She was not what most stories called a dragon.
The Alons Factory was not built. It had grown. A century ago, the alchemist-warlord Alon Vert had fused his own nervous system to a living engine, transforming his body into a factory that consumed villages and birthed automaton soldiers from iron wombs. The factory felt . Its corridors pulsed with peristaltic rhythms. Its forges moaned like laboring mothers. Alons Factory - Futanari Dragon Quest.epubl
In the volcanic nest, her siblings’ eggs cracked. She was not what most stories called a dragon
“Unregistered biomass,” it gargled. “State purpose.” A century ago, the alchemist-warlord Alon Vert had
At the vent’s end, she dropped into a sorting chamber. Bodies—human, elven, dwarf—hung from chains, their mouths stitched open, breath still moving in their lungs. They were not dead. They were stock . The factory’s foreman, a bloated thing of brass and veined flesh, turned its many eyes toward her.
Twenty small dragons emerged, each one glistening, each one bearing the same twin gift she did. They looked up at her with curious, hungry eyes.
“You are not weapons,” Kyri told them. “You are heirs.”