Chapter9 The Ineffable.

It seems I took too much time playing MTG Arena and Total War:Warhammer II. Sorry for the delay. No, I didn't hit a writer block, just procrastinating too much.

Again, more reviews, Q&A, and Comments are appreciated.

Reviews/ Q&A

: Thxfu

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Ragnarshadow: Vaevictis Asmadi is the brother of Ugin and Bolas?

Technically he is their cousin because he is spawned from the different clutch of eggs. Which somehow makes sense in the elder dragon sort of way. To us, it is weird because they are all spawn of the Ur-dragon but when you are an immortal dragon that can rule a plane by yourself, you can call it whatever you want, I guess.

His first card exists since Legends and he had returned in an original elder dragon cycle in M19.

Previously

"Vaevictis Asmadi"

There was once a boy who doesn't know who his mother was. He was being lied to about who his father was. All his life, he yearned for their love, but he received none. He was powerless against the whim of fate.

One day, that boy received a chance for multiple lifetimes. He was trapped in a place he called home for all his life until that day. When he was on his death bed, his spark ignited, and his destiny became unwritten. He will bring change to wherever he goes.

But even among those who had their spark ignited, he was special. True, each spark is different. Some share it with others. Some are given or stolen. Some allow the owner to break the rule. But the boy was special. He was not an ordinary human. His blood contained an old power that was long forgotten. Blood of a dragon in men had long been dried out, weakened by diluting with mundane blood and incest both. At best, it would allow the owner to form a bond with a lesser beast of draconic lineage. At worst, the negative that stems from its progenitor would corrupt the mortal mind.

Diluted it might be, but the trace still remained. It was all that was needed for it to be rekindled. When the boy's spark ignited, so did the power hide in his blood. His potential was elevated to that of the blood of his progenitor. It was his boon, but it was also his curse. It granted him power, but the more he used the power, the more he changed. He would become more than human and in the end a human no more.

All dragons in the multiverse stem from one of the six elder dragons that survive the Elder Dragon War. Four of them were dead…. Actually, all six of them were dead, then the Ravager resurrected himself, and the Ineffable was saved by a time-traveling planeswalker.

And now, it seemed the Dire was also on the verge of returning.

What is dead may never die but rises again harder and stronger.

Black. Power at all cost. Self-interest.

Red. Unimpeded freedom. Emotions.

Green. Wild and untamed. Nature at its core.

Black, Red, and Green. Three colors of mana combine for only one purpose. To Jund 'em out.

*ROAR*

The battle rages on. A barrier of whirlwind clashes with a stream of corrosive breath and lightning blast. Two large dragons with the size of a large castle try their best to just to fail at killing a little man. At least they have an upper hand.

Until they don't.

*Explosion*

Jon wasn't just Jon anymore. He is not only a wolf pup. He is not only an Atarka hunter. He is something more. Something much more powerful than he has ever imagined. Dragon blood flows in his vein, even when he doesn't know it. Even when his spark was ignited, the power still lay dormant. Only when he accesses the three color of mana at once that its power has fully awakened. But that power is not free, it never was. The more he taps into it, the more he loses a part of himself. What once was a boy of twelve, now become a rabid entity of death and destruction.

The Winds of Qal Sisma stops blowing in the midst of two attacks. One figure stands clear in the eye of the storm and doesn't even budge at the incoming tide of doom. He moves fast, twice the speed he once moved before. He turns into a black shadowy mist and rushes at the red dragon. The shadow expands into a large ugly dragon with a crest on its head. Its wings span over the valley blocking out the sky. The red dragon's lightning blast doesn't deter it nor slows it down. The Thunderbreak Regent blitzing speed is overshadowed by the new attacker as Jon, now in a shadow dragon form, slams into it. The claws of darkness rend its hide and flesh asunder.

For the first moment of the red dragon life, it feels fear. Then … it feels nothing for it succumbs to the fatal wound. Then and there Tarkir is short one regent dragon from Kolaghan's brood.

Jon smiles as he relishes his kill. The blood inside his vein is pumping hard. He wants more. He craves more. He demands more. So, he turns toward another regent dragon only to face with a flood of corrosive poison slams at his face. The shadow stands firm and unyielding but Jon could feel that his control is slipping. He cannot fully control the shadow to attack his foe, nor could he defend himself against the attack. He cannot move. He just tags along for a ride.

It is as if he is trapped inside his own body, even that body is of a dragon the size of Atarka herself.

This is bad. Fucking bad. Jon internally curses. Fucking useless.

To make the matter worse, Jon feels that the shadow dragon that envelope him start to dissipate. For whatever reason, Jon doesn't like it. Not because it could mean an impending death, that is a given and as one of the Atarka he laughs at its face. No. It because he hates how he has no control over this power. For what is power without control. Nothing worth mentioning, that is.

Everyone was surprised when Jon summoned a black mist to protect himself and turned it into a black dragon. They were even more surprised when it ripped Kolaghan's dragon to shred in seconds. And their heart dropped when they saw that the mist was dissipating under the barrage of poison breath of Silumgar's dragon.

And then it happens. All shaman could feel it. Their connection to the land is drastically weaken, as if something that has a much stronger pull take all the available mana for itself. They cannot feel the mountains and forests. They cannot tap the mana source of Tarkir. They are vulnerable.

The black dragon is relentless. Not only its venom breath is unending, its fangs and claws are also ready to kill Jon when the opportunity presents itself. Seeing that its red counterpart was killed so easily, it could not be careless.

At the moment Jon's shadow dragon disappears, everyone hearts sink. No one had ever survived from the dragon breath. No matter how powerful one was, nothing short of another dragon could contend with its raw power. Even the greatest of the clan's warrior would need an external source of power to ever hope to contend with a normal dragon. Even worse, Jon stamina must be close to exhaust by now. The mana he needs to maintain the shadow dragon, or whatever magic that Jon used, must be immense. It was hard enough for an experienced warrior to maintain a runemark and activate a battle rage at the same time. And those two spells only cover the user's arm.

Being choke to death because you can't breathe, while your lungs is melting away as well as the rest of your body. If that was not one of the worse ways to die, they don't know what is.

The situation is so bad, Jon doesn't have enough time to think. He could barely think when the magic takes its toll on his mind. The backlash almost knocks him out cold. So, Jon does what he had to with the things he cannot control. He concedes and let that power go. He doesn't like it, but it has to be done.

Time slows into a crawl as the poison cloud rushes closer and closer. A single touch is all it needs to kill him. No matter how strong his flesh was. No matter how much power he could channel to enhance his defense. It will never be enough. His flesh is too weak.

Jon, in all his glory, abandons all the reason and follows his instinct. He let the wolf spirit guide his hand. It is a gamble, but what's more to lose?

*ROAR*

And out of his mouth comes an emerald burst of flame. No. A burning torrents of fire that burn away everything. A Banefire. Created by a last-ditch effort from channeling all the mana he could access in one last attack. Jon doesn't know the spell, at least not consciously. Well. Lucky him his wolf spirit seems to know something.

And the gamble works. Two attacks cancel each other out, but not for long. Jon's attack can only maintain for an instant. The black dragon's attack, however, can keep it up long before his death. He needs to seize this opportunity. It's his last chance to do something.

It's do or die.

The dragon, which got its attack interrupted by an emerald flame, goes for a bite. Its jaws open wide. Its teeth are a length of a long sword. The bite is no less deadly than the breath. Even one touch by its saliva is enough to cripple Jon.

Jon crouches low, palms down toward the ground. He calls upon everything that he could detect. The magic starts to well up in him, his blood burns and three colors of mana resonates with each other. The dragon's jaws come, and he dashes forward. The bladed tooth misses his head by a hair length.

The good thing was Jon didn't get rip to shreds by the dragon's teeth. The bad thing is that Jon is now inside the dragon's mouth and its wall are contracting. All seems lost, but one needs to remember that Jon is an Atarka. They just rode a lava a few moments ago. This shitty situation would not be different. Keeping the momentum going, Jon plants his back fist and throws a punch. One punch is all it takes.

ONE PUNCH!

The dragon's head explodes from within. The world stands still as blood rains from the sky. At that moment everything seems worthless to Jon. He stands still with his head up high. He stares blankly at the horizon. His mind is blank. The toll is real, and it is unforgiving. The price he has to pay is heavy.

All the observer could see was that the dragon is dead with its head smashed into the oblivion. They saw Jon, a small as he is, somehow coming out on top. They start to cheer when they saw him collapsed. Then the cheer is even louder.

Laughing at the face of death indeed.

Meanwhile in Winterfell

It had been four years after Jon allegedly 'died'. The Starks had not really recovered from that incident. Coupled with a mysterious 'White Wolf' incident that happened two years after, everyone in Winterfell is restless, especially those who once or still worship the seven. It didn't take long for stories to turned into rumor, and for a rumor to turned into legends and myths. And it was sure that four years was long enough to turn the myths into gospel truth for some of the most devout followers of the old gods. All that means the life of Catelyn Stark is a living hell. She lost the respect of her bannermen. She lost the trust of her followers. And from the whispers that she heard, she might even lose her position as the Lady of Winterfell. She could see it in the minor lords' eyes. Oh, how they despite her and her faith. They call her weak behind her back. They call her proper ladylike way of the south a corruption. All it takes is just one outspoken lord to shout it out loud, and the others would surly follow. Then, her heads would be on a spike or whatever these barbarian uses.

'The North remembers. The Old Gods remembers.' They say.

Her lord husband distanced himself from her since the day that bastard was gone. He always went to the family crypt alone. Well, sometimes he brought their children but never once he went with her. She, his lady wife that had birthed him five children, had become a little more than a stranger in his keep. He didn't attend her in the bed anymore. He didn't even come to the bed often. Instead, he locked himself inside his solar for the entire night doing gods know what. If her lord husband was any other man, she is sure that he must have hidden a mistress somewhere in the keep. But her husband is lord Eddard Stark, a man who put too much emphasis on the honor that any should have been. He, of all people, would not stoop so low to use the service of whores. But then again, Jon Snow was proof of his infidelity.

Or is it? Ned never tells anyone about the boy's mother. No matter. He is already dead.

Catelyn once again approaches the crypt that her husband locks himself in. This time he takes three of their children with him: Robb, Sansa, and Arya. She doesn't know what got into him today or why does he take their oldest down there. All she could notice was that during breaking their fast, Ned and Robb didn't look happy. They clearly had something on their mind. Even her precious Sansa seemed tense. Then it dawns on her.

Today is the day the bastard die and Ned takes their children down to pay respect. TO A BASTARD!

That's the last straw that broke the horseback. Catelyn will tolerate this dishonor no longer. Her lord husband will stop this stupid action. Gods, she once thought Ned is different. She once thought that he, or all the Northerners, will understand the evilness of a bastard. Those tree worshipping fools seems not to care about them, but they are barbarians anyway. Her lord husband was fostered in Vale, he should have known better.

Catelyn goes down the crypt, ready to yell at her husband in front of their children if need be. She found four of them inside, paying respect in front of a lit candle. Her anger boils as she sees tears on her beautiful Sansa eyes. What has he done to her? Even from beyond the grave the bastard corrupts her family. She is about to yell when a strong wind blows from inside the crypt right against her face. The stone walls suddenly become hot. She struggles to stand, and it interrupts her family solemn vigil. They all look at her like something was wrong. It was like she is an outsider who intrudes on something very important.

Then she looks at the bastard statue. And the bastard's statue….The bastard's statue starts to leak a red sap from its eyes and mouth. The red liquid flows like a fountain … like an accursed weirwood tree. At that moment, Catelyn knows she is no longer welcome down here.

Catelyn screams in terror before her vision fades.

Jon finds himself awoken inside a very familiar place which he doesn't expect himself to be in. The air is warm as he was positioned near the hearth. This is not his own tent. It is not even Surrak's tent. It's Sakta's.

His entire body feels like it is tearing themselves apart. His shoulder muscle is possibly torn. He cannot feel his legs very well. His blood is likely drained. His mouth is dry. It is a terrible situation to be in. Even with superhuman regeneration granted to him by the wolf spirit, it doesn't lessen the pain. In fact, it is the only thing that keeps him alive at the moment. Any other man would already be dead trying to accomplish the same.

Then the memory hit him again. During the sudden spike in power, when his mind becomes that of a dragon, he felt invincible. He didn't know what had taken over him to channel black mana into that of a dragon and supplemented it with red and green. All he knows that when he did, he felt like he could do anything. And when he lost control, he was insensate like he had never before.

"Oh, you are awake. Took you long enough." Sakta's voice interrupts his train of thought. "Everyone else is celebrating. Your mother takes Surrak into his tent, again."

"Oh. That … good?" He replies. Sakta's words are very specific and Jon has not the slightest idea why she did it. He also has no idea what she wears fewer clothes than usual either. It counteracts the intend of lighting a hearth inside the tent. "What are two of them doing anyway?"

"You don't know?" Jon shakes his head. "Snow! How naïve are you!" Sakta laughs. That was not a question.

"Well. I can tell you that, but …" She lingers. "How about I show you instead."

Jon's eyes widen as he has no idea what Sakta is talking about. He shivers with anticipation. He had asked the same question from time to time, but they always told him he would know when he is older. Finally, he would likely know what the adult was talking about. It amazes him that Sakta knows about this thing, for she is only a few years older than he is. It makes him admire this older sister even more.

So, he nods.

"Well. Snow. Get naked." Sakta commands with a smirk. Her eyes are that of a predator.

What.

Jon remains unmoved. He doesn't understand. "Come again? What …"

"I SAID GET NAKED!" The voice is unrelenting. Jon is sure that the entire camp hears it. Jon wants to resist but she kicks him in the chest. She then jumps him so hard it knocks the wind out of his lungs.

Then one thing leads to another.

On the next morning, Jon cannot move. Everything hurts especially around his hips. He is even more drained than before. It is as if all the moisture got sucked out of him.

As soon as he got better, Jon runs as fast as he can to escape Sakta. It seems he was wrong. He once thought Sakta is different from other adults of the clan. He thought that he understands her. But it seems that she is as crazy as the others.

Why else she wants him to remove his protective clothing for? Clearly, it is one of her insidious torture he received from time to time. Bah, she doesn't even attempt to hide it. The weird wrestling that they do seems to hurt her as much as it hurt him. But, somehow, Jon doesn't understand why she feels to delight at it.

Hide and Seek. Lucky for him he is faster and knows the land well. He is the best hunter the clan ever had. It will not be hard to hide from a shaman like.

Jon is correct on that. Because the one that finds him is not Sakta but the Dragonlord Atarka herself. When she landed, the entire camp quakes.

"Well done young Snow. You are ready to meet Ugin. Come. He awaits you inside the dragon storm." Said Atarka in draconic. "I will let you climb on my back. Quickly. We must make haste."

Jon, knowing that he is better not to argue with the dragonlord, follows her command to the letter. He doesn't even have a chance to tell anyone from the clan. But they will understand him. The dragonlord's will cannot be denied after all.

The flight is short, in Jon's opinion. Considering Atarka herself is flying him there, he is not surprised. They cut through the cloud like it was nothing. There are no interruptions from other dragons. Nothing dares to be in their way. Jon is ecstatic as this is the first time he is flying voluntarily. It is magnificent. The feeling of razor winds against his face, the bone-chilling breeze against his hair, the sensational view below that he knows he will likely die if he falls down.

As the vortex draws near, Jon's blood boils hotter and hotter. Something inside is attracting him. The call is strong. Almost too strong. This Ugin must be powerful to reside in the storm of pure draconic energy.

Little did Jon knows that Ugin isn't inside that storm. All pieces in Atarka's plan is falling into place.

And the others are now too late to stop her. The new age of Tarkir is about to dawn. Age of dragonlords is about to be over. All hail Atarka.

Custom Card of the Chapter

Card Name: Savage Confrontation / Epic Punch

Card Text: Fuse (You may cast one or both halves of the card from your hand.)

Rarity: Uncommon

Savage Confrontation

Manacost: 1G

Types: Sorcery

Card Text: Target creature you control gets +2/+2 until end of turn and fights target creature you don't control.

Epic Punch

Manacost: 1G

Types: Sorcery

Card Text: Target creature you control deals damage equal to its power to target creature you don't control and gets +1/2 until end of turn.