**Before you guys read any further, I want to let y'all know I've really set their levels as high as I think it should be. Brace your minds XD And at the same time, listen to this song, it's Treachery from Bleach, and it's really fitting.**
Shakura is beckoning me, I cannot waste further time. I take the sea route, approaching the Dragon's Lair from Etrirea's corner; I have no intention of freezing her Silverness' territorial possessions, either.
As I draw nearer to the familiar Dragon Mountains and the all too nostalgic Dragon's Lair, I know the other two, like me, are not even bothering to mask their battle prowess. I can feel the abrupt, unnatural and imposing pull-down by W.S. Gavrik's gravity and the rapidly alternating and suffocating climates that leave virtually no living organism biologically unaffected by Qayroph. My own bright flare covers the mountains in a screen of white light and my scales harvest glaciers on land and icebergs on water. Even if we could suppress our auras, we wouldn't, because our natures were so threatening and belligerent that we would end up killing each other.
Ignoring one another, we spiral around the topmost tower of Dragon's Lair in impassive and hypocritical synchronization. Finally, swooping through the tallest, largest, semi-oval carved openings and perching ourselves on our respective crystal pedestals. In the midst of the entrance ceremony, I overhear Shakura's voice.
"You'd best be kowtowing now, Thrandos, along with the other elites..."
"OH, HO, HO, HO," another voice booms, "I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THE GOLDEN GENERAL WAS BEING OBSTINATE, AGAIN!" World Smasher Gavrik, the Gray Dragon Noble of Gravity, slumps down on his altar. Gray polishes his hide, fangs protude intimidatingly from his joints, large flapping scales stand erected from his head stretching down to his tail, giving him the majestic disposition of a king. His eyes illuminate through my light and frown at Thrandos with a murdering menace. They always seem to be brimming stealthily with infinite wisdom and power.
"FWAH HA HA HA!!!! Welllll, why not... We just WASTE him, theeeeennnnnn!!!! It'd be the peeeeeerrrrrfectt EXCUSE to go... WIIIIILD!!!!!!!!" Qayroph, the Orange Dragon Noble of Seasons, screeches and gasps in crazed excitment. He has two devilish curved horns ramming out of his right temple; the ones on his left temple were, somehow, plucked out, in an unprecedented, legendary war with W.S. Gavrik. Half of Etrirea's landscape was then supernaturally rearranged and thought to always have been that disproportionate and inaccessible. How that started and ended is still unbeknownst. Qayroph's temperament is one of the most unstable out of all the Dragon Nobles, but his powers allow him to vent his madness by forcefully tearing the seasons apart and inducing his own. Screaming and sinking his teeth into anything that moves, Qayroph's capabilities are a far cry from the elites, despite his rocky mentality. His tail is also an immunity scepter that adjusts his body's temperature, with regards to his temperament. This protects his body from the effects his own power, as well as, boosts his offensive elemental abilities.
"Let him be," I, the White Dragon Noble of Dry Ice, hiss, "He won't be standing for long, anyway." Sure enough, Thrandos already has both his hind legs bent at an awkward angle on the ground; the rest of his limbs struggle and quiver to keep his form straight in our presence, the red flag on his head is indignant but limp. The rest of the Dragon Elites have the whole of themselves parallel against the ground, as if it is cemented to them and they are part of the palace's decorations. Some must have been like Thrandos, albeit they didn't have the immense strength needed to maintain a posture. I cannot blame them, of course, against the amalgamation of my negative 200 degree celcius, W.S. Gavrik's gravity 70 times of the earth's and Qayroph's emission of unadaptable, extreme climates, even the Dragon Elites can so much as live, in our presence.
But there is no difference, my light is so overpowering that only dragons of the noble class can behave obliviously to it. Dragon generals and below cannot see more than white light, although they will not be blinded by it. We must be enigmatic shadows to these fools.
Her Graciousness Shakura, as usual, sits gracefully on her throne, which is fully immersed in rare gems and crystals. Authority and the scent of imminent death exude from her so outwardly, even I feel a shiver of fear. Her whole private chamber glistens and reflects the sheer power of all present there, on all present there. It is enough to blow Etrirea to bits, a small region compared to where we have come from.
"Enough!" Shakura commands in a growl, and the whole room stops and waits.
"I, Shakura, the reigning Silver Dragon, now evoke The Three Royal Dragon Nobles from their shackles of confinement!"