However, the dragons been only sacrificial lambs, and a cat's paw. And the two former dragons, was still highly contagious, and the original purpose and design of the virus, hadn't actually changed at all. King Lycaon was pleased. For thousands of years, he'd watched the spawn himself and his fifty sons spread around the world, after being cursed by the gods of Olympus for testing their divine knowledge by offering them the flesh of his own grandson. And thus had become the first were-beasts.
And things had gone exactly as King Lycaon had hoped they would. He knew magic's kneejerk reaction would be something along these lines, but at the same time, it would have used up its dues ex machina. It could not risk inferring again without damaging the fabric of reality itself. He knew the dragons would be disposed of in some humiliating and trivializing way, and that suited him just fine. He'd gotten what he'd wanted.
For too long he'd seen his spawn integrate instead of dominate, instead of being a symbol of paranoia and fear, they'd become a symbol of misunderstood minorities who changed as the ages changed. Much like vampires had gone from symbols of terror and darkness to sparkles and teenage fantasies.
Instead of a brutal mighty conquest, they'd become a glorified soap opera. Where was the savagery? Brutality? The sheer wildness of it? Instead at least, 'trouble makers' were targets to point a gun at, pull the trigger, and move on.
Not anymore. The dragons were of no further interest or importance. Now the virus would do what it was actually intended to do, and it would wipe out the corruption his spawn had suffered, and returned to their pure and true state of savage beasts with the intelligence of men, where thought served instinct of the other way around. None of this nonsense of just being people with shape shifting superpowers. King Lycaon would now watch his children be restored to their true selves.
And now it began.