“This is dumb.” Groaned a large, winged, reptilian creature as it followed the one who had not only liberated its kind from servitude but had also ensured its species’ survival in he long term.

“I know.” Growled Pluton as he casually looked down towards his flank. Mounted on a harness that ran along his back and positioned on not just his sides but those of the other dragons were a set of speakers. He had been foolish enough to ask Zero Noir for help regarding the matter of allowing the dragons that he had ‘liberated’ to survive as a species. Zero Noir had indeed helped, using his mastery of his Dungeon to manufacture thousands of dragons, all of whom existed solely as empty husks that served only to help the true dragons propagate their kind.

It was a temporary measure, that much was true, but it was still distasteful. This was not because the manufactured dragons were essentially brain-dead, but because they were not ‘real’. The fact that this was even necessary in the first place did not sit well with the collections of dragons that he had ‘acquired’ over the past months, and it didn’t sit well with him, either. That said, the only other option would have been to do some Habsburgian levels of incest, which was of course, not a good option.

As ‘payment’ for the services rendered, Zero Noir had insisted that Pluton and the dragons under his command had to join the big climactic battle that was already taking place right now. Likewise, he also insisted that Pluton and the other dragon wear not just some embarrassing ad humiliating harnesses, but also that these harness mount moderately sized yet powerful speakers.

The devices had been silent for a while, but now they were playing some kind of weird song. If Pluton had to put a finger on the genre, he would call it a pseudo-classical tune, but with a slightly modern twist. He still didn’t like it, though, but that was mostly due to the fact that this irritation had been forced upon him. He and his subordinates were now nearing the battlefield, and the eagle-eyed among them could see that the undead melee fighters were just barely holding back the elves and plantoids.

The massive tree people were using their power and height to their advantage, carving entire lines apart with a few well-placed strikes. The elves, on the other hand, exploited those gaps, inserting themselves deeper and deeper into the lines of the undead. If nothing was done, there would be a breakthrough and the Darksolian ranged troops would be in danger. In Pluton’s eyes, that simply could not stand to happen.

“Make ready; our final approach is near. Ignore the concept of friendly fire; these undead can easily be replaced, so unleash all fury upon those who profited from your enslavement. Release you anger, your rage, your hatred; all of it! Hold. Nothing. Back.”

Pluton reached the place he needed to be and entered a steep dive. His subordinates followed suit, their bodies enduring the pressure and their minds knowing fully that they could endure similar g-forces once they began to level out after their dive was complete.

All the while, the music played on, and the operatic sounds of Valkyries grew louder and louder.

…

“This is getting bad….” Murmured one of the several hundred mortals who were watching as the undead melee line was being carved apart. “We need to start shooting again.”

“Our orders are to hold fire until the lines are broken.” Replied an officer. “I know is dumb, but the brass says that there is support on its way. Likewise, the big guns are being repositioned and recalibrated, along with the mortars. I don’t know how to feel about this, but while I agree that we should start shooting again, I don’t want to know what will happen if we do. The melee line still is holding, though just barely, and if we do start shooting wildly into the melee we may end up breaking out own melee line before the enemy can.”

“Fair enough, sir, but I-.” the rifleman stopped mid-sentence and looked around. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” asked another man beside him.

“There is… music?”

“Music? On the battlefield? That’s not possible.” Replied the nearby officer, though he soon looked up at a slight angle and then cocked his head a bit. “Wait… I think I’m hearing it, too.”

There was, indeed, music playing. It was coming from high above and far away, but it was growing louder as the source approached, but what it was that was making the music was known for now. Suddenly, the music began to grow in both intensity and volume at a rapid rate, until at last it neared a crescendo. In that peak of excitement, the music was punctuated by hundreds, maybe over a thousand dragons plummeting from the sky before entering a strafing run that saw them unleash a combined breath attack on the ongoing melee.

The combined breath washed over undead and ACT troops alike, erasing a massive chunk of both sides from the field, leaving very few undead infantry left intact and only a few hundreds more elves and plantoids to deal with the aftermath. Even those who escaped being erased by the strafing run were in a horrible situation, as the attack had spread out as it was unleashed. Though not caught in the full force of it, the mix of fire, caustic chemicals and hazardous gasses had billowed out from the initial line where they had been focused at, meaning that those nearby did take at least some damage from it.

Elves were gasping for air as their lungs filled with fluids and their eyes and noses burned. Plantoids screamed in agony as they felt themselves wilt and decay. The remaining portion of both melee lines were forced to deal with this new situation, and, as you might expect from the cold, unfeeling, and single-minded undead, the Darksolian melee line (or what remained of it) took the initiative and reentered the fray. It was at this moment when yet another asset to Darksol’s side entered the area of operations, but this was nothing that anyone had seen before.

Dungeon Entrances appeared from the ground before the ranged lines and from them emerged constructs made of both metal and meat. Everyone who looked at them say something truly horrible, a large metal box-like thing on treads that had obvious signs of being filled not with metal or a crew but nothing but unholy flesh and bone and blood.

Kain had finally brought out one of his newest toys; the Flesh Tanks were now ready to cause carnage, fear, and demoralizing destruction.