Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 419

**Chapter 419 Awakening**

**Dream Realm, Forest.**

Amidst the vast expanse of colossal trees, under a sky choked by overlapping canopies, a deep, primeval roar reverberated. Innumerable inhabitants of the Dream Realm scattered in terror, fleeing the immense, unforeseen dread descending upon their world.

At the sound’s origin, a Dragon, borne aloft on magnificent wings, emerged from a portal above the newly claimed woodland. Its piercing golden gaze instantly fixed upon its target – the retreating Formless Moth of the Absurd.

Against the Dragon’s powerful wingbeats, the Moth’s delicate limbs offered only feeble flight. Escape was futile. In an instant, the Dragon closed the distance. Grasping claws seized the Moth, dragging it violently down. The impact slammed the grotesque entity into the forest floor, dislodging incompletely attached Dream Cocoons from its underside. The Moth’s body twisted unnaturally under the overwhelming force, appendages thrashing in a frantic, silent imitation of torment. Had it possessed a mouth, an unearthly scream would have ripped forth.

“Danger! Pain… Scale-Moth breached… It suffers… I suffer…”
“Ah… We must flee, quickly…”
“Body crushed… pain spreading… Dragon of the Hamuhe Forest… Why here? Who… who rode in that carriage?”

Deep within the ritual chamber beneath Nawah, the Black Dream Hunters, inextricably bound to the Moth, shrieked in shared agony as it struck the ground. Their disciplined stances collapsed. Unable to vocalize itself, the Moth’s silent cries tore through them. They writhed on the stone, howling. Garcia and others profoundly linked wept crimson tears, the Dragon’s crushing weight on the Moth simultaneously crushing their own spirits.
“No… We fight back… Must escape… Cannot yield…” Garcia gasped through bloody tears. Summoning the collective resolve of her comrades, she directed the Moth’s desperate counterattack.

Within the Dream Realm, the pinned Moth shimmered with iridescent silver light, its form blurring like vapor slipping from the Dragon’s grasp. By drawing closer to the Veil of Reality, it made its presence in the Dream more tenuous, a last-ditch effort similar to—yet distinct from—its method of vanishing entirely to avoid danger in the physical world. Though the Moth existed simultaneously in Reality and Dream, its essence was fundamentally ephemeral—solid here, insubstantial there; a shadow in one, a tangible monstrosity in the other.
While it could fade fully into the Dream to disappear from sight, it couldn’t solidify sufficiently to vanish *from* the Dream. Existing astride the Veil was its sole escape attempt. This temporary thinning concentrated the Moth’s presence elsewhere just enough to wrench itself free.
Shimmering loose, the Moth ghosted behind the Dragon, solidified instantly, and struck. A flurry of grasping tendrils lashed out, coiling tightly around the great reptile’s form. The crushing grip tightened, binding legs and wings. Multiple coils looped around the Dragon’s serpentine neck, muscles straining to constrict and snap it. Giant serpents of flesh sought to pulverize bone and sinew.
But yielding, pulpy flesh met adamantine scale and lacerating spines, not vice versa. As the Moth’s tendrils clenched, they encountered not soft tissue, but edges like fractured volcanic glass. The Dragon’s dorsal ridge sliced through the binding coils like a saw through twine. Agony shrieked along the tendrils, echoing anew in the ritual chamber below as hunters convulsed, the Dragon itself emitting not even a grunt.
Barely acknowledging the restraint, the Dragon turned, molten gold eyes locking onto the Moth. Jaws wide as a sepulcher gaped, demolishing the grasping tendrils and seizing huge portions of the creature. A brutal whip of its neck slammed the Moth crashing back to the forest floor. An armored foot stamped onto the pulsating abdomen, pinning it completely. Hopeless convulsions tore through the Moth.
Then, the Dragon, using talons and fangs together, tore into the Moth violating its perch. Wing membranes shredded like decayed silk under dagger claws. Thick tendrils snapped like rotten rope. Man-sized gashes ripped through its fragile outer shell. Feebly the Moth resisted. Utterly overpowered, its nightmarish flesh was mere carrion before brutal reptilian efficiency. The hunters linked to it spasmed below, minds shredded by the Moth’s death throes, spiraling from horror into unconsciousness. Order dissolved; the Moth was helpless prey.
They had miscalculated profoundly. Why would the Dragon Lord of Hamuhe Forest emerge *here*? The Moth, though incomplete, was powerful. Reality had yielded its phantoms and lightning intellect. Even the Crimson elite might have faltered against it. Yet here on its own territory, its size should have crushed any challenger imitating mortal forms. Few within the Dream could confront it – the Warden of the Bronze Forest was one such.
Pinned like a specimen, the Moth’s final struggle manifested: a blast of scorching silver beams erupted from its cluster of mismatched eyes point-blank against the Dragon. Yet they merely scraped the ancient wyrm’s hardened scales, flaring like torchlight on stone armor before vanishing.
A roar, laden with ancient wrath and fury, bellowed from the Dragon. A titan-god demanding submission. Its paws slammed the Moth into irreversible defeat. Finally, it lowered its head, scaled lips peeling back from teeth long as broadswords. Ancient syllables haunted the moonlight, woven from primordial essence. An ululating shout born before nations cut the verdant air. Chilling. Absolute. Commanding annihilation.
“FUS RO DAH!”
The Unrelenting Force became manifest. A shockwave of pure destructive power erupted. It struck the Moth at the epicenter, annihilating its form completely.
“BOOM!!!”
Ground-rending force accompanied the nightmare’s obliteration. Rock and soil became deadly shrapnel. Trees groaned half a mile distant. Lethal air pulsed for miles. A charnel pit twenty meters deep gaped: a dire, smoking hollow gouged from the world itself.
After the airborne debris settled into silt coating the spared forests beyond, only the beast-god remained aloft. Unharmed. Scanning the impact crater where its opponent had ceased to exist beneath it. Vanished. Instead, a haze of purple-silver sparkling luminescence coated the crater bottom.
Circling cautiously, wings gently stirring the air, the Dragon landed deliberately atop these newly manifested glittering fragments. Its tail tentatively touched the vibrant streaks — probing. Sensing no malice within the shimmer, it lingered without apprehension.
Those glimmering veins shifted uncontrollably. Particles gathered instinctively. Budded to form countless porcelain-white cocoons. Then… dissolved into nothingness. Others merely glowed softly. They lifted from the crater and streamed towards emptiness. Every trace eventually faded away. Throughout the dazzling departure, the Thunder-scaled matriarch watched with interest but no intervention. Curiosity peaked as the final gleams vanished. Stillness reigned save for faint, spectral afterglows.
Shortly, the immense predator noticed disparate objects. A scattering of tiny crystalline-glowing azure spheres — bubbles. They hung suspended in the disturbed air. Popping independently into non-existence.
Unlike the ambient motes, the Dragon recognized these bubbles. It aimed its serpentine tail, tentatively brushing the lingering scraps of energy in the corrupted atmosphere. The spheres coalesced and sank into its armored hide— a form of primal absorption. Ultimately, the bubbles dissolved entirely. Deepening silence. Only the colossal scar etched into the landscape bore witness to the trans-dimensional Hunt.

……

**North Coast of the Conqueror Sea, Nawah.**

Deep beneath Nawah’s nocturnal surface, the ritual site – once the Moth’s cradle – lay ruined. Intricate runes too profane for mortal design lay amidst a grim tableau. Figures in charcoal garments lay strewn across the arcane circle. Most utterly still. Expressions frozen in terror. Limbs splayed in lifeless disarray. Garcia alone still drew ragged breaths through the bloody distress wracking her body – but only for a moment.
“Dragon…” Garcia murmured, stretched upon cold stone. Crimson trails stained eyes straining towards the oppressive ceiling darkness. Every trembling nerve burned with the horror of dying. Then that spark went out. Silence conquered the chamber.
Decade-long labors concluded. A doomed underground conclave. Extinguished without note.

……

**The Port District. A rooftop perch.** Sucking in frigid air, Jode snapped awake abruptly, eyelids fluttering with dazed awareness. Pain gnawed his skull. Vertigo warred with his senses. Exhaustion anchored him. Leveraging his will, Jode hauled himself upright. Clutching his brow, confusion layered upon confusion.
That spectral monstrosity had vanished entirely. Serenity draped Nawah’s skies now. The chaos inflicted on the slumbering populace below was the only tangible proof. Had it all been a frenzied hallucination?
“No… Impossible… Reality held that horror… Yet… something beyond…” Head clutched beneath aching temples, Jode forced memory into coherence. Fragmented images erupted against raw nerves. A towering silhouette beyond the grotesque Moth’s ephemeral mass. Primal perfection embodied in power devastating beyond any wrath known.
Only one legend matched that trauma. Above the leafy canopy line.
“The Dragon fought the Moth?
“It saved us? Saved all Nawah?
“Dragons walk our world – still?”

……

**A Nawah cab halted upon a cobbled street.** Within the cramped interior, yawns threatened to overwhelm. An auburn-haired girl slumped against the padded armrest.
“Yaaawn! Finally concluded! Extensive movement in the Dream Realm drains. Exhaustion looms… Must maintain vigilance.” Stretching weary muscles, Dorothy mused half-awake. Finished rubbing sleep from her eyes, she contemplated the events unfolding deep within her recollection.
‘Startling… Manifesting Dragon-form challenged my confidence considerably. Observing that insectile construct’s scale predicted a drawn-out struggle. Yet fate dictated otherwise. Its fragility improved survival odds. Glad restraint governed my instincts, or forbidden Words would remain untested.’ Sinking deeper into the cushions, Dorothy reviewed her strategy. Luring the phantom Butterfly activated its Dream Realm resonance. An invasive breach exploited. The Dragon presence materializing shifted the conflict inhumanly fast. Demolition superseded engagement. Too brutal even for reconnaissance.
Dorothy gathered precious data from Lumiere concerning ‘Parascent Moth Counter-Offense’. Furnished via oral accounts and distant observation. The direct confrontation unfolded as per the planned conclusion. Conventional force from the Brilliance Church or other Cells would inevitably stall against the Dream-Reality adaptation properties. The Dority-Draconis imprint secured a breakthrough.
‘Providential… Manifesting wholly within factual space remained beyond its innate capabilities. Its essential heartbeat pulsed against the Dream Reality boundary. Had its core fabric anchored physically, retribution wings would fail.’ Relief cooled post-conflict sensations. Focus pivoted toward acquisition.
‘Catching conspirators asleep proves futile momentarily. Enhanced Brilliance scrutiny drains shadows drastically. Subsequent infiltration impeded grievously. Compensations exist… Memories surfacing post-fatality evoke unprecedented insight… Contained… Recognizable threads… Its spiritual poison sleeper-cells failed destroying knowledge caches…
‘Then… remnants of Black Dream minds surface… Severed Thread-Walker bonds frayed upon Host termination? Immune-system cleansing regaining momentary coherence?’
A colossal yawn overwhelmed her. “Urghhhh… Fatigue consumed preparation enthusiasm. Combat aftermath saps critical acuity… Reveal secrets tomorrow. Now… Require minimized dreaming quality slumber.”