Amidst the rubble of a battlefield ravaged by explosions, seventeen humans surrounded a powerful creature perched atop a massive boulder. The formation appeared loose but was in fact highly coordinated, designed to exploit every advantage against their target.
The creature was gravely injured, teetering on the brink of death. Its once-proud black wings, which had allowed it to soar through the skies, were now broken—one wing shattered, the other tattered and useless. It had lost the ability to fly.
However, the damage to its wings was merely painful, not fatal. The true cause of its near-death state was a bullet lodged deep within its skull, which had also blinded one of its eyes.
Yet, even in this dire condition, the four-legged, two-winged creature exuded a defiant aura. It regarded its attackers—those who relied on cunning tools to corner it—with disdain, its gaze filled with unyielding arrogance.
Even as it faced inevitable defeat, its pride remained unshaken. It believed the fault lay not with itself but with the devious and underhanded methods of its assailants.
When Muria's consciousness reawakened, this was the scene he encountered. To his misfortune, his consciousness had returned to the most wretched being on the battlefield: the heavily injured dragon.
He could feel the overwhelming bitterness and fury in the dragon's heart, mixed with an unyielding sense of superiority. Surveying the enemies responsible for his reincarnated body's predicament, the Titan couldn't suppress his frustration and cursed aloud:
"Worthless!"
"Huh?" The dragon, whose consciousness had been fading due to the severe damage to its vital organs, was momentarily startled by the unexpected voice. Curiosity followed. "Who are you? Why can I hear your voice in my mind?"
"Who am I? I am you," Muria retorted, angered by the sorry state of his reincarnated form. A bitter laugh escaped him as he examined the dragon's injuries. "But you are not me. Stand down. From now on, I'm in charge."
"You're me?" The dragon's failing consciousness struggled to process Muria's claim. But before it could react further, its will was forcibly suppressed, and Muria's essence fully took control.
"Truly worthy of the ancient dragon bloodline. Even in its juvenile state, it possesses such terrifying vitality. A bullet capable of shattering a tank was lodged in its brain, yet it still lives," remarked a young man clad in specialized exoskeleton armor. He held a blade in one hand and a firearm in the other, his tone a mix of awe and exasperation.
"This kind of monster has no real weak spots. We've destroyed its brain, shredded its heart, and it's still fighting."
"Even so, it's nearly at its limit. Don't give it time to recover—keep attacking. Its life force, as monstrous as it is, isn't infinite. We can wear it down," came a calm voice over the communication channel.
The dragon hunters, equipped with enhanced physiques and cutting-edge weapons, knew the dangers of confronting a dragon—even a juvenile one. It was akin to dancing on a razor's edge.
"It's terrifying to think what it would be like if this thing were fully grown. How could we humans possibly fight it?" one of the hunters mused.
"A mature dragon? Difficult, yes, but don't forget about the forbidden weapons humanity possesses."
"Enough chatter! Keep firing! Don't let it regenerate!"
Bang!
A thunderous gunshot rang out as a spell-imbued bullet tore through the air, leaving a visible trail. It slammed into a boulder, sending shards of rock flying.
"Damn it! How did that miss?"
The sniper, lying prone a kilometer away, lifted his head in disbelief before peering back through his scope. He quickly realized that the bullet's impact point was far from where he'd aimed.
"What's going on?" The calm voice of the squad leader crackled through the sniper's earpiece.
"I missed the shot—but you know me, I don't miss. Not on a target this big," the sniper replied, his voice tinged with frustration and confusion.
"Are you saying it's the dragon's doing?"
"It shifted my shot!"
"That's absurd!"
"Attention! Something's changed with the dragon. Stay on guard!"
Under the wary eyes of the dragon hunters, the black-scaled juvenile dragon slowly closed its remaining eye. When it reopened, the once-dark pupil had turned into a radiant gold. An indescribable aura began to radiate from the dragon, sending an almost tangible pressure through the air.
"What's happening to the dragon? It feels... different," a young woman clad in an exoskeleton suit muttered, involuntarily taking a step back.
"It's not your imagination. Something's pressing down on us, making it hard to move," another hunter confirmed.
"This isn't right." The blond squad leader's expression darkened. Though the data on his tactical display showed no abnormalities, his instincts screamed otherwise.
"Attack!" he barked, and the sound of gunfire filled the air once more.
The hunters unleashed another barrage of spell-imbued bullets, each resembling a cannon shell, aiming to end the dragon once and for all.
To their shock, the dragon evaded most of the projectiles with remarkable agility. Those that did connect struck only superficial areas, failing to inflict significant harm.
Seated atop a boulder, Muria observed the hunters with cold, golden eyes. His movements had been far more calculated and precise than those of the dragon's original consciousness.
In mere moments, Muria had assessed the dire state of his reincarnated body. The dragon's brain and heart had both been severely damaged, while its internal organs and musculature were riddled with injuries. Were it not for the inherent resilience of dragons, the body would have perished long before his arrival.
Without access to external energy or high-calorie sustenance, the dragon's recovery would be a slow and arduous process. Glancing at his broken wings, Muria made a decision.
The hunters froze as they watched the dragon turn its head and, with a single motion, tear off its own crippled wing. Holding the severed limb in its jaws, the dragon chewed and swallowed it whole.
"It's... eating itself? That's insane!" a young hunter exclaimed, his voice trembling with disbelief.
"Look at its chest! It's healing!" another shouted, pointing at the dragon's ruined torso. Fractured ribs began knitting together, and its shredded heart started regenerating.
"Don't let it recover! Keep firing!"
But Muria, now in full control of the dragon's body, easily dodged the incoming bullets. His enhanced perception allowed him to predict their trajectories with ease.
"Stop shooting! Form up for melee combat!"
Realizing that ranged attacks were futile, the squad leader ordered a change in strategy. Leading by example, he assembled a long spear from components on his exoskeleton and advanced toward the dragon.
"Interesting," Muria muttered, his tone amused. As the hunters charged, he tore off his remaining wing and consumed it as well. In this desperate situation, self-consumption was the most efficient path to survival.
"Die!"
The squad leader's exoskeleton roared to life, jets of blue flame propelling him forward. He aimed his spear at the dragon's still-healing heart, hoping to land a decisive blow.
"Foolish," Muria thought. But he had to admit, these humans had courage—if not much else.
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