The Milf's Dragon-Chapter 51. The Forth Seat Vs Owen

The mist still clung to Owen Shrouding his sight as His mana sense, normally capable of detecting signatures from hundreds of feet away, now struggled to perceive anything beyond five feet.

His Dragon Eyes fared no better. Each activation yielded the same frustrating result:

[Restriction Field: Shrouding Mist of Dead Divinities]

The notification mocked him with its simplicity, offering no solutions, just a flat statement of his limitations.

Owen kept walking, his humanoid form moving through the oppressive fog.

Then, finally, shapes emerged from the mist ahead. Shadowy silhouettes that suggested human forms, multiple figures standing in a loose cluster.

Relief flooded through him. "Hey! Over here!" Owen called out, raising one clawed hand to wave at them.

But he got no response in return.

The figures heard him, that much was obvious as their heads turned in his direction with synchronized precision that sent warning bells ringing in Owen’s mind.

Then they began moving toward him, closing the distance with a steady and deliberate throttle.

Something was wrong.

Owen’s instincts screamed danger. The way they moved was off. Too synchronized. Too silent.

Just that eerie, staggering approach through the mist.

"Hey!" Owen called again, his voice sharper now, edged with warning. "Are you guys okay? What’s going on?"

Still no response. Just that relentless forward march, their pace quickening as the distance shortened.

Owen’s body shifted into combat readiness without conscious thought. His stance widened as he extended his claws fully, black talons catching what little light penetrated the gloom.

And he was right to prepare.

As the figures emerged from the thickest part of the mist, Owen got his first clear look at them.

These weren’t hunters. They wore tattered black robes that hung off their gaunt frames like burial shrouds. Their faces were pale, corpse-pale, drained of all color and life. Some of them had wounds visible through tears in their clothing, injuries that should have been bleeding but instead showed only dried, blackened flesh.

But their eyes were the worst part.

Where there should have been white and iris and pupil, there was only void. Pure, absolute blackness that seemed to extend infinitely inward. Looking into those eyes felt like staring into the space between stars, into depths that wanted to pull Owen in and never let him escape.

One of them lunged forward But Owen swerved gracefully to the side, His hand came up and shoved the attacking figure away, sending it stumbling past him into the mist.

But the others didn’t pause. They kept coming, reaching for him with their pale hands, their mouths hanging open. Those terrible black eyes fixed on him with hunger that wasn’t quite human.

Owen jumped, clearing their reaching hands by a comfortable margin, and landed in a crouch behind them. His wings flared slightly for balance before folding again.

"Oh, you guys are definitely not okay," Owen muttered, studying their jerky, uncoordinated movements.

Then his head snapped to the left, his golden eyes focusing on a section of mist where nothing was visible but yet a presence was felt.

"Are you the one who did this to them?!" Owen’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, cutting through the oppressive atmosphere.

He got no response, just silence. But Owen didn’t move, didn’t shift his gaze from that seemingly empty space.

"You might as well reveal yourself," he continued, his tone dropping lower, more dangerous. "The mist might be interfering with my powers, but I’m not so restricted that my eyes don’t work."

His golden pupils pulsed with inner light, the [Dragon Eyes] activating despite their limited range. And there—just barely visible through the supernatural fog—a distortion in the mist.

A low, growling chuckle rolled through the air like distant thunder.

"Hah! Drak’thar definitely sent something interesting this time."

The Fourth Seat materialized from the mist as if the fog itself had given birth to him. He was massive, easily eight feet tall, his werewolf form barely contained by the tattered remains of his cultist robes.

Gray fur covered his body, darker around his hands and feet where claws the size of daggers extended from his fingers. His muzzle was elongated, filled with teeth designed for tearing flesh. And his Red eyes glowed from within his bestial face.

"Who are you?" Owen demanded, his claws extending further, his body coiling like a spring ready to release. "What have you done to these people?"

The werewolf threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing strangely in the mist. "Me? No, no, no. They did this to themselves! They are followers! Believers! They made the choice to accept the blessing!"

He gestured dramatically at the hollow-eyed figures, who had stopped their advance and now stood swaying slightly, awaiting some unspoken command.

"But they were so weak!" The Fourth Seat continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "Too weak to endure the blessing of the Great One! That is why they have become hollow husks! Empty vessels! But—" His grin widened, showing far too many teeth. "—they still serve a purpose!"

He raised one massive paw and pointed directly at Owen.

"Charge!"

The hollow men exploded into a violent motion.

One swiped at Owen’s face, it’s fingers hooked like claws. but Owen blocked with his forearm and countered with a punch to its torso that should have shattered ribs. The impact sent the hollow man flying backward, its body hitting the ground and tumbling away.

But two more were already on him. They grabbed his arms with strength that defied their emaciated appearance, their fingers digging into his scales with a supernatural grip. Before Owen could shake them off, two more tackled his legs, wrapping around his limbs like iron shackles.

Owen tried to move and found himself immobilized. The hollow men weighed impossibly heavy, like each one carried the mass of a boulder despite their gaunt frames. His muscles strained against their grip, and his wings flared as he attempted to throw them off.

He activated Mana Sense, trying to understand what he was fighting.

And found nothing. No mana signatures. Instead, there was only that same murky, corrupted energy that permeated the mist itself. The blessing the werewolf had mentioned, Owen thought.

The hollow man he had punched away was already standing again, charging back toward him with that same silent, relentless determination. Its hands were outstretched, fingers forming claws aimed directly at Owen’s chest.

Owen made a split-second decision.

He unfurled his wings fully and flapped with every ounce of strength he could muster.

SWOOSH!

The wind pressure was immense. The charging hollow man was blown backward like a leaf in a hurricane. And Owen shot upward, the hollow men still clinging to his limbs dragged along despite their impossible weight.

Then the restriction field kicked in.

An invisible force slammed into Owen mid-flight, that same supernatural barrier that had thrown him down before. The rebound was instant and violent, sending him plummeting back toward the ground at accelerated speed.

Perfect.

That was what he wanted.

Owen activated Momentum Shift, adding his own acceleration to the forced descent. His velocity increased dramatically. The hollow men still gripping his limbs began to realize their mistake, but it was far too late.

BOOM!

The impact cratered the ground, stone and earth exploding outward from the point of collision. The shockwave rippled through the area, temporarily dispersing some of the mist that still seeped back in regardless.

When the dust settled, Owen walked out of the crater completely unscathed.

Slow, mocking applause echoed through the clearing.

"Bravo, mighty lizard! Bravo!" The Fourth Seat clapped his massive paws together, the sound like thunderclaps. "Such strength! Such cunning! I just knew you would be entertaining!"

Owen’s expression was cold, his golden eyes fixed on the werewolf. "Enough games, beast. You will lead me to the Dragon King’s egg, or else—"

"Ah! Mighty lizard!" The Fourth Seat interrupted, his tone suddenly cautioning. "You might want to focus on what’s behind you."

Owen turned.

The six hollow men were standing again. Rising from the crater like zombies from graves, their broken bodies straightening, their terrible black eyes fixed on Owen once more. They showed no signs of the devastating impact that should have pulverized their bones.

"The hollow men don’t feel pain!" The Fourth Seat bellowed, spreading his arms wide like a preacher addressing his congregation. "They are soldiers of the Outer-Divinity! Forever fighting to their deaths for His grace! Truly, they are blessed!"

Owen’s jaw tightened. "To their deaths, huh?"

He had been holding back. Trying not to kill what he’d assumed were victims, people under some kind of mind control who might be saved if the spell was broken. That unnecessary empathy had been getting in the way.

But if they were already dead in all the ways that mattered, if they were truly beyond saving, then there was no point in restraint.

Owen’s expression went empty and emotionless. Then he moved.

He shot forward with a burst of speed that generated hurricane-force winds, the sudden acceleration was so extreme that the Fourth Seat was knocked backward several feet despite his size and weight.

"What the hell?!" the werewolf gasped, struggling to maintain his balance. "How can he muster that much strength?! Is the restriction not working?!"

Owen reached the first hollow man before it could react. His clawed hand clamped around its head like a vice, and with one brutal twist, he ripped the head clean off its shoulders.

Without pausing, Owen swung the severed head, using it to crush the skull of the next hollow man with sickening THUD.

Two down. Four to go.

One lunged from behind, attempting to grab him in that same immobilizing grip. Owen’s tail whipped around it like a serpent, catching the hollow man by the throat mid-lunge. He slammed it into the ground with enough force to crack stone, then squeezed hard.

The tail constricted like a python, tightening until vertebrae snapped and the head separated from the body.

Three down.

The remaining three hollow men charged together, coordinating their attack. Owen didn’t hesitate. He spread his wings wide, and the specialized talons at their edges—sharp as spears and definitely designed for combat—aimed at two of the charging figures.

The wing-talons drove into their skulls simultaneously. The hollow men jerked once and went still, suspended on Owen’s wings for a moment before he shook them off.

For the last hollow man, Owen simply launched himself upward. The restriction field caught him immediately, rebounding him back toward the earth with an amplified force. He positioned himself directly above the charging figure and let gravity do the work.

The impact shattered the hollow man’s entire body, reducing it to a broken mess that wouldn’t be getting up again.

Owen then stood in the aftermath, blood and strange black ichor splattered across his scales. Steam rose from his body as he activated Dragon’s Aura, the rising heat vaporizing the gore until his scales were clean again.

He turned to face the Fourth Seat, his golden eyes burning with a cold fury.

"There. Now it’s just you and me."

The werewolf’s red eyes widened. His cocky demeanor cracked as he revealed the fear beneath. His massive body trembled despite his size advantage.

"You—you fucking lizard! How are you able to move like that within the mist?!" His voice had lost its mocking tone, replaced by genuine terror. "The restrictions should have crippled you! You shouldn’t be able—"

Owen interrupted, his voice flat and dismissive. "The Great One you serve is weak. And you..." He started walking forward, each step deliberate and menacing. "...are even weaker."

The Fourth Seat snarled, trying to reclaim his courage through aggression. "Weak?! I’ll show you weak, you arrogant reptile!"

He charged forward.

For all his size and bestial power, the werewolf was fast. His claws came up in a diagonal slash aimed at Owen’s throat, each claw capable of tearing through steel.

Owen leaned back, the claws passing inches from his neck. He countered with a straight punch to the werewolf’s exposed ribs, his scaled fist driving into fur and flesh with devastating force.

The Fourth Seat grunted, stumbling sideways, but recovered quickly. His other hand came around in a backhand that Owen barely blocked, the impact sending shockwaves up Owen’s arms.

They traded blows in the clearing, dragon against werewolf, claw against claw. but the Fourth Seat’s raw power and size were formidable advantages as Owen was disadvantaged within the mist.

A lucky strike caught Owen across the chest, sending him skidding backward. He tasted blood in his mouth.

The Fourth Seat grinned, seeing the injury. "Not so invincible after all, are you, lizard?"

Owen wiped blood from his lip and smiled back. "I’m just getting started."

He lunged forward again, and the fight intensified.

But Owen could feel it, the Fourth Seat was beginning to panic. Each exchange showed more desperation, less control. The werewolf was realizing he was outmatched, that his earlier confidence had been misplaced.

"ENOUGH!" the Fourth Seat roared.

He slammed both fists into the ground, causing Owen to jump back before getting caught in the shockwave.

Dark energy erupted from his body, black mist that was distinctly different from the fog surrounding them. It poured out of his skin like smoke, wrapping around his form in writhing tendrils. His eyes, already red, shifted to a pure blackness—that same infinite void that had possessed the hollow men.

The transformation was immediate and terrifying. His muscles swelled, his already massive frame growing larger still. His fur darkened from gray to pitch black and Steam rose from his body as the temperature around him spiked.

"AWOOOOO!!!"

The Fourth Seat threw his head back and howled.

When he looked at Owen again, there was no intelligence left in those black eyes. Just hunger, rage and the desire to destroy.

Then he moved.

Faster than before. Stronger than before. His fist came at Owen like a meteor, and when Owen blocked, his arms nearly snapped from the impact. He was sent flying backward, crashing through stone and dirt before slamming into a rock formation.

Pain exploded through Owen’s body. The werewolf was on him before he could recover, claws raking across his chest and opening deep wounds. Blood sprayed. Owen’s scales, normally impenetrable to lesser attacks, parted like paper under those empowered talons.

Owen tried to counter, but another blow caught him in the ribs, cracking them. Then another to his face, snapping his head sideways and splitting his lip.

The Fourth Seat was a whirlwind of destruction, each strike carrying enough force to pulverize stone. Owen found himself on the defensive, unable to mount any offense, barely able to keep his guard up.

Another blow sent him tumbling across the ground. He tried to stand and was kicked back down. His vision blurred. His Eyes flickered, struggling to track the werewolf’s enhanced speed.

"This is bad," Owen thought, tasting blood. "The blessing doubled his power, while I’m at half strength from the restrictions. The math doesn’t work in my favor."

The Fourth Seat grabbed Owen by the throat and lifted him off the ground, those terrible black eyes staring into Owen’s golden ones. The werewolf’s mouth opened, showing rows of teeth, preparing to bite Owen’s head clean off.

Owen’s mind raced. He couldn’t overpower this. Not in a straight fight. Not while restricted.

But he didn’t need to overpower it.

He just needed three seconds. or maybe five.

Owen activated [Sovereignty of Space-Time]

The world slowed.

The restrictions made even this activation feel sluggish, like moving through a thick fluid. But it slowed well enough still. The Fourth Seat’s movements became languid, his crushing grip on Owen’s throat loosening just slightly.

Owen could feel the drain. The skill was eating through his mana reserves at an accelerated rate because of the restriction field. He had maybe five seconds before it would collapse.

He used the first second to wrench free of the werewolf’s grip.

The second second to position himself behind the Fourth Seat.

The third second to gather power in his clawed hand, channeling everything he had left into this single strike.

And on the fourth second, he drove his hand forward with all his strength, aiming for the base of the werewolf’s skull where it’s spine met it’s brain.

At the fifth second, his claws pierced through it’s fur, flesh, and bone.

Then time snapped back to normal.

The Fourth Seat’s howl cut off abruptly. His massive body went rigid and the black mist poured rom his skin dissipating like smoke in wind. The void in his eyes flickered, with its red pupils returning for just a moment.

He tried to speak but blood came out instead of words.

Then he collapsed forward, his body hitting the ground with a final, heavy thud.

Owen stood over the corpse, breathing hard, blood dripping from his wounds. His hand was still embedded in the werewolf’s skull, and he pulled it free with a wet sound that echoed in the sudden silence.

He staggered backward, his legs threatening to give out. The Sovereignty had taken more out of him than expected. The restrictions had made what should have been a five-second activation collapse after barely three.

But it had been enough.

Owen rested there, letting his skill, [Ultra-Regeneration (SS-Grade)], however restricted, to begin working on his injuries.

Steam rose from his wounds as the Regeneration kicked in, slowly closing the deepest cuts.

After a while, he rose up and looked down at the Fourth Seat’s corpse, at the black mist still faintly visible around the body.

"Your Great One," Owen said to the dead cultist, "is going to need better servants."

Then he turned and walked back into the mist, continuing his search for Yuki and the party members.