The flames were blown away by the airflow as it flapped its wings, as if someone had knocked over a huge burning lantern in the sky.
Its body briefly hovered in the low air for less than a breath, and then suddenly pulled upwards, escaping from the trajectory of the barrels and crossbow arrows that were still flying, and regained the commanding heights.
At this moment, it felt the call of Redd.
Not a sound, not a gesture, not any signal that humans can perceive.
It was some kind of deeper connection that transcended physical boundaries - like an invisible thread tied between two people's souls, which tightened suddenly the moment Redd whistled,
A strong emotion with anger and fighting intent was transmitted from Redd's chest to every nerve ending of King Ghidorah.
Redd is alive. Redd is calling it. Redd needs it.
King Ghidorah's three heads were raised at the same time, and the six golden eyes burst out with light that was more dazzling than the sun at that moment.
Those barrels, those crossbow arrows, those attacks that made it miserable - they didn't hurt it, but they succeeded in doing one thing: irritating it.
Not the kind of violent, irrational anger, but a colder, more dangerous kind of anger, like the deathly silence before a glacier breaks.
This kind of anger will not make it lose its judgment, but will make every move it makes more precise, more deadly, and more unsparing.
Three slender necks began to glow.
The light came from under the scales, as if something was burning in its blood, flowing in its bones, and accumulating in every inch of its muscle fibers.
The golden light spreads upward from the root of the neck, passes through the throat, passes through the lower jaw, and finally converges in the huge mouth of the three dragon heads.
Those lights are not static, they are flowing, rotating, and compressing, as if each of the three dragon heads is nurturing a star that is about to be born.
The air twisted around the light, and heat accumulated in the huge mouth. Even the crossbow arrows flying from a distance would be melted, evaporated, and disappeared by the invisible force when they entered within three feet of the light.
The soldiers who were loading the ballistae at the port stopped what they were doing.
They raised their heads and looked at the three glowing dragon heads in the sky, watching the golden light gathering brighter and thicker in the dragon's mouth, as if there were three suns rising at the same time in the sky of Lys port.
Their faces were filled with fear - pure, primal fear that was beyond the scope of human cognition.
Not the fear of death, but the fear of something more thorough and absolute than death - the fear of nothingness.
Because under the shining of those golden lights, they knew that they would not even leave a corpse behind.
King Ghidorah's three heads turned in different directions at the same time.
The head in the middle is pointed towards the city wall south of the port.
That white city wall that shines in the sun, those Lys defenders who are still clinging to the city wall, those giant ballistae and catapults that were hastily re-erected - they are the closest enemies and the most direct threat.
The head in the middle was slightly lowered, and the golden light reached its peak in its mouth, and then--
Release.
It's not a flame. It's not a beam. It's a lightning-shaped energy flow.
Golden, thunder-like energy beams spurted out from King Ghidorah's mouth, with a shrieking sound that ripped through the air, and struck in the direction of the city wall.
That beam of light was not straight. It twisted, forked, and jumped in the air, like a lightning compressed to the extreme. Every time it jumped, it left a burning trace in the air.
Its speed was so fast that it was impossible to catch it with the naked eye - one second it was still in King Ghidorah's mouth, and the next second it had hit the city wall.
The city wall disappeared the moment it came into contact with the light beam.
It didn't collapse, it didn't shatter, it just disappeared. Those city walls made of huge stones, several meters thick, and still indestructible after hundreds of years of wind and rain, looked like paper in front of the golden energy light beam.
The stone bricks were decomposed into the most primitive particles the moment the light beam touched them, and then those particles were shattered and shattered again by the subsequent energy until not even ashes were left.
The light beam swept along the direction of the city wall. Wherever it passed, the city wall seemed to be wiped away from the ground by an invisible giant hand, leaving only a deep, smoking ravine, like a wound torn open in the earth.
The people on the wall - the soldiers who were still holding the triggers of their ballistas, the militiamen who were still loading ammunition, the officers who were still directing the battle - they did not even realize that they were dead.
Their bodies disappeared the moment the light beam swept across them. There was no pain, no screams, and no signs.
One second they were still fighting, and the next they ceased to exist. Together with their weapons, their armor, and their flags, they all turned into nothingness.
The city wall, from the position where King Ghidorah attacked to the turning point at the end of the port, was hundreds of meters long. In less than a heartbeat, it turned into a straight, smoking gap several feet wide.
At the edge of the void, the remaining stone bricks were burned red, like iron blocks just taken out of the furnace, hissing in the air, and turned into a twisted, glassy black substance after cooling.
The head in the middle closed its mouth, and the golden light dissipated from the corners of its mouth. Its mission was completed—the threat in that direction no longer existed.
The head on the left side released its attack at the same time.
Its target is the fleet on the sea outside the port.
Those fifteen battleships belonging to Tormund, which just now were cruising in great glory, were constantly harassing King Ghidorah with catapults and ballistae.
They are distributed on the sea outside the port, some are shooting with ballistae at close range, some are using catapults to throw barrels from a distance, and some are adjusting their positions to prepare for the next round of attacks.
Their sails were swollen in the morning breeze, flags were fluttering on the sea, and sailors on the deck were busy carrying ammunition and operating weapons.
The head on the left is slightly tilted, and a golden energy beam spurts out from its mouth. It is not a straight line, but draws a huge arc above the sea.
The beam of light was like a sickle in the hand of a god, starting from the leftmost side of the fleet and sweeping to the right.
When the light beam swept across the sea surface, the seawater was instantly vaporized, leaving a deep ravine with white steam. It took a few breaths for the seawater on both sides to pour back, causing huge waves tens of meters high.