Book 3: Chapter 121 (1/2)

“You really can’t do anything about these sheep?” Alora asked, looking down at her claw that was covered in blood. Dozens of reddish pools lay scattered around her, and thousands of sheepmen surrounded her, pointing crude weapons made of wood at her. There were a few scratches on Alora’s legs, but other than that, she was relatively unhurt.

“Unlike the giant from earlier, these sheep’s minds have already been developed,” Zyocuh said. “There’s no way to give them a command that’ll let you absorb them. As living creatures, they have their own will to live, and they won’t surrender.”

Alora looked around, and the sheepmen took steps back when her gaze landed on them, widening the encirclement. She took a step forward, and the sheepmen ahead of her moved back while the sheepmen behind her advanced. “This is uncomfortable,” Alora mumbled. “They don’t even scream when they die.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Zyocuh asked.

“No,” Alora said. “I like screams.” She lunged forwards, but the sheepmen retreated at an equal pace. A few of the sheepmen behind her threw spears and rocks, hitting her tail. Most of them bounced off, but one or two happened to hit in just the right manner to pierce her hide. “Ow!” Alora whirled around and glared at the offenders. She took in a deep breath, her chest expanding, and released a mouthful of icy mist.

The sheepmen bleated and scattered, but dozens of unlucky ones froze into red statues, their eyes still rolling underneath a layer of ice. Alora stomped forward and swung her paw, shattering the statues like glass. She placed her paw on top of the puddles they left behind, and her scales took on an even darker purple color, traveling up her leg as something was absorbed. She ignored the bleating that filled the air and sighed.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t frantic bleating the same thing as screaming?”

“No,” Alora said. “It’s not. You’re not the one doing this boring task, alright? You don’t get to comment.”

“If it’s so boring, why don’t you just freeze them all with your ice breath? It doesn’t seem like they have a good counter to that.” The light on Alora’s claw flashed twice. “They may have anti-magic, but there’s nothing magical about your breath.”

Alora sighed again. “I guess I’ll just do that.” She raised her head and swatted down a few spears flying towards her face. She rose up on her hind legs, and the sheepmen bleated while turning around their backs facing her. Alora chuckled. “Trying to run?” Her chest expanded as wind rushed in through her nostrils, and in unison, the sheepmen farted. Alora’s eyes widened as the pure air she was inhaling a moment ago turned rancid, and she gagged, her ice breath caught in her throat. She coughed and sneezed, shaking her head back and forth, trying to get the smell out of her nostrils. Why did she have to inhale so deeply!?

“Baattack!” the sheepmen shouted out a battle cry and rushed Alora, jabbing at her with their spears while she was disoriented. She thrashed and wiggled, crushing them with her mass, but that didn’t stop them from swarming her like ants. They poked and prodded, biting and scratching when their wooden weapons broke.

“Roll!” Zyocuh shouted.

“What?” Alora pawed at her face, keeping the sheepmen away from her eyes and mouth. She wriggled and slapped herself with her paws, crushing the clumsier sheepmen.

“Stop, drop, and roll!”

Alora furrowed her brow, but she stopped moving, dropped to her belly, and rolled over. The sheepmen bleated as they were thrown into the air, the unlucky ones crushed underneath her weight. Laughter boomed out of Alora’s claw, and Zyocuh’s voice rang through the air, “Fear the might of a fat, rolling dragon!”

Alora froze midroll, her belly exposed to the sun. “Hold up! Who’d you call fat just now!?”

“…You’re the only dragon here, who else?” Zyocuh asked. “It was an effective tactic wasn’t it? Isn’t this why you put on so much mass? Look at how afraid they are of climbing on top of you now.”

Alora snarled and bit down on her claw, causing Zyocuh to let out a shriek. “I’m at the appropriate weight for a growing dragon, got it? I’ll grow into it!”

“O mighty, baaa, dragon,” a sheepman with horns like a ram’s shouted. “We recognize, baaaa, your strength! Let us talk this, baaa, through like civilized, baa, creatures.”

“What?” Alora blinked. “You can speak?”

“Yes, baa.”