His bleary eyes blinked rapidly to the blinding light as he took in his very first breaths. Looking around he saw the mottled purple shells of what are supposed to be his siblings: Most had blotches of other colors intermixed into their shells, others with mysterious growths or bulbs growing out the sides. His talons had touched the cold, stone floor of the large ornate stone hatchery before him, lava flowing in from ports near the side and into a pool below.
He flexed a talon out towards the lava beneath him, and felt something surge forth, he could feel the flow of the earth itself, the heat, the power within his claws, and felt it move.
Jolting from the feeling, the newborn whelp had taken off and run out of the hatchery. It was not just that power that he had felt, but that could wait. The whelp did not want to hesitate in imagining what further pain this Nefarian could cause from what he had already just felt, he could still feel his scales crawl from when he was trapped in that egg. The wings on his back flapped as if wishing to take flight and speed off further, but being unable to with their current strength.
Further and further through the blackened halls, in the scorching hot rooms teeming with lava did the whelp run. Despite just being born and not understanding it, he felt locked to a familiar presence as if he could feel the essence further up this underground lair. It was the same presence that had burst in and cleared his mind, and he felt guided towards it.
The feeling grew until finally the whelp had approached a wide stone clearing, and within it the presence. A large, regal dragon with brilliant ruby scales was clutching his massive skull with his claws. Surrounding him a massive group of what looks to be adventurers clad in armor and equipment watching on.
"FLAME! DEATH! DESTRUCTION! Cower, mortals before the wrath of Lord...NO - I MUST fight this! Alexstrasza help me, I MUST fight it!" The dragon writhed in pain as the whelp felt the same cloud that Nefarian had casted over him over the large creature.
" I beg you, mortals - FLEE! Flee before I lose all sense of control! The black fire rages within my heart! I MUST- release it!" The group of adventurers had all readied their weapons, and began to combat against the now beginning assault of the red dragon.
Through the fury of slashing swords and slung magic, the whelp had rushed towards the dragon's side. His mind was steeped in the same magic from Nefarian that he felt, but he was cleared of it, perhaps the dragon could be helped! Yet, as he raced closer and closer towards the dragon's side he felt a sharp pain as something pierced into one of his claws.
Standing above the whelp was one of the armor-clad warriors, the tusks in his mouth curling up into a scowl as he stared down onto the prey below him. "HEY!" he signaled to the other adventurers occupied with the dragon, "Be wary, some of the little beasties from the black dragon might still be around!"
The whelp struggled to move, claw pinned down by the warrior's sword as his boot raised up, ready to stomp his head in. He closed his eyes, but the feeling never came. Opening his eyes, he saw himself across the room from where he was, an energy surrounding him that he didn't quite understand.
Other adventurers motioned at him, and shot arrows and spells yet after another burning sensation, the pain never came as the spells disappeared and the arrows had frozen in midair as if time itself had stopped them.
The whelp, sprinted out of the room, pain from his stabbed talon as blood gushed out with every step. Never looking back, never questioning the power that peeked out for that moment, and fearing the fate of the red dragon left to those warriors. As the shouting from the combat grew fainter and fainter, chest heaving, the whelp took a stop and peered into the room he had stumbled into. This entire lair felt like the same winding paths through black stone bridges and lakes of lava, yet this room gave the whelp pause.
Limp, lifeless bodies littered the halls of where he had entered, all draconic whelps just like himself. Small draconic beings with deep purple scales with hues of blues, yellows, and reds flowing from the tips of their wings and claws. Despite the injuries on all of them, the whelp could tell there was something else off about all of them: Their scales looked as if something was crawling just beneath, attempting to burst out, their horns curving in many different directions with some jabbing into their skulls, and others their jaws, faces, bodies deformed and caved in by the same power the whelp felt surge from within him.
Looking down at his injured talon, scales shimmering with the same palette of colors and blood like the bodies before him the whelp trembled at the thought of what he could be. "That's what those adventurers saw didn't they? A monster?" he pondered.
The whelp wishing to ignore these prevailing ideas kept running farther up through the tunnels, past the bodies and bodies littering the cold stone floor of each room he ran through. Eventually he felt his wings beat faster and faster until his body was lifted up, preferably to leave these depths even quicker. Faster and faster he raced until he finally reached what appeared to be the outside world, yet it too was horrific.
A sky blackened by piles upon piles of smoke across the sky, deep obsidian lining the mountaintop where the whelp was with lava streaming down the sides. The mountaintop rumbled as if ready to erupt at any moment, and the air smelled with a disgusting sulfur.
The whelp kept flying, denying all around him: The heat, the pain in his claw, the exhaustion building within him, but he just kept flying, until he could see blue finally forming over the horizon.
The last thing the iridescent whelp got to see was a blur of green trees and a blue sky above, when his eyes closed and he began to fall.