Tossing aside an empty plastic bottle, Orsaga turned his gaze toward the distant horizon.
Hundreds of Dementors had been strategically stationed throughout the nearby area. Orsaga had arranged them as mobile energy nodes, constructing an enormous barrier around himself.
With it, anything that entered the domain would instantly be detected. Moreover, within this zone, he could draw upon the magic of nearby wizards and Dementors at will to replenish his own.
That was one of the main reasons he bothered acquiring subordinates in the first place.
At the moment, he had a limited mana pool.
Though he could amplify a single unit of magic to function like a hundredfold, it was still wise to prepare multiple sources of energy. Just in case.
Through the sensory feedback of his barrier, Orsaga clearly perceived that a large formation of fighter jets was rapidly approaching from dozens of kilometers away.
Simultaneously, heavily mechanized ground forces were converging along multiple roadways.
Orsaga smiled.
"So… the meeting's finally over?"
Though he didn't care much about how the world's governments reacted, he understood well enough that such a large-scale operation could only happen after serious negotiations and mutual concessions.
Still, he remained indifferent.
After all, his real opponents were not united as one—they were fragmented powers.
Throughout history, humanity may have shared a single species name, but differences in skin color, culture, nationality, and belief systems had long divided them into opposing factions.
Sure, society had undergone countless transformations and seen remarkable progress.
But bureaucracy, inefficiency, and old grudges remained ever-present.
Unless Orsaga were to wipe the surface of the earth clean—subjecting every nation to equal devastation and forcing them all into despair and submission—they could never truly act as one.
Naturally, he had no intention of giving them that chance.
He wasn't here to conduct an experiment on humanity's limits. He simply wanted to become its ruler.
"Now then," he said with a smirk, standing up casually,
"It's time to demonstrate my power and wait for the bootlickers to come crawling on their own."
Drawing the wand from his waist—
Fiendfyre.
One by one, miniature flame dragons emerged gleefully from the wand's tip.
They darted about with vivid motion, playing amongst themselves as if they were truly alive.
"Go," Orsaga commanded,
"Destroy them."
The little dragons let out fierce roars.
Apparition.
In the next moment, they vanished, reappearing along the paths of the approaching armies.
There were more powerful spells than Fiendfyre, of course. But when it came to slaughtering ordinary humans, nothing was more effective.
---
Upon seeing the creatures suddenly appear ahead, the army's scouts froze in place before hastily reporting:
"Report!. Movement detected ahead!."
"It's… um… dragons?. They're… uh… smaller than magpies… But definitely dragons?"
The voice over the headset left the commanding officers puzzled.
They had been warned the enemy might be. unconventional. But palm-sized dragons were still a bit much.
In all the myths and legends, dragons were massive, fearsome beasts—never this small.
Still, orders had been clear:
Treat this operation as a top-level threat, no matter how absurd things appear.
So, regardless of the dragons' size, tanks, heavy machine guns, autocannons, ground-to-ground missiles, and anti-aircraft missiles all locked on to their positions and unleashed a relentless barrage.
The deafening thunder of gunfire and explosions drowned out all other sounds—even the rumbling of tanks and armored vehicles was buried beneath the chaos.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!!
Massive flames soared over 20 meters into the air.
The ground within a hundred meters was torn apart repeatedly.
Nearby buildings were leveled, reduced to rubble.
All that remained were scorched craters and shattered soil.
Just as the smoke began to settle and the commanding officer was about to ask for a damage report—
A chorus of furious roars rang out from within the smoke.
Dozens of fiery dragons burst forth from the blast zone.
Having absorbed the flames of the artillery barrage, their once tiny bodies had now grown over a hundredfold, each now the size of a car.
And as they flew clear of the firestorm, roaring toward the troops, the soldiers instinctively began shooting again—no orders needed.
Streams of tracer rounds painted the sky with orange-red streaks.
Their kinetic force could penetrate most fortifications.
But these bullets had never been meant to fight elemental creatures.
The fire dragons, composed entirely of enchanted flames, were completely immune to conventional damage.
Bullets passed through them harmlessly. And the explosions from the shells—meant to destroy—were instead devoured, feeding the beasts even more energy.
In essence, every attack was just another offering of food.
By the time the flame dragons breached the defensive lines, their bodies had once again grown several times larger—now comparable in size to small naval vessels.
Faced with such monstrous adversaries at close range, the soldiers' morale was instantly shattered.
It was like trying to brawl in the street and realizing your opponent's chest was at your eye level.
And that was without claws and wings.
Biologically, every living creature fears something bigger and stronger.
That fear reached its peak as the soldiers watched the dragons' claws rip through armored vehicles like butter, detonating them like oversized firecrackers—
then greedily inhaling the resulting fire to further grow in size.
Hopelessness and terror surged through their ranks.
Even the commanding officer, watching his men scatter and flee, found himself unable to scold them.
Because their weapons—their only line of defense—had utterly failed.
Their attacks didn't even register as damage—there wasn't even a forced hitpoint deduction to speak of.
"Fall back!, If physical weapons are ineffective, regroup and prepare thermobaric bombs!"
But just as he shouted the order, a massive flame dragon—tens of meters long—swooped overhead, unleashing a fan-shaped wave of Fiendfyre.
Everything in its path was set ablaze.
Soldiers tried desperately to extinguish the flames—stamping, dousing themselves with water bottles—
All in vain.
Water evaporated instantly. Fire blankets were incinerated.
The flames spread even faster with movement.
Though Fiendfyre resembled normal flames on the surface, it burned at thousands of degrees and carried unique magical properties.
Even steel—normally nonflammable—would continue to burn until the spell's energy was completely exhausted.
Until then, only magic could extinguish it.
And the ordinary human military had no such means.
As the Fiendfyre swept across the battlefield, the situation spiraled out of control.
Unlike Dumbledore and his peers—who understood Fiendfyre and had ways to counter it, these troops were helpless.
They had no means of offense or defense.
Within mere minutes, under the onslaught of hundreds of fire dragons, tens of thousands of elite soldiers were wiped out.
Metal melted into slag.
The ground turned to crystalline glass.
Flesh and bone—reduced to ash.
And the Fiendfyre still burned.
Only once every last flammable substance had been consumed did the flames finally begin to die down.
_____
T/N:
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