KESM: Terra Quatuor Chronicles

The team moved with purpose, their steps deliberate against the shifting sands. Jon, ever the tactician, surveyed the surroundings with sharp amber eyes.

"Stormbreakers," he said, punctuating the silence, "are we sticking to the original plan, or should we improvise?"

Emaila's hand hovered near her weapon, a staff that seemed a mix of Esper technology and Mage craftsmanship, humming faintly with latent energy. "Improvise? Against a storm dragon? Bold of you to assume we'd survive long enough to get creative."

Angelie shot her a look, one brow raised. "It's not creativity that'll save us, it's precision. Let's not forget the stakes here."

Hayz, usually the team's voice of levity, remained uncharacteristically quiet, his focus unyielding as he adjusted the straps of his gear. "Stakes?" he finally spoke, his tone dry. "More like a death wish. But sure, precision sounds nice."

Sabbath cut through their banter with a sharp gesture. "Enough. This isn't the time to second-guess. We know what we're up against, and we're prepared. Stick to the plan until the situation demands otherwise."

They knew the drill: trust the leader, trust each other, and execute without hesitation.

As they advanced, the landscape began to shift. The once barren desert gave way to jagged outcroppings of obsidian rock, their surfaces glistening as if perpetually wet, yet not a hint of rain. The air grew heavy with static: each breath, each step, each motion charged with electricity. They came prepared however. Jon, the team's diversity man had cast a spell which gave them, and their gear by extension, insulatory properties. Not nearly potent enough to shrug off fully charged lightning strikes, but the charges in the air wouldn't spontaneously combust their lungs as they breathed. Rest the unfortunate souls who died to make this discovery.

Sabby's gaze swept the horizon, noting the thickening clouds above. 

"We're in its territory now. Stay sharp."

It wasn't long before the ground trembled beneath them, a low rumble resonating through the rocks. A shadow passed overhead, vast and foreboding, as the Cumulodrake descended from the storm-laden skies. Its roar shattered the silence, a symphony of thunder and fury that sent shockwaves rippling through the air. It had come to meet them instead.

It had sensed their presence from the very moment they set foot on the Island, every scout they sent, all the gear they dropped which they hoped to use later, every silent prayer they gave up — growing more restless as they marched towards it.

"Positions!" Sabbath barked, his command cutting through the chaos.

That had just been reflex and years of battle readiness kicking in, though. 

Truthfully, Sabbath was in awe, never had he seen a beast so majestic yet so deadly, so up close…. It stood at thirty meters tall on all fours, with a wingspan of nearly fifty meters when fully extended. Its scales, a polished, stormy gray that shimmered like flickering lightning within thunderclouds. The edges of its wings were semi-translucent, with veins of glowing, bluish energy coursing through them like storm currents. Its serpentine tail split into a fan-like structure resembling a crackling storm vortex, spinning faintly even when the beast was still. 

Its head was crowned with two sharp lightning bolts for horns. As they sparked with static energy, its eyes burned with a deep, cerulean hue that gave the impression of staring into a calm before the storm, staring into the abyss. From its nostrils and mouth, wisps of mist escaped constantly. 

The Cumulodrake's claws sharp enough to carve through the dense armor of Knights, and its teeth gleamed like icy stalactites. A faint, constant rumble — like distant thunder — accompanied its every move. 

Its body seemed forged from the essence of storms themselves.

Ahh, and that intellect, insidious and calculative, this beast was truly in its element.

However,

'Everything was off….' Sabbath thought.

It seemed to be weary…. of humans.

Despite its imposing size, daunting power, unyielding defense, the Draconian was too alert, too cautious, its very aura teeming with trepidation. Even weirder was the fact it hadn't uttered a word, only letting out growls and screeches. Something was off…. none of the information from the tab was wrong, but a lot of things were missing.

And then, it suddenly clicked in Sabbath's head, the creature was…. young. Although it had killed all the humans — beasts inclusive — who encountered it upon reaching the island, it did so out of some deep rooted fear. A thought flashed through Sabbath's mind before fading a second later due to the direness of this battle; "What if it didn't flee Arthuria of its own accord? What if it fled to escape something…. or someone far more harrowing."

'What sort of creature could do such a number on a Tier-2 Fiend?'

But the question remained, could it be exploited?

While that was good news in and of itself, it was equally as bad, for such an inexperienced Cumulodrake to be this overwhelming, in practically every aspect, even when it wasted its own energy being more weary than it had any place being, against humans who weren't even of the same Rank as itself. Who knew what would happen if it was let to mature fully?

The team had already sprung into action, each member taking their assigned role. Emaila conjured barriers of shimmering light, their surfaces rippling with energy as they absorbed the first gust of the dragon's gale. Angelie darted forward, her blade slicing through the wind with surgical precision, each strike aimed to test the creature's defenses.

"Sturdy alright." she said resolutely.

Jon channeled his power, threads of arcane energy; Mana, weaving through the air to ensnare the beast's movements. To his dismay, it was shrugged off with ease.

"I really do hate Arthurian beasts, passively resisting all forms of attacks, physical or otherwise." He proceeded to provide cover fire, his projectiles imbued with explosive force, and a little surprise for the Cumulodrake, each shot timed to exploit the openings created by his teammates, a moment later, turning into rubbery adhesives meant to seep into its scales.

The battle was a dance of calculated risk and unrelenting force, each move a gamble against a foe that seemed to anticipate their every action. Paying dearly for every mistake. Deep gashes, bloodshot eyes, battered limbs — within the storm of chaos, the team was on their way to losing their lives, at a swift pace.

Calculated unity became their greatest strength. They fought not as individuals but as a single, unbreakable unit, their synergy a testament to years of camaraderie and trust.

Yet, nothing worked. Each strike shrugged off, each spell largely ineffective, each tactic simply failing….

This wasn't just an oddity, it was something they all expected, they had first hand knowledge of this uncanny trait Arthurians displayed, having resistance to everything.… their very existence seemed to repel every force, as if going against nature itself. To bypass that, one needed to up their efforts, the stronger the Arthurian, the greater the force required to put them down.

By all means, the Cumulodrake was at the pinnacle of power any beast could hope to wield…. before becoming a god.