Everything began five years ago. Before then, humanity had just managed to win a war of annihilation, and had begun prospering under the guidance of the young, brilliant owner of a multinational technological research corporation, and the protection of the gilded master and his army of guardians. Everything seemed bright, but we were wrong, oh so very wrong. The Dragons were our friends, back then, they had helped us win the war and they had helped us recover what was lost afterwards... but one day, they disappeared. One by one, they started fading away until not a single one of them remained. Naturally, humanity questioned this. Where had all the Dragons gone? That was the question that many asked themselves, but unfortunately, they would not have to wonder for long. Before long, the answer became evident, as The Tyrant and his entourage arrived from beyond the galaxy to wreak havoc. They were Dragons, but... different Dragons. Darker. Corrupted. They cared nothing for life like their predecessors, they only wanted to rule, and rule they did. Swift like the gale, the Dragons began conquering everything in their path. Kree, Shi'ar and Skrulls were quickly crushed under their heel, subjugated. The Lanterns fought bravely, and it almost seemed like they had a chance, but it all went to hell when The Tyrant himself marched upon Oa, raining annihilation upon the world at the center of the universe. When they came to Earth, we had already heard plenty about their exploits, and many no longer had the courage to fight, but some did. The bravest was the Kryptonian, but even he fell, as one of the Dragons enveloped the world with its wings, blotting out the sun and then watching him languish, suffering from the lack of the sun. The god of thunder charged headfirst into battle, and Mjolnir's shards rained upon the planet like fire from the skies, and Asgard sealed itself off after Thor's death. The armies of the gilded master were soon to follow, Kryptonians and Sentries alike fighting for the good of Earth. They had a chance, but once again The Tyrant came, and with a wave of its almighty hand, they all burned from the inside out, and the gilded master was caught and imprisoned where he would never be able to escape, the Dragon Force Dimension. All those who attempted to fight were defeated, and Earth finally surrendered. Most of humanity was spared, but the conditions in which we live now are worse than any point in the history of our civilization. Though the overpopulation problem is solving itself, children die on the streets and food is never enough. And those of us who prepare to fight back one last time, we live in fear of being discovered and crushed too, in fear that our sacrifice will be for naught. Once upon a distant time, we lived in peace and prosperity, but now...
Now we're defenseless, in a land where dragons rule.
-Commander Greyson, Fist of the Rebellion
Now we're defenseless, in a land where dragons rule.
-Commander Greyson, Fist of the Rebellion
Where Dragons Rule
Gotham City, Earth
"General Graham, urgent news!" Called a soldier as she barged into the command room. The general looked up from his map of the world and straight at the soldier, briefly pausing to move a brown lock of hair out of the way of his good eye, so that he could see unimpeded. The 'soldier' in question was just a girl, no older than eighteen, with blonde hair and innocent blue eyes. So young, and already she had been forced to raise the azure and gold banner, the flag of the conquered world surrounded by olive leaves, a flag that had once upon a time symbolized union, and now symbolized separation, freedom from the tyranny of the Dragon Lords. The Banner of the Rebellion, the general thought, should have never been hoisted by someone so young and pure. The general, himself, was relatively young himself, especially for one who bore the same title and responsibilities that he had. At only 28 years of age, he was the Eye of the Rebellion, General Graham, the mastermind behind the entire insurrection, though in reality the command of the revolution was in the hands of a triumvirate of sorts, split more or less evenly between him and his two commanders, one of them in Europe, and the other in Asia. He also happened to be the younger of the three, and though the responsibility was technically split between the three of them, it was still quite the burden, especially for someone who was not even past 30.
But that was alright. He was not too old, but he had already had the chance to live, to love, and though that had ended in tragedy, he had been able to experience it at least. He had lived, and with that knowledge in his mind, he could fully devote himself to his duty. Though the memory of that woman haunted him from time to time still, he now lived only for the rebellion, to ensure the freedom of Earth. But this girl? She hadn't had the chance to live yet, and she might not have it ever. If the Dragons discovered them while they were not yet ready, then they would be destroyed, including her, and then she would be nothing. The worst part was that she wasn't even a soldier. She was a mutant, yes, but one with the gift of life, one who could heal the wounds of others with her power, and not one who could discharge lightning from her hands or anything of the sort. A healer, turned into a soldier by the dire circumstances of the world. Every time he gazed upon her, the general's resolve was steeled anew.
"Private Zephyr." General Graham acknowledged her presence with a stern nod. "Speak." He commanded. The girl gulped, but nodded.
"T-the rebellion cell stationed in Toronto was destroyed by a contingent of Muses." She said, and the general's brow furrowed in thought.
"It looks like things are getting dire." He stated, before looking to the side, at one of his advisors, Naja of the Inhumans, the gilded master's consort. She was not a part of his army, and so, the Dragon Lords had spared her (or more accurately, hadn't so much as glanced in her direction), but she was intelligent and level-headed, and most importantly, she knew much about the Inhumans and the golden army, a knowledge that could be a very powerful weapon in the hands of the rebellion... or would be, if they had the resources to act with it.
"Have Stark and Pym managed to recreate the Serum yet?" She asked. Naja, however, shook her head.
"The resources we have are not enough to replicate the effect. They're doing the best they can, but... progress is slow, to say the least." She stated.
General Graham nodded and clasped his hands together on the table in front of him, resting his chin on them. The situation was becoming dire, indeed. The Dragon Lords, or the ones who enforced their will on this Earth at least, were finally gaining on them, tracking them down and destroying them systematically. Toronto was just the latest in a series of raids that had ended with near-total losses for the rebellion, and that was only on his territory, though he had reasons to believe that his commanders were not faring much better. With that in mind, it was evident that the development of the Serum and certain other matters were more important than ever, but even so, no progress was being made on that front, which worried him.
"Blake. The weapons?" The general demanded of another of his advisors, a young man by the name of Stanley, and an accomplished magician.
"Thomsen and I have been working like crazy for the past few months, but you know that there's no way that production will ever be enough to fit our needs, boss." The man stated, and the general knew it was true. The special weapons that the scientists and magicians of the rebellion were developing in tandem were the only weapons in perhaps all of Earth capable of piercing the black carapaces of the Muses and Banshees that enforced the will of the Dragon Lords throughout the universe, but there were far too few, and fewer were being produced to replace those lost in battle.
"How fare the shipments, then?" The general asked once again.
"S-sir, there are no news about something happen to the shipments. No news is good news, right?" The blonde girl from before stated. Naja nodded.
"Yeah, it means some of the weapons are still making it to Paris and Japan, but poor Otis is going to die if we keep overworking him." She commented.
"So what's the plan?" Blake inquired.
"The same as before." The general stated calmly. "Continue development of the Serum. Continue production and distribution of the weapons. Have Commander Grimm seek possible alliances with any surviving extrasolar governments. Resist until Commander Greyson gathers all the fragments of Mjolnir. Capture and adapt Enforcer equipment if at all possible." He recounted slowly. "The situation may seem more dire than it was yesterday, but our situation has always been dire, and the plan has not changed, because it is the only plan we have." He said, before rising.
"Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have to plan." He looked at each of the three people in the room meaningfully. "Dismissed."
Mireshar, Shamra
There was nothing left in that place that could accurately be called a city, much less the proud city of Mireshar, capital city of Shamra, proud world of some of the most powerful magicians in the universe. Nothing remained, not even the ashes of the city that had once been full of beautiful marble spirals and ivory towers that reached the sky itself, and where the abandoned castle of the White King had once stood, now there was only an enormous mound of bodies, a burning funeral pyre to those who paid the ultimate price for their freedom and achieved nothing but their own death and the death of their home. The Nine Elemental Monarchs of Shamra, the mighty Shattar, wielders of the Elemental Aspects, had all been defeated by the army of Banshees that had marched upon the capital, and though they could not be killed off without the ancient Curse of Soul Suppression, they all had been imprisoned inside the Dragon Force Dimension nonetheless, from where they would never be able to escape from the power of the Dragon Lords, and after they had been defeated and taken captive, the Muses of the Dragon Lords had arrived after the Banshees left, and with their songs they had weaved spells of infinite destruction, and the white fire of the Muses rained down upon the city of Mereshar, first burning their fields and their people and reducing everything to rubble, and then consuming the rubble and corpses and ash. And the precious Shattar were nowhere, unable to save their people.
Once there was truly nothing left in the place called Mereshar except the giant scorch mark that betrayed the location where the proud city had once stood erect, the Muses that stood before the ruin ceased their singing, and no more white fire descended like meteorites falling from the sky. At that moment, one of the Muses, the one in the lead, left the formation, heading off while the others remained perfectly still, not moving an inch as they waited.
Muses, much like Banshees, were equipped with special armor. In fact, Muses had the exact same outfit as Banshees, and they even belonged to the same species, a race created a long time ago by one of the World-Dragons that belonged to the previous generation, one of the Dragons who had disappeared with the rest years ago. The species itself had a name, but it had been purposefully forgotten by the dark Dragon Lords, who had enslaved them and turned them into their Enforcers after their progenitor had abandoned them. There were, in theory, several differences between the Muses and the Banshees: the former were able to achieve a myriad of effects by singing, which was the method through which they casted their spells, spells that ranged from the relatively useful to the completely apocalyptic, especially when several Muses joined forces in order to achieve an exponentially greater effect; the latter, meanwhile, acted quite differently, as they had instead mastered the art of roaring and of using their claws to tear apart their enemies, and they used their abilities to kill anyone who opposed their masters and reduce anything to rubble. However, in practice, there was little interest in the story behind their abilities. The only thing that mattered was that Muses were better at destroying and Banshees were better at fighting, and so, they were assigned roles according to this simple distinction. In essence, the Dragon Lords used the Banshees as machine guns, and the Muses as missiles, in terms of primitive Earth weapons.
The Muse that had parted ways from the rest was identical to the others in most regards. Clearly, she was different physically, as not every Muse had crimson eyes staring from beneath the helmet, or a pink braid poking out from behind, and there were certainly few Muses who had a pair of wings like she did. She was also far more skilled in the weaving of spells of destruction than most of the other Muses, and it was for this reason that she had been appointed as the leader of her contingent, the one who had the orchestra baton, in the words of one of her superiors. She cared little for such honors, and simply dedicated herself to serving the Dragon Lords to the best of her ability, like she had always done, ever since she could remember. It was thus that she walked towards her superiors, the black material of her armor glinting under the Shamran sun. The Muse leader was clad in full black armor, a menacing outfit which covered her torso and legs, as her arms were well shielded by her own natural scales. She wore a helmet made of the same material as her armor, in the shape of a dragon, and her claws had long since been removed and replaced with unnatural copies. For one who knew what all of this was, it would be clear why the Enforcers were so feared throughout the Universe: their armor was made of the scales of the Dragon Lords, and their claws were made of the fangs of the Dragon Lords as well. Few things could pierce their armor, and few things could resist their stab.
The Muse leader finally stopped before a pair of figures. One of them was one of the mercenaries in the employ of one of the Dragon Lords, an infamous wielder of a powerful cosmic blade that had made him quite notorious, which was why the Dragon Lords preferred to buy his loyalty instead of crushing him. The other figure, though perhaps slightly less imposing, was much more fear-inspiring to anyone anywhere in the universe, for though he seemed to bear no weapons or armor of any sort, he was a part of the scourge that had plunged the universe into sempiternal darkness.
"There are no survivors left. The city of Mereshar is no more." The Muse leader stated with a voice that was nearly emotionless, her eyes never meeting his.
"Ah, very well, very well! Thank you, Muse Wynn. You and the others may leave." Spoke Mirennú, one of the eleven Dragon Lords that ruled under the Tyrant. The Muse leader Kirisvala bowed and then left to address her underlings and inform them that their mission in Shamra was over.
Mirennú turned back to the mercenary he was speaking with. "Now, as I was saying before we were interrupted, Manifest, I called you here to check on your progress. I fully believe in your capabilities, but the others are not quite so confident in your ability to perform the job we request of you, and so, they demand that I monitor you closely. For now, tell me; how have you fared in accomplishing your current mission?" The Golden Dragon Lord asked.
Tyrannia, Maw of the King
The eleven Dragon Lords of Dark Creation were gathered on a table with their master, feasting as they spoke of their affairs around the universe.
"How fare we against Apokolips and New Genesis?" One of them asked.
"Despite the fact that Darkseid and the New Gods butt heads practically constantly, they seem more than capable of putting their differences aside whenever our Enforcers launch an attack. I believe that one of us will have to head over and crush them for good if we want to make any progress in their sector." Another one commented while devouring a rather tasty-looking piece of meat.
"There is also the matter of Asgard. We have not yet managed to pierce their defenses; they are far too sly for their own good, for a civilization that prides itself on their warlike demeanor. Clearly they are terrified of what we did to their little God of Thunder." Another spoke.
Conversations about such topics went on as usual, until everyone heard a low chuckle coming from the head of the table.
"Please, you all worry too much about such nonesense." Spoke a voice, more childlike than the others, and yet, all the more sinister for it. "Should we truly be worried about a pair of rebellious rocks and a bunch of cowardly blondes with horned helmets? Us? Beings so powerful that empires yield at the sole mention of our name?" The voice continued. "NONESENSE!" He spoke, suddenly slamming his fist into the table, before calming down, a sweet smile regarding the eleven Dragon Lords who had been utterly terrified at the prospect of unleashing that creature's wrath.
"The truth, my brothers and sisters, is one." Spoke The Tyrant, the Dragon whose name was not.
"We rule!" And The Tyrant laughed a bellowing laughter, and all of Tyrannia rumbled, for the world itself laughed with him.
