Hunt

The Thorn Beast, resembling a distant cousin of a wild boar yet far more colossal and ferocious, dominated the wilds with its six to eight-meter frame and a body covered in needle-like thick hide. An apex predator, it rarely met its match.

A solitary Thorn Beast stood on the plain, its sleek, dark back signifying its mature male status. Silently, it lowered its head to tear a chunk of flesh from its prey, blood smearing its face as it chewed slowly.

A breeze stirred, and the beast's broad ears twitched, picking up faint sounds. Alert, it lifted its head, scanning the surroundings.

This rugged, dimly lit wilderness, seldom trodden by humans, was a paradise for wild beasts and strange creatures. Amidst the ever-present dust, the Thorn Beast reigned supreme, though not without threats.

Its small, cruel eyes shifted, spotting flashes of bright colors amidst the dry brush.

Yongrong Akatosh, with his back arched and wings folded, moved stealthily through the dense undergrowth, using the sharp horns on his head to part the wild grass, inching closer to his target.

The Dragon Legacy instilled in every dragonling the belief that they would become the ultimate predators of the land, breeding arrogance and pride. However, hunting was never as effortless as imagined, and repeated failures had bruised their egos.

Even Yongrong felt impatient, but he forced himself to be patient, advancing step by step. Spotting the Thorn Beast's sudden alertness, he realized another dragonling had been too rash, alerting their prey to their ambush.

The dragonlings' scales shimmered from deep to lake blue, like jewels, too conspicuous and poorly coordinated, making it difficult to trap vigilant, swift prey.

Their limited strength meant they couldn't yet best larger, ferocious species, and had to retreat after several attempts.

Wind direction, scent, and even light affected their hunts, leading to repeated failures despite their persistence.

Yet, their relentless attempts bore some fruit, making them bolder. Sensing the Thorn Beast's alertness, the nearest dragonling let out a piercing screech, signaling the attack.

The Thorn Beast abandoned its meal, retreating. Despite its limited intelligence, it realized it was surrounded, not by one but by several dragonlings, gleaming scales emerging from the brush.

"Grr," the Thorn Beast growled in threat and warning.

But the dragonlings, unafraid, attacked. Although only the size of gazelles and much smaller than the eight-meter adult Thorn Beast, they were dragons, fearless and fierce.

The first dragonling lunged, baring its developing fangs at the beast's neck.

The Thorn Beast feigned submission, only to suddenly lift its head, tossing its attacker through the air and slamming it to the ground.

But it was not just a prey; it was a vicious creature. Charging forward, it stomped heavily on the dragonling.

A muffled thud indicated broken bones, incapacitating the dragonling.

Enraged, the others roared, except for Yongrong, who crouched silently, poised like a predator.

Realizing its peril, the Thorn Beast decided to flee, choosing the weakest point in the encirclement.

Breathing heavily, it charged towards Yongrong, its massive body shaking the ground and kicking up dust, a ferocious, unstoppable force.

Yongrong watched the approaching beast, inhaling the hot air, his breaths short and sharp as the Thorn Beast's hooves thundered closer.

With a roar, he unleashed a stream of lightning, his breath not as powerful as mature dragons but still effective. The lightning paralyzed the Thorn Beast, slowing it down.

Yongrong leapt, intercepting the massive beast, his claws latching onto its hide.

The Thorn Beast writhed, trying to throw him off, but Yongrong bit deeply into its back, piercing its thick hide and drawing blood.

The creature's pain caused it to stop and roll on the ground, finally dislodging Yongrong.

But now, the other dragonlings joined in, biting and clawing at the beast's sides and back.

After a long struggle, the Thorn Beast fell, lifeless.

The dragonlings, elated, began feasting on its blood and flesh, Yongrong included. He chose a prime spot, his growls warding off others as he prepared to eat.

Just then, the convulsing Thorn Beast unexpectedly snapped at a dragonling close to its head.

Caught off guard, the dragonlings retreated in alarm, except for the unlucky one caught in its jaws, struggling helplessly.

Yongrong, reacting instantly, lunged back into the fray, tearing into the Thorn Beast with unseen ferocity. A burst of red amidst the dull landscape, his actions were swift and deadly.

The trapped dragonling was freed, and the Thorn Beast lay dead, a deep, bone-exposing wound on its neck.

Yongrong stood, a chunk of flesh in his mouth, his breaths heavy, his actions instinctive to a dragon.

His strength was evident as he effortlessly tore flesh from the beast's neck, his body drenched in blood, exuding a fleeting draconic menace.

As the dragonlings resumed eating, no longer vying with Yongrong, he savored the fresh meat, his draconic aura fading, eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

The raw, tender, sweet meat, though unseasoned, was far superior to the blood meals provided by the clan.

He ate voraciously, even crunching bones, the large Thorn Beast enough to feed them for days.

As his hunger waned, Yongrong's thoughts grew solemn.

He had yet to receive a kill notification or any experience rewards, contrary to his belief that he had been transported into the "Star Realm" game. This was troubling.

Soon, scavengers like Black Claw Vultures and Vicious Hyenas gathered, drawn by the blood. But they fled upon sensing the dragon's presence.

A sixteen-meter-long adolescent dragon, Quis Nikleton, the "Dragonling Feeder," arrived, having watched over the hunt and driven away threats.

The dragonlings straightened up as he landed, Yongrong swallowing his last piece of meat and cleaning his mouth.

The Feeder first tended to the injured dragonling, then addressed the others, "Eat up and return; there's work to be done."

His tone was calm but foreboding.

"Take the Thorn Beast's skull; it's our trophy," Yongrong quietly suggested.

His words drew the Feeder's gaze, but he said nothing, simply flying off with the injured dragonling.

The other dragonlings exchanged glances, with Hel Nikleton, whom Yongrong had saved, first to act. He clutched the skull with his hind limbs and took off unsteadily, others assisting, carrying their trophy back to their ruined fortress.