Starting out as a Dragon Slave
Chapter 140: The Blood of the Dragon

Chapter 140: Chapter 140: The Blood of the Dragon

The ritual chamber was dark, vast, and circular, hidden deep beneath the Palace of the Burning Fangs. No natural light ever penetrated it. Only blue flame torches and mana crystals embedded in the walls diffused a cold, surreal glow, creating a play of moving shadows that seemed almost alive.

Mordred stood motionless, aligned with the last survivors of the slaves trained to become weapons. They were only a handful left. All had become cold, precise killers, devoid of visible humanity. Yet, even among them, Mordred was different. Something in him was already dormant, simply waiting for the right moment to fully awaken.

Before them stood the dragon priests. Long black robes covered their reptilian silhouettes. Their faces, partially masked by hoods, revealed yellow, implacable, and icy gazes.

One of them, clearly the ritual leader, slowly stepped forward. In his hand, he held an obsidian cup engraved with runes, filled with a dark red liquid, almost black.

- "You have reached the end of your transformation," he declared in a deep, guttural voice. "Today, you will definitively abandon what remains human in you. You will become half-dragons, the perfect instruments in service of our reign."

The slaves made no sound. Mordred also remained silent, seemingly impassive. Yet, deep inside him, a strange pulsation was already awakening, as if his blood instinctively recognized this moment.

One by one, the slaves stepped forward and drank from the cup. When they swallowed the dark liquid, they immediately screamed, collapsing to the ground in terrible convulsions. Their bodies twisted, their skin tore to reveal glistening scales. Claws pierced the tips of their fingers, fangs grew in their mouths. Some did not survive the transformation, collapsing lifeless in a pool of blackened blood.

Then came Mordred’s turn.

He stepped forward slowly, outwardly calm, but his heart suddenly raced. The dragon-priest offered him the cup, the blue torchlight reflected on the thick liquid. Mordred took the cup, slowly brought it to his lips, and swallowed the brew.

An icy fire immediately surged through his entrails.

The pain was immediate, immense, indescribable. His entire body seemed to ignite, his nerves screamed, his bones broke and instantly fused back together, his muscles tore to rebuild themselves stronger, denser. He felt scales growing through his skin, gradually covering his body, black as obsidian, traversed by a dark scarlet glow. His pupils became vertical, his teeth changed into sharp fangs. But unlike the others, Mordred felt something even more intense awakening within him.

This was no ordinary transformation.

A terrible heat invaded his heart, radiating through every cell of his being, and a system notification suddenly displayed before his eyes with chilling clarity:

[SYSTEM – Critical Notification]

[Superior Draconic Transformation initiated: Your body already possesses draconic properties due to previously absorbed Moon Stones and dragon blood present in your genome (1%).]

[Consequence: Direct evolution to complete draconic hybrid form.] [Humanoid form maintenance confirmed.]

[Body power level now equivalent to that of a true dragon in human form.]

[Physical statistics greatly increased]

[Strength: +428]

[Endurance: +670]

[Agility: +680]

[Senses: +468]

[Magic: +978]

[Enhanced regeneration capacity: Immediate progression to Level 9.] [Global Rank updated: Confirmed progression to Rank [SS]]

The pain intensified, exceeding any conceivable limit. Mordred screamed despite himself, feeling every particle of his flesh remodeling, hardening, regenerating at a phenomenal speed. His consciousness dangerously wavered between darkness and extreme lucidity. His perception of the world sharpened brutally, every sound, every smell becoming almost deafening. The burning heat in his body transformed into raw, terrifying power.

The dragons present stepped back, surprised by the unexpected violence of this transformation. They exchanged nervous glances. Never before had a draconic conversion occurred in such an intense, powerful manner. Something was beyond their control.

Then, slowly, the pain subsided. Mordred straightened up, slowly but with assurance. His eyes, now glowing orange, opened slowly. He stood straight, the muscles of his body tense like steel cables. Black and red scales now covered certain parts of his body, with elegance but also with obvious strength. His presence alone exuded crushing pressure.

The other still-living slaves knelt around him, panting, exhausted by their own transformation. But none resembled Mordred. None had achieved this degree of perfect fusion with draconic blood.

The chief dragon-priest, both intrigued and wary, stared intensely at Mordred.

Mordred was still kneeling, his muscles tense and painful, his breath burning and labored. Despite his new power, his body was momentarily vulnerable, exhausted by the brutal transformation he had just undergone. He felt a slight weakness, barely perceptible, a tiny breach but sufficient to be exploited.

Immediately, the dragon scientists, dressed in long dark robes and reinforced gloves, rushed toward him with speed and efficiency. Their cold eyes shone with disturbing determination. One of them brandished an obsidian collar, marked with red, glowing runes, similar to those they had placed on the most precious and dangerous slaves.

Mordred immediately understood their intentions. He wanted to stand up, to react, but his body refused to obey him. Every fiber of his muscles stiffened in painful spasms, still fully adapting to this new overwhelming power. He was trapped, momentarily paralyzed by the shock of his metamorphosis.

The chief dragon scientist approached quickly, taking advantage of the moment of immobility. His scaly fingers brutally grabbed Mordred by the hair to lift his head.

- "Hurry!" he shouted to his assistants. "His body is regenerating too quickly! This is our only chance!"

Another scientist brought the runic collar near Mordred’s neck. The object was cold, impregnated with dark and ancestral magic designed to definitively subdue those who wore it. Mordred felt the cold metal against his skin, and an immediate pulsation of hostile magic infiltrated him.

His heart beat harder, adrenaline surged through his veins with renewed violence. He tried to struggle, but his muscles were still too weak, his body too strained by the radical transformation. He gritted his teeth, now sharp fangs, trying vainly to resist the cold pressure of the collar.

- "Activate it!" the chief scientist ordered sharply.

Another dragon placed his palm on the collar and whispered ancient words in a forgotten language. Immediately, the scarlet runes on the collar illuminated, and Mordred felt an intense burning at the base of his neck, as if a white-hot iron had just sunk deeply into his flesh.

He groaned in pain, suddenly feeling his thoughts clouding, his will blunting. An invisible pressure gripped his mind, like a psychic chain brutally tightened around his soul.

The chief scientist released Mordred with icy satisfaction, his gaze gleaming with triumph:

- "It is done," he calmly declared. "The collar is linked to your soul now, Mordred. No matter what power you’ve acquired, you still belong to us."

He slowly raised his head, defiantly looking at the dragon scientists who observed him with cruel satisfaction.

At the same moment, several hundred meters beneath the bustling streets of Paris, buried in the total darkness of the modern catacombs, the Heart of Stone Prison seemed plunged in its usual oppressive immobility. But this appearance of eternal calm had just been broken, imperceptibly at first, then with brutal intensity.

The central cell where Isaac Draven had been suspended for months was constantly monitored by dozens of ultra-sensitive sensors, calibrated to detect the slightest variation in his energy or vital signs. Until then, everything had been stable, immobile, almost dead. Isaac had remained suspended, blind, deprived of sensations, his body artificially maintained in a state of deep sleep, and his mana sealed by the obsidian collar, reinforced by complex arcane runes.

But suddenly, without any warning sign, the control screens arranged all around the surveillance room went haywire. Red and orange lines, frantic, cascaded across the monitors. The automatic security systems triggered a silent, but urgent alarm throughout the underground complex.

The surveillance technicians present immediately exchanged stunned and alarmed looks:

- "What’s happening?" exclaimed one of them, feverishly tapping on his keyboard.

- "It’s impossible!" replied another, eyes riveted to his screen. "His mana level is suddenly increasing despite the inhibitor collar. Something is really wrong..."

A senior officer responsible for prison security, Captain Tristan Lambert, quickly approached the screens, frowning at the hallucinating spectacle offered by the frantic graphs:

- "Immediately activate maximum level countermeasures!" he coldly ordered. "Isolate the central cell, lock all doors and seal the perimeter! And immediately notify senior command, this anomaly exceeds our usual protocols!"

While the men nervously bustled around the control panels, in the silent and hermetic cell, Isaac remained suspended in total darkness, unconscious, arms extended, motionless. And yet, all around him, a spectacular phenomenon was occurring: an aura of incandescent red slowly began to envelop his body, softly illuminating the cell walls. An intense, palpable, almost living energy seemed to pulse from his body in regular waves.

The arcane runes engraved on his collar began to vibrate furiously, as if seized by silent panic, vainly trying to contain the immense energy now escaping from within Isaac.

- "He’s pushing back the inhibitory barriers!" exclaimed the lead technician, incredulous, frantically typing on his controls. "It’s impossible, he’s supposed to be perfectly sealed!"

Captain Lambert clenched his teeth, expression grim, aware that something was escaping their understanding:

- "Put all secondary systems online. I want all prison security teams immediately mobilized around this cell!"

In the central surveillance room, emergency sirens triggered, coldly resonating through the corridors, freezing with anxiety the guards in special armor who ran toward the central area, weapons at the ready. In the cell, however, nothing moved. Isaac, motionless, suspended in the middle of the void, showed no physical reaction, but his aura grew slowly, irresistibly.

Captain Lambert, hands clenched, stared at the screen with a mixture of anger and apprehension:

- "Notify the Prison Director and French authorities immediately. We may have underestimated this prisoner... and we are now facing something that completely surpasses us."

While security teams ran in all directions, as systems urgently activated, no one in this crowded and panicked room truly understood what was happening before their eyes.