The malady began during his long, frozen hibernation beneath the ice. Dogold slumbered, swaddled by lovely, life-sustaining rage. But as years turned into decades and decades slipped into centuries, bizarre hallucinations crept into his consciousness. He delved deep into the mind of his host to learn the name of his affliction: dreaming. A bizarre quirk of Earth biology, experienced through his connection with Utsusisemaru.
Through human eyes the world was impossibly vivid, full of blinding color and chaotic, unfamiliar sensations. Utsusemimaru dreamed of the past, of battles set in crumbled, bygone eras. He dreamed of his lost future, a life that never existed and now never would. The emotions accompanying these dreams were alien to Dogold's very being. Anger was familiar, comforting. It was something he understood. Other emotions existed only in the abstract, embodied by their respective Knights. Through dreams, Dogold first experienced happiness and sorrow. Both were appalling.
Each time Dogold tried to fortify his mind against the intrusions, Utsusemimaru's consciousness stirred, fighting its possessor. After decades of metal skirmishes, Dogold resigned himself to the abominable dreams. They were a small trade for such a perfect host. Torin had made a wise choice. Immense power thundered through Utsesisemaru, and it all now belonged to him. It might be millennia or more before rage ravaged the former hero to seared husk.
Beneath the ice, there was nothing but time. Dogold rifled through his host's memories at leisure. That was how he learned the Zandar Thunder. He learned about Torin and Pteragordon, and the more he learned, the more Utsusemimaru forgot. In time, Utsusemimaru forgot that he was a Kyoryuger. He forgot his name. He even forgot that he was human. He was — they were — simply Dogold.
Nothing was ever simple.
Damn Torin and those rotten Kyoryugers! How had Chaos' plan — so brilliant, so perfect in its execution — failed? The Cambrima were worthless hosts. More construct than living being, their brittle bodies and blank minds were unsatisfying to consume. They were no challenge. They did not fight their possession. They did not dream.
But Dogold did. It was maddening and inexplicable, but something of Utsusemimaru had remained behind. If the other Knights found out, they would surely destroy him. High Priest Chaos already suspected something was amiss. He could tell by the way Chaos studied him, searching for signs of weakness.
No matter. Once he reabsorbed Utsusemimaru, he would once again be the unstoppable Knight of Anger. The samurai belonged to him in mind, body and soul. He had before, and he would again. Until then, Dogold would do as always: rage, fight, and destroy. Only now, in the bitter twilight between sleep and wakefulness, he sometimes woke feeling trapped in his own armor, unsure of exactly who or what he was. And sometimes, especially when he looked at the man who was Kyoryu Red, he felt a strange itch, a tickle of memory…
How irritating.