In that brief instant, the Tarlonnd Continent, illuminated by countless artificial lights and decorative projection screens, fell into roughly two seconds of silence and darkness—all traffic halted, all lights went out, all projection screens lost their brilliance and reverted to their original dull gray forms. The Great Shield vanished amid a flicker, and the frigid wind of the Arctic Sea poured into this sealed kingdom like an age descending with a roar. Beyond the horizon, in the sky at some "dusk" phase of the polar day, raw, unfiltered sunset light shone directly upon the land of dragons for the first time in millions of years.
The next second, in Agondor, Apasol, Upper Tarlonnd, and Lower Tarlonnd—in every corner of the Dragon Kingdom—the dragons active inside and outside the cities suddenly stopped in unison. Even those flying through the sky instantly ceased beating their wings and fell straight down. It was as though every dragon had lost its soul in that instant. One second later, those incapacitated dragons awakened one after another: those falling toward the ground rose back into the air, those crawling across the surface raised their heads, and those drunk on enhancers and illusionary entertainment opened their eyes. Countless lines of sight began converging on one place—the City of God at the center of the Tarlonnd Continent.
Heragol lay prostrate on the ground. He heard a deep rumble coming from the depths beneath the earth. Hurricanes unleashed by the shutdown of the weather controllers howled high above, while a cold, mechanical mind entered his brain. Omega's consciousness began gradually taking over this body according to its programming, yet he still retained a sliver of free thought. Driven by that last remnant of his own will, he slowly raised his head and looked toward the god standing at the