In her room, she was alone, and the atmosphere was dead silent when Aethra wrote the words she had learned all those years ago when she first met the cloaked dragon. She stared at the strange lines on the ground for a long while, not believing that she was actually going to do this. She had to end it. She had to confront the Lord of Flies, and end its reign once and for all.

Aethra lifted her arms, and recited the words, slowly, carefully, making sure not to mess up any pronunciation. Once it was done, she set her arms down, and opened her eyes, expecting the worst. Strangely, nothing happened. When she turned around . . . a sudden heat came over her, along with utter fear, and the worst kind of dread.

" . . . Doth thou remember thy deal which hast brought thee and thy residents to this world? Doth thou remember the day when the earth became aflame? . . . Doth thou recall the day when you became . . . their leader?"

" . . . You."

"I hast begun to think thou doth not remembereth I. Yet, thou summon me back to this world."

"You have been to this world before, haven't you, Lord of Flies?"
"Thou hast learneth my identity, yet thou hast refuseth to believeth I hast no power over thou."

"You always have . . . and I want my conscious back."

"Thou refuseth to think I hast dominion over thou, and over all. Now thou thinketh this world is, and always hast been, my land."

"Your new Underworld, that is."

"Thou hast always demandeth to knoweth who one is, and why they exist. Thou constantly struggle to find an escape from thy life, a better one than what thou hath liveth with for many years."

Aethra hesitated, then lowered her head. " . . . Yes, I did believe that . . . I craved for that world. A better life, and now I have it, given to me by the ruler of the Underworld." She lifted her head back up. "But that does not mean you have power over me. My life is mine to guide. The actions we choose are the ones who will make us who we are in the future, and will shape us in that way for the rest of our lives. It is my life to live. It is my actions I choose. It is my soul to keep."

"On the contrary, Aethra . . . thou hast not owned thy soul ever since thee becameth the first queen of dragons."

" . . . What?"

"The scars shall never disappear. The cuts, the bruises, the blisters, the dry scales, the cracks in thy horns, they are all there to remind thee thy soul is not for thou to keep. Every night thou hast slept, every day thou walketh through, every morning thy wake up to, every night thy rested, I was there. Yes, I was present to giveth thee the scars. Thy body does not belong to thee. Thy actions doth not shield thy soul. That shield is gone . . . and now thy soul . . . belongs . . . to MMMMEEEEEEEEEEE!"

The Lord of Flies grabbed Aethra by the throat, blocking her windpipe. She gagged and thrashed at the creature, trying desperately to free herself from its grasp. She felt her life coming to an end, her vision blurring from lack of air. The Lord of Flies opened its mouth wider than a dragon could normally do, and roared in her face. Aethra watched as a glowing white essence flew out of her body, and was swallowed.

Her soul was gone, her life was gone. All that she had done, and all her happiness, taken . . . by the Lord of Flies . . . .

Plato sat with his son deep in the rainforest, trying to help him learn his Animus Magic, but failure kept coming from every attempt.

"You're not doing it right," Plato said.

"Then how am I supposed to do it, Dad?" Darius snarled.

"Don't you growl at me."

"You growl at me all the time."

"Because I'm trying to help you learn your magic, but you're not listening to what I'm telling you to do."

"I am, but you never listen to me."

"I always listen to you, but you don't."

"What is this? Some kind of argument me and Isadora had when we were dragonets?"

"If you snap at me like that one more time, I will smack you." Plato stared at his son, his scowl fading from his face, realizing what he had said. "Darius . . . I-I'm sorry. I would never hit you, you know that."

"It seems like you will after what you did in the past few weeks."

Plato let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm just trying to be supportive. I'm tired of dealing with all these problems I have."

"And I'm tired of you interfering with them. You're always gone, you never come back even when Mom tells us that you will be back the night you leave. She tells us that everyday, and it helps me feel better, but you never come home, and when you do, you're not my Dad."

Plato's eyes went wide, not believing what his son had just said. " . . . H-How dare you say that to me."

"Are you going to hurt me like you've hurt everyone else? The world is changing because of you. I was starting to become friends with a SilkWing, but when you threw them out, she went away too. What about Mom? Would you have exiled her too?"

"Darius!"

Plato's son backed away, a glare on his face. "You're not my Dad anymore."

Darius turned, and ran off as fast as he could.

"Darius! Wait!"

Plato ran after him, and soon the chase turned into flight. Plato called out his son's name, but Darius did not dare look back, only flapping his wings harder, all the while tears streaming down his face. The branches got thicker, and the leaves were in both of their faces. Plato shielded himself with his arms, breaking through the greenery. When he finally smashed through the trees, he came to a small open space, where the sun was blocked by hundreds of branches above. Plato looked around, trying to find his son. It was no use . . . he was gone.

"DDDAAAAAARRRRRIIIIIIUUUUUUUSSSSSS!"

Plato covered his face, tears falling into his hands as he descended to the ground. He cried into his palms, blaming himself for what he had done. He looked at his claws, wondering what kind of dragon he was. Nostradamus was dead, Aethra was announced that she had the same fate as him, and now it felt as if Plato was running the world. They were all afraid of him. Everyone looked at him not with glares, but of fear, scared they would be killed on sight just by him saying words. Not only did he exile the LeafWings and SilkWings, but also his happiness . . . along with his life.

" . . . Doth thou thinkest thou art great? Doth thou thinkest thou art powerful? The world is afraid of thee . . . as it should be, and should hast been ever since thy found out thee existed. Along with thy power."

All of Plato's emotions were gone, replaced by dread and helplessness. He slowly turned around . . . to meet the eyes of the Lord of Flies.

" . . . You."

"Thou hast forsaketh me."

"Nostradamus was right."

"Thou hast left him to die."

"Did you kill Aethra too?"

"She hast the same fate as he, and both rest in my fires of the Underworld."

"You have caused all of these terrible things to happen, haven't you?"

"No . . . it was all thee, Plato. Thou turneth your back on the world, forsaketh thy friends, abandoned thy happiness . . . and hast forsaketh thy own family."

"No . . . I refuse to believe any of your lies."

"I hast never told thee the thing I wanted from thee when we hast made the deal many years ago."

"I thought it was a gift. I thought it was my path to eternal happiness. But it never was a gift, it was a curse . . . and I passed it down to every tribe in Pyrrhia."

"Because thou desired to maketh the world better. To maketh everyone's lives better. Now hatred and torment hast brought itself to me. Sin, death, anger - it feeds my flames. I rage with freedom, spreading chaos through the magic. As for the exchange I hast asked for . . . thou hast already giveth most of it to me."

"What?"

"Every time thee useth thy Animus Magic, no matter if thou useth it for good, or for wickedness . . . a single piece of thy soul splits apart . . . and comes to me. Hast thou felt thou were losing something, every time thou useth thy magic? Thou thinketh thou hast forsaketh me? I was always there, making sure the magic I hast passed down to thee, passes down to the next generation until the day when the moons fall. My own Animus Magic lives inside of me still, but . . . from all the hatred, the sins, the souls that glow brightly in all dragons, break into pieces . . . and make mine stronger."

Plato had never felt so hollow, so devastated, and so lonely in his entire life. He stared at the cloaked dragon standing before him, then at himself, at the monster he had created from his desires, and his hatred. It was never a gateway to eternal happiness . . . it was an entrance to the Underworld. All his accomplishments, all his triumphs, all that he had done for the world was only continuing the chaos the Lord of Flies always intended to spread. The dragons he gave Animus Magic to, the Animus Touched objects . . . even his wife and children, were they only his escape, so he could run away from the worst kinds of troubles he caused because of his own actions? . . . Was his own family a tool for his happiness?

He looked at the Lord of Flies, saying: " . . . You gave me this power, you gave me this gift, and I have reached its full potential . . . and I will kill you with it."

"Ah, yes, thy full potential. There is a different kind of ultimate power thou canst wield, yet the one thou hast reached is very important to me. Everyone that hast turneth against me, hast maketh me weak . . . which is why I am here. Thee were the first dragon to hast my most greatest power. Now . . . you will become . . . my new scales."

" . . . What?"

"Thy body is no longer thy to possess. The entirety of thy soul is almost completely gone. . . . Thou shalt become one with I."

The Lord of Flies slowly lifted its arms, raising its head to the sky, and Plato could practically feel its own magic flowing through the air itself. He would be taken, he would become a vessel for the Lord of Flies.

But then, Plato raised his hand, and spoke: "I enchant you to burn!"

Almost instantly, the Lord of Flies caught fire. It roared in pain, lashing its head side to side violently. The hood burned off, and through the flames, Plato could see its true, horrifying, terrible, hideous face, screaming at him.

The hybrid felt sick, then said: "I enchant you, the Lord of Flies, to fall back into the fires of the Underworld, never to be seen again!"

The cloaked dragon roared at the top of its lungs, causing a strong gust of wind to blow, almost knocking every tree over. Plato shielded his face from the heat, and with one final roar, everything went silent. The hybrid slowly lowered his arms . . . and the Lord of Flies was gone. In its place was charred grass, forming the image of a dragon, but with a goat shaped head.

Plato fell to his knees, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was all over. The Lord of Flies . . . was no more . . . .

That night, Plato and his family sat at the table, feasting on bowls of soup. Plato had asked one of the guards of the Rainforest Kingdom to walk around his home, just to make sure no one would try to break in. They all were there together . . . all except for Darius. The room was silent. Plato ate his food happily, but his wife only sat staring at it.

" . . . Dad?" Isadora asked. "Will Darius ever come back home?"

"Yes, sweetheart," Plato reassured her, "he'll come back. Tomorrow, me and Mom will go find him."

Isadora stared at her father, then back at her food.

" . . . Plato?" Cleotha asked.

"Yes?" Her husband said.

" . . . You know I love you, right?"

"As much as I love you."

" . . . Why did you exile the LeafWings and SilkWings?"

" . . . They were in the way of all the other kingdoms."

"But . . . do you love me?"

"Yes. Cleotha, where is this coming from?"

" . . . I am a SilkWing, Plato. Our children are both a mix of SilkWing."

"Yes. Why are you asking me this?" His wife did not answer, then Plato understood what she was trying to say. "You know I would never force you off this continent."

"Then why did you force the SilkWings and LeafWings to leave, Plato?"

"You know why."

Cleotha hesitated, then started to cry. " . . . When I first met you, I asked to be your friend. Now . . . we're not even a family anymore."

"No! Cleotha, don't say that."

"Dad?" Isadora asked. "Are you going to exile me and Mom?"

"No, no, sweetheart, I would never exile you."

"Then why do you make us stay?" Cleotha demanded, sorrow and anger in her voice.

"Why is everyone in the world suddenly against me?" Plato asked aloud, and then there was a knock on the door. "Go away." He turned back to his wife. "Cleotha, I love you, more than everything I could enchant with my magic."

"Did you use your magic to enchant me to marry you? To enchant life to give you a son and daughter?"

"No."

"Then why do you hate us?"

"I don't hate you, you are my family." Another knock. Plato growled. "I'm just trying to protect you."

"Are you going to kill everyone we talk to? Are you going to kill someone who loves our daughter? Or will you enchant someone to love her?"

"No, she can have her own life."

"The life that you enchanted to have?"

"No!" A third knock, longer and louder. Plato pounded his fists on the table, stood up, and stomped towards the door. "I said, I want, to be, left-"

. . . What stopped Plato from screaming was the feeling of utter dread . . . and helplessness beyond any emotion, beyond anything he could have ever experienced in his entire life.

" . . . I am weak. . . . Thy body . . . must be my vessel."

Plato closed the door, horror crossing his face.

"Dad?" Isadora asked, concerned.

"Plato?" Cleotha asked, the same tone of voice, standing up. "What's wrong? Who was at the door?"

"Hide!" Plato demanded. "Hide, now."

The dragons scattered, moving the table, and removing the floorboards. They had an underground hiding place when the house was built, in case something like this happened. Cleotha and Isadora jumped in, but not Plato.

"What are you doing?" Cleotha asked, frantic. "Get in."

"Dad, stay with us," Isadora said, beginning to cry.

"I can't," Plato said, "I have to fight."

"Why?"

Before anyone could say anything else, or even gasp, the roof was suddenly thrown off, fire engulfed the entire hut. Everyone screamed, everyone panicked, trying to comprehend what was going on.

"PLATO!" Cleotha screamed.

"DAD!" Isadora cried.

Plato looked up at the fire, witnessing the destruction and horrors of the Underworld emerge before him. The wall broke down . . . and there stood the Lord of Flies. Its arms were held to the side, staring Plato down, making him feel dread beyond anything he could ever imagine. Screaming, suffering, and death plagued his mind. He had not noticed his wife and daughter screaming, begging for help, yet could not be saved, as they were burned alive into nothing but ashes. The Lord of Flies grabbed Plato by the throat, lifting him off the ground. It opened its mouth wider than a dragon should, taking the last of his soul . . . and putting on his scales, leaving fire and destruction behind . . . .

Turtle fell backwards, gasping, panting. He had witnessed the birth of Animus Magic, its potentials, its risks . . . and why someone loses a piece of their soul every time they use it. He looked up at the cloaked dragon standing before him . . . the Lord of Flies.

" . . . Doth thou seest why I must live? Why I am here? . . . Why the magic exists?"

Turtle was far from afraid. " . . . Y-You horrid creature! You should burn and die in the fires from whence you came from."

"That hast been tried before . . . and I return stronger than thou would ever think I could become. I hast all the power I need to make the world in my image. The fall of the moons is nearing, and thou, shalt be by my side, to watch as I remake the world."

"No, no, no!"

Turtle sprung up, lashing a claw as hard as he could, but was stopped right when the Lord of Flies lifted its claw.

"Thy true instinct shall take over, and thou shalt become what thee were always meant to become."

Turtle's head flung back. He screamed in pain, feeling fire come upon him, burning his body. His scales became dull; his eyes narrowed, turning a red color; his wings were lowered; teeth bared; claws sharper and longer than ever. He looked up at the Lord of Flies. He was no longer Turtle . . . he was something much more horrible entirely.

" . . . Now go. . . . Spread chaos and sin to all the ones around thee. . . . Be what thou were always meant to become . . . demon."