The three heads of King Ghidorah retracted the light from their mouths at the same time. The three slender necks slowly relaxed, and the golden energy faded from under the scales, like sea water at low tide.
Its body hovered high in the sky, with three heads hanging low, and six golden eyes overlooking the port below - the battlefield that was once burning with flames, filled with shouts of death, and filled with gunpowder smoke had now turned into a lifeless ruins.
The city wall was wiped away, the fleet was evaporated, Bloodworm was shot down, and all resistance was wiped out by the sweep of those three golden lightnings.
On the water in the port, there were nothing left of the battleship wreckage, burning planks, and struggling figures that once floated.
There were only a few still-smoking ravines slowly closing on the sea surface, and a few smaller and smaller whirlpools proving that something had once been there.
The seawater is pouring back, white steam is rising, and there is an indescribable smell in the air - the salty smell after the seawater has been vaporized, the burnt after the stone has been decomposed, and some deeper, ancient and sad breath that sounds like the world itself is being torn apart.
The buildings around the port—the houses, warehouses, and shops that were once engulfed in flames—are still burning, but no one is paying attention to them.
Those Lys defenders who were still alive, those soldiers and militiamen who were not affected by King Ghidorah's attack, were hiding in the streets and houses further away, trembling and afraid to make a sound.
They saw the three golden lightnings through the cracks in the window, saw the disappearance of the city wall, saw the moment when the fleet evaporated, and saw the scene of Bloodworm being shot down.
There was only one thought left in their minds - that dragon was not here to conquer them, that dragon was here to destroy them.
The only thing they could do was to pray that the dragon would feel that they were no longer worth attacking.
Redd stood on the high platform, naked, his skin reddened by the firelight glowing slightly in the morning breeze.
His hair and eyebrows have been burned off, but his face is still handsome. Even without the hair covering it, his facial features appear more distinct, deeper, and less like a mortal.
His black eyes calmly swept across the port that had been completely destroyed by him, across the still smoking ruins, across the shivering figures hiding in the distance, and across the Daemon who fell on the pier, his face ashen and silent.
The corners of his mouth raised slightly, revealing a faint, almost invisible smile.
Then he turned around, faced the direction of King Ghidorah, and stretched out his right hand.
King Ghidorah descended from the sky, and the wind pressure brought by its huge body when it landed blew out all the flames around the high platform.
Its three heads hung down, and the middle one came close to Redd, with Redd's naked figure reflected in its golden eyes.
Its breath sprayed on Redd's face, smelling of sulfur and high temperature, but Redd didn't even blink.
"Good job." Redd said, reaching out and patting the bridge of the head's nose.
King Ghidorah let out a low, contented whine.
The two heads on the left and right also came over, scrambling to rub Redd's palm, as if asking for credit, and as if to confirm that the owner was really fine.
Redd jumped up from the high platform and landed on King Ghidorah's back. His bare feet stepped on the golden scales, feeling the heat and power flowing under those scales.
He had no clothes to wear - his clothes were burned in the fire, his cloak, his coat, and his trousers were all reduced to ashes.
But he didn't care. Nakedness had never been something he needed to care about.
"Let's go." He patted King Ghidorah's neck, "Go down and see our prisoners."
King Ghidorah folded its wings, and its huge body glided down from the high platform and landed on the pier on the east side of the port.
The moment it landed, its claws dug several deep pits into the slate floor of the dock, and gravel and dust flew around.
Daemon was standing not far away, his face was ashen, his lips were pursed, and his hands were hanging by his sides. He neither raised his hands to surrender nor tried to escape.
His dragon - Bloodworm - was curled up on the dock behind him, with blood still oozing from the crack on its left wing. The dark red Dragon Blood formed a small puddle on the stone floor, steaming.
Redd jumped off the dragon's back, stepped barefoot on the stone slab of the pier, and walked towards Daemon step by step.
He walked very slowly and calmly, as if he was taking a walk.
His naked body glowed with health in the morning light, and the lines of his muscles were clearly visible under the skin. Every muscle was just right - not exaggerated, not thin, and as perfect as a work carved by a master sculptor using the finest materials.
His pace was slow and leisurely, and the sound of his boots - no, his bare feet - on the stone slabs was very light, but in Daemon's ears, the sound was heavier than a war drum.
Daemon watched Redd approach, looked at this naked, unarmed man who had just crawled out of the sea of fire, looked at his perfect skin without even a single burn or scratch, and looked at the faint smile on the corner of his mouth that seemed to be both mocking and appreciative.
Daemon's throat rolled.
"The way you look without clothes," his voice was hoarse, with an almost instinctive ridicule that even he didn't expect, "Is more uncomfortable than when you are wearing clothes."
Redd stopped three steps in front of him, looked him up and down, and then the smile on his lips deepened.
"The fact that you can still joke," Redd said, "Shows that you haven't completely given up yet."
Daemon's lips trembled as he wanted to say something, but in the end he said nothing.
Because he knows that what Redd said is right. He has not completely given up yet.
Not because he still thinks he has a chance, but because admitting failure - real, complete, irreversible failure - is more difficult for him than death.
Redd turned around, with his back to Daemon, and faced the direction of the port.
His eyes swept over the ruins that had been destroyed by King Ghidorah, across the gullies that were still smoking, and over the shivering figures hiding in the distance.
"Dawg las." He shouted. The voice was not loud, but it carried far in the silence of the early morning.
In the distance, in the direction of the ruins of the palace, the veteran general, whose body was charred, his hair and eyebrows were burned off, and the left half of his body was severely burned, was limping towards the port with the support of several reinforcement soldiers.
He heard the call of Redd, stopped, raised his head, and looked at the naked figure on the dock with his eyes that were red from the thick smoke.