Last Egg: Reincarnated as a Dragon in a Game

POV The Hero:

The vast empty spaces yawned between the tall, solemn columns of volcanic stone supporting the towering ceilings far above. Light filtered through high stained windows, depicting images of dragons and casting elongated shadows across the cold marble floor.

Each footstep and sound echoed as a dozen players wandered around, their weapons drawn in their hands.

"They took even the throne! Look at this; there is nothing left!" The three-meter-tall, green-skinned player in the front pointed at the empty elevated podium that should have housed the royal throne.

"Did we just win?" Another player, a girl in a skimpy skirt with a pair of cat ears peeking from her hairline, whispered, gazing at the majestic but abandoned throne room.

"We must have won! Just look at this; we have conquered their king's palace."

The hero, looking at his compatriots' behavior, only shook his head, already knowing the brutal secret of the game-like system.

They acted casually and playfully, even in the brutal situations around them. 'It is as if they were still playing that cursed game.'

From his patron deity that gave him his divine weapon, he already knew the cursed and devious nature of the systems of both the players and the various dimensional transmigrators: 'It isn't just free power. It's affecting our personalities. How else could those kids continue killing and murdering after learning the realness of this world?'

The hero, with his long black hair and his blue cape, shook his head and stormed out of the abandoned throne room, the sound of his armored boots hitting the black marble floor echoing loudly.

'Just wait; I will save us all. From both the monsters and gods.' Since the day he challenged the dragon, he had already made up his mind—he would save humanity from the terrifying monsters that ruled over them.

'Dragons, demons, angels, reapers, and even gods—they are all the same, using us as their farm animals to grow stronger.'

POV Vesuvius:

A thick stellar nebula, intermingled with the chaotic fury of a sandstorm, cloaked the desert in a smokescreen. At its heart, the dark form of the dragon Vesuvius surveyed the distant city's silhouette on the horizon.

Behind him, the silhouettes of ancient and elder dragons and wyrms rose like dark monuments against the tumultuous sky. Among them were the dracowyrm, shrouded in lightning, and the death dragon, its wings and living armor of roots and wines wreathed in ghostly flames.

Elemental forces clashed around them, turning the sky into a kaleidoscope of storms, flames, frost, and shadow.

"I have dispatched my minions to their leaders," Vesuvius announced, his voice resonating with authority.

A cold, serpentine voice cut through the storm. "Why wait? We should conquer swiftly."

Vesuvius's eyes, glowing like twin stars, turned towards the source—a draconic form of an elder lesser dragon shrouded in shadows and frost. "Patience," he intoned, the single word resonating with power. "Our reign demands more than ruin."

The shadow dragon's icy aura flickered, then subdued, yielding to Vesuvius's command.

"Should the mortals be foolish and refuse to surrender, then, and only then, shall we unleash our wrath." Vesuvius decreed, his tone brooking no argument.

The towering beings were the most powerful and oldest survivors of the draconic race that heeded his call to war, gathering from all over Lorenia. And Vesuvius knew their destructive power would easily destroy the entire city before him if he unleashed them.

However, Vesuvius planned a quick, low-damage conquest, aiming to intimidate the locals by selectively destroying military targets while sparing civilian structures, demonstrating power without causing too much damage.

His eyes gleamed with dangerous pride as he envisioned using the world's developed industrial resources, Lorenia's magical knowledge, and the alien-developed advanced magitech to forge an army powerful enough to instill fear upon their return home.

The thought quickened the beat of his twin hearts. Now, with the means at hand, his ambitions were within reach. The only thing that stopped him until now was the difficulty of creating something like that on a massive scale from nothing in Lorenia.

POV ???:

The expansive auditorium was a sea of representatives with skins in shades of green, purple, and white, with the odd green-

skinned politician standing out among them. A hush fell over the assembly as all eyes fixed on the lone man at the grand granite podium.

His voice, solemn yet tinged with madness, broke the silence. "We, the planetary council, must seek a ceasefire. Victory is beyond our grasp."

His words seemed to thicken the silence, the representatives of various nations unwilling or unable to respond.

Suddenly, a crackling noise pierced the stillness, accompanied by a blinding flash at the auditorium's base.

'What—'

Before comprehension could dawn, figures materialized in the light's wake. The speaker's instinct to flee was quashed by an unseen force immobilizing him.

A woman in a flowing red gown, her dark hair framing a smile that didn't quite reach her burning red eyes, stood before him. At her feet, a purple-skinned elder, recognizable as the great corporate president, knelt submissively.

"Silence, mortals. Fear not, for I came in peace," she declared, her voice melodious yet carrying an alien accent in their language.

Alone yet unthreatened, she emanated a hidden ferocity that belied her delicate appearance. The speaker recalled footage of alien humanoids, akin to her, effortlessly cutting through entire squads of soldiers with nothing but their swords and spears.

The thought of facing those, deceptively similar to them, humanoids made him shudder.

"I bring a message from my master. Surrender and live," she announced, her gaze sweeping over the assembly. "You each represent your nation. My master offers autonomy in internal affairs during our temporary occupation. The first three nations to submit will be rewarded. The last three," her voice morphed, taking on a chilling, inhuman quality, "will face our wrath."

The speaker's skin prickled. With a few sentences, she had sown division among them, threatening their unity at its very core. It smashed all his hope like a giant sledgehammer: 'They are not just brawn; they are also scheming and devious.'