The Tower was as great as it was vast, the remains of the Ancients of long ago wiped from the earth, stood tall, defiant in the face of nature clinging to its steel trunk. Its massive walls reached into the sky as if to grasp the stars themselves, despite its poor condition it still radiated such might that Kushala could only stare in awe of the place he once called his prison. Deonora of course displayed a face of amazement in stark contrast to the fear burning in his chest.

She descended to the jungle floor, taking in her surroundings, the flora, the fauna, the ruins, and the metal colossus at the top of the mountain range. Kushala followed after her, cautious in his steps for he knew that monsters of his stature and higher made this place their domain. He had no interest in picking fights with his more poisonous kin, lesser or not.

Wordless the royal dragon crept closer and closer to the rolling hills at The Tower's base. Her interest falling on the inhabitants of the monolith's shadow. The kelbi, a small bluish deer with pronged antlers, became alerted to their presence and fled quickly, recognizing predators on smell alone. The aptonoth ignored them, but moved closer to their calf's as they grazed. While the glowing patches of thunder bugs further away flittered in the air like living lanterns.

"Incredible," she said, a look of nostalgia striking her features, "monsters… real monsters. And not just beast but insects, and little wyverns too."

Kushala internally panicked for a moment but calmed himself when he saw what she was referring to. A remobra, comparatively small wyverns to his lesser kin in a serpent's shape. One could easily mistake them for simple snakes if not for their large wings and little feet near the lower end of their tail. Humans called them Winged Snakes for this reason among others. Though they were far older a species than one would initially think, as they had the habit of congregating around Elders for easy meals.

As they were now…

"Are they friendly?", The queen beamed, "Do they speak, can they understand us?!"

Kushala sighed and sent a gentle gust to send them away, "No, they are but simple monsters, intelligent as a human child at best. They are also exceptionally poisonous, so you'd best stay away from them."

"A shame," she grinned, placing her claws on her hips, "although they could make good test subjects… for reasonable experiments of course. We still know so little of you, uncanna, perhaps these little wyverns would make good progress."

"If you think I worry for their wellbeing then forget the notion," Kushala grumbled, "they are but scavengers. Nothing but sky vermin, no better than bird wyverns… Tis an insult for you to even suggest I would care for them."

"Such disdain," Deonora's grin brightened, "perhaps I could soften that old armor of yours in time. Might have to crack open that shell of yours to get to your soft side."

He rolled his eye in response, before turning back to see that the rift had closed, 'What little time there is…'

They would be stuck there for at least a day's time. He supposed Deonora wouldn't mind, but he'd rather leave this place. The Tower was not a place he wished to remain for long. The superstructure radiated such horror, a horror only he could know. Kushala could hardly compose himself while his suitor persisted in her attempts at seduction. He just wished Pluck was here, perhaps as an obstacle for her, but more so as a learning experience for the young Elder as well.

This was a place of human sin…

He needed to know what horror mankind was capable of...

To know as he does…

To fear as he does…

To understand the reach of mankind's ambition…

"What do they call it?"

Night had fallen and the Dragon Queen of Dragonia had settled with playing a game she called twenty questions. Though she had long since exceeded that merciful number. She had decided a make camp beneath the rift's location, while dragging him on a tour around The Tower. As such she would satisfy her curiosities by bothering him on every new thing she encountered. Though her questions so far have been more or less of his nature and his thoughts, she had moved her interest to the looming pillar up above.

"Humans know it simply as The Tower," Kushala ran his claw along the steel wall, "it is a holy place to the tribals. A remnant, a relic… maybe even a reminder to the Hunters Guild."

Deonora perked up at his choice of speech, "How old is it? Surely something so grand could not be so… so ancient."

"Tis older than I."

They continued their trek in silence, Deonora finding his choice in speech of great interest, and thus contemplating on his exact meaning. While the old Elder reminisced on the past, running his claw against the wall in painful nostalgia. His return home was not something he had planned for. Though the pain, the irking of his horns, and the sensation of the steel chipping against his claw was surreal.

Ripped from his thoughts, he noticed that his claw no longer touched the wall, but the vacant space that it currently grasped mindlessly at. They had found the entrance to The Tower, a dark abyss which would leer over him even in his true form. Deonora's flames were all that light the way into the blackness. The queen had already passed him as she analyzed the tunnel in utter fascination.

In truth this was no entrance, just a gaping hole in The Tower's side. To think even the decay of the great skyscraper would be even greater than himself, was humbling. He followed after her, shortly after. Following the distant flames that slung to her form, he entered the bottom atrium of the hollowed center.

He looked skyward only saw darkness, his sight at night was impressive, far greater than most nocturnal animals, but only the gaping holes in The Tower's walls allowed any moonlight to pierce the blackness. Deonora however found the sheer size beyond belief, staring gaped maw at the sheer vastness of the structure.

"This place was built with human hands," she whispered, though the quiet made her voice the sound of thunder, "how could we dragons ever compare to such majesty."

Kushala sneered at the suggestion of they being lesser than man, but he couldn't stop himself from agreeing with her. He had been conquered by humanity more times than he would like, and the Dragonian's were no different. It was but a man that led to the downfall of her tyrant, and it was mankind's own ambition that brought them low here.

Yet he was superior, he told himself, he was superior to the short-lived frail humans that had conquered him time and time again. He had lived far beyond the centuries the Wyverians were capable of and far beyond the meager age of the oldest man, and his strength was unparalleled in man's form. And yet still, he knew better. If man wanted to, they could wipe his kin from the earth. Anything man put its collective mind to, could and would be done. His existence was proof of that.

"Do you know this place, Kushala?"

Kushala knew darkness before he knew light, for in his mechanical womb there was only the black sludge of nutrients that coated his vision. The sludge would form his shell, his armor to be, his skin. From the lifeless puddy was he formed in the chamber. Sentient and aware he knew the world as a black sea, before the ocean blue, senseless. This was his supposed fate, to know only the cold mechanical embrace, to never know the open world his kin ruled.

He knew no constant of time here, no light, no sun, no day, and no night. Only the darkness of his creation shared any modicum of knowledge of the world. That was until he was released, to fall limp as the black sea was taken away only for a blank white light to replace it. Though his surroundings were hardly so stark, it was the light of man's electric flame that blinded him so.

He stood for the first time, his legs weak, and his body unused to the environment. He could see not but the blank white. He felt the touch of man for the first time as they shuffled him along. Pushing and pulling his overgrown form from all he knew to the unseen lift before him. They lifted his body into the air, the sensation of touch already made him cry for he could not understand, but the feeling of nothing beneath his feet made him panic.

He thrashed back and forth, until an object was forced into his mouth. He swallowed for the first time, and then he calmed. His movements became sluggish, and he fell into a deep slumber. He woke to someplace new, just as dark as the womb, but with the subtle noise of the world. The steps of man, the voice of man, and even the light of man in the far distance welcomed the newborn to the world. His bright blue eyes focused on his new home. A dark cage held him, cradled him as the womb had done before, but it was different.

He was cold and heavy, rather than warm and weightless. He could see and hear, but the world itself was still shrouded in darkness. Only the eyes of his fellow kin, far older and calmer than he, regarded his introduction to the world with any notice. The human overseeing them cared not, but Kushala knew no better.

He answered her, "I was born here," but he could hardly say birth was the right word. He swallowed his shame and uttered, "perhaps shaped is a better term."

-0-

Wilmarina followed the monster hunter from the Elder Hall to the study, finding the prospect of bothering the knights that patrolled the halls intimidating. More so due to many of them carrying lances the length of two men with the girth of tree trunks than their stern demeanor. They did not have the most welcoming look in their eyes either though; she knew them right to not trust her and her fellow heroes. Dawn and his companions weren't taken kindly to in Lescatie. Foreigners in a foreign land, that's what she was now, and she had to adapt to her surroundings.

Though for all the glares she received just as many if not more were kind greetings from Guild staff and researchers that littered the library, they now found themselves in. The monsters, ever present as they were, stayed by the hunter's side. The bunyip, the fluffy lamia, currently clung to his shoulder as he wrote in his native language. While the minotaur and hellhound stood afar, taking in the peace of the place. It was only her fellow hero that broke the silence to question the hunter.

Mimil pointed to the map of the world, "So this is the Old World? Does it not have a name or is it just that simple?"

"The 'Old World' name came to be after the discovery of the New World… The Wyverian scholars thought the name was fitting and so this continent was dubbed Old World.", Dawn said, more focused on his quill-manship than the question asked.

"So, it's just Old World… I don't like that," Mimil deadpanned, "What about this text then? I have a translation here, but it doesn't really help with the way your symbols pair together."

Softly sighing, the hunter set his quill to the side and moved over to Mimil's side of the table. The young hero was so small compared to him that he appeared to overshadow her. He pointed to the upper center of the continent and began listing them off.

"You are in Dundorma currently," he began, "this is the capital of the Hunter's Guild. To the west you have Kokoto and further to the coast you have Minegarde. In the southwest you have the desert city of Loc Lac and Val Habar by the sea. Across the sea, south of here, you have the mining town of Harth and Moga, and if you stretch it you have the island of Cheeko Sands around here."

"Is that large island the New World?", Mimil pointed to the southern landmass.

"No, that is Aya," she then pointed to the landmass above, and he continued, "that is Akra," she then pointed to the island to the east, "and that is Siki Country."

"Alright then, where's the New World?", She asked.

"It's not on this map," he patted her back, "this was made right after we discovered it."

Growing impatient she glared up at him, "Is there a full world map then?"

"You'd have to ask the Wyverian's.", He smirked.

Huffing in disappointment she stood up from the bench and began marching around the library to pester anyone with pointed or floppy ears. Leaving Dawn to go back to writing his report, and the rest of their little party in silence. Wilmarina herself simply watched the hunter go back to etching those strange runes into the paper. They were jagged in appearance, but the way he drew them was anything but. They almost appeared to be meshed together on some instances, but on further investigation she found that they were simply chained together by the ink that was used. Much like the way her people would write.

Quietly, Wilmarina finally opened the book that she took from the shelves. This one had several sigils etched into it's leather cover. One was in the shape of a greatsword, much like the weapon resting next to the hunter. While the others were of different weapons she supposed were in use by other hunters. Carefully opening the old tome, she came to realize that she had found a book of techniques. Flipping from page to page her eyes passed from illustration to illustration of how hunters would use their weapons. There was text on the side that detailed further on how exactly one would achieve such feats of strength and agility, but she couldn't hope to decipher it on her own.

Time passed and she found herself enthralled with the way a hunter fought with a sword and shield. Carefully she analyzed the images of a hunter turning what was a comparatively mundane set of equipment into one of the most impressive forms of combat she had ever seen. Heroes had never performed such acts of agility, not for the lack of ability, but for the lack of creativity.

Her own sword was not as long as a hunter's, in fact the weapon in the illustrations were far longer than a standard longsword. It would be like one handing a claymore, or one of the desert dweller's great-saifs. Some of the blunter weapon designs were shorter, but the weight alone would throw her off if she didn't ready herself properly beforehand.

So engrossed in her study, she hadn't noticed the hellhound take a seat next to her. Chloe simply watched the hero flip from page to page in curiosity, though her attention was on the girl rather than the pages. Beastmen, especially hellhounds, had no use for typical blades and bludgeons, so the young mamono decided to simply watch her instead. She knew very well that Wilmarina wouldn't take kindly to her presence, but she was curious about one thing in particular.

"What is it like being a hero?"

Startled, Wilmarina quickly scooted away with one hand on the book and the other on her hilt. She eyed the mamono with suspicion, but to avoid making a scene she allowed herself to be at ease. The young hero had dealt with mamono of Druella's Horde before. They were sex crazed and vicious to a fault, she had worked with many a man that had been taken in the night or stolen from his home and life in the brief period as Hero of Lescatie. She knew mamono were a deceitful race; beasts that captured men for their own purposes.

Instead of answering, Wilmarina gave her own question in turn, "What do you think it's like being a hero?"

"Lonely…"

"What?"

Chloe shied away, "I think you heroes are lonely."

Cautious of the beastman, Wilmarina decided to humor her, "And what makes you think that we are lonely?"

"Well," the hellhound shrugged, "you don't have a family… no husband to call your own, and well," she paused to assess the hero. Wilmarina's expression was not of scorn like the other heroes, but she was far from happy with what the hellhound was saying. Continuing she said, "you specifically were a target of Druella's."

"I was a target?", The hero inwardly gasped, "Why for the love of the gods…? I know the people of Lescatie said I'm destined to defeat the Demon Lord, but that can't possibly be true."

"No, that's not it," Chloe grimaced, "you were a target because you were… repressed. Your strength had nothing to do with it… Druella didn't think you could even harm her. You we're just an easy convert in the making."

Wilmarina blanked at her response. Blinking rapidly, she moved her mouth to speak, but found her voice horse and her own response lacking. Sweat began formed on her forehead as she began to fully comprehend how compromised she truly was. Thankfully for her sake Dawn had finished his report and called for her to follow. She had wanted to see the rest of the city before sunset, but now, she just wanted something to escape her own thoughts.

-0-

They traveled further up the great spire, much to Kushala's discomfort. The old walls did not creak, yet the echo of their footsteps shattered any sense of serenity. The Tower was a massive structure, but it was not infinite as they would eventually find an opening in the monolith's side. Light shot through every hole and slice in the metal mountain, but here, here was an entrance that pathed to the outside.

Deonora ran her claws along the hall's side, listening intently to the sound, and finding it awfully familiar. It was like the scrape of claw on metal, while also blending with the sensation of her claws on scales. The more she learned of the Tower the more impressed and offput she became. The place was so peaceful, without a hint of sound outside their footsteps, and yet it instilled such a sense of dread in her.

"Tell me Kushala," she whispered, "what happened here? Who made this place?"

They continued walking in silence, Kushala having found the question more difficult to answer than most. His thoughts moved from his ancient captors to his kin and then to the Tower itself. This place was something beyond him, he knew not its purpose, nor the value it held specifically. He felt a pit well up in his stomach the longer he stayed here, yet he traveled further up the inner spire. He supposed he could confront what this place was to him.

"This place is an ancient relic of a time before humanity's fall," he answered softly, "it was built by the ancient humans who once governed the world. I know not its purpose."

Deonora smiled back at him and said, "Go figure, humans for all their weakness and all their plights… They would be the ones to rule the world."

Kushala grinned with annoyance and amusement, "They fell like every empire before and after, we're simply living in the time of Wyverian and Human companionship. To think my kin would evolve to meet them as such… truly an interesting time."

"What are they, the Wyverians?", She called back.

"I've said so already," he growled, "they are my kin, lesser kin, but kin none the less. They have human skin and human faces, at least the newer ones do, but they share our wisdom and our lifespan… They brought humanity out from the caves the Beast pushed them into."

"The Beast?"

"I will not speak of it."

They fell back into silence as Deonora continued to digest this new information. The Tower allowed the two to simply think, to observe the world in its stark tranquility. Kushala began to slowly realize why this place was so sacred to the neighboring humans. Even as that uncanny curling in his mind clawed at him, there was still that sense of peace that permeated the very air.

"Did the Beast destroy this place?"

"I said I would not speak of it."

"Answer the question, Kushala," she glared back at him, "if I am to understand why, you must tell me. This Beast could be a threat to my people… if it could destroy the great empire humanity had built… what's to say it couldn't do the same to mine?"

Kushala glared back at her, his claws writhing with anger, but his mind tempered with age. He stilled his rage, and spoke softly, "The Beast was forged by humans in a distant land. It was both machine and monster, a slave that conquered, and a beast under command."

"You seem to know more than you let on."

"This is what I believe it is," he laid his claw on the wall of The Tower, "it had to be a demon… It didn't belong in this world."

The walls tore away under claw and flame, men fled for the structures nearby, but were turned to ash before they could escape. His kin cowered in their cages as it rattled the Tower's shaft, and all Kushala could do was watch in terror as a great maw tore into his prison's side to kill whatever was inside. Sirens echoed across the complex and panic was so thread through the air, he could practically taste it.

Hiding beneath his wings Kushala could barely resist the extreme heat that burned at the Tower's insides, until the screams of men caught his attention. A man had entered their holding area, a human boy with a long white coat carried keys in one hand and a piece of metal in the other. He hurried to the nearest cage, while a man of similar appearance followed after. They began unlocking the cages as more hateful howls sundered the world around them.

Kushala could only watch confused as they began release his kin from their cages. As they rounded on him, he prepared himself to flee only to find his legs give out from beneath him. He was not capable of walking on his own, he couldn't flee like his kin raised in the wild. It was by the two humans hands that he was dragged out of the cage and into the corridor.

"I had firsthand experience with the Beast's wrath," he offered, "it knew only hate… it could only know hate."

"How could you know for sure?"

It tore further into the Tower its long neck hanging over them, and it roared so fiercely it drove the man and child to the floor. But Kushala stare back up at it in horror. The great darkness of the Tower was brought alight as it burned the very center of it all with a great torrent of flame. So hot that the humans' coats caught alight beside him.

As if sensing his horror, it turned to face the infant Elder, and the darkness swallowed its shape once more. Only those crystal eyes stared back as a hateful maw burned with white hot fire. It would have ended him there if it didn't find the screams of humans far more tempting to hear.

"You said human built it, why would they do that?"

"I couldn't say."

The memories tore at his mind, but with Deonora's words they too subsided. They came to the top of the Tower, high above the lower clouds as the sun began to set in the horizon. The queen took her claw in his, and he would allow her to hold him there. Her beautiful eyes glistening in the sunlight, while he relived the fire and brimstone. In this graveyard of the giants, he knew only the blaring sounds of horror and hate.

AN: So, I've been busy to say the least, and haven't really been able to write as much as I would've liked to. And while yeah this chapter is short, I didn't think it would've fit with the tone of the last chapter, so I had written and revised the both of them, and that's why this one came out so much later. Either way onto the comments:

Reviewer Responses:

Bucio:

I was more so saying that you end up learning more about yourself the more you write a character as you end up projecting what you know of the world and how you see the world into the character. Let's say you hate something, and you find it disgusting. You would by accident or not represent that thing as disgusting through a character's reaction or by a villain character enjoying said thing.

Evowizard25:

Yeah, I kinda decided on a slow burn relationship between Pluck and Lowen. I want to have a nice long build up for the two as they have a very strange reliance on each other. A reliance that borders on dependence.

Guest02:

Espinas is the only design I really like. Most Frontier monsters are really ugly or over designed to me. They look more like Yu-gi-oh card monsters than Monster Hunter monsters.

dumbass:

Maybe : P