Chapter 22-Differed Fate

How? How can both of you be Narssia? Ryta questioned as she glanced between the both of them, shock overriding her.

They time-traveled, both Jormundur and herself, past-Narssia answered as her present-day form snarled with fury.

Time traveled? How can a dragon . . . ?

Ryta did not get to finish her question as both versions of Narssia roared in preparation for a fight. Things would be evenly matched between them, or so Narssia believed her past-self thought. She had more powers, some by the father of her sons who had just been her most recent kill. It might just be one power difference but time also made their fight uneven. The training of her youth would be of no advantage but . . .

Flaring her wings, her past-self took to the air as Narssia following her movements with a trained eye. She was predictable to herself, this was almost cruel to fight between them. A sudden blast of mental force broke her thoughts and she took a step back, clutching the shale under her left taloned hind leg. It seemed Arxa wanted to get involved in this too.

A burst of blackened fire rained down and Narssia countered the flaming sparks that directed themselves near her with a stream of ice, stunning her past-self slightly. Taking to the air as well, she shot off a ripple of light, its shadowed appearance reminding her of Finca's Shadowfire. Narssia-of-the-past avoided the strike and climbed higher, prompting her present-time version to follow.

You think that helps? Narssia roared, expecting no answer. You should know better. Higher attitudes only increase the strain on us for an attack.

Her past self then turned and came straight back down, heading for her. Fire rushed downward but was funneled into a spin and Narssia blinked in surprise. So she had underestimated herself then, not a problem. A simple stream of ice met the flames and the two moves battled it out for who would win, thus creating a massive amount of steam which descended over the field.

You're good, her past-self snorted as she stopped the attack and banked to the right to avoid the ice stream, then folding her wings by her side and rushed downward to collide with herself.

Narssia flipped backwards, using her tail to batter away the charge and then rammed her horns into the chest of herself. A similar pain erupted from her chest, causing her to become distracted and lose focus enough to have a gust of fire thrown at her, searing her scales.

Stop reflecting the pain!

I am not. We are the same so we feel the same pain, she snapped back, feeling the rage of the darkness rise up in her and begin to travel up her throat.

She rushed at herself, catching the younger dragon and locking a taloned hand over her throat, and then began to spin downward. The initial impact knocked the wind out of her past-self but did nothing to her and she raised her head, opening her maw. A faint green light shone from the back of her throat and her time differed self pressed tightly into the grass below her back.

The light grew brighter, revealing itself to be the similar shade of green as the Orichalcos. This was a power gifted to her from the Orichalcum for her complete obedience to the shadows of her soul. One attack would end it. Rid the world of her past-self. All she had to do was let the power loose, free her mind from the shackles of corruption . . .

NARSSIA!

A deafening roar caught her off guard and Narssia broke free from her past-self. She snarled softly and spun around, trying to locate who it might have been that disrupted her intent to kill. Jormundur and his younger self landed near her past form as it lay heaving on the ground, his tail raised in case a fight was needed. What had she been thinking? She could have died if the attack had worked. Slowly she clamped her jaw shut and circled around to land away from the three dragons, watching her younger form stagger to its feet. How could she have been drawn to such a destructive path? All she wanted to do was be free from the sorrow of Mirage's death. The Orichalcum preyed upon her weakness, taking her over without a true fight. It was not the darkness that terrified her but the idea of having to face Arxa again made her tremble in fear. The shadows of corruption, the strength of the Orichalcum, had polluted her very mind from the time of her partnership with her rider.

Only one answer would give her the peace she needed, she slowly realized with conviction. An answer Jormundur might not like and result in her past-self becoming afraid to do it. Yet with the evil around her, the idea was brilliant and clever to come from her own mind. Narssia glanced at her son as he watched her with uncertain eyes. The time had come, there would be no holding back. Any hesitation would, ultimately, lead to her death.

You what? Jormundur roared, baring his teeth in full view as his tail smacked the ground in rage. Why this, mother? Did it even occur to you what the consequences were?

I understand the risk, Narssia growled softly, but I have no choice, Jormundur. I am . . . terrified of returning to our time and having Arxa claim rule over me once more. Can I not be allowed to make my own choices? Am I not an individual dragon?

The grey dragon snorted, turning away his head. They were left alone in a small alcove inside the cave where the others would not bother them, so long as they stayed relatively quiet. Of all the things she could do while they were in the past . . . What gave her this nerve to test him? He was not one to be tried to the point of anger, that he thought she knew well enough.

Mother, he growled with restraint over his own voice, tell me why this seems so important to you? I feel like this will forever divide us if you choose this path and I . . . I do not want that to happen.

Jormundur returned his gaze to her, his eyes filled with a level of emotion that only she could figure out. I know, she whispered softly, her own eyes filling with tears. I know this pains you, my child, yet I see no other way. Amnesia must be my opinion before we return. I know that without it, I will fight my hardest and lose to the darkness of the Orichalcum. If that occurs then everything you and Ryta have tried will be for nothing. I just want to help . . . as much as I can.

You said the Orichalcum. Is it not the Orichalcos? He pondered with a growl of worriment over her choice to erase everything that she was just to aid him in ridding Arxa from where the darkness had settled in her very being following the death of her rider.

The Atlanteans referred to it as the Orichalcum, my son. I say it as a way of remembering my rider . . . Her voice trailed off, lost in the whirlwind of her thoughts. Memories rose of the brief time she shared with her partner-of-mind, a time when she was young and free of the shadows that had slowly sneaked up on her and corrupted her. It seemed so long ago now, like a distant shadow of a dream.

Remembering our rider I see, the time-differed version of herself commented as she head snaked around one of the sides of the alcove, yellow eyes glinting with curiosity.

Stay out of this-

Mother, Jormundur snarled softly, is that really the way to behave? You are her, she is you, and together you are one in the same. There is no need for you to ask either of us to give you amnesia-

Give her what? Her past self glared at her, eyes fueled with rage. Why was I not told of this? You dare to keep from me what I need to know!

That was not my intention, Narssia admitted. I only wished to speak with my son about it first, if you mind.

I have a right to information concerning myself, be it present or future . . .

No you do not, Narssia snarled, focusing her gaze solely on herself, her eyes burning bright with bloodlust.

The tension between the two had not faded since their battle in the meadow. Both knew that and had remained ready to restart their fight at a moment's notice. Jormundur only hoped that peace could be kept long enough to deal with the issue that now faced them.

I have no problems opening old wounds if I must, the younger version of herself hissed as Narssia narrowed her eyes in anger.

If you so dare . . .

Then what?

A fierce roar leaped from her throat as Narssia turned and sprang onto the younger dragoness. Her anger had been tested and now the full force of it would be waged to achieve her goal. There would be no backing down, not now. Claws and fangs battered against the other's iron-like scales and did little damage as the two rolled along the floor while trying to gain ground over their opposite.

For Narssia, this proved difficult. She had not fought face-to-face in some time, except while under Arxa's control. However, her pride urged her on and helped to give her time to think and figure out a way to end it before things turned worse. Using her tail, she tripped her past self and then staggered to her feet, breathing heavily out of lack of energy.

The air which Makiar had forced her to breath still affected and afflicted her. It probably would for a while longer, but that was not her main concern right now. Towering over herself, her eyes blazed with unrestrained rage. Jormundur would not be allowed to stop her this time. This would be the end for the troubles of her past! Raxmon would be allowed to live.

You really want to kill me that badly? Her younger self whispered softly in her thoughts. I pity you. The Orichalcum has-

SNAP!

Narssia backed away, struggling for breath as the less developed form of her time-differed self impaled its tail into her chest. How she could have done that was beyond comprehension right now, with the searing pain washing over her entire body. Her son tried to rush forward but was halted by some word from the dragoness still on the ground.

From the pain, the black dragoness could tell that her smaller framed variation had struck close to her heart but not into it. Little else mattered behind that certain knowledge. Blood rushed from her chest as she staggered and the blood-splattered tail drew back, resting on the dirt floor.

Black spots danced before her eyes as Narssia fought to stay conscious but the effort was futile. With one last look at her grey son frantically trying to come to her aid, she surrendered to the darkness of unconsciousness . . . .