Birthing Legends: My Womb Creates SSS Monsters-Chapter 140 - 100 Candidates vs a Dragonborn — Part 2.

Hank of House Crimsonscales surged forward first. His fellow warriors followed immediately, their massive wrestler like frames charging beside him. In a heartbeat they locked shoulder to shoulder, bodies pressed tight until no gaps remained.

They became a wall of flesh and iron.

"CRIMSONSCALES!"

Hank roared. Killian and Cassandra froze for a moment, their eyes widening as they saw the living wall take shape.

"This... this is our chance!"

Killian shouted, grinning wildly as he sprinted toward the massive formation.

Cassandra let out a feral laugh, spinning her morningstar in her hands.

"Hey, wolf! I won’t let you hide behind them—me too!"

She barreled forward, slipping behind the formation to peek at Draculeus. Just in time, the shockwave slammed into the Crimsonscales like a falling mountain. Armor groaned. Greaves scraped against the stone. Every warrior gritted their teeth as the storm tried to tear them apart.

From behind, Sairant of House Silverspines shrank back, pressing his twin daggers uselessly to his sides. He covered his eyes with one hand.

"...We... we lose... no... we’re dead!"

The Crimsonscales slid backward... but only an inch.

Killian of House Asulfang froze in awe. He had felt that force before—but the sound of it rushing toward them now was far deadlier. And yet, the wall held. A booming laugh escaped him:

"Ha... HA! HA HA! We survived! Damn these boulder heads!"

Some of the proud warriors were knocked off balance, bald heads shining in the sun. Cassandra of House Blackheart bristled with energy, shoving the nearest Crimsonscales roughly aside.

"Move your arses! I don’t want to be crushed by you fools!"

Arteè of House Citrineclaws adjusted his glasses, raising an eyebrow. Dryly, he muttered,

"...Interesting. The Crimsonscales really do live up to their name."

Hank planted himself at the front, his massive frame bracing against the invisible weight of Draculeus’ aura. The crushing pressure of the Dragonborn’s power rolled over him like a storm and he didn’t budge.

"Stand your ground!"

His axe slammed against his shield.

CLANG!

"We are Crimsonscales! We are Tiamat’s unbreakable skin! A hide that does not fall!" 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

The warriors behind him roared in unison:

"CRIMSONSCALES!"

Hank raised his axe and pointed it toward Draculeus.

"Use us as your shield!"

The triple sized warriors tightened their formation, locking shoulder to shoulder like a living wall, again.

"We take the hits! You strike while we hold him!"

He glanced back at the other Houses.

"Forget your banners! Forget your pride! From this moment—we fight as one!"

Killian lifted his sword with a savage grin.

"Finally, someone said it."

Cassandra spun her morningstar.

"Good. I hate fighting politely..."

Arteè adjusted his glasses.

"A united formation. Now we might actually survive a minute."

Hank slammed his shield again.

CLANG!

"CRIMSONSCALES HOLD THE LINE!"

Then he bellowed one final command.

"EVERYONE ELSE—ATTACK!"

Draculeus watched them joining hands and let out an amused smile.

"A united front? These kids are finally getting serious—just as I wanted from the start... Now... this looks like a war."

Percieval stood at the edge of the landing pad, arms crossed over his chest. A small, proud smile hid beneath his white mustache.

"They are hungry... these warriors are itching for a real fight. They weren’t used in the war against the demigods, as the King ordered them to remain in the kingdom, protecting their Houses and the capital city."

His voice shifted, gaining weight and gravity.

"But the King’s true intention was survival... He knew that the war was designed to wipe out entire generations. And so it did. Now, they are alive, burning to serve alongside the new generation of Dragonborn. They have waited their entire lives to prove that they are not just children in luxurious capes—they are warriors."

The Crimsonscales began to march forward as one, their massive frames moving in perfect unison. Every step pressed the ground like a drumbeat of war, their shoulders and shields forming an unbreakable barrier for the warriors behind them.

Killian and Cassandra pressed against the living wall, using the momentum to advance toward Draculeus, their weapons ready but their backs protected.

The other Houses froze, bracing themselves in tight stances. Their eyes never left the Dragonborn, ready to react if even a fraction of him slipped past the Crimsonscales. Spears were raised, swords poised—each warrior prepared to intercept, to shield the rear, and to survive the storm that was still coming.

The arena became a tense, living formation, the front moving like a mountain, the rear ready to strike or defend at a moment’s notice.

Draculeus’ blue eyes narrowed. He had waited long enough. With a low growl, he sprinted forward, claws raised like deadly hammers aimed at the wall of Crimsonscales.

The ground seemed to shudder beneath his weight as he closed the distance in a heartbeat. Then, in a single, violent motion, he slammed both clawed hands into the shield wall.

"AHHHHHH!!!"

The Crimsonscales screamed in unison as the force ripped through their formation. Bodies pressed tight against one another groaned and snapped under the impact. They were being pushed back, inch by inch.

Hank planted his feet deeper, gritting his teeth as he raised his massive shield. His voice thundered over the chaos.

"Hold! We are Crimsonscales! Every inch we hold is an inch our brothers behind us survive!"

Killian and Cassandra clutched the edges of the living wall, struggling to keep their footing as the sheer force of Draculeus’ strike rolled through the massive front. Dust and sweat filled the air, and even the rear lines tensed, bracing for the inevitable pressure that would spill over to them.

From the back, Luavier of House Verdantwings stepped forward, eyes narrowing with calculation. He raised his spear and shouted to his agile warriors.

"Verdantwings! Use the Crimsonscales! Their shields are our platform—leap and strike!"

His house was renowned for mastery of wyrmwings and the skies. They moved with incredible speed and balance, their bodies light as air, weapons poised to exploit the currents of wind and lift.

One by one, they sprang from the backs of the Crimsonscales, launching into the air with precision.

Spears flashed in arcs as they twisted midair, using the shockwaves and gusts from Draculeus’ wings to propel themselves higher, faster, more agile than anyone else in the arena.

Draculeus’ gaze flicked to the skyward assault, and a slow, sharp grin spread across his face.

"Finally... someone trying to dance with me."