes, it was by no means comprehensible.
But the way his pitiful mortal mind saw it-- was it just a... floating... fucking... scale-hide blanket?
Tycon gazed upon the one and only dragon in existence.
But how the *fuck* was he supposed to kill it?
His System provided *zero* insight in that regard.
