The OP Lich is a Returnee, chapter 60 (Patreon)

I'll admit, I had waaaay too much fun with this one.

Chapter 60 – Dragon

CRACK!

A sound like a thunderbolt resonated throughout the National Mall as massive amounts of air were displaced by a teleportation spell. Where, before, there was empty air, now, there was a massive figure. The weekend crowd stood, stunned, looking up at the figure, unsure of what they were seeing.

Four feet with long, cruel talons scored deep gouges in the turf of the Ellipse. Bones that looked both ancient and yet fresh, with no muscles or ligaments or any other connecting tissue, rose up, forming legs. Blue flame filled the cavernous belly of the massive ribcage. A spiked tail slapped the ground. Great wings spread out, with the tattered remains of what had once been skin, to create lift. A horned skull with razor sharp teeth, and that blue flame burning from inside, shining out where the eyes once were.

There was only one word anyone could use to describe such a creature: dragon. Yet, that did not convey the sheer scale of the creature. The Ellipse was three hundred and twenty-two meters long and two hundred and seventy-five meters wide, and yet it struggled to contain the creature that had just appeared in it. Standing forty meters tall at the shoulder, with a body just as wide, reaching two hundred and fifty-six meters in length, and possessing a wingspan of two hundred and sixty meters, it was a titanic being the size of the mighty Yamato of the Second World War, and only just fit inside the Ellipse.

But the most awe-striking and terrifying thing about the creature was that it was clearly dead. No, not dead. Undead.

The Dragon’s great wings spread wide, and came down with such force that people were thrown from their feet by just the beating of its wings. Now, awe turned to panic, and screams filled the air, as people began to try and flee. The Dragon rose up into the air, flying despite its impossible dimensions, despite the tattered wings which clearly should not have been able to carry anything, much less a being of its size. And it turned towards the north.

Less than one of its body lengths away, stood the White House. A plume of smoke rose up from the building to meet it. Some brave fool with more duty than sense on that rooftop had launched a shoulder-fired missile at the creature, clearly fearing an attack.

The Dragon ROARED, and the roar was one of such force that the missile exploded in mid-air, its pieces falling as shrapnel to the South Lawn. Behind it, that mighty roar threw uprooted trees, and sent mere humans tumbling. Every window on the south face of the White House, including the ones in the Oval Office itself, shattered. Everyone in the building itself was deafened temporarily from the sheer sound.

The Dragon flew over the White House, not giving it, or the people below, a second thought. As though the seat of US power were beneath its notice. Flying out, over the city itself, the Dragon cast its shadow over the people of Washington, DC. It circled once over the National Cathedral, before continuing on its way, to the north and west.

By now, a pair of fighter jets from Andrews Air Force Base had scrambled, and were screaming after the Dragon. But, for all their advanced sensors and weapons, they could not get a lock on the massive creature. Their radar could barely see the thing, even though their eyes saw it clearly. And neither pilot wanted to be the one to launch unguided missiles over a US city.

Instead, they turned to their guns, which would, at least, have less collateral damage should they miss. Eagle 1, the lead pilot, lined up his shot, using his eyes and skill alone to aim, since the instruments were useless. He pulled the trigger.

His attack was aimed perfectly. It should have hit the undead creature dead on. But it didn’t. Just before the rounds were to impact, black light flared as they hit a shield spell instead of the undead Dragon. It would take more than a quick burst of the fighter’s guns to get through that shield.

But the shield spell did not merely stop the bullets. It took their energy, added some of its own, and cast them back along their flight path. Eagle 1 barely had time to curse before his own bullets tore his plane to shreds. Wounded, and with a plane that was falling from the sky, Eagle 1 did not eject until the last moment, after he ensured that his broken bird would crash in the trees of Cathedral Heights, rather than in more populated areas.

Eagle 2 saw his flight leader go down, and radioed in when he saw the parachute open. He also saw the Dragon contort in the air, looping over itself and turning so that it was now facing his fighter, and hovering in the air. Daring him to attack.

As he broke off to avoid ramming the Dragon, his superiors responded to his demands for orders. Guns were ineffective. Missiles wouldn’t lock on. This was not something that fighters could handle. He was ordered to return to base.

As the fighter turned for home, the Dragon turned back to its original course, flying to the north and west. Now, though, it put on speed, accelerating to a blistering one hundred and seventy-seven kilometers per hour. At that speed, it only took a little over four minutes for the Dragon to reach its target.

Just across the Potomac from Maryland lays an unincorporated community in the equally unincorporated census-designated place of McLean in Fairfax County, Virginia known as Langley. While it could be considered a bedroom community serving Washington, DC, that was not what the little town was known for. In fact, its one claim to fame was so strong that the town’s name had essentially become synonymous to the organization itself.

For Langley was the home of the headquarters for the Central Intelligence Agency.

And it was there that the Dragon turned its attention. Sweeping low over the closest parking lot, the dragon breathed out a streak of blue flame, which both froze and burned all it touched. Cars froze to brittleness whilst they burnt, and explosions rocked the parking lot as fuel tanks exploded. Not even the asphalt was spared, as it shattered and melted at the same time.

Again, the Dragon turned, and streaked over another parking lot, and the scene repeated itself. And again. And again. Until there was not a single vehicle anywhere on the CIA campus that had not been utterly wrecked, and destroyed. The trees and walkways were alight, and smoke rose in the air. It was as though hell had come to Langley.

And yet, the buildings were still untouched. Even guard shacks by the parking lots were still standing, though shrapnel from exploding cars had damaged some of them. No one still on the ground believed that it was blind luck, or anything like that. By now, everyone knew that it had to be planned. And all eyes looked up in fear as the Dragon cast its shadow over them.

Two helicopters roared in, hovering over the buildings. The Dragon just watched them. Combat Thaumaturgists from the US Army Magic Assault Global Independent Command quick-roped down to the rooftop, their CADs at the ready. The Dragon just watched them. The helicopters broke off, not wanting to get in the way, and began circling near the river. The Dragon just watched them.

As one, the MAGIC team cast their most powerful attack spells. The best attack spells that the best minds in the US Military could devise. Attack spells designed to break through hardened bunkers, pierce magical defenses, and destroy targets too dangerous to be allowed the chance to surrender. And they were using the classified Multicasting technology that only MAGIC forces had access to, allowing each of the twenty thaumaturgists to cast multiple spells at once! A single one of these spells could turn the heaviest tank in the world to confetti. Five could sink a carrier.

There were sixty of the spells, in that one barrage.

A black shield appeared around the Dragon, different from before, for this one was solid darkness, utterly impenetrable to sight. The spells hit the shield, but not one of them made it through. The shield did not even waver. The best spells that the MAGIC forces could muster, enough to sink a fleet of ships, and they could not even break shake that shield.

The commander grit his teeth, and started to give orders. They couldn’t simply let this creature run rampant on US soil, after all! Not after it had toyed with the nation’s capital! They’d try another volley, but this time, they would all focus on a single spot, instead of trying to cover the Dragon in spells.

His troops were disciplined, well trained. Even if they felt the same fear that he did, they would not shirk their duty, or hesitate to follow his commands. Each one of them prepared their spells. He opened his mouth to give the command.

But he never got the chance. Black lightning descended from the sky. Twenty bolts of lightning for twenty thaumaturgists. Their protections, their shields, their armor, none of it mattered. Each bolt hit home, and their bodies fell to the ground, as though they were puppets with their strings cut.

Then, twenty jets of black flame descended upon the fallen thaumaturgists. Their bodies surged upwards once again. But not as living creatures. Skin and flesh split and fell away in a single mass, revealing the bones beneath, as though their skeletons were simply standing up and casting off the flesh suits they’d been wearing. Blue flames burned in their empty eye sockets.

Leaving their CADs and other gear behind, the twenty skeletons walked forward, off the edge of the roof. But a platform of shadowy energy formed in front of them, forming stairs. Without a word or sideways glance, the skeletons marched in time up the stairs, and through the Dragon’s shield. No one on the ground could see what happened, but the dark staircase disappeared soon after the last skeleton vanished behind that shield.

Then, the shield vanished, and observers could see the Dragon once more. There was no sign that the thaumaturgists had ever been there, save for the boneless flesh suits and their gear. And the Dragon just hung there in the air, flapping its great wings to remain aloft.

The helicopters that had delivered the MAGIC forces turned, and flew back to their base as fast as they could. The Dragon looked in their direction, but did not pursue. For a moment, it waited, as though looking the entire US military in the eye, and asking, “Are you done, yet? Is this all?”

After a long minute of no new response, the Dragon turned, and circled the CIA compound, causing no few worries in the minds of the men and women below. Was it observing its work? Would it leave, satisfied in the destruction it had wrought? Or was this just the beginning?

Wheeling back around in the air, the Dragon landed amidst the frozen flames which still consumed the parking lots, and began stalking forward, crushing cars under its feet as though they simple annoyances. The Dragon’s movement was slow, and deliberate, but not clumsy or sluggish. It was a pace calculated to create a feeling of building dread and terror in those facing it. And, it could be said unquestionably, that it worked.

Just before it got to the main entrance, the Dragon stopped, and crouched down, settling its bulk upon the ground. A figure, unnoticed before now, stirred from the icy throne resting between two of the Dragon’s vertebrae, and rose. The figure was clad in black armor, with skulls upon it, and a helm upon their head, hiding their face. In their hand was a black staff, topped by an orb that radiated magical might.

The Lich Queen of Risen Athelia, for there could be no doubt about who she was, walked confidently down the Dragon’s spine, and across its skull, before jumping the final distance to the ground. It was a height of four meters, but if one looked at her landing, then it seemed no more than stepping off of a stepstool.

With a tap of her staff against the ground, the doors in front of her rusted, fell, and turned to dust, as though ten thousand years had descended upon them in the space of five seconds. She continued on, into the building. Security guards let her pass, terror and good sense overriding duty. If the MAGIC forces couldn’t stop her, they knew that they had no chance. She did not even glance their direction.

Imperiously, she moved to the security desk itself. There was a dread clarity of purpose in her walk that spoke certain death and doom for those who opposed her. When she got to the desk, her staff struck the ground, and the magically amplified sound echoed throughout the compound, so that every living soul there heard it, and heard what she said next.

“I want to speak to the manager.”