Chapter 159: Protective Dome
Only one week had been enough.
In barely seven days, France was no more. It had been swept away, conquered, annexed by a foreign power foreign to their very world. What was once a proud and independent nation was now nothing more than occupied territory, reshaped in the image of a new dominant species: the dragons.
Paris, once the capital of light and culture, now resembled a sinister fortress, dominated by immense dark towers with sharp forms. The Eiffel Tower itself, formerly a global symbol of elegance and innovation, had been transformed into a terrifying draconic watchtower, crowned with glimmering runes and eternal flames of purple fire. Everywhere the eye could see, dark banners bearing the royal coat of arms of the dragons flapped in the wind, constantly reminding the humans still alive of their new condition: slaves or fugitives, but never again free.
At the four corners of French territory, colossal installations had been erected at superhuman speed thanks to the advanced magic and dimensional engineering of the invaders. These enormous black obelisk-shaped edifices, crossed by complex and brilliant runes, stood proudly at the borders. They were connected to each other by currents of magical energy visible to the naked eye, thus forming a web of frightening power.
The planned day had finally arrived. At dawn, these draconic obelisks had activated simultaneously, emitting a deep rumble that made the ground tremble throughout the entire region. The runes carved on their surface blazed intensely with a reddish light, immediately projecting columns of pure energy toward the sky.
In a few seconds, a gigantic magical wave, similar to a translucent veil of a slightly purplish color, spread rapidly in all directions. This energy curved elegantly above the entire territory, perfectly joining each obelisk at the borders, thus forming an immense protective dome of pure magical energy.
Seen from afar, this dome was as magnificent as it was terrifying: a gigantic bubble with iridescent and shifting reflections, traversed by filaments of incandescent magic. This barrier recognized only one energy signature: that of the dragons. No human, no hunter, no other creature could now cross this impassable frontier without the direct authorization of the draconic masters.
In the heart of Paris, on the esplanade facing the transformed Eiffel Tower, a gigantic draconic platform had been built. Surrounded by sculpted obsidian columns representing majestic and threatening dragons, this central square was intended to welcome the draconic royal family and all the nobles of their species.
Dragon guards in heavy armor silently patrolled the streets emptied of all human life, their reptilian eyes pitilessly scrutinizing every shadowy corner. The few humans still alive had been grouped in secure camps on the periphery, constantly watched by these same inflexible guardians, awaiting an uncertain fate.
On this cold and sinister morning, Vaerath, commander of the draconic forces, stood at the center of the royal platform. His dark scales gleamed under the pale light of day, his sharp yellow eyes coldly observing the completed work.
A young dragon officer named Zyrath approached respectfully, bowing slightly: