CURRENT STATUS
Level: 12
Stage 3: Sovereign Apex Variant.
* Species: Sovereign Komodo Dragon (Primordial Sovereign Variant)
* Age: Approximately 8 years since reincarnation.
* Size:
* Length: Approximately 18 feet (from snout to tail).
* Weight: Estimated 1,200 lbs.
COMBAT SKILLS
* Venomous Bite
* Tail Sweep
* Enhanced Physical Strength
* Crushing Jaw
* Bone Shatter Strike
LEADERSHIP AND SOVEREIGN SKILLS
* Memetic Command
* Sovereign Presence
* Architect of Prosperity (Passive)
* Rite of Legacy (Passive)
* Civic Order (Passive)
TACTICAL AND LOGISTICAL SKILLS
* Strategic Insight
* Architectural Memory
* Trap Engineering
* Fortification Planning
NATURAL ABILITIES
* Hyper-Enhanced Senses
* Rapid Healing
* Scale Reinforcement
* Enhanced Environmental Adaptation
* Jungle Camouflage
* Memories of a Soul
UTILITY SKILLS
* Ring of Identification
* Inspiration Through Memetics
* Animal Whisperer
* Environmental Manipulation
* Survival Instincts
* Title: Keeper of Remembrance
* Title: Sovereign Architect
* Title: City Founder
----------------------------------------
The pale light of dawn filtered through the dense canopy, casting shifting patterns across the sturdy walls of New Scar. A humid breeze carried with it the mingled scents of wet earth and distant blooms, the jungle waking slowly to the new day. But this morning, the air carried something heavier—an unspoken tension that rippled through the lizards and goblins who moved with purpose throughout the fort.
Jannet stood atop the battlements, his massive form a commanding presence against the backdrop of the rising sun. His obsidian-black scales glinted faintly in the light as his golden eyes scanned the horizon. The humans were close now. The jungle, normally alive with sound, felt muted, as though holding its breath.
From his vantage point, Jannet could see the patrols returning. The lizards moved with urgency, their tails flicking as they delivered their reports. The humans were coming—slow, cumbersome, but relentless. Their heavy wagons and armored soldiers cut a noisy path through the jungle, their numbers vast enough to crush New Scar if the defenses faltered. Yet for all their might, the humans were predictable, encumbered by their own ambition.
Jannet flicked his tongue, tasting the air. He could almost feel the humans' presence now—their sweat, the iron tang of their weapons, the oppressive weight of their intent. They had left their nest days ago, and their progress had been marked by destruction: snapped branches, trampled undergrowth, and the distant sound of shouted orders. The humans were coming to claim what they saw as their right, to crush and conquer as they always had.
But Jannet was not like them.
Jannet’s mind turned inward as he gazed out over his thriving fort. He remembered Earth—Richard and Walter, the humans he had once called family. They had been given so much power, so much potential to shape their world, and yet they squandered it. Walter, wasting away in idleness, and Richard, consumed by greed and selfishness, had taught Jannet what leadership should not be.
He had strived to be better in this life. As a Sovereign Apex Variant, Jannet had built New Scar not on fear or subjugation but on unity and respect. The lizards and goblins were not slaves or soldiers—they were family. Every wall, every trap, every innovation had been crafted with shared purpose.
“Lizards together strong,” Jannet whispered, the words carrying the weight of years of determination. They were more than a motto; they were a promise. Together, they had faced predators, starvation, and now the threat of annihilation. Together, they would endure.
The humans would never understand this. They only respected power, and Jannet would show them a power born not of cruelty but of solidarity. This jungle was his home, the home of his people, and he would defend it—not with hatred, but with the knowledge that his way was better.
The fort buzzed with activity as the day unfolded. Goblins darted between stations, ferrying supplies and reinforcing defenses. Randel oversaw the construction of additional spear-launching platforms, his frills flaring with pride as he tested their tension. Baby Goblin, now a respected shaman among the goblins, chanted softly as she directed her followers to coat spear tips and arrowheads with venom. Her bond with the lizards, once viewed as a quirk, had become a cornerstone of their survival.
The muddy moat surrounding New Scar was nearly complete, its depths lined with sharpened stakes. The drawbridge, a crude but functional design, could be raised quickly to cut off access. Above it all, the flag of New Scar fluttered in the breeze—a crude but defiant symbol of their unity.
Jannet moved through the fort, his massive frame commanding attention wherever he went. He stopped to inspect the fortifications, rumbling his approval as he passed. Goblins and lizards alike responded to his presence with hisses of respect, their morale bolstered by his confidence.
Despite their best efforts, the odds weighed heavily on Jannet’s mind. The humans outnumbered them ten to one, their armor and discipline unmatched by the ragtag defenders of New Scar. Yet Jannet knew that sheer numbers would not decide this battle. The jungle was their ally, its secrets known only to the lizards and goblins who called it home. Every trap, every ambush, every drop of venom would tip the scales in their favor.
The sharp clang of makeshift alarms—metal pots tied with vines, relics of Jannet’s first encounters with the humans—echoed across New Scar. The noise snapped every lizard and goblin into action. The drawbridge creaked as it was hauled up, locking the fort in tight defense. The perimeter was sealed; they had prepared for this day.
Jannet moved to the walls, his massive form blending into the stone and wood defenses as he peered through a slit in the parapet. His golden eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the first human soldiers emerging from the jungle. The men stepped cautiously into the open, their formation methodical and calculated. Their movements betrayed their disbelief as they gazed upon the towering walls of New Scar.
“They didn’t expect this,” Jannet thought, his tongue flicking in satisfaction as he tasted the sweat and fatigue radiating from the humans.
Row after row of soldiers unfolded into the clearing, their numbers staggering. From his vantage point, Jannet could see the metallic glint of their armor and weapons, their banners snapping in the breeze. The humans were armed to the teeth, their ranks disciplined and their purpose clear: they were here to destroy.
As more soldiers poured into view, they began to form a loose ring around New Scar. Their numbers swelled, filling the clearing with a sea of humanity. Commands barked from their officers reached Jannet’s ears even through the jungle’s din. The humans, as they always did, had brought overwhelming force.
Jannet’s eyes roamed over the enemy ranks, noting the wagons loaded with supplies and the tents being hastily erected at the rear. His confusion deepened. The humans weren’t rushing into an attack as he had anticipated. Instead, they were setting up camp.
“They’re waiting,” Jannet hissed softly, his thoughts laced with irritation. He had prepared his people for an immediate assault, but the humans, ever methodical, were planning something else.
Below the walls, the jungle seemed to bristle with unease. The humans’ presence was an affront to the natural order, their foreignness grating against the wild harmony of the jungle. Birds remained silent, and the underbrush quivered as smaller creatures fled the oppressive weight of so many men.
From the parapet, Jannet watched the humans in stillness, his reptilian patience holding him in place. He saw their sweat glisten in the sunlight, tasted their exhaustion on the air. They had marched far today, that much was clear, and their formation showed signs of strain. Yet for all their weariness, their discipline was unnerving. The front lines remained steady, shields locked and spears angled toward the walls. Behind them, campfires began to sputter to life as soldiers at the rear broke ranks to prepare for the night.
“What are they doing?” Jannet thought, his claws tapping lightly against the wooden frame of the parapet. The humans were unpredictable in their predictability—a frustrating contradiction that set his instincts on edge.
The sight of the human camp filling the clearing stirred a mixture of emotions in Jannet. Anger burned brightest. These men had come, unprovoked, to destroy what he had built. New Scar had done nothing to deserve this aggression, yet here they were, surrounding his home with cold determination.
A flicker of doubt wormed its way into Jannet’s mind. Could New Scar truly hold against this many? He shook it off with a growl, reminding himself of the jungle’s strength and the family he had forged here. They had prepared for this moment; they would not falter.
Jannet turned to the lizards stationed along the walls. They moved silently, their scales blending seamlessly with the shadows. From their vantage points, they held their positions, still and watchful. Goblins moved among them, whispering instructions and checking the readiness of weapons.
“We wait,” Jannet conveyed through memetics, his thought rippling through the minds of his people. “Let them tire themselves with their own plans.”
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
The lizards, ever patient, understood. They would conserve their energy, ready to strike when the time was right. The humans might be creatures of fire and fury, but the jungle favored those who knew how to endure.
Hours passed, and the humans continued their preparations. The ring around New Scar grew tighter, their encampments spreading like a slow disease across the clearing. Fires crackled, the sound carried faintly to the walls. The rhythmic clinking of metal echoed as soldiers sharpened their weapons and hammered stakes into the ground.
From his perch, Jannet could see the officers gathered near the center of the camp, their gestures animated as they discussed their strategy. He strained to catch their voices, but the distance made it impossible. Still, their body language was clear—this was not a haphazard operation. The humans were planning something deliberate.
The sight sent a chill through Jannet. He had faced predators before, but this felt different. This was not an attack born of hunger or desperation. It was calculated, clinical—a methodical attempt to uproot everything he had built.
Jannet descended from the parapet, his heavy frame landing with a thud on the wooden platform below. He called for #1 and Rose, who joined him quickly, their expressions grim but resolute. Through memetics, Jannet relayed what he had seen and what he suspected.
“They’re not attacking tonight,” he conveyed. “They’ll wait until they’re rested. They’ll test our walls, our defenses. We need to be ready.”
Rose’s frills flared in silent agreement, her maternal instincts sharpening her focus. She would defend her young, her home, with everything she had. #1 nodded, his massive frame radiating confidence. His scars, old and new, were a testament to his resilience.
Jannet turned to the rest of New Scar, his golden eyes sweeping over the lizards and goblins gathered below. “Stay hidden,” he commanded through memetics. “Stay silent. Let them think we are afraid. When the time comes, we will strike like the jungle itself—unseen and unstoppable.”
The response was immediate—a wave of understanding and determination rippled through the group. They had faced threats before. This would be their greatest challenge yet, but they were ready.
As darkness fell, the fires in the human camp burned brighter, their glow casting eerie shadows across the walls of New Scar. The jungle seemed to retreat from the light, its edges shrouded in impenetrable black.
Jannet returned to the parapet, his gaze fixed on the enemy below. The humans had brought war to his doorstep, but they had underestimated what they faced. The jungle was not theirs to conquer.
And New Scar would stand.
In the stillness of the night, Jannet whispered the words that had become their mantra, the promise that bound them together.
“Lizards together strong.”
----------------------------------------
Duke Fayeron surveyed the imposing walls of the goblin fortress from his elevated position near the command tent. The flickering light of the campfires illuminated the rough-hewn fortifications, their uneven surfaces lined with salvaged metal, sharpened stakes, and dense jungle wood. The walls loomed higher than expected, stretching across the clearing in a way that mocked the usual disorganized chaos of goblin construction.
The drawbridge, hastily raised when the humans had approached, hung over a muddy moat. The occasional gleam of metal pots tied to the walls suggested alarms, though no goblin had been foolish enough to attack their approach. It was unsettling. There was no chatter, no howls, no taunts. Goblins were known for their savagery, their erratic skirmishes, and their near-mindless raids. Yet here, they waited in absolute silence.
The commanders huddled near a large table, a crude map of the jungle and fortress spread across its surface. The duke strode toward them, his armor glinting in the firelight. His presence commanded immediate attention, the commanders standing to acknowledge him before returning to their discussion.
“This is far more elaborate than the reports suggested,” the duke began, his tone calm but edged with doubt. “What else might our scouts have failed to notice?”
One of the younger commanders, Sir Garen, scoffed as he traced a line on the map. “With all due respect, my duke, goblins are not known for their foresight. They’ve built themselves a stronghold and grown reliant on their walls. That’s all this is—a facade.”
The older commander, Sir Elwin, nodded in agreement. “It’s a fortress, yes, but it’s still a goblin tribe. They have no true discipline, no real strategy. They’ll break the moment we breach the walls.”
The duke narrowed his eyes, his gaze shifting to the fortress. “And you believe they’ll let us breach those walls so easily? What if there’s more to this than we’ve considered?”
The commanders continued to lay out their plan. The morning assault would focus on the eastern wall, where they believed the goblins had fewer defenses. Archers would provide cover fire as the main force pushed forward with ladders and battering rams. Once inside, they’d overwhelm the goblins with superior numbers and cut down any resistance.
The plan was sound, but Duke Fayeron felt a deep unease. The walls of New Scar were not merely the result of desperate goblins scrambling for survival. They had been built with intent, with care, and with a level of craftsmanship that defied the typical goblin norm. He couldn’t ignore the meticulous placement of traps along the perimeter, nor the eerie silence that hung over the fortress like a shroud.
“Several hundred goblins, at least,” Sir Garen estimated, leaning over the map. “Likely with a noble shaman or a goblin king to rally them. Maybe both. But even that won’t save them.”
The other commanders laughed, their voices filled with confidence. They spoke of goblins as pests to be exterminated, their fortifications as little more than a temporary annoyance. Fayeron couldn’t share their optimism. His gaze lingered on the fortress, where the shadows seemed to shift unnaturally, as if the jungle itself were alive and watching.
“They’ve prepared for us,” he said finally, his voice cutting through the laughter. “Do not underestimate them. Whatever lies within those walls is not the work of ordinary goblins.”
The commanders exchanged uneasy glances but nodded in reluctant agreement. Sir Elwin cleared his throat. “Of course, my duke. We will proceed with caution.”
The rest of the evening was spent refining the details of the assault. Ladders and rams were inspected, and squads were assigned their positions. The duke listened but said little, his mind preoccupied with the troubling silence of the fortress.
When the meeting adjourned, he returned to his personal tent, where he removed his armor and sank into a chair. The weight of his responsibility pressed heavily on him. This was supposed to be a simple operation—a routine purge of a troublesome goblin tribe. Yet nothing about this felt routine.
He poured himself a cup of wine and stared at the map on his table. The clearing, the walls, the ominous silence—it all felt wrong. The jungle, usually so full of life, had grown unnervingly quiet since their arrival. Even the camp, bustling with soldiers and wagons, seemed muted.
“They’re watching us,” he muttered, the thought gnawing at his mind. “Waiting.”
A chill ran down his spine as he considered the possibility that they had been lured here, that the silence was not fear but strategy. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Goblins weren’t capable of such foresight. They were brutes, savages. This was simply a desperate attempt to hold onto what little territory they had.
As the camp settled into an uneasy quiet, the duke stepped outside his tent. The fires burned low, casting long shadows across the clearing. The walls of New Scar loomed in the distance, their jagged outline silhouetted against the faint glow of the stars.
He walked among the soldiers, his presence a silent reassurance. Many of them were young conscripts, their faces pale and tense in the firelight. They whispered among themselves, their fear barely hidden. The sight filled him with a mix of pity and resolve. These men would look to him for strength, and he could not falter.
The duke approached the edge of the camp, where the sentries stood watch. He stared at the fortress, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The silence from within was absolute, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the faint calls of night creatures.
“You’re out there,” he murmured, his voice low. “Watching. Waiting.”
A sudden gust of wind rustled the leaves, and for a moment, he thought he saw movement along the walls. He squinted, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus. But the shadows remained still, and the walls remained silent.
With a heavy sigh, he turned back to the camp. The first assault would begin at dawn. For better or worse, the fate of this campaign would be decided within those walls.
Duke Fayeron stood at the edge of the command platform, a hastily erected wooden structure that gave him a clear view of both the fortress and the surrounding jungle. The sun was just beginning to crest the horizon, casting long, golden beams through the dense canopy. The light glinted off the polished armor of his soldiers and the jagged, makeshift walls of the goblin stronghold.
He took a deep breath, savoring the coolness of the morning air. It would be hot and humid soon, the jungle’s oppressive atmosphere adding yet another layer of discomfort to an already taxing campaign. But for now, the dawn felt like a reprieve, a fleeting moment of calm before the storm.
It was then he noticed them: small flocks of birds, rising from the trees in the distance. They weren’t close—miles away, perhaps—but they moved with an odd rhythm, bursting upward like little puffs of smoke. He watched as one flock scattered and disappeared into the sky, only for another to rise moments later, further to the north.
Fayeron’s brow furrowed. The patterns weren’t random. There was a precision to the timing, a strange beauty in the way they moved across the treetops, as if choreographed by some unseen hand. It reminded him of smoke signals, the way they used to send warnings or messages across great distances during wars in the kingdom’s past. But this was no human signal.
It was the jungle.
He called over one of his commanders, Sir Elwin, who had been pacing nearby. “Do you see that?” Fayeron asked, pointing toward the distant horizon.
Elwin squinted, his scarred face hardening as he focused on the rising flocks. “Birds,” he said dismissively, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Probably startled by a predator.”
Fayeron didn’t respond immediately. He continued to watch, his sharp eyes tracking the flocks as they rose and fell, always to the north, always in a pattern. “If it’s predators,” he said finally, his voice low, “then they’re moving in a line. A deliberate line.”
Elwin frowned but said nothing, his gaze shifting uneasily between the distant treetops and the duke’s face. The silence between them grew heavy, the weight of the moment pressing down like a stone.
The duke’s thoughts turned inward. From the moment they had entered the clearing, he had felt the jungle’s gaze. It was not the indifferent, chaotic wildness he was accustomed to. No, this jungle was alive with purpose, its every rustle and shadow charged with meaning. It watched them, studied them, waited for them to act.
He had dismissed his unease the night before as simple nerves, the natural tension that came before a battle. But now, as he stood in the rising light of dawn, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the jungle itself was against them, that it was preparing to strike in ways they couldn’t yet comprehend.
“Sound the morning bell,” Fayeron ordered abruptly, his voice sharper than he intended. “Wake the men. I want our forces ready within the hour.”
Elwin nodded and moved to relay the order, but not before casting one last glance at the distant horizon. The flocks of birds had ceased now, the jungle falling back into an eerie stillness.
As the camp came alive with the clang of armor and the murmur of soldiers rousing themselves, the duke remained on the platform, his gaze fixed on the fortress. Its walls, though crude and jagged, seemed almost regal in the golden light, their shadows stretching long and foreboding across the clearing.
The quiet unnerved him. He had expected taunts, drums, the clamor of goblins preparing for battle. Instead, the fortress stood silent, its gates shut, its drawbridge raised. The only sound was the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds—birds that now seemed much closer than before.
“They’re waiting,” Fayeron murmured to himself. “And so are we.”
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, the leather wrapping creaking under the pressure. The first assault would begin soon, and with it, the answers to the questions that had plagued him since they arrived.