Chereads / Incest Pendragon / Chapter 50 - Unification of Britannia Part 6

Chapter 50 - Unification of Britannia Part 6

"We've spotted another group of troops in the forest. Did you want me to get rid of them, brother?" Melusine asked. In this world, she and Vortigern were brother and sister, representatives of Gaia and her children, while King Uther represented humanity and Alaya.

"The red dragon of prophecy..." Vortigern mumbled under his breath.

His form now appeared as a majestic old man instead of a dragon as he sat astride his warhorse, with Melusine beside him.

"She is honorable and will not attack us from behind," he stated confidently. "Continue purging the Romans!"

"Yes, brother." Melusine saluted crisply, her voice resolute.

In an instant, her lithe humanoid form was engulfed in a cascade of flickering light and shadows, reshaping into something far more terrifying.

Her draconic fae form towered over the battlefield—a jet-black figure of sleek, angular beauty, its mechanical-like wings bristling with glowing crimson and magenta energy.

The intricate lines along her body pulsed with an ominous light, like veins carrying the raw power of a distant star.

Her long, whip-like tail lashed through the air, carving trails of sparks as it sliced the atmosphere.

She took to the sky with a thunderous blast, her wings emitting a metallic hum that reverberated across the battlefield.

Romans below faltered, their formation breaking under the weight of her presence alone.

Hovering high above, her elongated head tilted downward, the piercing glow of her dragonic eyes locking onto her prey.

The energy gathered at her core was terrifying—a swirling, concentrated mass of destructive power channeling into the massive cannon-like appendage on her back.

The air crackled with anticipation, and then, with a deafening roar, a beam of pure annihilation erupted forth.

The beam tore through the Roman legions with ruthless precision, its scorching magenta light leaving a smoldering trench in its wake.

The very ground quaked, and soldiers were consumed in an instant, their cries lost in the cacophony of destruction.

Columns of smoke and ash rose into the darkened sky, blotting out the sun as the battlefield descended into chaos.

Vortigern sat atop his warhorse, silent and unmoving, his piercing gaze fixed on the scene.

His regal armor gleamed under the haze of destruction, and he exuded a calm, almost disdainful authority.

It was as if he were a god surveying the futile struggles of mortals, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Emperor Lucius clenched his fist so tightly that his gauntlet creaked, his rage boiling over as he watched the massacre unfold before his eyes.

Blood stained the battlefield, the screams of his dying men blending with the deafening roars of the dragons that tore through his once-proud legions.

He had gravely underestimated them. In his arrogance, he had dismissed their power, relying on tales of how easily King Uther had retaken his territory from Vortigern's grasp.

He had foolishly forgotten why the white dragon had been feared as the ultimate villain in Britannia, long before Morgan le Fay took the stage in the later chapters of the Arthurian tale.

Now, the consequences of his hubris were laid bare.

His forces had been decimated, their numbers reduced to mere shadows of their former glory.

Lucius swallowed hard, forcing down his pride as he barked out a command in a voice heavy with grim determination.

"Men, retreat!" he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos as he yanked the reins of his horse, turning it sharply.

Vortigern's piercing gaze locked onto Lucius, his eyes glowing with an unearthly menace.

With a roar that shook the earth, he shed his human guise, his form twisting and expanding until he stood as a massive white dragon, his scales gleaming like polished ivory.

Without hesitation, Vortigern unleashed a torrent of searing flames that engulfed the remnants of the Roman legion, reducing men and armor alike to ash in an instant.

His enormous wings flared as he launched himself into the air, his eyes fixed on Lucius, chasing him with a relentless fury.

Lucius slapped his warhorse's flank, urging it to run faster as the ground trembled beneath the dragon's pursuit.

His jaw clenched, his rage simmering beneath the surface.

The humiliation of retreat was one thing, but the dragon's unrelenting provocation ignited something deeper within him.

He ground his teeth as he made a decision: if this monster wanted to challenge him, so be it.

He would give it everything he had, and he would take its head as a trophy.

His sword began to glow with an ominous crimson light, the aura pulsing like a heartbeat as raw power surged through it.

He turned in the saddle, aiming the blade directly at the dragon, his voice ringing out in a roar that echoed across the battlefield.

"Florent!"

A blooming beam of crimson energy erupted from the sword, streaking toward Vortigern like a vengeful comet.

The white dragon's eyes widened in shock, and though he tried to evade, it was too late.

The beam struck him full force, consuming him in a blinding explosion of fiery red light.

"Arrghh…!" Vortigern's agonized scream tore through the air as his massive form was hurled to the ground, crashing with a thunderous impact that sent shockwaves rippling through the earth.

Lucius didn't hesitate.

He seized the opportunity, raising his demonic sword high above his head as he let out a rallying cry.

"Rome, charge! Purge the Saxons! Purge Vortigern! Show them no mercy!"

The cry was like a spark to dry kindling.

"Lucius!"

"Lucius!"

"Lucius!"

The chant rose from his men, their morale soaring at the sight of the fallen dragon.

Abandoning their retreat, they surged forward with renewed ferocity, tearing into the Saxon forces with an unrelenting fury.

The tide of battle had turned, and now it was the Romans' time to strike.

"Brother!" Melusine shouted desperately, ignoring the crumbling morale of their troops.

She reverted to her fae form in a flash, her wings shimmering as she rushed to Vortigern's side.

He was on his knees, coughing up a massive amount of blood that stained the ground beneath him.

The once-majestic dragon king, whose form had inspired both awe and terror, was now reduced to a frail, withered old man.

His scales, once gleaming with power, had faded into nothingness, leaving behind only fragile, human skin.

"I underestimated the Roman Emperor," he rasped, his voice hollow but tinged with bitter acceptance.

"His feat of defeating the Raksha God in India wasn't just a tale, it's the truth." He clenched his fist weakly, the blood dripping from his lips mingling with the dirt below.

His strength, once legendary, had been utterly drained after the devastating blow he took from the Roman Emperor's demonic sword.

His eyes, dim yet still sharp with defiance, swept across the battlefield.

Where once their forces had stood firm, the tide had now shifted entirely in favor of the Roman Emperor.

The once-proud armies of Britain and Saxons were being pushed back, their formations breaking under the relentless assault.

Yet, despite it all, Vortigern laughed—a deep, guttural sound that seemed almost mad.

"But we are not defeated yet," he declared, his voice cracking but determined.

However, his laughter froze in his throat as the sound of hooves echoed from the horizon, growing louder with each passing second.

His gaze turned toward the approaching storm, and his face twisted into a grimace.

"Men of Camelot, charge!"

The battlefield was consumed by a thunderous roar as King Uther Pendragon's army descended like a tidal wave.

His presence alone seemed to dominate the chaos, inspiring his forces to strike with unrelenting ferocity.

The knights of Camelot swept into the fray, their banners flying high.

Unlike the battered Roman and Saxon forces, Uther's troops were fresh, well-rested, and vast in number.

It wasn't just King Uther leading the charge.

His forces were a chaotic mix of warriors and legends, each one more terrifying than the last.

Morgan le Fay led her fae knights with raw, destructive magic that tore through enemy ranks, while Baobhan Sith danced through the bloodied field, her claws cutting down anyone in her path with terrifying precision.

Artoria Pendragon was there too, her Caliburn gleaming with cold determination as she carved through foes without hesitation.

Queen Medb, with her Irish coalition at her back, brought an overwhelming presence to the battlefield.

Her forces moved with brutal efficiency, their savagery unmatched, and her taunting laughter echoed amidst the chaos.

While rumors of the Sun Knight, Gawain, only added to the mounting dread.

They struck like a tidal wave, an unstoppable force that swept through the battlefield, trampling everything in their path.

The Roman and Saxon forces, already weakened and exhausted, stood no chance.

Screams and the clash of steel filled the air as men and beasts alike were cut down without mercy.

Vortigern's dimming eyes took in the carnage, the inevitable crushing defeat that loomed over them.

He felt his strength slip further, his vision blurring as he slumped in Melusine's arms.

He knew it. The truth was undeniable.

They were defeated.

It was only a matter of time before the end came.

...

One more chapter, and the unification of Britannia will be complete. Afterward, there might be a rape scene involving Queen Medb, I dunno. If you're repulsed by it, feel free to skip it when I label the chapter with an R-18 tag.