GOT King of Dragon

"Roarrrrr!" 

Vormisore bellowed toward the sky, its fury igniting like a blazing inferno, as its massive tail struck the gluttonous predator squarely in the abdomen. 

The predator, hit hard, quickly disengaged with agile precision. 

Consumed by rage, Vormisore unleashed a torrent of golden dragon flames aimed at the predator's retreating back. 

"Predator, dive!" 

Rhaegar had been tracking its movements closely and immediately gave the order. 

The predator let out a deep growl, tucked its head, and plunged downward, narrowly evading the dragon flames. 

Having missed its target, Vormisore ignored its own injuries and prepared to give chase. 

However, one of its shoulder blades was shattered, rendering its wings useless. 

Struggling to stay aloft, the massive beast teetered unsteadily in the sky, its flight faltering. 

"Dragon flames!" 

As Vormisore was still adjusting its balance, Rhaegar's command echoed again. 

Taking advantage of its superior speed, the predator circled the now-sluggish Vormisore, spewing streams of eerie green dragon flames. 

For a moment, the vibrant green fire painted the clouds, creating a breathtaking, oil-painting-like spectacle. 

Vormisore was indeed mighty—its strength and resilience were extraordinary. 

Even gravely wounded, it endured the predator's relentless attacks, stubbornly waiting for an opening to counterattack. 

But that opportunity would never come. 

Rhaegar, riding steadily on the predator's back, maneuvered it skillfully through the air. His eyes remained fixed on the enraged bronze beast below, its efforts growing increasingly futile. 

After his last defeat in a dragon duel, Rhaegar had spent countless hours reflecting on his mistakes. 

Aside from Vormisore teaming up with the silver wing dragon in a seamless partnership, another critical issue was that the predator had sustained injuries too quickly. 

And the main reason for those injuries? Prolonged grappling. 

Particularly after the brutal battle with the shadow drake, Rhaegar had come to understand just how dangerous close-quarters combat could be. 

Unless one dragon held an overwhelming size advantage, any fight between similarly sized dragons would inevitably result in severe injuries—or death. 

Dragons are violent and ruthless creatures. 

Once their flames are exhausted and the battle devolves into close combat, claws and fangs become lethal weapons. 

Last time, the predator was forced into grappling with the silver wing dragon too early, leading to its belly being ripped open and its hasty retreat. 

Building on the predator's exceptional speed and the intensity of its dragon flames, Rhaegar had hastily devised a new strategy: 

**Ambush.** 

The predator's speed made it a perfect candidate for striking first. 

As long as the initial attack severely wounded the opponent, the rest would fall into place. 

"Roarrr!" 

The predator screeched triumphantly, circling Vormisore and spewing flames. 

Each burst of green fire deepened Vormisore's injuries and clouded its mind further. 

--- 

**On the ground below...** 

Amid the deafening roars and explosions above, a sheep thief lurking on the ground grew increasingly restless. 

Its greedy eyes flicked toward the silver wing dragon, lying motionless in a pool of blood. The scent of blood stirred its primal hunger. 

"Roarrr!" 

Beating its wings, the thief rose into the air, casting a shadow over Syrax as it attempted to drive her away. 

Rhaenyra looked up at the grotesque, mud-covered dragon. Though apprehension flashed across her eyes, her voice remained resolute. 

"Dragon flames!" 

"Roarrr!" 

Syrax, who had been lying in wait, leaped into the sky. A torrent of golden flames erupted from her mouth, engulfing the thief's face. 

Caught off guard, the sheep thief comically flailed its head, trying to evade the searing heat. 

But this only stoked its ferocity. 

As one of the few wild dragons inhabiting Dragonstone, the sheep thief's name was infamous among the locals—even more so than the predator. 

The predator, for all its size and demonic appearance, rarely ventured near human settlements. It usually stayed in the vicinity of Dragonmount, posing little threat to people. 

The sheep thief, however, was the opposite. 

This mud-colored dragon had an insatiable appetite for the sheep owned by local shepherds. It was even addicted to the thrill of hunting them. 

Anyone who tried to stop it—or even came too close—would face a fiery fate. 

At best, they would be burned. At worst, they would be reduced to ashes. 

Every year, the sheep thief caused a significant number of human casualties. 

Now, provoked by the golden dragon before it, the sheep thief let out a thunderous roar and unleashed a stream of orange dragon flames. 

Its flames were unusual, taking the form of molten droplets that spread across a wide area. 

--- 

"Get out of the way, Syrax!"

Faced with danger, Rhaenyra reacted swiftly, guiding Syrax to evade while countering with a blast of dragonfire.

"Skreee..."

In its first battle, the young and inexperienced Syrax seemed overly excited, letting out triumphant screeches. 

Golden flames, like towering pillars of fire, overwhelmed the thief dragon's weaker fire.

Unable to match the intensity of Syrax's flames, the thief dragon grew increasingly enraged and beat its wings furiously, attempting to overpower Syrax with its larger size.

Though Syrax was smaller, it was far more agile. 

Effortlessly keeping its distance, Syrax darted through the air, spitting bursts of dragonfire and moving as gracefully as a swift seabird.

The thief dragon, frustrated by several failed attempts to close the gap, let out an enraged growl before turning its attention to the gravely injured Silverwing.

Its true target had always been the defenseless adult dragon.

"Skreee..."

Silverwing cried out in terror, the pain in its neck rendering it unable to move. All it could do was beat its wings in a feeble attempt to warn off its attacker.

But the thief dragon was undeterred. Landing beside Silverwing, it opened its massive jaws, ready to strike.

"Dragonfire!"

Seeing that Silverwing was about to meet its end, Rhaenyra's expression turned desperate. She steered Syrax back with urgency, determined to stop the thief dragon's vicious attack.

At that moment, Rhaenyra was truly panicked.

Above them, Rhaegar was locked in fierce combat with Vermithor. The sound of their clash alone made it clear how intense the fight was.

She longed to fly up and assist, but the thief dragon kept her tied down.

Inwardly, she prayed that the black dragon would prevail against Vermithor and bring Rhaegar back safely.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a thunderous roar from above.

Boom!

A massive bronze beast descended from the sky, accompanied by a surge of green dragonfire. Its powerful roar shook the heavens.

Vermithor, grievously injured, bled profusely from its neck, tail, and wings. 

Rhaegar, riding Cannibal, kept up the assault with a fiery dive, pinning Vermithor with relentless flames and refusing to give it a chance to recover.

As they ascended midair, Rhaegar finally issued a command to halt. Cannibal ceased its fire and slowly beat its wings to reduce speed.

Vermithor, despite its battle-hardened experience, struggled to regain control, flapping its wings desperately to slow its descent.

Finally, with a loud splash, it broke through the rolling waves below and plunged into the sea.

In an instant, dragon blood dyed the waters red, the boiling heat causing steam to rise from the surface.

A chorus of bubbling noises followed.

"Skreee..."

After a long moment, a fierce dragon's head broke through the surface, gasping for breath. 

The water churned as Vermithor flapped its wings and struggled toward the shore. 

Its body was covered in wounds, though none were fatal. Using both wings and feet, it managed to claw its way out of the sea, narrowly escaping death.

When it finally reached the shore, it collapsed on the sandy beach, utterly spent. Waves lapped at its sides as it lay motionless, gasping with vacant eyes.

Above, Rhaegar surveyed the scene.

Dragons were valuable resources, not to be killed recklessly in a fit of anger.

He stroked Cannibal's obsidian-black scales and cheered, "Cannibal, we've avenged ourselves!"

"Skreee..."

Cannibal raised its head proudly, its emerald eyes gleaming with triumph. It soared through the air with wild grace, letting out ferocious roars. 

Green flames painted streaks of color across the sky as the enormous dragon twisted and turned, performing what seemed like a victory dance.

In this moment, it was the undisputed ruler of Dragonstone.

Having severely wounded both Vermithor and Silverwing, there was no longer any threat on the island capable of challenging it.

"Dragonstone, your prince has returned!" 

Rhaegar's youthful voice rang out in exuberant celebration. 

It was both a tribute to Cannibal's victory and an affirmation of his strategy.

Amid his joy, Rhaegar glanced down at Rhaenyra's position, his expression shifting.

"Cannibal, go help her, quickly!"

Cannibal's prowess in battle was undeniable.

(According to the story's setting, Cannibal, being a wild dragon, was slightly larger than Vermithor and Silverwing of the same age.) 

Its natural gifts were focused on speed and the intensity of its dragonfire, two traits crucial for warfare and dragon combat.

(End of Chapter)