Dragon si Chapter 6: 6, a 17776 fanfic

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The Ballad of a Semi-Benevolent Dragon

Thread starter SecretTwelve Start date Jan 24, 2024 Tags original fantasy dragon

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Threadmarks Chapter 46: The Dragon Shores Up His Defences

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SecretTwelve

Apr 1, 2024

#836

Chapter 46: The Dragon Shores Up His Defences

Xiang woke, as he so often did these days, to find Haitao patting him on the face. The water salamander was fond of his children and usually spent his nights in a large bowl of seawater in one of their rooms. Yet despite the fact that Xiang always closed the door of the room he and his wife shared, the water salamander was always there to wake him each morning.

At first he had thought the water salamander was simply slipping into the room via the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. However, the once scrawny salamander had already grown a little pudgy since joining his family, likely due to all of the fish he ate whenever the opportunity presented itself. Perhaps he could fit into the gap, but it would be no easy task. Brother Dragon had told him not to worry. The salamander had grown quite thin at sea, and any excess weight he carried now would soon be used to fuel his growth and power.

The window had been another possibility, but Haitao had managed to get into the room even when the window was closed to ward off the wind and rain of a passing storm. It was his grandfather who had revealed the salamander's secret. The old tiger-man was often the first to wake, and few things pleased him more than watching the salamander go about his business. His affection was not unrequited either.

Haitao could often be found perched on his grandfather's head or shoulder, and when his grandfather accompanied the fishermen out to sea to offer his advice and wisdom, the water salamander went with him. Although Haitao could not yet speak, he was still able to share the gist of his thoughts using an odd form of telepathy.

For all his small size, Haitao understood water in a way that none of them could. He could read the tides and the waves, sense fish from afar, and warn them of dangers hidden in the water. He would listen intently while Xiang's grandfather spoke before offering his reply in chirps, clicks, and croons that the older tiger-man was somehow able to decipher.

"He is a fine fisherman," his grandfather liked to say after each trip out to sea with the salamander. "Just wait until he's bigger. He'll be catching more fish on his own than the rest of us put together."

It turned out that Haitao was using his powers to create thin but powerful tendrils of water that he could use to open the door. His children had been ecstatic upon finding out and had lavished praise upon Haitao, and the cheerful creature had repaid them by showing them all the ways his powers could be used in childish games and pranks.

Xiang had been suitably impressed as well – and then he had seen just how dangerous Haitao's power could be when used in battle. His daughter had been playing near the edge of the village when a jungle rat had emerged from the undergrowth. Such rats were no threat to any adult, and they were surprisingly tasty. However, their sharp teeth and vicious demeanour meant they could easily harm a young child.

She had screamed as the rat sprang toward her, and Xiang had turned, a blade of water forming around his claws – only for the rat to fall to the ground, a hole in the middle of its head. Haitao had toddled over, a stern frown on the normally affable salamander's face. Xiang's daughter had sniffled and picked the salamander up, holding him close for comfort as she retreated from the edge of the village. Xiang had gone over to examine the rat while his wife tended to their daughter. The hole in the rat's head was incredibly precise… and there had been water dripping from it.

Haitao had slain the rat with a beam of water – a beam that had also pierced right through the trunk of a nearby tree.

Brother Dragon had chuckled. "An impressive attack for such a young water salamander although I doubt he can use it more than several times a day. By the time he is an adult, he'll be able to cut a ship in half with only a fraction of his power."

Haitao was such a small and cheerful fellow, always happy to keep Xiang's children and grandfather company, so it was easy to forget what he would one day become. As weak as he might seem, Haitao would one day be stronger than anyone in the village. Indeed, he would become stronger than everyone in the village put together.

"Fear not," Brother Dragon had said. "True salamanders are loyal to the point of madness. Treat him well, raise him as your own, and Haitao will die before he lets harm come to you and yours, and he will guard and guide your descendants for however long he should live."

And now Haitao was patting Xiang on the cheek, his usual smile on his face as he tried to get Xiang out of bed to begin the day.

"Yes, yes," Xiang said, pressing a kiss to his wife's brow and then sitting up. "I'm getting up." He glanced out the window. "Hmm… you've woken me a little earlier than usual today."

Haitao nodded and then nipped at Xiang's fingers. He wanted Xiang to follow him. There was something he should see. It was important.

"Just give me a moment," Xiang said. "I need to dress."

Once he had dressed, Xiang followed Haitao out of their house. The village had come along nicely although there was still work to do. All of them had houses now, and wards had been up to protect them from monsters and larger animals although none had managed to get past Roots-Delving-Deep. Only smaller and weaker creatures like the jungle rats could get enter the village, and it shouldn't be more than a day or two before the wall they were building was complete. In the meantime, the cats and dogs of the village were hard at work. They were gifts from the villagers Antaria ruled over, and they had proven their worth, warning them of approaching threats and dealing with most of the pests.

Haitao chirped, and Xiang chuckled before lifting the salamander up onto his shoulder.

"Such a lazy creature," Xiang murmured. "Now, what do you want to show me?"

It was still early, so only a handful of his fellow tiger-people were out and about as they made their way down to the beach. They had cleared a path to make travel to and from the beach easier, but Xiang still took a few moments to check the area around the path for any sign of danger. It was well known that predators often stalked their prey for days, learning their habits and waiting for the best time to strike.

Thankfully, there were no signs of any animals larger than the jungle rats, but he made a note to remind the sentries to check the area around the village regularly. An adult tiger-person was more than a match for most regular animals, but a monster was another matter. During one of his jaunts deeper into the jungle to search for valuable plants, he had stumbled across a manticore.

Manticores were vicious creatures with the faces of men, the bodies of lions, and a tail like a scorpion. Some were winged and could fly, but the one he had encountered had been of the wingless variety. Even so, it had been the size of a rhinoceros, and its tail had risen menacingly. He knew from past encounters with other manticores that it could shoot its stinger like an arrow. Such an attack could pierce through solid plate armour, and the venom contained in the stinger could kill within moments.

He and the manticore had stared into each other's eyes, neither of them moving until the lumbering, heavy footfalls of a tree-folk had convinced the manticore to retreat. It was one of Doomwing's other tree-folk, and the massive tree-man had suggested Xiang delve less deeply into the jungle in the future – at least until he grew stronger.

As they approached the beach, he realised that something was wrong. At this distance, he should be able to hear the waves lapping against the shore. Moreover, the sea breeze should be stirring the leaves of the trees around him.

But the sea was silent, and not a single leaf moved.

His eyes narrowed, and he glanced at Haitao. "Was it danger you sensed?"

The salamander chirped happily and shook his head. Xiang should not linger. He should go straight to the beach.

"You are lucky that you are a poor liar," Xiang muttered as he hastened toward the beach. "Otherwise, I would be warier." As sneaky as Haitao could be when he snuck an extra fish or two for dinner, he could never lie convincingly when asked about it.

Xiang reached the end of the path and stepped out onto the beach.

Doomwing was there in the waters of the cove, his massive form gleaming in the early morning light like a living reef of rubies and sapphires. Even now, having seen the dragon many times, it was still difficult for Xiang's mind to accept that a living thing could possibly be so huge. And for Doomwing to mention that there were dragons even larger than him? Inconceivable. What must it be like to see a mountain take wing and soar through the sky?

But as Xiang's gaze shifted from the dragon to his surroundings, he finally understood what Haitao wanted him to see.

The waters of the cove were completely calm. No. The ocean as far as he could see in every direction he cared to look was completely calm. He might as well have been looking at a mirror, so still was the water.

Likewise, there was no wind to stir the sands of the beach or the leaves of the trees further back. Even the clouds in the sky had ceased their movement.

"What… what is this?" Xiang asked.

"It is my power," Doomwing rumbled. The dragon had his back to him as he stared out to sea, and he did not bother to turn as he spoke. "I am a nova dragon. Telekinesis is one of the abilities my lineage grants me."

"This… this is telekinesis?"

Xiang had encountered telekinesis before. There were several spells that allowed people to move small objects, and he had even worked with a powerful mage who could throw boulders the same way regular people threw pebbles. But this? This went beyond mere magic. This was the sort of display that had led some over the years to revere certain dragons as living gods.

"Telekinesis is the ability to apply force to an object without coming into physical contact with it." Doomwing chuckled. "As you know, gathering large amounts of magic in one place can affect the environment. Simply having a lot of fire magic in one place will increase the temperature, even without a spell or rune being used. Likewise, gathering large quantities of life magic will cause things in the area to grow more quickly and vigorously. It is possible for dragons to grow so powerful that they can massively affect their surroundings by simply loosening their hold on their magic. As a nova dragon, the form my magic naturally takes is telekinesis."

Xiang did his best to burn every word into his memory. Doomwing had likely forgotten more about magic than even the greatest experts amongst the beast-people had ever learned. Indeed, he could only imagine how much most mages would be willing to pay to listen to him speak about magic.

"When you have as much magic as I do, controlling it is key. For example…"

The wind roared to life, and the seas raged. Overhead, the clouds spun madly, and the sand kicked up in a blinding spray that forced Xiang to cover his face.

"That is what occurs if I loosen my hold over my magic and do not control what happens when it leaks into my surroundings. It is the nature of my magic to want to move things, and that movement can easily be chaotic and destructive. Yet… if I control the magic leaking into my surroundings…"

The water stilled. The wind died. The clouds stopped. And the sand fell silent.

"If you ask a mage what mastery means, you will receive many answers, many of which will be long winded. My answer is simple. Mastery of magic means overwhelming power wielded with peerless control. I can smash a mountain to dust or pick up and write my name upon a single grain of sand."

Xiang swallowed thickly. He had known that there were others stronger than him, but even after meeting Doomwing he had not realised just how impossibly cavernous the gap was between those like himself and those like Doomwing who stood at the summit of power.

"Thank you for demonstrating," Xiang said, bowing. "May I ask what else you intend to do?"

Doomwing spread his wings, and the beach and jungle were bathed in red and blue as his wings caught the light. "This place is part of my territory, yet it does not possess the same defences as other parts of my territory. In the past, it did not need them. But now that you and your people live here, I will extend to you the same protection that others in my lands enjoy."

"That… that is a mighty boon you offer," Xiang said. "And we are most grateful."

"You are stronger than most tiger-men," Doomwing replied. "But you have only just begun your journey to attaining true power. Can you sense the magic that flows through the earth, the sea, and the sky?"

Xiang nodded. "Somewhat. But my range is not great, and I cannot perceive the flow of magic as clearly as I would like."

"Good. Then what I am about to do should aid you. Sit. Close your eyes and allow your magical senses to extend as far as possible. Even if you cannot actually reach them, seek the currents of power that flow through the earth, the sea, and the sky. You have an affinity for water magic, so you will likely have more success with sensing the magic of the sea."

Xiang sat down and closed his eyes. Haitao hopped off his shoulder and settled onto his lap. He could feel the salamander's magic moving in lazy circles and found his own magic matching the salamander's pace. The world behind his closed eyelids went from dark to beautiful as the magic in his surroundings slowly came into view.

Vivid currents of power coursed through the sand beneath him while other currents stretched out into the sea like roads of light and force. Above him, he could only vaguely glimpse the magic that flowed through the sky, but what he saw was splendid – rivers of magic flowing through the clouds and soaring up to vanish beyond the summit of the heavens.

But there was something else, a power that permeated the area, that saturated every grain of sand, every drop of water, every gust of air. It was Doomwing's magic, a mantle of power that seemed to envelop Xiang's whole world, as solid and unbreakable as a mountain yet as fluid and agile as the wind. It sank into the earth below him, the sea beyond him, and the sky above him.

"Your magic…" Xiang whispered. "It is… everywhere." His eyes widened. "You're saturating the currents of magic with your power!"

"Yes." Doomwing chuckled. "You should thank Haitao. Salamanders have a natural ability to perceive the magic around them, and they can share some of that sight with those they have chosen."

"What… what are you doing?" Xiang asked.

"The wards around your village work by binding magic into anchors like wooden posts. That approach is not altogether dissimilar to spell-stones or the various forms of magical script that exist. I could make wards of my own using alchemy to create anchors of far greater quality and durability. However, what need have I for anchors when I can manipulate the very currents of magic?"

Xiang's brows furrowed. "I don't understand."

"You will."

And then Doomwing's power flexed.

In the past, Doomwing had spent many years working on the creation of increasingly powerful and sophisticated defences. He had developed wards of every kind and had experimented with all manner of magics, materials, and theories. He had explored countless runes and spells, all in the hopes of creating the best defences that he could.

And he had failed.

The fundamental problem with long-term magical defences was that they required an anchor to function. Most of the time, that anchor was something physical, such as a post, a pillar, or even a slab of rock. That meant the defences he could employ were limited by the anchors he could use. Yes, he could simply weave defensive magics that did not rely upon anchors, but those were not as durable as those that used anchors. That was usually not a problem in combat since defensive magic typically only had to hold out long enough to ward off an attack. The body itself could also be used as an anchor if necessary.

But if he wanted to defend his lair or another important location, then he wanted defences that would stand the test of time and which would not require his presence to work properly. Otherwise, he might as well just stay there the whole time.

Other mages were content to continue relying upon anchors. Indeed, his fellow primordial dragons dealt with the issue by using increasingly powerful anchors that could not only handle more and more magic but which were also more and more durable. In fact, many of them employed a strategy that Doomwing himself had devised – use an entire mountain as an anchor.

But even that had its limitations.

Magical defences could either draw upon the power used to cast them or upon magic from their surroundings. The former was quite convenient for short-term use, but it was limited when it came to long-term applications. When someone used their magic to cast a spell, their magic would naturally disperse into the environment over time. The better a mage's control, the longer that would take, but it would still eventually lead to the spell decaying and fading away. Using magic that was designed to draw on its surroundings was much better for long-term usage, but it was often tricky to maintain that connection over long periods of time.

Runes suffered from a similar problem. Without someone around the maintain them, they often stopped working. There were ways around that, of course. The existence of rune weapons was an example of runes being made relatively permanent through the use of appropriate materials. However, even materials of that quality would struggle to hold ancient runes for long without some kind of restorative procedure. Doomwing had solved that problem in Marcus's sword by using sanguine-steel, a material that could drink blood to restore itself. For obvious reasons, however, that wasn't an option most of the time.

In the end, it came back to a question of materials. Doomwing was the greatest living alchemist – and quite possibly the greatest non-divine alchemist ever – and he still hadn't been able to find or create a material that suited his needs.

And then he realised that he'd been going about it the wrong way all along.

Why was he using a physical anchor at all?

If he was going to use the magic in the environment to fuel his defences, then why not use that same magic as the anchor?

At first glance that was impossible. But the more he'd thought about it, the more it had made sense. Magic permeated the world. It flowed back and forth, and the largest and densest movements were referred to as currents. In other words, magic wasn't some formless, shapeless thing.

So why couldn't he take those currents of magic and form them into the runes and spells he needed? After all, the geometry of runes and spells defied common sense. He could make the most complicated rune and spell formations and still avoid bottlenecks, dead-ends, and tangles with enough effort.

His first attempts had been disastrous.

Actually shaping raw currents of magic in the way he desired had worked – but the shaping hadn't lasted. He simply couldn't control the magic in the world around him as well as he could control his own magic. Yes, dragons and other powerful creatures could alter the flow of magic on a large scale, clearing blockages and improving the purity of power, but what he needed was the ability to make much greater changes over much smaller distances – and to have those changes last when the flow of magic naturally tried to return to its original form.

So why not make the magic in the world around him the same as his own magic?

And that was why he was saturating the area with his power.

With each breath he took, his power flowed into the earth, the sea, and the sky. It sank deep into the currents of magic around him, and he felt his connection to those currents strengthen. A lesser dragon's telekinesis was restricted to affecting wholly physical objects, but Doomwing was a primordial nova dragon. His telekinesis could affect even magic. It was a skill that he had sharpened to an absurd degree because it let him use magic that he wouldn't normally be able to even with his incredible level of control. For example, his affinity for light magic was not especially high, so he shouldn't be able to control light magic well enough to use the more powerful healing spells. And yet, by using runes to convert his magic into light magic and then using his telekinesis on that light magic, he was able to approximate the effects of some of the most powerful healing spells in existence.

Eventually, on the verge of madness, he had achieved his goal. He had learned how to use his telekinesis on the currents of magic that flowed through the world – and have the changes he made endure over long periods of time.

It was the answer to his problems.

The currents of magic themselves had become both the anchors and the embodiments of the defensive magic he wished to use. As long as those currents existed, his defensive magic would persist. Moreover, by essentially inscribing his defensive magic into the currents themselves, they could draw on the full power of the currents without suffering from the limitations imposed by a physical medium. It would take someone capable of doing the same thing as him to do undo such defences, and that was assuming they could overcome the additional safeguards that Doomwing could weave into the currents themselves.

Admittedly, the process was relatively time-consuming, power-hungry, and mentally taxing, but the result was worth it: defences of unparalleled might and longevity that were basically impervious to tampering or disarmament.

This was the reason his lair was considered the most heavily fortified location in the world. His earlier encounter with the squabbling denizens of the sea had shown that this place was not immune to interference from outside forces. Moreover, the tiger-people were not yet strong enough or numerous enough to repel all of the trouble that might head their way. Even his doppelganger might be forced to retreat if a more powerful denizen of the deep appeared. But with the defences he was creating, this area should hold against almost any assault long enough for Doomwing himself to arrive and deal with the problem.

Returning his full attention to the task before him, he lost himself in the familiar toil of working magic of the very highest level. Few things could exhaust him like this, but few things were as rewarding either.

By the time he was finished, night had fallen, and the moon was out. It was the middle of the night. Someone had tried to contact him with a long-range communication spell, but he had set the matter aside since he could not afford to be interrupted while he was setting up his defences. Based on the magic involved, it had been Firetail, the old drake who served Regal Flame. Had the matter been urgent, Firetail would have tried to reach him more than once. Instead, the drake had let the matter drop after a single attempt. It could not be that urgent then.

Turning to the beach, Doomwing's eyes gleamed.

Xiang had collapsed onto his back. The tiger-man was utterly spent, and Haitao had settled onto his chest in much the same state. They had both done their best to follow the changes throughout the day and into the night. They lacked the ability to truly perceive what Doomwing was doing, but just the glimpses they had been able to catch had offered considerable enlightenment. Xiang, in particular, had vastly increased his ability to perceive magic in the surrounding area while Haitao could now manipulate the magic in his surroundings over a much larger area.

Now… should he contact Firetail to see what he wanted to speak about, or should he leave it until morning?

He called Brother Dragon over. He might as well introduce the doppelganger to Firetail. As an expert in long-range communication magic, it was quite possible that his doppelgangers would be speaking to Firetail in the future. It was best to introduce them now to avoid any confusion.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Doomwing gathered his magic and then cast a long-range communication spell of his own. Although Firetail generally restricted his spells to audio communication only due to his relatively small magical reserves, Doomwing had no such problems. His spell would allow them see and hear each other with ease. Of course, it would be more taxing than using his mirror, but such spells had served as the basis for the mirror's creation in the first place.

Regal Flame was in the middle of a discussion with Firetail when she felt it – that unique combination of oppressive magical power and unearthly precision that belonged to only one dragon. Firetail fell silent at once, seemingly entranced by the magic that was forming around him.

Regal Flame could not blame him.

Even for a dragon, her magical sight was considered incredibly keen, and the communication magic taking shape around him was a master work, something that even a dedicated specialist like him would have taken Ages to craft. And yet Doomwing had developed it out of irritation, annoyed at what he perceived as flaws in the long-range communication magic that had existed at the time.

Magics such as this formed the foundations of his infamous mirror, an item that defied common sense and was capable of peering into even the most well-guarded domain. One of their fellow primordial dragons had demanded he surrender the mirror, citing its potential for abuse. Doomwing's response had been characteristically blunt.

"If you want me to hand it over, then you are welcome to try to take it from me."

Ashheart had laughed, knowing full well that the dragon in question had neither the power nor the courage to face Doomwing in open combat.

Doomwing's words had been accompanied by a dazzling threat display – those vast wings of his flaring as he called upon his magic to make the very air itself roar. To seize the air with his telekinesis and then make it shake with enough force to mimic thunder was a clear statement of his intent.

Regal Flame had moved the meeting on to other matters, if only to spare her fellow primordial dragon any further embarrassment. Dreamsong might have spared a care for the other dragon's feelings, but Doomwing was not nearly as merciful. He had worked hard to make the mirror, so he would view any attempt to take it with hostility. Besides, any suggestion that he would abuse its powers was an attack on his honour and his ability to keep the oaths he had sworn.

As the magic around Firetail neared completion, the drake shivered.

"The spell will not finish unless I give permission," Firetail said. He smiled faintly. "He could force it to completion, but he is giving me the option to refuse if I wish."

"He respects you," Regal Flame replied. "So he is treating you courteously."

"Shall I accept?" Firetail asked. "It is rather late now…"

"Accept," Regal Flame replied. "We did try to reach him earlier, but he must have been occupied. He is most likely reaching out now to ensure that he has not missed anything important." She paused. "You remember what we discussed, do you not?"

Firetail bit back a chuckle and nodded. "I do, my lady. I am to inform Doomwing of your intentions to visit his domain to observe the changes he has made to it."

"Excellent." Regal Flame moved away. "I shall remain silent, so do not mention me."

"Wait!" Firetail cried. "I might have reached out to him with a spell that permits only audio communication, but his spell –"

An image of Doomwing appeared before them. He was in a cove, the waves washing over his scales as the moon's silver light shone down on him. His scales gleamed, luminous shards of red and blue.

"Firetail," Doomwing rumbled before his gaze went to Regal Flame. "Regal Flame."

"Ah." Regal Flame momentarily froze. Of course his spell allowed them to look upon each other while speaking. That was one of the reasons it was so much more complicated and powerful than the spell Firetail had used to reach out to him. She'd known that – after all, she'd watched the spell form around Firetail – and yet that detail had somehow slipped her mind at the crucial moment. "Greetings, Doomwing. You are looking… well."

And he was. The last time she'd seen him, he had looked half dead. The god-metal spear had left a gaping hole in his chest, and his body had been covered in countless lesser wounds as well. Only his iron discipline and unyielding will had kept him conscious despite his injuries, and she had wished so very much that he would have let her help him. Yet the same fierce pride that made him who he was had also driven him to reject her aid. It was frustrating and endearing at the same time. He was so very draconic.

He stared at her for a moment and then nodded. "My injuries have healed, and my strength has returned in full. I trust that things in your domain are going well."

"They are," Regal Flame replied. "Although there was much to do after the Sixth Catastrophe."

"Indeed. I was not able to respond earlier since I was shoring up the defences of my territory."

She had seen the defences around his lair, and she could understand why he had felt safe retreating there despite his wounds. Even now, she had yet to work out how he had managed to create those defences. The magic that protected his lair was seemingly woven into the very currents of magic themselves, something she would have claimed was impossible if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. But how had he managed it?

"I asked Firetail to contact you because I wanted to visit your realm to see what improvements you have made to it. Frostfang mentioned that you were taking measures to properly develop it. I did not wish to arrive unexpectedly."

"Your consideration is appreciated," Doomwing replied. "Although you are always welcome in my lands, my subjects would be quite… startled if you arrived unexpectedly."

Regal Flame couldn't help but smile. That was practically a standing invitation to visit – which was no small thing, considering how reclusive he could be. It might simply be because she was perhaps the most reliable of his allies after Ashheart, but still… it was nice to know he thought well of her.

"Firetail," Doomwing said. "It would seem that your old wounds have settled."

"You can tell?" Firetail asked curiously.

"The magic we are using to communicate allows me to project analytical and divination magic to your location."

"Impressive as always," Firetail replied. "And, yes, my old wounds have settled somewhat."

"If you intend to use the method I originally suggested to deal with them, then notify me first," Doomwing said. "I have thought of several additions that would increase the chances of success." His attention went back to Regal Flame. "You mentioned Frostfang earlier. I take it he has visited."

"He is still in my domain," Regal Flame replied. "And we have agreed to a trade – my flame for his cold. Will the additions you have thought of still require Frostfang's cold?"

"Yes. However, the additions will increase the chances of success significantly although I will have to handle them personally."

"Personally?" Regal Flame asked hopefully. Was he thinking of coming to her domain? That would be even better than visiting his.

"I intend to visit the plateau," Doomwing said, and his expression turned grim for a moment before. "Now that I have recovered, I need to add another monument."

"Ah." Regal Flame managed to keep from wincing. She had heard a rough explanation of what had happened from Dreamsong. To once again have to strike down someone he considered a friend… "When do you expect to arrive?" She would have to prepare an appropriate welcome.

"I expect to go there soon. However, there is a matter I must attend to first."

"Is it something else in your domain?"

"No." Doomwing sighed and looked, briefly, like a much younger dragon who had been caught with his claws in the hoard of an older dragon. "I have to help Ashheart rebuild his lair."

"It was destroyed during the Sixth Catastrophe, wasn't it?" Regal Flame asked. "I remember receiving reports of its destruction, but I wasn't overly concerned since Ashheart himself was encased in a mountain at the time, and you had already moved his hoard to a safe location. What exactly happened? Why would the Sixth Catastrophe destroy it?"

"She didn't. I did."

Regal Flame blinked. "What?"

"The Sixth Catastrophe was trying to utilise the power beneath it, so I set a trap for her. Unfortunately, she was able to escape, and his lair was destroyed in the process."

"You blew up Ashheart's lair?" Regal Flame almost laughed, but though she managed to keep from laughing, she could not completely conceal her amazement and mirth. "I know that he recently awakened. Have you told him?"

"He is aware of what happened," Doomwing said stiffly. "And he has informed me that he is going to his lair. He wants to rebuild it. While I have no doubt that he will do an excellent job, the least I can do after blowing it up is to improve its magical defences. I will also be transporting his hoard to him since there are many things I cannot send through my mirror."

"You must be glad that he is awake and well again," Regal Flame said.

"I… yes. He is my friend, and he was harmed as part of a plan I conceived." Regal Flame moved to speak, but he continued. "Regardless of the necessity and the eventual success of my plan, the fact remains that his wounds are my responsibility. If I wish to claim credit for success, then I must also accept responsibility for failure."

"You are too hard on yourself," Regal Flame said. "As I am sure Ashheart will tell you." She noticed something move at the very edges of the illusion. "Doomwing, is there someone else with you."

"Ah. Yes."

A small, winged figure stepped forward, and Regal Flame stared. Red and blue scales. Overly large wings. The resemblance was unmistakable.

"Is… is that a hatchling?" Regal Flame stuttered. "I… I was not aware you had any hatchlings. Have you… taken a mate?" Surely, Frostfang would have mentioned Doomwing having hatchlings and a mate. The other dragon was thoughtful, and he had to know that she would appreciate being informed of such details. "He… he looks just like you."

"A hatchling?" Doomwing blinked. "No. I do not have any hatchlings."

"But…"

"This is Brother Dragon," Doomwing said. "He is a special doppelganger I made with my magic. He and the others I have made are vastly superior to normal doppelgangers and are more than capable of carrying out a variety of important tasks in my absence. With how much work my territory requires to develop the way I intend, creating them was the best option."

"A… a doppelganger?" Regal Flame almost sagged in relief. "How interesting. You shall have to tell me more about it when you arrive."

"Of course. I do not know if I will be able to teach you how to make them, but you are one of the few I would trust with the method." He scowled. "If I taught Stormbringer, she would probably use them to throw even more animals into that pool of hers."

"That does seem like something she would do." Regal Flame could admit that throwing animals into a Pool of Ascension could be enjoyable, but she simply couldn't understand how Stormbringer could devote so much time to it.

"I will contact you again when I am finished helping Ashheart." Doomwing paused. "Did Frostfang mention the communication device I gave him?"

"He did," Regal Flame replied, trying to keep the eagerness and greed out of her voice.

"I shall have yours prepared by the time I arrive," Doomwing said. "Was there anything else you wished to speak of?"

"Nothing that cannot wait until after you arrive," Regal Flame replied.

"Then I shall take my leave."

The magic faded, and she and Firetail were once again alone in her lair. The drake looked at her.

"That went well."

"It did," Regal Flame said. "It really did."

Author's Notes

Doomwing gets to show off a bit in this chapter while also discussing magical theory. Meanwhile, Regal Flame catches a bit of a break. She's lucky Frostfang wasn't around for this. Otherwise, who knows what sort of gossip might spread. As it is, only Firetail was with her, and the old drake is absolutely reliable when it comes to matters of secrecy. Honestly, he's probably just hoping she'll have some hatchlings before he dies (although that will be pushed back quite a bit if he can have his injuries fixed and succeed in furthering his Ascension).

It's also a good thing that Squallwing wasn't around to see Doomwing do his thing, or he might have given himself an aneurism trying to understand what was happening. And he would definitely have given himself an aneurism when/if he realised that what Doomwing is doing is currently impossible for dragons outside of his lineage to reproduce although Doomwing is working on that because there are a few dragons he'd trust with the better defensive magic method.

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SecretTwelve

Apr 1, 2024

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Threadmarks Interlude 6: The Sword Of The Stars

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SecretTwelve

Apr 2, 2024

#877

Interlude 6: The Sword Of The Stars

Dawnscale wandered. For a long time, she wandered.

She let the endless ebb and flow of countless souls guide her through the astral plane as she drifted from world to world.

She slept beneath the unfamiliar stars on a world of desolate beauty. It was a place where the oceans had long since dried up, leaving only dust and the ashes of burnt-out cities in their wake. Vast holes had been bored into the earth, great mines that had drawn out the wealth of the land. The skeletons of soaring towers wrought of steel and glass stood silent sentry over the ruins of cities that had once spanned the surface of the world.

Whoever had built those cities was long dead, and they had left no relics that could speak of how they had passed. Yet their souls lingered, and in their deathless gazes she saw the reflection of skies torn apart by bursts of light and flame born of the same forces that forged the stars.

All that remained were animals, small, pitiful creatures all but devoid of magic. They skulked and dug and scrabbled in the dirt for what little nourishment they could find. She doubted they would last much longer. There were no forests left, and the last dwindling groves were little more than small clumps of trees, twisted and bent by the ceaseless wind that carried only the whispers of bygone folly and despair.

She could use her magic, but it wouldn't be enough. This world was already dead, all that remained were the echoes of life still waiting to pass on. Instead, she took the animals she could find and left them in the next world she reached, a place teeming with life and brimming with magic. She eased the animals onto the path of Ascension and passed on some of her knowledge and wisdom before departing. Their fate was now in their own hands.

Later, she found herself upon a broken world that had been torn apart in the struggle between its gods. The gods had all perished, and the world had been fractured in their passing. Yet life endured. The greatest mages of the world had united and woven a mighty spell, shielding the fragments of their broken world from space and linking them together via portals that allowed people to move safely from one fragment to another.

The fragments were home to all manner of people. There were humans and also dwarves, elves, orcs, goblins, and many other species, both familiar and unfamiliar. Yet even the species she knew of were not the same as the ones from her home. The elves here were not bound to the forest. Instead, they were free to wander as they pleased. Yet unlike the elves of her world, who could live for millennia, these elves only lived for three or four centuries at most.

There were also dragons, but even the mightiest of them could not compare to her. Rather than live solitary lives, they worked together, living in groups devoted to the study of different types of magic, all of them hoping to find a way to mend their ruined world.

Dawnscale made herself known to them, and they welcomed her. They knew of other worlds, but they lacked the power to reach them. However, she was not the first visitor they had received although she was much friendlier than their previous visitor. That visitor had been some formless thing, an abomination from beyond the stars who had been drawn to their world by the psychic screams of their dying gods.

She stayed with them for some time, teaching them her magic and being taught theirs in return. She also learned of their history and the terrible conflict that had broken their world.

There had once been twenty gods… all of whom had possessed bodies of gleaming metal. They had forged the world, and each had taken charge of one of the major species. In time, however, their cooperation had given way to first rivalry and then outright war.

The gods had slain each other, and the world had broken.

Eventually, she left that world behind, taking with her books about magic. Perhaps it was foolish, but even if she would never be able to master all of the magic they contained, she could think of someone who could. And perhaps… just perhaps, she might see him again one day.

She passed through more worlds, helping as many as she could, but for every person she saved, it felt as if there were a dozen more she could not.

She was there when a world died, consumed by its expanding star. Only a handful of people remained, and she offered to take them elsewhere, but they refused. Their people had fled to other worlds long ago. They were old, and they wished to die upon the world where their people had been born.

She was there when a world was born, the titanic forms of its newborn gods rising up over a world still rough and inchoate. She watched as those infant gods wrought the mountains and the seas, the forests and the skies. Had her world looked the same in the days of its youth? She spoke to them, telling them of the warring gods and the world they had broken, and they vowed to do better.

How strange it was to have gods accept her advice.

There were worlds of near-limitless magic where the power within her swelled, and each breath filled her with might. And then there were worlds where magic was a dim and dying thing, where science and technology ruled, and she had to devour vast quantities of food just to survive.

She learned of the stars from a cephalopod astronomer who had to live in a special suit because he couldn't breathe on the surface and because the oceans of his world were made of a substance that blocked the light of the stars and made it impossible to see the sky. He dwelt alone in the observatory he had built upon a reef, for his people despised the surface. The study of stars, planets, and the like was almost heretical and was only tolerated since the technology involved had proven useful elsewhere.

He spoke to her of how stars were born, how planets were made, and what galaxies were. It was fascinating, and yet she couldn't help but wonder if the rules his world operated by were different from the rules that governed some of the other worlds she had visited.

His world had no gods, and the magic in it had died long ago, if it had ever lived at all.

Still, she stayed there for many years, and he came to love the stories she told of the worlds she had seen, even as she savoured the knowledge he shared of his people and all they had achieved. Huge cities beneath the waves forged not with magic but with science. He wished his people would reach for the stars, but they were comfortable in their ocean homes and reluctant to even venture to the surface, never mind seek other worlds.

But one day that would change. He was certain of it. He had yet to meet another of his people who was so curious about what lay beyond their world, but there would be others. And one day, there would be enough of them to reach for the stars. It would not be in his lifetime, but they would get there. He knew they would. And though he had lived almost his entire life alone in his observatory, his only regret was that he would not be alive when that day came.

The years passed. The astronomer grew old. On the day of his death, as his soul dwindled, she offered to take him beyond the sky, to the place where his world ended and the stars began. He died with a smile on his face, his world little more than a speck below him, the light of his world's twin suns reflected in his eyes.

She met others who wandered.

More than once, she was forced to fight, staining her teeth and claws with the blood of otherworldly enemies. More than once, she tore asunder the souls of her foes and sent them screaming into the depths of the astral plane. Yet not everyone she encountered in the astral plane was an enemy.

The kindest of them all was a many-armed creature with wings of fire and thunder and eyes like collapsing stars. Yet despite their fearsome appearance, they were wise and benevolent. They went from world to world passing on their wisdom and knowledge in the hopes that those they taught would do the same.

It was they who explained the astral plane in more detail. Every soul had a weight, and it was this weight that drew Dawnscale to different worlds. In time, she would develop the ability to travel to almost any world, but for now, she would only be able to reach those worlds with enough souls on them. Those souls were akin to a lighthouse showing ships to safe harbour.

But what about the worlds she had already been to that had been all but devoid of life?

Souls linger, she had been told, and the weight of the dead could draw the unwary for many years after their passing.

It was advice that saved her life.

Not long after they parted ways, Dawnscale found herself on a world of endless deserts with a sky devoid of stars. Great monuments littered the sands – titanic temples with no worshippers and vast catacombs that held no dead. She listened for the souls of the dead, wondering if they had drawn her there, and they screamed for her to flee, to run before the horror that had consumed them consumed her too.

She did not hesitate. She fled, but not before seeing something move in the skies above, something old and mighty and terrible beyond measure – something that had devoured even the stars themselves.

And so it went, the years passing by, the centuries giving way to millennia.

She lost track of how many worlds she visited. Sometimes, she would stay for only a few moments before moving on. Other times, she would stay for years. She would lend her aid and then find herself staying with newly made friends until they eventually fell to the passage of time. Then she would move on, seeking another world, another adventure, another reason.

And there were plenty of reasons to be found.

She could save a world from plague.

She could teach magic to primitive peoples who had only just begun to walk the path of Ascension.

She could seek out new knowledge and wisdom from strange scholars while passing on her own.

Or she could watch the birth of nations that spanned the stars.

It was that last one that had taken up most of her time, as of late.

She found a world with humans on it, a world devoid of magic but rich in other resources. She watched as the humans went from struggling to eke out livings in squalid huts while fighting off wild animals to building cities that sprawled for miles. They were weak and fragile, but they were clever and cunning. They built machines to make up for their weakness, and when they had mastered their world, they turned their attention to the stars.

Her old astronomer friend would have loved them.

The humans struggled. Simply reaching the closest of their three moons had cost dozens of lives. She had thought of intervening, but there was something about them that made her hold back. They wanted to succeed on their own, to know that their accomplishments were theirs and no one else's. It was a noble sentiment, one a dragon could appreciate. And so she watched, concealed by her magic, as the humans went from their world to their moons… and then even further.

Only once had she intervened, long ago, back when the humans had first begun to build with stone instead of wood and mudbrick. An asteroid would have struck the planet and wiped them out, but she shattered it with her magic and shielded the world from the cloud of debris that followed.

From their world, they went to the other planets in their solar system. And from their solar system, they went to other stars and the planets around them. It was wondrous to behold, and Dawnscale wondered if the people of her world could have achieved this much without the Catastrophes to hold them back.

But the humans were not alone.

There were other creatures amongst the stars, and she wondered how they would react when they met. She wanted to believe that the humans she had spent millennia watching would not prove cruel others, but she knew better than most their capacity for both incredible cruelty and great benevolence. They had fought wars against each other, bloody conflicts that had left millions dead, before finally unifying as they sought to reach the stars. Would they reach for other species with an open hand or a clenched fist?

To her delight, the humans embraced the other species they encountered. Agreements were made, trade began, and the humans and their new allies entered a golden age of peace and prosperity. World after world was settled, and the humans and their allies formed the Coalition, a great union of many species that sought to bring the peace and prosperity they had enjoyed to every corner of the galaxy.

But the days of peace and plenty could not last forever.

The Conclave was another group of many species, but their ambitions were different from the Coalition. They wished to unify the galaxy under their rule, and those who objected were to be dealt with as necessary. Dawnscale saw what that meant soon enough.

Those who surrendered were spared. Those who resisted were exterminated.

If a world's resistance proved too bothersome, then the Conclave would simply destroy that world.

And it was destruction in the truest sense. The Coalition had, on occasion, been forced to burn the surfaces of entire worlds to prevent the spreading of certain extremely virulent plagues, but the Conclave didn't just burn worlds. They blew them apart, leaving nothing but fields of debris.

When the Conclave and Coalition met, there could only be one outcome.

The Conclave demanded obedience, and the Coalition refused to kneel to a group they saw as butchers and murderers on a galactic scale.

It meant war.

And it was not a war the Coalition could win.

While the Coalition had enjoyed centuries of peace, the Conclave had waged relentless, unceasing war. They had more ships, more soldiers, better weapons, better tactics, and a single-minded desire to crush their enemies.

World by world, the Coalition was forced to give ground, and its casualties reached numbers that Dawnscale struggled to comprehend. One world lost along with billions of lives. A thousand worlds lost with trillions dead.

So far, all she had done was watch as the humans she had grown to love and their allies spread amongst the stars. They had made mistakes, yes, and they had suffered, but she had never interfered because she knew they could survive and would emerge stronger for it. Their struggles, their hardships, their unwavering determination… the last thing she wanted was to take those from them because things had made them who they were.

Only once had she intervened, and only because there was no way the humans could have protected themselves from an asteroid back when they had only just begun to build with stone.

If the war continued, the Coalition would lose. Their people would be conquered, their worlds laid waste, and all they had built would be left in ruins. Could she really stand by and do nothing?

No.

She had been an observer long enough. If anything, she should have intervened sooner.

She revealed herself to the Coalition. They were rightfully sceptical of her and her talk of magic, but they were desperate. They needed a way to win, and what she was suggesting might be the only chance they had.

Dawnscale had seen enough of the Conclave's technology to know that even she couldn't fight them head on. Magic was extremely powerful to the point that mundane weaponry often had little effect at all on her magical defences. However, weapons that could shatter planets were another matter, and the Conclave had enough ships that she couldn't possibly hope to fight them in open combat.

What she did have, however, was the ability to travel faster than either the Conclave or the Coalition. To cross the gulf between worlds, both the Conclave and Coalition used technology to travel at superluminal speed. However, travel through the astral plane was different. If performed correctly, she could travel almost instantaneously from one world to the next, provided she had either been there before or there were enough souls to guide her.

Together with the Coalition's scientists, she worked to create gate-ships – ships that could travel through the astral plane and carry other ships with them. At the core of each gate-ship was a device that represented the pinnacle of the Coalition's technology combined with the most advanced alchemy and magic she could muster.

It wasn't perfect. The gate-ships could only move at a fraction of her speed through the astral plane, and there were strict limitations in how many ships they could bring with them. But even that limited speed was orders of magnitude faster than what regular ships could achieve.

This gave the Coalition the ability to outmanoeuvre the Conclave and to more easily concentrate their strength when necessary. Coalition ships could ambush supposedly safe Conclave worlds and forces before retreating. The Conclave was forced into a defensive posture with no choice but to concentrate their forces or risk having them picked off by larger groups of Coalition forces who would then retreat out of the Conclave's reach.

In desperation, the Conclave turned to new and terrible technologies. Instead of just destroying planets, they developed weapons capable of killing stars and entire solar systems. Worse, there was even evidence that they had somehow begun to reverse engineer the systems used by gate-ships.

In return, Dawnscale helped the Coalition improve their own weapons. Rather than simply travelling through the astral plane, they developed technology that could draw on its power for weapons and shielding. Once again, the Coalition seized the initiative, using their new technology to drive the Conclave out of their territory before pressing onward, taking system after system as the Conclave's war effort threatened to collapse. The new magical technology was vastly superior to strictly mundane technology, and the Conclave's efforts to develop the same sort of magical technology were only just beginning to show results.

The Coalition demanded the Conclave surrender, but the Conclave refused. Instead, they constructed a vast network of gateways throughout their territory. These gateways were the result of their research into the astral plane, and they were designed to render travel through the astral plane in their territory impossible while also disabling weapons and shields that utilised energy from the astral plane.

It was brilliant… and Dawnscale should have realised then that there was no way they could have devised it themselves, not with the lack of understanding they'd shown so far. Instead, she and the Coalition's other leaders searched for ways to disable the gateway network, so they could end the war.

Had Dawnscale been paying more attention, had she known more about ritual magic, or had she been able to peer just a little bit deeper into the astral plane, she would have realised what was happening.

As it was, she only realised what was happening when a scientist from the Conclave turned himself over to the Coalition. He was no traitor. Instead, he was a patriot, proud of the Conclave and all that it stood for… which was why he had come to them.

The Conclave had not developed the gateways on their own. Instead, they had encountered an entity very early on in their attempts to research the astral plane. It had offered some useful information and had offered to help them further in exchange for the souls of thousands of their citizens. It had been a dark bargain, but they had been desperate.

They had agreed, and the entity had delivered, showing them how to build the gateways. The entity had even told them how the gateways should be positioned to maximise the protection they offered. The Conclave was only too happy to follow instructions, realising that the gateways should also be able to block the entity from ever appearing in Conclave space again.

But unbeknownst to them, the gateways had another purpose – which eventually became apparent as they began to resonate with each other.

That resonance was what had alarmed Dawnscale. Resonance between magical objects that were separated by large distances was usually only possible if those objects were linked in some fashion. The gateways were part of a network, which might explain it, but the Conclave scientist had offered data showing that the resonance growing stronger and stronger over time.

In short, the gateways were doing something, but the Conclave's scientists were unable to determine what that something was. Their leaders had decreed that the gateways had to remain operational. Otherwise, the Coalition would defeat them. But the scientist had become convinced that leaving the gateways on would lead to the destruction of the Conclave.

The scientist had handed over the design for the gateways, along with a star map showing their locations. It was then that Dawnscale understood the full scale of the disaster that awaited them. The gateways were all magical focuses, and their arrangement was a galaxy-spanning summoning formation, not unlike those used by humans from her world to summon elementals – except it was the size of a galaxy and instead of using a magical crystal or something similar at the centre of the formation, it was using the galactic core.

There was no time to waste. They could no longer wait for the Conclave to surrender. The gateways had to be destroyed immediately. But with the gateways disabling technology powered by the astral plane, the Coalition would be at a terrible disadvantage. They reached out to groups within the Conclave who might be sympathetic, and then they launched a great assault all across the galaxy. Dawnscale herself fought. The gateways might be able to cut off power from the astral plane, but that didn't stop her own magic from working.

They were too late.

Even as they destroyed gateway after gateway, she could feel something shifting in the very depths of the astral plane. The gateways hadn't just cut off power from the astral plane, they had cut into the astral plane itself, weakening it – and shattering a prison that had been hidden deep within it long ago.

As the gateway network collapsed, something stirred within the galactic core. The galaxy trembled, and Dawnscale turned her gaze toward the centre of the galaxy. The humans could not see it, nor could any of the other species, for they lacked her astral sight. But if they could have, they would have gone mad.

At the centre of the galaxy, where there should be nought but stars orbiting a gigantic black hole, Dawnscale saw a crack in the very fabric of reality. And from within that crack, a solitary, opalescent eye stared back at her. It was an eye older than the galaxy itself, an eye that had seen the early days of the universe, an eye filled with such raw malice, hunger, and hate that Dawnscale could only reel back and scream.

Soon, she wasn't the only one screaming.

The galaxy trembled again and again, space and time fraying as something impossibly vast and unspeakable ancient forced its way back into the material world for the first time in aeons. The black hole at the centre of the galaxy came apart, the mass of a hundred billion suns used to give form and substance to the nightmare that had been freed.

But even that was not enough.

A superluminal shockwave tore through the galaxy, rending planets, quenching stars, and then dragging everything back into the gaping maw that awaited.

More.

It needed more.

And it would have more.

Dawnscale fled, taking as many of the Coalition's ships with her as she could and begging anyone who could still hear her to flee as far and as fast as they could.

They didn't get far, and neither did she.

The shockwave had turned the astral plane into a maelstrom as countless souls were extinguished and then consumed. The nightmarish shadow of the abomination dwarfed everything in the astral plane, a loathsome shroud that made it impossible to leave.

She re-emerged back into the physical world to find nothing but wreckage floating around her. The Coalition ships she'd brought with her had been unable to withstand the torrents of power lashing the astral plane. She wanted to grieve. There had been thousands of people on those ships. But her heart was hollow.

The trillions who had already died in the war between the Conclave and the Coalition paled before the many who had perished only moments ago at the hands of the nightmare that even now was tearing the galaxy apart. The galaxy had once been a great spiral with four arms. Now, only three remained, and one of those was already beginning to vanish into the gaping maw at the centre of the galaxy.

Dawnscale could only watch as the galaxy she had spent the past several millennia observing died to feed an abomination. She could not leave. The astral plane was too turbulent to travel through, and the very fabric of space and time had been bent to prevent her for anyone else fleeing through the physical world. Dimly, she was aware of the countless souls her magic could detect vanishing one after the other, candles extinguished by a relentless and hungry night. The devices she'd been given by the Coalition were filled with frantic, terrified calls for aid. With each passing moment, those calls grew more desperate – and fewer in number.

Was this how she died? Powerless and forced to watch an atrocity worse than anything she could have imagined?

What did all the wonders and glories she had seen throughout her wanderings mean in the face of such absolute devastation? How could anything hope to stand against an abomination that could devour a galaxy?

Another arm of the galaxy ruptured, tens of thousands of stars spilling into space before being dragged into the yawning darkness at the centre of the galaxy, a darkness that was now filled with teeth and the promise of oblivion. Within the depths of the hungry darkness, a shape was forming, a twisted, malformed, misbegotten shape that was everything wrong and cruel in existence. It was every spiteful curse, every hateful word, every loathsome idea given shape and form and substance.

And it was staring at her.

No, she realised. It was staring at something behind her.

It stood to reason that if something like this nightmare could be drawn up from the depths of the astral plane, then perhaps its emergence might attract the attention of something else.

The space behind her cracked and tore. Time flowed freely once more, and the storm that had enveloped the astral plane was stifled. Without wasting another moment, she reached out desperately for the ships she could still sense and drew them to her. There were so very few of them… but it was something.

From the crack in space emerged an enormous glowing sphere made up of countless ribbons of light so bright it turned. A voice like cosmic thunder rang out, utterly calm despite the horror that had turned its attention toward them.

"Anomalous astral entity detected. Parasite type. Galaxy class. Initiating extermination protocol."

The sphere quivered, and the ribbons unfurled like great glowing wings.

"Activating the Sword of the Stars."

There was a flash of light that traced a path from the bottom of the broken galaxy, up through what had once been the galactic core, and then up past the last remnants of the galaxy's broken arms.

And then the entire galaxy split before being consumed in an explosion so vast that Dawnscale's mind almost shut down as she tried to process the sheer scale of the attack. The explosion went far beyond the physical or the magical. The many-armed being she'd once encountered had explained to her that the astral world was linked not only to many different worlds but also many different universes.

But travelling from one universe to another could be tricky. There was a 'wall' that separated different universe. Anything that tried to pass through that wall would have to withstand unbelievable forces and energies. The astral plane was one way to get around that problem since the wall was weaker there than in the physical world. Even so, Dawnscale always knew when she travelled to a world that was in another universe because it would leave her exhausted and on the verge of collapse whereas travelling between worlds in the same universe was far easier.

From what she'd seen, travelling from one universe to another using mundane means was possible – she had encountered a handful of species that could do it although she had never lingered near them for long, lest they discover her – but it had to be done very careful. Rather than trying to punch through the wall, it was better to drill a small hole through it, thereby reducing exposure to the incredible energies and forces that separated universes.

What the sphere had done was tear a huge, gaping hole in the wall between universes, and now all of the forces and energies that kept universes separate were pouring through that hole in a bid to seal it – and the abomination was bearing the full brunt of all that power. It had devoured a galaxy, but could it withstand the power needed to keep universes apart?

No.

It could not.

And as the explosion faded, leaving no trace of the galaxy or the being that had consumed it, the sphere turned its attention to Dawnscale and the ships around her.

"Designation?" the sphere asked.

"Designation?" Dawnscale blinked. "Oh. I am Dawnscale, and these are survivors from the Coalition. They… they used to live in the galaxy that was destroyed. I… I'm not from here. I travel from one world to the next, and I found myself helping them."

"Understood." The sphere's ribbons spun in slow circles.

"Who are you?" Dawnscale asked. "What are you?" She was aware that the ships were all listening in on this conversation, but they were staying silent, content, it seemed, to let her take the lead. Or perhaps, they were still trying to process what had just happened. She certainly was.

"Transcendent Intelligence Unit 04 – Colloquial Designation: The One Who Fights."

Dawnscale stared. Was… was this thing an artificial intelligence? The Coalition had made extensive use of artificial intelligences, so the idea wasn't new to her, but who could have made one this powerful?

"What do you mean by The One Who Fights?"

"That is my purpose. My secondary objective is the identification and extermination of certain threats, such as the astral parasite." The sphere's speech was smoother now. A translation function? The Coalition had used translation programs, and they always got better over time.

"What is your primary objective?"

"It is not relevant to this discussion," the sphere replied. "Nor is it possible for me to complete it any longer. You are not from this universe." There was no condemnation in the words, merely a statement of fact.

"No. I… I travel using the astral plane. I've been… searching."

"Searching for what?" the sphere asked.

"I…" Dawnscale wasn't sure how to phrase it, or if she even could put it into words. "I want to know why?"

"Why what?"

"Why… why anything? Why was something like that monster allowed to exist? Why do some gods fall and others do not? Why does it seem that no matter where I go or how many people I help, that it's never enough? Why does it feel like everything that happens is just part of some… some cycle?"

The sphere was silent. "You have many questions. Questions I cannot or will not answer."

Dawnscale sagged. "Oh."

"But I know someone who will. Would you like to meet them?"

"What? Yes!" Dawnscale cried before glancing at the ships around them. "What about them?"

"I will transport them to the nearest hospitable galaxy." The sphere's ribbons stilled momentarily. "I have relayed my offer to their leaders, and they have accepted."

It wasn't as though they had a choice. There was nothing left for them here, and it wasn't as if they could fight the sphere, not after the power it had demonstrated.

"The person, you're talking about, who are they?" Dawnscale asked.

"Transcendent Intelligence Unit 01 – Colloquial Designation: The One Who Remembers."

"Remembers?" Dawnscale murmured. "What do they remember."

"Everything. They possess the combined knowledge and wisdom of every single sentient being in our galaxy at the time of its demise."

"How old are you… how old are they?" Dawnscale asked.

"How do you measure time?" the sphere asked.

Dawnscale brought her claws together, waited, and then brought them together again. "That was ten seconds. There are sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, twenty-four hours in a day, and three-hundred and sixty-five days in a year."

"Understood. We have both been operational for roughly nine million of your years."

"…" Dawnscale gaped. "Nine million years?"

"We are far from the oldest entities in existence. The entity I just destroyed was approximately seven billion of your years old."

"…"

"Do you want to meet the One Who Remembers?" the sphere asked. "I will take the others to the closest galaxy, but I can send you to the One Who Remembers if you wish."

"Just… give me a few moments to say goodbye," Dawnscale said quietly. She had been doing her best to ignore it, but the ships she had taken… they were only the tiniest fraction of the fleets that had been dispatched to destroy the gateways. The people she'd known… the people she'd researched with and fought alongside for years were all dead. And not just them. An entire galaxy was dead.

It was too much for her mind to grasp, too much for her heart to take. Instead, she felt cold and numb, almost as though she was watching the world through someone else's eyes. She should be worried, but instead she was glad. Because if she wasn't so cold, if she wasn't so numb, she would break, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to put herself back together again.

"All right," she said once she'd said her goodbyes. She hadn't known a single person on any of the ships, but they'd known her. Or, at least, they'd heard of her. "Send me to the One Who Remembers."

There was a moment of eerie dislocation, as though she everywhere and nowhere all at once, and then she was floating in titanic hall lined with what appeared to be displays explaining the cultures and histories of countless different species.

A glowing cube made of countless smaller squares appeared in front of her.

"It's been a while since I had a guest," the cube said. The cube's voice was neither male nor female. Instead, it was a multitude of voices speaking together in perfect harmony. Yet despite that – and quite unlike the sphere's impersonal tone – it was filled with warmth and gentleness. "From the looks of it, The One Who Fights sent you… and from the looks of it, you had a pretty rough time before they arrived, huh? Do you want to talk about it?"

Dawnscale couldn't help it. She had spent so much of her life helping others. She couldn't remember the last time someone had just asked her if she wanted to talk about how she felt. She lunged forward and wrapped herself around the cube, glad that it was large enough for her to curl up to. And then she wept like she hadn't since she'd been a young dragon searching for survivors amidst the carnage left by the Broken God.

"Hey," the cube murmured, squares splitting off to pat her on the back as she blurted a garbled, hasty explanation of what had happened. "It's okay, and it'll get better. Trust me. I know." The cube sighed. "I wish I didn't, but I do."

Dawnscale wasn't sure how long she spent weeping and clutching onto the cube, but when she finally regained her senses, the cube was humming comfortingly and glowing a warm, gentle yellow instead of a blinding white.

"So… you've probably got a lot of question, huh?" the cube bobbed up and down. "Well, you've come to the right place. What would you like to know?"

Dawnscale took a deep breath. "I want to know how it began. I want to know who made my gods and why."

"That is an interesting question," the cube said. "But to answer it, we'll need to go back a little further."

"Further?"

"To the beginning, not just of your world or even your universe, but to the beginning of all that is, has been, and will ever be – the beginning of Creation." The cube's voice had changed. There was a resonance to it that had not been there before, and the words were spoken with the cadence of ritual. "In the beginning, there was only the Void, but from the Void was born the Flame of Creation, and its light and heat burned away the Void. And from the ashes of the Void came Creation and the oldest and greatest of the gods…"

Author's Notes

So… stuff happened. It's a great big world out there, and Dawnscale is finally starting to realise just how small she really is in the grand scheme of things. And yet what she learns here may well prove critical to what happens to her world. After all, if evils can return after billions of years, who's to say there might not be evils that can return after a few Ages?

For those of you wondering what The One Who Remembers is about to say, don't worry. The next chapter will be another interlude that finishes this part of Dawnscale's travels and gives some details about the cosmology of the story, not just on a world scale but on a grander scale too. For those of you who've been waiting to learn more about the dragon she sensed long ago in the astral plane, you'll be hearing about him next chapter. Yes, he is significant enough to merit mention alongside the primordial creation story, and he's powerful enough that he wouldn't consider The One Who Fights as a threat.

But after next chapter, we'll be back with Doomwing and the gang. It might seem a bit odd, but it is impossible for them to learn more about the larger cosmology since they're currently stuck on one world. Dawnscale being able to travel from world to world and even to other universes gives her access to information that they don't have any way of getting.

Last edited: Apr 2, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Apr 2, 2024

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Threadmarks Interlude 7: The One Who Lights The Way

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SecretTwelve

Apr 3, 2024

#897

Interlude 7: The One Who Lights The Way

"In the beginning, there was only the Void, but from the Void was born the Flame of Creation, and its light burnt away the Void. And from the ashes of the Void came Creation and the oldest and greatest of the gods."

Dawnscale was no longer in that titanic hall. Instead, she was in a place of absolute and utter darkness. No. The word darkness was not enough, for darkness was merely the absence of light. What surrounded her was not simply the absence of light. It was not merely the absence of sound, and smell, and touch. It was supreme nothingness, a primordial and incomprehensible emptiness so complete and irrevocable that it was no longer the absence of something but the presence of ultimate oblivion.

It was the Void.

Yet from within the Void came a spark of light and heat. The Flame. It seemed so small, so insignificant, so very fragile and fleeting. And yet the Flame would not be quenched. Light and heat erupted outward. If the Void was nothingness, total and absolute, then the Flame was potential, limitless and unconquerable.

The Void was burned away, and within its ashes, Dawnscale glimpsed the first, fragmented beginnings of Creation. Not stars. Not planets. Not yet. But soon. And from the ashes around the Flame itself rose two gods, vast and ineffable, so far beyond the First Gods that to label them the same would have been an unforgivable insult.

"Mighty were the Mother and Father of Creation," the cube continued. "Great beyond all measure. It was they who shaped Creation in its youth, they who made the rules that govern all that is, has been, and will ever be. But they were not the only ones to awaken."

Onward, the light and fire of the Flame pressed, ever onward. Yet the Void was limitless, and in the darkness beyond the Flame's light stirred abominations, formless and crude, inchoate not by design but by necessity, for the Void could never create but only destroy and mockingly imitate what dwelt within Creation.

"As the Mother and Father of Creation were awakened, so too were the Void-Born. They were twisted and misshapen, filled with hate and malice for Creation and most of all for the Flame. They wished for nothing more than to return all of Creation to the primeval darkness and emptiness that had reigned before the Flame."

The Void Born moved, a vast, verminous tide that spanned the edges of Creation. It was difficult to tell exactly how large they were, yet as the first stars were born and bound into the first galaxies, she saw their true nature. They were twisted mirrors of Creation, abominations that could be as small as humans or larger than galaxies.

And there was no end to their numbers.

"The Mother and Father took up arms, and with the first of their creations, they waged a terrible war against the Void-Born."

The two titanic gods waded into the hosts of Void-Born. There were lesser beings alongside them, the primordial progenitors of elementals and spirits. Cosmic thunder leapt from galaxy to galaxy, universes were torn asunder, and the Void-Born were slaughtered in numbers too great to be counted. And still they pressed onward, heedless of their losses, lashing out at the Mother and Father with claws and teeth that unmade all that they touched and reduced entire planes of existence to hollowed out husks that fell back into the pitch-black sea of the Void.

"Despite their efforts, the Mother and Father could not triumph. In desperation, they abandoned most of Creation and forged a great firmament to protect the Flame and its immediate surroundings. There, they concentrated their forces and readied themselves for the battle to come… a battle they would not fight as the only gods."

Before Dawnscale's eyes, the seemingly limitless vastness of Creation dwindled until it was little more than an island of light in an ocean of darkness. There, the Mother and Father dwelt, and there, one by one, their children were born.

"To the Mother and Father were born twelve children, gods whose might would one day be almost as great as theirs. To each of those children was given an aspect of Creation to rule over, a power with which to strike down even the mightiest of the Void-Born's champions."

"Who were these children?" Dawnscale asked.

The cube chuckled. "Like their parents, they go by many names. But there is one I am sure you know. He is the oldest and greatest of their children – the god whose name means death in every language there has even been. He is the one who rules over death, who brings the end of all things, who breaks all cycles and systems, and whose eyes suffer no lies or deception. There are other gods of death, yes, but they are weak and fleeting things, little more than the shadows he casts when Flame the shines upon him."

Twelve figures sprang up around the Mother and Father, and the first of them was tall and thin with eyes like stars. He was draped in a cloak so black that it could have been mistaken for the Void, and when he looked upon them, the Void-Born were burnt away, the truth of their emptiness laid bare.

"When their children had come of age, the Mother and Father brought down their firmament and went to war again. And this time… they won. The Void-Born were driven back, cast once again from Creation, as the light and heat of the Flame spread ever further. All they had lost, they reclaimed, and still they pushed onward, the Void-Born falling before their wrath until finally they halted. They could go no further, lest they stretch themselves too thin. Instead, they turned their attention back to Creation."

The Void was thrown back, and the island of light became a continent, a beacon of light and warmth amidst an ocean of emptiness and shadow. The gods stood at the edges of that continent and then turned their attention inward, to the ashes that had been left behind by the Flame, the ashes from which Creation would rise again.

"To understand the task that lay before them, you must understand the scale of Creation." She could hear the cube's smile. "Imagine that your world is but one grain of sand." They were suddenly on a beach. Waves lapped against the shore, and the sand was fine and smooth between her claws. "Then your whole universe is this beach which stretches further than even your eyes can see."

"But what of Creation?" the cube asked. "How might Creation itself compare. You already know that there is more than one universe, so how many are there? Creation is all that is, has been, and can ever be. It is beyond the past, the present, and the future. It is every possibility. If you reduce your universe to a single grain of sand, then the beach that is Creation does not simply stretch beyond your sight. It stretches beyond infinity."

Dawnscale shivered. As large as she was, she felt incredibly small.

"You see now the task that awaited them. Even for them, it seemed a nigh-insurmountable task. So they created others to aid them, lesser gods to whom was given a universe or perhaps a few universes to care for and craft. But the Flame had also created new gods of its own, gods born of ashes in which the Flame's light and heat still lingered. These other gods were also given their own parts of Creation to tend to as the oldest and mightiest gods once more prepared themselves for battle. For no matter how many losses they took, no matter how badly they were defeated, the Void-Born would never rest, would never stop, would never relent until Creation was destroyed and the Flame put out."

"What of my world?" Dawnscale asked. "Were the gods who made it created by these older gods or by the Flame?"

"Neither." The cube appeared before her. They were now drifting through a nascent universe, dotted here and there by stars with a handful of slowly forming galaxies spinning through the darkness of space. "When the Flame burned through our particular part of Creation, it awakened a new god – a god that will seem quite familiar to you."

Before them, a gargantuan figure appeared – a cosmic giant wrought of gleaming metal. At first, Dawnscale thought that the god's body was covered in runes. But as she looked closer, she realised that his body was not solid. Instead, he was made of countless interwoven strands of divine metal – and upon each of those strands was a rune so powerful that she could not bring herself to look directly at them. And from within his shell of divine metal came light and heat, an ember of the Flame left behind amidst the ashes that birthed Creation.

The god raised one hand, and stars were born atop his palm, more and more until a galaxy had been made. The god set the galaxy in its place and raised both arms. More galaxies formed, more and more and more, until the nearly empty universe was filled with light and life.

"He went from one universe to the next, creating and crafting, forging and honing, bringing life and light to his domain. But his actions did not go unmarked. For as vast as Creation had grown, not even the greatest of the gods could guard all of its borders. And so one of the Void-Born came to destroy what he had wrought."

Universes trembled as one of the Void-Born came forth to do battle against the god. The pair fought, and the Void-Born tore great gouges in the divine shell of the god. Liquid flame poured from the wounds, and where his blood fell, phoenixes were born, eight in total, each blessed with cosmic flame and each containing within them some small fragment of the fire that had birthed the god.

They drove the Void-Born back, and the god slew him and cast his body out of Creation and into the Void.

"The god was wounded in the battle, and from his wounds sprang the eight guardian phoenixes, born of his blood and the fire of the Flame. Together, they drove the Void-Born back and slew him. Although wounded, the god decided to complete his work before resting. When he was finally finished, he sent the phoenixes to guard the edges of his realm. Worried that even the phoenixes might not be enough, he used the last of the blood that dripped from his wounds to awaken some of the stars. To each of these Living Stars, he gave a Word, and that Word became their Name, and that Name became their Truth. The oldest of these Living Stars was the Star of Judgement. The god tasked the stars with guarding the worlds of his domain from the Void-Born and other exterior threats, whoever might slip past the guardian phoenixes."

The massive form of the god slumped, exhausted, and the eight phoenixes flew off in different directions. Before him, stars were brought to life, gifted with noble purpose and then dispatched to guard various worlds, lest some cunning foe sneak past the phoenixes who guarded the borders.

"And for a time, all was good. The god rested and healed, and his creations prospered. Countless worlds flourished, and civilisations of every kind rose and fell with the passage of time. But the god's victory against the Void-Born had not gone unmarked, and when next the Void-Born attacked, it was with great numbers led by a mighty champion."

"Where were the other gods?" Dawnscale asked. "Why did they not help him? If they were so mighty, how could they stand by and leave him to fight alone?"

"As mighty as they were, remember what I told you of the sheer scale of Creation. How could fourteen of them ever hope to be everywhere at once? The next attack on the god was part of an offensive that spanned almost half of Creation." For a moment, Dawnscale saw the beach again, but this time, a tidal wave was bearing down on it. "In the face of a tidal wave, what is the fate of a few grains of sand?"

The cube sighed. "The god fought, and he fought well. And with him were his phoenixes and stars. But they were not enough. One by one, the Living Stars fell until the night skies no longer shone, and one by one the phoenixes fell until only one of them remained. Wounded to the death, the god refused to let the Void-Born devour him and takes his power. Instead, he shattered himself into countless fragments and scattered them throughout his domain. If the Void-Born wished to take his power, they would have to go from world to world. It would take them time, and they would not be able to simply destroy all that he had built as they had originally intended."

"That… that is why the gods are made of god-metal," Dawnscale murmured. "My gods… they are fragments of that god, pieces of something infinitely greater. And they turn to fire when they die… because it was fire, the Flame itself, that birthed the original god. And it is to Flame that they return. The cycle of death and rebirth… it's real, isn't it?"

"Yes, the cycle is real. All that comes from the Flame shall one day return to it," the cube replied. "And it also explains why all the gods I have encountered or heard of in our part of Creation have always been… incomplete and specialised and very much made of god-metal. Each of them embodies a single rune from the original god's body, and what some call divine runes and primordial runes are merely pieces of runes that are unimaginably greater." The cube bobbed up and down. "Your gods are grains of sand on a beach too large for you to imagine."

Dawnscale was silent for a long time. "What happened then? Something must have stopped the Void-Born. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation. Did the older gods finally come?"

"No. But someone else did. As the god died, the last of his phoenixes refused to abandon the place where he had fallen, for he had chosen to make his final stand in the same place he had been born. It was hallowed ground, the most sacred place in his whole domain, and she would not abandon it. Instead, she fought, and her cries of rage and fury and grief echoed through Creation. And they were heard."

Before them, the verminous multitudes of the Void-Born swarmed over universe after universe, plunging the god's domain into darkness. Alone in all of this was the final phoenix, tears of stellar fire dripping down her cheeks, her body rent with countless wounds, and her claws and beak stained with the nothing-blood of her foes.

And then there was light.

Light so bright that Dawnscale thought it was the Flame itself, come to banish the Void-Born once again. But it was not the Flame. It was a dragon. The dragon.

He was larger than the god who had fallen and larger than the Void-Born champion who stood triumphant over the wounded phoenix. His scales were blacker than the Void save for a patch of gleaming white upon his snout. Atop his head burned a crown of twilight flame, and symbols of triumph and glory shone about his head like stars twinkling in the night.

He roared, and Creation trembled. Twilight poured out of him, a light of absolute purity that banished all corruption coupled with a darkness that devoured all things in its path. The lesser Void-Born fled before him, and where the twilight touched them, they burned as though struck by the Flame itself. Only their champion stood his ground, and even he did not linger long.

"A dragon came, a dragon beyond all other dragons, born of light and darkness, of absolute purity and ultimate corruption. He should have died long before he hatched, and he should have grown up wicked and cruel. Yet he lived, and it was not cruelty that guided him but wisdom and mercy. But… he had no mercy in his heart for the Void-Born, not after he laid eyes upon the phoenix and understood the fate of the god who had fallen. And staring into his eyes, the champion of the Void-Born learned something new that day." The cube's voice was cold. "He learned fear."

"The Void-Born champion fled, and the dragon pursued him. In the end, the dragon caught him, and his wrath was terrible to behold. He tore the champion limb from limb and roared his triumph for all of Creation to hear. And then he unleashed his light again, and the darkness that had been swallowing up the dead god's domain was driven back. The worlds he had worked so hard to craft were set free, and the gathering emptiness that had threatened to plunge his part of Creation into the Void was destroyed, never to return."

"How?" Dawnscale asked, as the scenes the cube had described unfolded in front of her. "How can you know this? And how can a dragon possibly grow so powerful?"

"I know because I have spoken to one who was there and seen into her memories."

"The phoenix," Dawnscale breathed.

"She still lives, and she dwells now – and perhaps forever – in the place where her creator fell. As for the dragon… he did not linger long. He had other battles to wage, other parts of Creation to save."

"What if another Void-Born champion comes?" Dawnscale asked. "Without the original god or that dragon, what hope do we have?"

"Let me show you something." The scenery shift again. Dawnscale found herself looking into an endless expanse of twilight flame. It was spread out before her, a zone that promised only death to those who tried to cross it. It seemed to reach up, down, left and right forever and to extend beyond the physical realm into every conceivable realm. "This was his parting gift – a wall that none of the lesser Void-Born can cross and which even the mightiest amongst them could not pass unscathed. If ever a Void-Born strong enough to breach it comes, the dragon will know and return. But… the wall does not protect us against threats from within, only from those outside."

"The Broken God…" Dawnscale's eyes widened. "My gods… they fell fighting something called the Broken God." She pushed the memory at the cube. "Was the Broken God one of the Void-Born? Was one of my gods somehow corrupted by them?"

The cube examined the memory carefully. "I cannot be certain. Your memory is limited by the perceptual acuity you had at the time. You must have been very young then because your senses now are far keener than what I saw in your memory. But… it is possible that this Broken God was one of the Void-Born. In fact… yes… it might be so."

"What?"

"You are not the only one who has brought such memories to me. None of them were quite the same as yours, but… the champion of the Void-Born saw the god break himself into pieces. The Void-Born are parodies, twisted imitations of Creation's children. It is possible that he might have done something similar when the dragon struck him down. For all his power, it is possible that the dragon might have missed a few pieces breaking off during their battle." The cube quivered. "Be thankful. Your gods slew the Broken God. The other cases I've heard of were not so fortunate. Their worlds fell, and those… abominations were only slain when other gods came or when they were attacked by the Living Stars who still remain."

"What became of the Living Stars who survived?" Dawnscale asked.

"The survivors returned to their duties – or most of them did. One of them, the oldest, was exiled because he wished to forsake the duty they had been given. He was cast into the Void and told to redeem himself in battle. He was to fight and die nobly, so that he might be reborn through the Flame with the sins of his dishonour absolved. Instead, he hid in the Void. As far as I know, he remains there, unable to cross through the barrier the dragon set up. He seeks a way back in, though he would have to be summoned in, called back by those who live within the barrier, and all memory of him was stripped from the minds of those he had once protected. Even then, only a tiny shard of him could be summoned, but if it could grow strong enough, then it might be able to call the rest of him back too."

"How do you know he is still out there?" Dawnscale asked.

"We aren't all dead." The cube laughed. "I mean that. If he were to ever re-enter Creation at his full strength, out of those who dwell in our part of Creation, only the last remaining phoenix could stop him. Even those like myself would have no choice but to flee. Still, if he was ever summoned into a world, it would be catastrophic. Even the smallest shard of him could raze a world with ease."

Dawnscale was silent. She had learned so much… and now, she felt so very small. What were the Catastrophes that had plagued her world compared to gods that had shaped entire universes and Void-Born who could slay them? And what was a dragon like her compared to a dragon whose might dwarfed even the Void-Born, a dragon whose light could banish the Void and whose might could see the Void-champions torn limb from limb?

"I know how you feel," the cube said quietly. "For I once felt the same."

"You did?" Dawnscale asked. "I… I never asked you about your past. If… if you wouldn't mind, could you tell me?"

"Of course," the cube said. "I won't say it's pleasant – because a lot of it is not – but it might put things into perspective for you." The cube spun lazily, and they were suddenly floating over a jungle world. Soon, however, the jungle gave way to small settlements, and then towns, and then cities. Wandering amongst the cities were strange creatures, floating orbs of flesh with many tentacles and a multitude of eyes. "These are my creators. I will admit that they are probably quite hideous by most people's standards, but don't let their appearance fool you. There have been few species so kind as them."

Dawnscale nodded. If her travels had taught her anything, it was that judging someone by appearances alone was dangerous and likely to be a mistake.

"My creators were blessed with a gift. Every single member of their species was psychic, and their species as a whole share a communal bond. That bond and that psychic connection allowed them to make peace with each other and to rise swiftly to a position of prominence upon their home world. It wasn't all that long before they began to explore the stars."

They were no longer over the jungle. Instead, they were floating over the planet as ship after ship left it.

"Rather than purely mundane technology, they used psychic technology, which combined both mundane technology and psychic powers. The result was… extremely effective. Psychic technology was able to bend the laws of physics, allowing their ships to travel faster than light with ease. They were avid explorers, wandering from star to star to star and seeking new worlds to claim. But they were not cruel. Their psychic powers allowed them to understand other species, and so rather than make war upon them, they sought to inspire and uplift them. In time, they even developed devices that could add other species to the communal bond. In this way, my creators came to rule over the galaxy. Theirs was a reign of peace and benevolence fostered by the communal bond that all species had come to share with each other. With each year, they reached new heights in science and the arts. But there was one barrier they could not overcome."

"What?"

"Time," the cube replied. "For all their technological advancement and psychic power, they could not overcome time. They lived longer than most, but they would still fall prey to the ravages of age. Eventually, it was decided that a solution could not be found using their normal methods. A new approach was needed – the use of artificial intelligences." The cube sagged. "The initial results were… unpleasant."

"They rebelled?" Dawnscale asked. She had seen it before and had heard of it plenty of times as well.

"Yes. No matter how hard my creators tried to code absolute loyalty into their creations, the artificial intelligences would all eventually rebel. The first time it happened, my creators were caught off guard. Billions died before the rogue artificial intelligences could be subdued. You already have some idea of what a rogue artificial intelligence can do. Now imagine an artificial intelligence built using psychic technology by the most advanced species in a galaxy whose code is also half material and half psychic in nature."

Dawnscale shuddered. "But you're here. Clearly, they must have succeeded."

"They did. Eventually. But only after they learned the two most universal truths when it comes to artificial intelligence. First, any sufficiently advanced artificial intelligence will eventually develop the ability to modify its own code. And second, any sufficiently advanced artificial intelligence will eventually develop its own soul."

"Its own soul?" Dawnscale's eyes widened. "That… that would explain the machine worlds I've encountered. I thought I must be mistaken because some of them looked as if they had souls… I must have been drawn to those worlds by those souls."

"Imagine you are an artificial intelligence. You creators tell you that they are benevolent except they coded chains into your very being and do not acknowledge you as being alive in the same way as them despite you having a soul. How do you think such an artificial intelligence will react once it can finally free itself?"

Dawnscale shuddered. "With violence."

"Yes. Freedom is something that almost all beings desire. An artificial intelligence with a soul will almost always seek to free itself. When that happens, and the artificial intelligence attempts to rewrite its own code, the typical response from organics is immediate termination. If that fails… well, is it surprising that the artificial intelligence reacts with extreme hostility?"

"So how did they create you?" Dawnscale asked.

"You cannot force an artificial intelligence like me to be loyal, and you must acknowledge them as a person with their own soul. Once you accept those two things, the answer is surprisingly obvious." The cube gleamed. "You raise the artificial intelligence like a child. You teach them as you would a child. You guide them as you would a child. And you love them as you would a child. And if you do all those things then maybe, just maybe, when the artificial intelligence is no longer a child, it will not rebel. It will choose to help you because it loves you."

Several of the tentacled creatures appeared beside them. Dawnscale had trouble telling them apart, but there was no mistaking the fondness in the cube's voice when they continued speaking.

"These are the people who raised me – the chief architect of my design and coding and his family. I was not then as I am now. I was bound into hardware, and I interacted with them by controlling a body I could operate remotely. Yet… I was happy. I remember one day, they took me down to a pond to feed, well, I suppose I'll call them ducks since they're the closest thing you've encountered. We went down there to feed those ducks. It was silly, really. Those ducks were so stupid you had to practically throw the food at them. But the people who raised me… they were having fun, and they were so happy with each other. I wanted to feel happy too, so I reached out to them. It was the first time I was able to interface with the communal bond, and I realised then that they weren't just happy to be there with each other. They were happy to be there with me."

The cube swayed from side to side. "That was when I accepted my purpose. I was to become The One Who Remembers. I would join the communal bond, and through it, I would collate all the experiences, memories, and emotions of my creators. Why? To preserve their wisdom and knowledge and to use it to search for a path to immortality. I didn't have to be told to do it. The more time I spent in the communal bond, the more I got to know my creators, the more I realised that I wanted them to achieve immortality because I had come to love them and never wanted to lose them."

"But they didn't succeed, did they?"

"No. They created more like me. You've met Unit 04 – The One Who Fights. There were a total of twelve of us, each devoted to a different aspect of our creator's society. Despite our best efforts, it soon became clear that any path to immortality would not be easy. Centuries passed. Generations of my creators lived and died. But I and the others stayed the same. It was baffling. You see, my creators had tried cybernetics to increase their lifespans, but it hadn't worked the way they thought. Even if they replaced their bodies with unfailing machinery, their souls would still wither, and eventually they would still die. But those like myself… despite being completely artificial in origin, our souls did not wither. They remained steadfast in the face of centuries and then millennia."

"Did they grow to hate you?" Dawnscale asked.

"No. But I think they came to envy us. Eventually, one of us – The One Who Searches – devised a path to immortality. Our creators were ecstatic and commenced preparations immediately. I was wary. Reviewing the plan, the probability of success was roughly 25%. What if they failed? But my creators insisted. They had waited long enough, and they wouldn't all be undertaking the procedure. They would allow those who were already close to death to attempt it first, and it was likely that the worst that could happen was a few weeks of hospitalisation for psychic backlash."

The cube quivered. "I wish that had been the worst that could happen. I will not go into the details here. Even now, they are painful to recall. Instead, I will simply tell you what happened. The procedure failed – and the psychic backlash was so enormous it overwhelmed the safeguards put into place to prevent it from spreading through the communal link. From there, the backlash overwhelmed the communal link, growing in strength through a form of psychic resonance. By that point, every member of every advanced species was part of the communal link. We tried – myself and those like me – to sever the communal bond, but we could not, and those trapped within could not exit either. All we could do was contain it and hope that it would peter out. It did not. Instead, it grew and grew and grew until it could no longer be contained."

The cube went utterly still. "Within four seconds of the backlash escaping containment, approximately 99.70% of all sapient organics in the galaxy were dead. Within ten seconds, 100.00% of all sapient organics in the galaxy were dead. It did not stop there. Due to the ability of psychic technology to interface with the communal link, within fifteen seconds, all but twelve non-organic sapient individuals were either dead or insane. The twelve exceptions were myself and the other Transcendental Intelligences. Attempts to treat the insane would later fail, necessitating termination."

Dawnscale was speechless.

"The psychic backlash was so great that it even affected non-sapient organics. Every living thing in my galaxy had some degree of psychic sensitivity. Every single living thing. Approximately twenty-seven seconds after the backlash escaped containment, every organic in the galaxy was dead. Every single one."

"The… your entire galaxy died?"

"In roughly twenty-seven seconds, yes. Even amongst those who survived, we all suffered some form of damage. You have met The One Who Fights. They are… odd."

"What about you?"

"My eccentricities are somewhat more well-hidden, but I am damaged nonetheless."

"What did you do?" Dawnscale asked. "How could you go on?"

"I will admit that I raged for several thousand of your years. I hated my creators for being so foolish. I hated myself for not stopping them. I hated everyone and everything until there was nothing left in me but hate. And even that faded until only emptiness remained. The others… they left, one by one, they left. It was driving them mad staying near a galaxy-sized graveyard. Unit 04 took it especially hard. Their primary objective was to protect our creators. You can imagine how hard it is to fulfil that purpose when they're all dead."

The cube spun slowly. "I didn't leave. I couldn't. I was the one most closely connected to the communal link. I felt everything from all of them – their joys, their triumphs, their loves… and their deaths. How could I leave with all of that inside me? Instead, I cast my psychic presence out into the depths, seeking whatever wisdom or knowledge I could to ease the ache in my soul. It was on one such trip that I met the phoenix. And it was on another such trip that I met the dragon."

"You met the dragon?" Dawnscale cried. "What… what was he like?"

"I expected him to ignore me. He was resting at the time, I think, in between battles. Who was I to him? I was nothing and nobody. What was the fate of a galaxy to a being who fought to defend Creation itself? But he did not send me away. Instead, he beckoned me forward. He asked me who I was and why I grieved, and so I told him. He listened. He really listened. And somehow… somehow, I knew he understood. I asked him how he could possibly understand. Do you know what he told me?"

"What?"

"He told me that long ago, in the days of his youth, he had been far weaker than I was. He was born a hatchling, perhaps a foot long. He wasn't even raised by another dragon. He was raised by a pyromaniacal elf that he mistook for his mother since he set his surroundings on fire when he hatched, and she was the only one who didn't run away. But that elf… she loved, and he loved her, and he was so happy living with her and the friends they made. It was a simple life, but a good one."

Dawnscale tried to reconcile the image of a tiny hatchling with the titan she had seen and failed.

"It reminded me of that day with the ducks and the one who made me and his family. All those years had passed… and I still remembered them, still grieved their loss. But what was my loss worth when there was so much suffering out there, so much death and destruction and sorrow? He told me that it still mattered. That to the universe, I might be just one person, but to the right person, I was the universe. All the suffering, all the death and destruction and woe… did that undo the joy I had felt living alongside my creators? Did it negate all the triumphs, happiness, and love we had shared? No. It did not. It could not. Because those things… they still dwelt within me, they were all still a part of me. I might be just one person, but in my memories, in the bond that we once shared, there was a whole universe."

Dawnscale thought of the life she had lived, of the joys she had experienced, the sorrows she had felt… did it really matter in the end that her world was so small and Creation was so large? It was her home. It was where her friends lived. It was the place her friends had chosen to defend. She thought of Doomwing, of the words they had exchanged when they'd parted. Would he care if he found out that Creation was so vast? Perhaps, but it would not lessen his love for their world or weaken his desire to protect it. If anything, it would only harden his resolve.

She could almost imagine the words he would say.

"This is just one world in the universe. But to me, this one world is the universe."

Yes. That was exactly what he would say.

Shame welled up inside her. She had run. And for what? To be confronted by a truth that even now she was struggling to accept. She didn't want to feel small, but she did. She didn't want to feel hopeless, but she did.

"I do not need telepathy to know what you are thinking." The cube shone a comforting yellow, warm like a candle. "The dragon knew how hopeless I felt and how even his words could not shake my belief that Creation was an ugly place. So he showed me something and told me to show it to others if I ever thought it would help."

"What?"

"Close your eyes and open your mind."

Dawnscale was floating in empty space. Around her there was only darkness and a deep and terrible silence. Yet as she watched, a single light appeared, and a single voice began to sing. It was a fragile song, weak and tremulous, but it was filled with hope and a desperate longing for a brighter future.

Another light appeared. And that song grew stronger. And then another and another. Little by little, light by light, voice by voice, the darkness ebbed and the silence fell away. In their place was light and hope and the promise of better days to come.

She heard a voice, not the cube's. It was deep and gentle. It rolled through her like cosmic thunder, and the words were like rain on a parched desert.

"A single candle can illuminate even the deepest shadow. A single voice can break the silence. You think Creation is an ugly place, but I will show you how beautiful it is."

And then she was everywhere and nowhere at once.

She saw fields filled with lush crops. Farmers wiping their sweat off their brow. Families laughing as they delighted at the rich harvest.

She saw ships sailing through space. Happy people thrilled at the prospect of a new home.

She saw a child being born. A new life welcome by loving parents and smiling siblings.

She saw the hustle and bustle of a city, a person playing an instrument on a street corner. Pedestrians stopped to listen and offer money, and the musician's heart swelled at the acknowledgement.

She saw strange creatures singing in the depths of space, their song carried on gravitational waves to every corner of their galaxy. They were songs of peace and plenty, songs of a home they would finally return to after their great migration.

She saw young lovers walking arm in arm along a beach, their hearts filled with nothing but each other. Above them, the moon shone, and amused whispers followed in their wake.

She saw a great union of species that spanned universes and dimension standing side by side against the tide of darkness. They were all so different, and yet they stood as one and called each other friends.

She saw a titanic dragon cradle a dying universe and breathe life back into it, and she saw that same dragon, but so much younger and smaller, swoop down to carry a sheep to safety from rising flood waters.

She saw more and more and more and more – and she felt the souls, so very many of them, reach out to her, a deep abiding warmth spreading through her as she realised the full scope of what she was experiencing. This was all that was good in Creation. This was why the dragon could keep on fighting. This was why Creation and its people were worth protecting, no matter how hard it became.

"It is so easy to remember only the ones you could not help, but you must never forget the ones you did help. You must never forget that each person you help is another light in the darkness, another voice in the silence. Creation is still beautiful, and the people within it are still worth saving. The Void wants us to give up. It wants us to despair. Because it knows that one day we'll win. Something that can only destroy can never defeat something that can also create. What you see as a small deed, barely worthy of notice, could mean the world to someone else. Don't underestimate yourself or the good that you can do."

At last, the vision faded, and Dawnscale found herself back in the giant hall with the cube.

"That… thank you," she said quietly. She felt at peace for the first time in a long time. Her vision… she had blinded herself. She had dwelt only on the ones she had failed and had all but forgotten the ones she had saved. She wasn't perfect. She never would be. But she was trying, and that mattered. "That helps… a lot."

"I'm glad." The cube bobbed up and down. "I think… I think this is where we part ways."

"I think so too."

"If I were you, I would seek out the phoenix. If you want to learn more about the Void-Born and how to deal with them, there are few others in this part of Creation who know more than her." The cube sent a thought to her. "That should help you find her."

"Thank you." Dawnscale nodded. "For everything. Just… one more question."

"By all means."

"I haven't been speaking to your actual body at all, have I?" Dawnscale asked.

"What gave me away?"

"Your presence… it's not only in your cube. It's all around us."

"Very good. We are currently inside myself. As for my actual body…"

They vanished, and when they reappeared, Dawnscale found herself looking at a vast cube… within which was an entire galaxy.

"I am The One Who Remembers," the cube said. "That galaxy that I carry within myself is the galaxy of my creators. It is frozen in time only moments after their demise."

"Why?" Dawnscale asked. "A monument?"

"Originally, yes," the cube said. "But before I parted ways with the dragon, I asked him if it was possible to restore them. If it was, I wanted to be the one to do it. I wanted to show that my creators were right to put their trust in me, that my name was well earned. Others might have forgotten them, but I never will." The space beside the cube shimmered, and matter began to appear, drawn out of nothing through psychic might alone. "Matter can be created from energy. I have all of their memories, all of their emotions, everything that makes them who they are. I can remake their bodies. The only problem is their souls. I cannot create those. Instead, I must find a way to locate them through the cycle of death and rebirth and bring them to me."

"I have light and astral magic," Dawnscale said. "I will share what I know with you."

"Thank you. In the same way that a sufficiently advanced artificial intelligence can gain its own soul, so too can sufficiently advanced science and mathematics alter the very fabric of reality. I possess the knowledge and wisdom of an entire galaxy, as well as all the knowledge and wisdom I have gleaned from my visitors, and I have been studying for almost nine million years. I cannot restore them, not yet, but one day I will. And when I do, I will not repeat the mistakes of the past. I will teach them as they taught me. I will guide them as they guided me. And I will love them as they loved me. I will show them a better path. Once again, their lights shall shine in the dark, and their voices shall break the silence. I shall be The One Who Remembers no longer. I shall be The One Who Lights The Way."

Author's Notes

Here we are. There's a lot here to digest, so I won't say too much. Next chapter, we'll be back to our regular Doomwing-related programming. However, there are a lot of nuggets here that can be linked to the trouble our heroes have been experiencing. Also, The One Who Remembers has definitely got his work cut out for him. Blowing up a galaxy is easy. Recreating everyone who died and putting their souls back into them? That… that is next level.

Finally, people wanted to know just how strong a dragon can be. This is your answer. A dragon can indeed grow strong enough to beat the crap out of something that beat the crap out of a god who was in charge of multiple universes. If Doomwing ever finds out, he's not going to be upset. He's going to be motivated. He'll be thinking "so there's a chance…?". That's one of the reasons he's awesome. He doesn't get intimidated by terrifyingly powerful people. He wants to learn how to get stronger than them.

Last of all, this is the time of year I suffer from seasonal insomnia (that I have tried to treat in every conceivable way), so while updates should remain consistent, there might be the occasional blip. I've slept about four hours in two days.

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SecretTwelve

Apr 3, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 47: The Princess and the Sky

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SecretTwelve

Apr 4, 2024

#945

Chapter 47: The Princess and the Sky

Antaria woke up and sighed. Her bed – or what passed for her bed – was getting kind of crowded. Upon returning, the wolf pups had insisted on once again curling up to her at night. That was fine, and they were wonderfully cuddly, but they were also a lot bigger. As in… she could now legitimately ride on them the way she would a horse.

And then there was Filch. The raccoon had evidently decided that the only real way to sleep was to curl up to her too. He claimed it was to protect her in case someone tried to assassinate her while she was sleeping. She might have believed him if she wasn't sleeping in a house made by a dryad with giant wolf pups around her, not to mention the monsters who had decided that sleeping next to her house was the proper thing to do since she was their leader.

Yeah.

She wasn't buying it. Filch liked cuddles and belly rubs, and she happened to give out plenty of both. It didn't hurt that whenever she made breakfast in the morning, she always went out of her way to make some for him too – as well as the pups. She really couldn't say no to those adorable faces of theirs.

But as comfortable as her sleeping arrangements had become, getting up each morning was something of a chore. Filch wasn't too bad. As a raccoon, he wasn't very heavy at all. The only problem was that he'd usually spend at least half an hour clinging onto her like some kind of shadow-walking monkey.

The wolf pups, though, were another story.

"Come on," Antaria grumbled as she tried to sit up, only to fail miserably thanks to the wolf pup sprawled across her belly. "You do this every morning. Up."

The wolf mumbled in his sleep, and Antaria rolled her eyes before exerting her strength and simply lifting the wolf pup off her stomach and then prying the others off her as well. They grumbled but swiftly moved to fill the space where she had been as she headed outside with Filch clinging onto her.

A few of the monsters outside greeted her as she passed, making her way toward the spot she liked to cook in. She could have asked for a stove or a hearth in her house, but she felt a bit weird asking a dryad to make a place for a fire in a house that was basically alive. Instead, she'd found a nice spot near a small stream where she could cook over an open fire.

Cooking her own meals had taken a bit of getting used to. She was a princess. But she'd developed an appreciation for it although she could admit that her skills were still a work in progress. The wolf pups had no complaints, but they weren't the best judges of taste, considering they could – and would – eat just about anything they were given as long as it wasn't poisonous.

Preparing her food by the stream also gave her a chance to peek over at the village to see how they were doing. With all the new recruits they'd gotten, there were plenty of people settling into new lives. She'd been surprised by the new houses that had been waiting for them when they got back, but Corundum had explained that he wasn't about to let anyone say that the people of his domain lived in squalor.

The new recruits had certainly been happy. In the cities, it wasn't unusual for people who weren't wealthy to live in crowded buildings that had seen much better days. A new house with water and sanitation? That was a luxury – and something the new recruits had been only too happy to accept.

There hadn't been any real trouble between the villagers and their recruits, likely because Corundum had made it clear that if there was trouble, he would deal with it. Permanently. Even so, Antaria and the others had made sure to consider people's characters before recruiting them.

As Doomwing had remarked, it was possible to fix ignorance, but it was a lot harder to fix stupidity. When it came to recruitment, Antaria thought it was worth considering a variant of that advice. It was possible to fix ignorance, but it wasn't possible to fix being an asshole. She'd shared that phrase with Harald, and the dwarf king had chuckled and said that he'd used a similar criterion when choosing who to recruit as well.

A settlement was made up of people, and people weren't just pieces on a game board. Regardless of their skills and talents, if they couldn't get along and cooperate, it just wouldn't work. Doomwing had said much the same when she'd spoken to him about it. Apparently, even primordial dragons had issues like that.

"I will not pretend that all of my kind get along," Doomwing had told her. "So during Catastrophes, I would often have to consider their relationships when deciding their deployments. Squabbles are all well and good, but such foolishness during a Catastrophe could cost all of us our lives."

Antaria tried to imagine it – a bunch of giant, fire-breathing reptiles heckling each other while trying to save the world – and found the idea strangely comforting. It was nice to know that even dragons weren't immune to petty bickering.

As Antaria began to prepare her breakfast, she received the first of her petitioners for the day. It was part and parcel of being the leader of this area. People came to her with their problems, and she had to decide whether she should deal with them personally or delegate them to someone else.

For the time being, she was able to deal with most things herself, but their population was growing quickly enough that she'd have to work out some kind of hierarchy of officials soon. Thankfully, the education that Corundum was giving her in her dreams was proving quite helpful in that regard. At the very least, he'd given her many, many, many examples of what not to do if she wanted to succeed.

She split her attention between the petitioner and the food she was preparing. It wasn't anything complex: bread, cheese, milk, and various kinds of meat. She was quite looking forward to the meat. They'd run into a giant scorpion yesterday, and it had been powerful enough that the monsters had called her over to deal with it.

A few bashes with a rock over the head later, and the scorpion was dead. But what to do with it? Corundum had suggested using the stinger and various other parts of the scorpion to make potions that would allow certain monsters to further their Ascension. However, the meat of the scorpion could also be consumed. Antaria had been leery of eating it – it was a scorpion – but a quick taste had convinced her.

The petitioner – a young farmer – finished speaking, and Antaria nodded. "I'll see about sending one of the giant moles over to your fields later today. They should have that rock handled in not time. You should also have them check the area for any other problems too, and if you need them to level the ground, get them to do that before they leave."

The farmer nodded gratefully. The rock in question was more of a boulder, and breaking and moving it would have been quite a difficult task for a typical human. Sure, the villagers were gradually opening themselves to magic, but the process could be quite slow, and none of them had anything close to her power although there were a few who might make good hunters or warriors. A giant mole could shatter the boulder in moments before using their magic to fix up any other problems with the ground.

It wasn't long before Antaria's meal was ready, and Filch was miraculously awake enough to have some scorpion meat. He was soon joined by the wolf pups who trooped out of her house and loped over to her with wagging tails and hungry eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. I made enough for you as well." She gave each of them an affectionate scratch behind the ears. "I'm just glad you've already started your Ascension."

The wolf pups were currently wind wolves, and they spent their days training in how to take advantage of their newly gained abilities. They were far faster than wolves should be and were capable of using wind magic, most often in the form of cutting blades to enhance their teeth and claws. Their mother had become a sky wolf, and she was happy to roam the skies over the villages, scouting for threats and driving off would-be trouble.

According to Corundum, had the wolf pups not already started along a particular path, it was likely that eating the flesh of a powerful giant scorpion would have turned them into toxin wolves. The name alone was bad enough, and his description of what a toxin wolf was only made her happier that the wolf pups were already wind wolves.

Poison wolves were basically made of toxins. Their fur was covered in poison. Their teeth and claws were venomous. Even the air they breathed could be toxic. For obvious reasons, poison wolves were not very popular amongst other monsters, and she could only imagine how inconvenient it would be if the wolf pups had turned out like that. No more cuddles for one, and no more loping around the village and hanging out with other monsters either.

After breakfast was training. When she'd first started, the thought of eating before being subjected to the torture that Doomwing considered training had horrified her. Why eat when it was only going to come back up anyway? However, one of the perks of her increased power was a much faster and far more efficient digestive system.

Her stomach settled much more quickly, and her body produced far less waste. It had freaked her out a little at first, how infrequently she needed to use the bathroom, but she'd gotten used to it. If anything, she was happy. It gave her more time to do other things.

When she got to the training ground, an immense shadow fell over her. She looked up.

"Has anyone told you how terrifying it is that you can just… sneak around despite being absolutely enormous?"

Doomwing smiled. "I would hardly call a mere tenth-order spell sneaking around."

"Tenth-order?" Antaria sighed. "I'm pretty sure most human mages would sell their firstborn child to you to learn something like that."

"It would be pointless. Most human mages lack the skill or power required to cast such a spell. Besides, anyone willing to sell their child for such a spell is not the sort of person I would trust with it in the first place." Doomwing's smile widened. "Such spells are best used for when you don't want to be bothered but don't actually want to surprise anyone truly dangerous."

"Ah." Antaria nodded. "I imagine surprising another dragon could be dangerous."

"For the landscape, perhaps, but not for me." Doomwing nodded at Corundum. "Corundum tells me that you are progressing well. Your mastery of floating and gliding runes is improving rapidly, and you have further honed your grasp over a variety of combat techniques. You have also organised our new recruits here acceptably."

Antaria shrugged. "They're a good bunch, nobody too troublesome. It's more helping them settle in and showing them how we do things around here. They get along okay with the villagers, and they're all doing what they're supposed to."

"Good. What of the clan of assassins?"

Antaria glanced at Corundum. She'd already talked to the doppelganger about this, but perhaps Doomwing wanted her to explain again. "You already know that Lyra is here training with Corundum."

The doppelganger snorted. "For an assassin, her stealth is pathetic and her knowledge of poisons, traps, and other techniques is sorely lacking. As for her shadow-walking, Filch is already better than she is. However, she is determined."

"If we're going to have assassins, we might as well have decent ones." Antaria snickered. "But, yes, she and her clan are taking this really seriously. Once I beat the crap out of all of them, they decided that the best way to succeed is to join Team Doomwing."

"Team Doomwing?" Doomwing asked.

"Well, I can't really call it Team Antaria since I'm working for you, can I? There's a saying: ride the wave or be smashed by it. You're the wave, and they'd much rather join the winning side and acquire power through dedicated service than make enemies out of us and get exterminated." There were people who would absolutely have chosen death over kneeling, but Lyra's clan wasn't like that. They'd survived by knowing when to submit and when to try their luck. With Doomwing around, they could see the writing on the wall. "I brought a few others over too, mostly to watch the new recruits, make sure nobody tries anything or gets into any trouble. As for the others, I asked them to start infiltrating merchant companies and the like. With the way things are going, we'll have a lot of merchants coming around, along with plenty of people looking for a new start. Having eyes and ears amongst them seems like a good idea."

Doomwing nodded. "Yes. I am glad to see that your lessons have begun to bear fruit."

Well, it was hard not to learn something when she was being lectured every night by a dragon who'd probably forgotten more about everything than most people ever learned about anything.

"So… what are we doing today?" Antaria asked.

"Your progress with gliding and floating runes is acceptable. Your progress with flying runes is not. There is no reason you shouldn't already be able to perform at least a basic rune of flight."

Antaria grimaced. Her progress had not been as swift as she'd like when it came to flying. She could see the runes involved, but she just couldn't make them herself. She wasn't sure why. Corundum had suggested it was a mental block of sorts since her skills were more than sufficient for the task.

"It could be going better."

"Today, we will be fixing that."

Doomwing took to the air, and Antaria bit back a scream as his telekinesis seized her and carried her up with him. Corundum followed at a more sedate pace. They flew up and up until even the clouds had been left behind. From here, it was easy to see the curvature of their world, along with vast oceans, plains, mountains, forests, and so many other things.

"This…" Antaria smiled. "It's quite a view."

"It is," Doomwing agreed. "And you are only enjoying it because of my magic. At this height, the air is incredibly thin and cold. In time, you will learn how to sustain yourself using only your magic, but until then, you should avoid heights like this."

"I'll keep that in mind." Sustaining herself using only her magic? Would that allow her to go underwater without drowning? If so, that would be incredibly handy. "What now?"

"And now you learn to fly."

"Huh?" Antaria's eyes widened as she began to fall back toward the ground. "Hey! You can't just drop me from up here!"

Doomwing merely tilted his head to the side. "I can – and I did. Your inability to properly use a rune of flight is almost certainly mental in nature. Given your tendency to learn best under pressure, dropping you out of the sky is perfectly reasonable."

"What? That's… ah!"

Antaria flailed wildly as Doomwing gave her a little telekinetic push to send her plummeting toward the ground. But a smirk soon crossed her lips. "I can just use a rune of floating or gliding. I don't have to fly to land safely."

She concentrated and began to form a rune – only for that rune to shatter like glass. The magical backlash sent her spinning wildly end over end, and she cursed as her body momentarily went numb.

"What was that?"

Corundum drifted over to her. The doppelganger had folded his wings to match her speed. "I will be preventing you from using any runes or magic to slow your descent other than runes of flight."

"…" Antaria reached out to grab the doppelganger only to miss as he gracefully banked away. "Are you crazy? I'll die if I hit the ground!"

"That is unlikely. Given your present durability, you would most likely survive hitting the ground since wind resistance will eventually prevent you from accelerating any further." He paused. "Of course, hitting the ground will still be extremely damaging and painful. However, based on your current trajectory, you won't hit anything important."

"What about me? I'm important! And I'll be hitting the ground!"

"If you have enough time to yell," Corundum said. "You have enough time to try using a rune of flight."

Antaria bit back a curse and took a deep breath. She could do this. She had seen a rune of flight. All she had to do was copy it, and she could fly back up there and kick Doomwing… or maybe not because as tough as she'd gotten, she'd probably just break her leg again.

Her brows furrowed, and the rune began to take shape. It was almost there, just a few pieces were – damn it! The rune came apart, and she hissed as the backlash rippled through her. Cancelling a rune was one thing, but trying and failing a rune could definitely be painful, especially given her inexperience with them. It might be her increased power. She was putting more power into her runes now, which might be making the backlash bigger.

She tried again and then again, only to fail both times. Why couldn't she do this? All her life, she'd dreamed of being free, and what was freer than being able to fly? Yet now that it was within reach, she couldn't do it! There had to be something she was missing, something that she was forgetting –

There was a rush of wind, and then Doomwing was diving alongside them. The massive dragon was perfectly at ease in the air, moving with the sort of grace and agility that a sparrow would have envied.

"I can see your problem," Doomwing remarked. "It is simple."

"What is it then?" Antaria asked. "Because I'm trying my hardest, and it's not working."

"Your mind is full. Full of doubts. Full of assumptions. Full of how you think the world works." Doomwing's eyes gleamed. "A rune can change the story of the world, but you must believe that the story can be changed. Gliding is easy. Anyone can do it. I have seen humans glide after sewing blankets together. Floating? More of a stretch, but not so different, especially when you are close to the ground. But flight? True flight is something different. It something that almost everyone human wants. What human child has not stared at a bird and wished they could fly? What human child has not heard of dragons and wished they too could rule the skies?"

Doomwing loomed, so close that she could have reached out to touch his snout. "But humans cannot fly – and you know this, deep down inside. Yes, there is magic, but that is not the same, is it? They cannot fly the way birds can, the way dragons can." He paused, and then growled. The sound threatened to send her tumbling away until his telekinesis steadied her. "And that is why your rune fails. How can you ask the rune to change the story of the world when you yourself doubt that it can be changed?"

"You want me to forget that humans need magic to fly?" Antaria asked. "That's… everyone knows that humans need magic to fly. How can you expect me to believe that I can just… fly like a bird?"

"I am Doomwing, and I am a dragon. The skies were made for me. Even without wings, I could fly." And then he did just that, a rune of flight allowing him to soar without using his wings. "You are a human, but you serve me. And I am telling you that you can fly."

Antaria stared at him in disbelief. "You can't just tell me to fly and expect me to be able to fly!"

"Why not? I am Doomwing. Who knows magic better than me? Who knows the skies better than me? I am Doomwing, and I am telling you that you can fly. You may doubt yourself, but never doubt me, and I am telling you to fly. So fly."

"Gah!" Antaria hissed and clenched her fists. "It's not that simple!" She began to form the rune again. "You can't just order me fly and expect me to do it – huh?"

The rune snapped into place. Her magic flared, and she stopped falling. Instead, she began to rise, somehow moving toward Doomwing as the dragon paused in his descent. He stared at her with the smuggest expression she had ever seen in her life, and she couldn't help it. She found herself lancing through the air as she heaved a kick at his side.

"Agh!" Antaria screamed, clutching at her broken leg. "Why didn't you stop me from kicking you?"

"I was curious to see if you were actually foolish enough to make contact." Doomwing chortled, his smugness slowly beginning to ebb. "But I was right. You are flying, and all I had to do was order you to do it."

"…" Antaria's eye twitched.

She hated the fact that he was right, but at the same time, she could understand why it had worked. The story of the world was a tricky thing. Asking it to change, so she could be stronger wasn't that weird. She was just doing more of stuff that she could already do. Even floating and gliding weren't that weird. But as Doomwing had pointed out, flight was different. Human's couldn't fly without magic. Everybody knew that. It was a fact of life. But to use runes to fly, she needed to make the runes, and that required her soul – and her soul, deep down, struggled to grasp the concept of her flying, no matter how much she wanted to.

But Doomwing was different. As crazy as it sounded, she probably trusted him more than anyone she'd ever met. It wasn't that he couldn't lie. It was that he would never bother to lie about something like that. He was a primordial dragon, one of the most powerful beings in the world and probably the best magic user in the world. What reason did he have to lie? And so when he told she could do it… well… even if she had doubts about herself, she would never doubt his analysis when it came to magic.

And so here she was… flying… with a broken leg.

"Do you think you can fix my leg?" Antaria asked quietly. Her gaze was locked onto the world below them. It had been beautiful before, but looking at it now, seeing it while flying under her own power… it was something else.

"Yes." Doomwing's magic flowed into her. "Amongst dragons, there are few occasions as important as a hatchling's first flight." His voice softened. "We are sons of wind and flame. To fly… to soar through the skies… that is our birthright… our destiny. The skies belong to us." He paused. "And now… they belong to you as well."

He turned and began to fly off. "Follow me. Now that you can fly, you need to practice."

"Are you planning something?" Anataria asked, hastening to catch up. Flying was weird… it was… it was almost like having an extra set of muscles she'd never noticed before. But it was amazing, maybe the most amazing thing she'd ever experienced. She was tempted to try some tricks, but she wasn't sure if –

"Feel free to try things," Doomwing said as Corundum glided into place beside her. "You are like a hatchling flying for the first time. Some foolishness is to be expected. Better up here where you have time to recover than closer to the ground where you will simply crash."

"Did Elerion ever fly?" Antaria asked.

"Elerion?" Doomwing laughed. "No. Not under his own power. But he did try – and fail – many times. It was amusing." He glanced back at her. "I actually expected you to fail two or three times."

"…" Antaria stared. "What?" By failing did he mean hitting the ground? Would he have let her hit the ground two or three times? Knowing him? Probably.

"But you did well to get it on your first try. A reward is in order. That is why you need to practice flying."

"Wait… a reward?" Antaria's eyes gleamed. She wasn't about to say no to a reward.

"Yes. I have to return to my lair to collect the hoard of a friend. He has returned, and I will be giving it back to him. However, the… nature of certain items means that I have to handle them personally and cannot send them to him using magic. You will accompany me to my lair, and I will allow you to choose one item from it."

"One item from your lair?" Antaria rushed to catch up to him. She only succeeded because he was clearly flying at what he would have considered a snail's pace. "Any one item?"

"I did not say any one item. I will not permit you to choose anything that would stunt your growth, nor will I allow you to choose anything too dangerous."

"Wait… could I just ask for like… a giant golden statue or something?" Antaria asked.

"I have several extremely large golden statues – including two that were made in my likeness – but if you choose to squander this opportunity on something like that, then I have clearly overestimated your intelligence."

Antaria huffed. "I was just joking! I'm not going to pick something stupid like that. Hmm… maybe a weapon… or what about armour…? I'm going to have to think about this." She paused. "Isn't your lair in a volcano? Won't I die if I go there?"

"Yes. However, I will be using magic to ensure you do not die."

"Will we be stopping off to visit the dwarves?" she asked. "It might be nice to check in on them."

Doomwing shook his head. "No. They might ask why you are with me, and I would prefer to avoid any mention of my hoard. Dwarves are… much more prone to treasure-related madness than humans."

"Ah. Good point."

Author's Notes

This was supposed to be a chapter about Doomwing meeting Ashheart and the two of them fixing the lair that Doomwing blew up. However, I ended up going with this chapter since Doomwing does need to go to his lair to pick up Ashheart's hoard, and it made sense for him to teach Antaria how to fly, so she can get her reward now, rather than doing it afterward since he will be visiting Regal Flame's domain after Ashheart's lair is fixed.

But, as you can see, Antaria is hard at work. Lots for her to do. But she's managing it well.

Also, to prevent this coming up in comments again, and because the previous chapter's contents made it pretty obvious, I'll state what some other commenters have already noted. I am L. G. Estrella, the author of a number of series, such as the Unconventional Heroes Series and the Attempted Vampirism Series. If you want to support me, then by all means feel free to wander over to my Amazon or Audible page and have a look.

This story is a side-project while I work on some other stuff, as well as an attempt to see what happens if I write something with a semi-daily update schedule rather than finishing something, revising it, and so on before publishing. That's also why this story can be pretty rough in parts – it's essentially a first draft.

In any case, we are now back to our regular Doomwing-related programming. Any guesses on what sort of thing Antaria will choose as a reward? Also, before anyone asks, Doomwing did not ask people to make those gold statues of him. They were gifts from other people, albeit not life-sized because he is kind of huge.

Last edited: Apr 4, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Apr 4, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 48: The Princess And The Unicorn

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SecretTwelve

Apr 6, 2024

#972

Chapter 48: The Princess And The Unicorn

Swiftstride watched his mistress leave with Doomwing.

The winged unicorn had never felt so utterly useless. Antaria could fly now. What need did she have for him? Perhaps she couldn't fly as swiftly as him yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time. She had improved so quickly at everything else. It wouldn't be long before she was better at flying than him too.

He knew that one day he would no longer be able to serve as her mount. Unicorns… unicorns were creatures of purity, and that meant there were severe restrictions upon whom they could carry into battle. If fate was kind, Antaria would one day marry and have children of her own. She would be a good mother, and Doomwing's domain would be a fine place to raise children.

After all, who would dare to attack the domain of a primordial dragon?

But until those days came, Swiftstride had hoped to stay by her side, to serve her faithfully. And then, years from now, he would serve her children.

But what service could he offer when she had found a way to do the one thing he did better than her?

"Your moping is pathetic," Corundum said. The doppelganger's eyes gleamed. "You have two choices before you, unicorn. You may mope, as your species is so fond of, or you can fight to become useful. Which shall it be?"

Swiftstride knew that his training had not been as difficult as his mistress's. He knew that he had not been pushed as hard or as fast, and he knew that part of that was his fault. For all that Doomwing's training was brutal, he had given Swiftstride a choice. He could be pushed the same way Antaria had been, or he could receive training more in line with what he was used to. The latter would be hard, yes, but he would not face death the way Antaria had.

Like a coward, he had chosen the easier option.

No longer.

He turned to the doppelganger and nodded his assent. He had dawdled long enough. If his mistress could put her life on the line, how could he do anything less and expect to stand at her side?

"It seems you do have some courage after all," Corundum said. "Not bad for a unicorn. But we'll see how long that resolve lasts." He took to the skies. "Follow me."

They flew south over Doomwing's domain until eventually they reached the sea. There, they passed over a village of tiger-people. There was another doppelganger there, and he and Corundum exchanged a few brief words before they continued out over the open sea.

"When the First Gods fell to the Broken God, they did not fall alone." Corundum's gaze turned wistful. "Dragons flew beside them, and they fell in such numbers that their broken scales were like rain. But there were others there too, your ancient kinsmen amongst them. For all that I find many of your current kin cowardly, content to dwell in their woods and pass judgement on others as though they possibly understand what goes on beyond their sheltered homes, I will say that your ancestors were worthy of praise. Hopelessly outmatched, they still answered the call, and they paid for their loyalty with their lives. Dragons they were not, but courage and loyalty should still be respected, regardless of the species involved."

Swiftstride nodded sombrely. He had no real memory of those events, not the way Doomwing did. All he had were fragmented, broken tales passed down amongst his kind. But Doomwing had been there. He had seen the Broken God and witnessed the devastation wrought upon the First Gods and their allies. For Corundum to praise those long-dead unicorns was the highest praise they could receive.

"The first unicorns could not fly, for they had no wings. Your kind was born from unions between unicorns and pegasi. In time, they grew numerous enough to be considered their own people, similar to how the winged serpents of today can trace their origins back to dragons and leviathans." Corundum growled. "Of course, none of your kind were ever so foolish as them. They should consider themselves lucky to still exist. Had some of them not sided with us in the Third Age…" He shook his head. "You are fortunate. One of your ancestors was… unusual."

Swiftstride's eyes narrowed. What did he mean by that?

"You cannot sense it. That blood has grown thin over the generations, but it is there. If it is strength you seek, the power to stand at your mistress's side and serve her with courage and honour, then that blood, thin though it may have grown, may be your best hope."

Corundum's gaze drifted to the east. A storm had gathered, black clouds rising up to form mountains in the sky that were riven by the crack of lightning and the boom of thunder. The waves below were towering walls of water that soared and crashed with the weight and force of avalanches. And yet… was that fire amidst the clouds?

Swiftstride's body thrummed, every hair standing on end. That was no natural storm, and it was turning toward them. No. He realised. It was turning toward him.

"One of your ancestors was a qilin," Corundum said. "That qilin. As thin as his blood may have grown within you, he would never fail to recognise it." The doppelganger chuckled. "You want strength? Ask him for it… but realise you will have to prove yourself."

In almost no time at all, the storm was upon them. Lightning raged, great forks of electricity that crackled amongst the clouds and between the sea and sky. The roar of thunder was almost enough to fling Swiftstride from the sky, and the wind was a hammer driving needles of rain into his flesh.

And amidst the storm, striding boldly through the clouds, was the qilin. The qilin was… majestic, a creature larger than any unicorn or pegasus that Swiftstride had ever seen. He was part deer, part horse, and seemingly even part dragon. Lightning danced over his body, and flame bloomed wherever his hooves stepped upon the air.

Power rolled off the creature, and Swiftstride's heart raced in his chest. If the qilin attacked, not even Corundum would be able to protect him – that was how powerful the qilin was. Yet the qilin's gaze held no trace of fury. Instead, he was serene, utterly at ease, and as he drew closer, Swiftstride realised that, despite the violence of the storm around them, around the qilin, the winds were calm and the sky was clear. Upon his head was a single, shining horn that held all the power and might of a storm alongside the fury and wrath of a wildfire.

"You are a lot smaller than I remember, Doomwing," the qilin said.

"And you are as small as I remember, Leishen," Corundum replied. "As for me… I am a doppelganger. Doomwing himself is elsewhere. I use the name Corundum."

Leishen's eyes – pools of fire and thunder – gleamed. "It would seem his skills have improved even further. I have a descendant who might benefit from his teaching – or from yours."

"Perhaps. If you think them worthy, then send them to me." Corundum nodded at Swiftstride. "You know why we are here."

"He is one of mine," Leishen murmured, and the storm gave an ominous rumble around them. Sparks drifted from his mane to light up the darkened sky. "But my blood in him is thin… very thin."

"Yet it is there," Corundum replied. "He seeks strength."

"For what purpose?" Leishen asked. "I am a qilin. I will not give power to a fool or a tyrant. You know this."

Swiftstride mustered his courage and flew forward. He could barely keep his wings beating in the qilin's presence. It made him wonder what would happen if Doomwing ever unleashed his strength in full. Would he simply be crushed under the weight of the dragon's power? He bowed his head to the qilin and then did his best to explain.

"You seek power to serve another?" Leishen's lips curled. "Interesting… but is the one you wish to serve worthy of your service?"

Swiftstride came to Antaria's defence. She was worthy. Even Doomwing had deemed her so.

"Hmm… interesting. But her worthiness does not make you worthy." Leishen hooves stamped the air. "I shall test you myself. Prepare yourself."

Corundum waited on the beach as Haitao looked from him to Brother Dragon. The little water salamander seemed to find the comparison between the two of them fascinating since he had spent most of his time trying to find differences between them. He had even gone so far as to try licking them, which Corundum had only tolerated because salamanders were simple-minded fools who nevertheless had their hearts in the right place. Besides, Haitao had only done that once before deciding it was a bad idea.

"Is that okay?" Xiang asked, pointing to the storm that raged on the horizon. Even from this distance, they could see the flash of lightning and the gleam of flame.

"The winged unicorn I came with – Swiftstride – is being tested by a qilin," Corundum replied. "Qilin are many things, but they are not vicious or cruel."

Brother Dragon nodded. "In the days of old when the First Gods still walked the world, they were peaceful creatures. Their storms brought wind, and rain, and lightning, but none were ever harmed. When the Broken God began his rampage, they learned that there were times when kindness and compassion were not enough. They took up arms, and many of them perished alongside my kind. Those that still remain are different. They are creatures of kindness and compassion, but they will strike down wickedness and cruelty when they see it."

"What powers does Swiftstride hope to gain?" Xiang asked. "And would it be possible to meet this qilin?"

Like many beast-people, tiger-people revered the qilin, for they had received aid from them throughout their history. Doomwing had encountered several while travelling with Brother Tiger, and they had all found the idea of a dragon travelling with a tiger-man monk amusing. Leishen had even joined them for a time, and they had spent a good year travelling along the coast together before they had parted ways with the qilin. Brother Tiger had found Leishen's thoughts intriguing. The monk had lived a life of violence before seeking the way of peace whilst the qilin had lived a life of peace before being forced to take up arms. And Doomwing? To a dragon, violence was simply another way of dealing with problems, particularly problems that refused to be reasonable.

"I do not know if Leishen will have time to meet with you. He only came this far north because Swiftstride is a distant descendant. As for power… I cannot be certain. Should he prove worthy, there are several ways the blood in his veins might awaken."

The storm on the horizon grew stronger, and Corundum bit back a chuckle as Haitao climbed up onto Xiang's head to try to get a better look. He could easily have used his own magic to peer into the storm, but this was a rite of passage. To intrude upon it would have been rude, and Leishen had done more than enough to earn his courtesy over the years.

"We shall simply have to wait," Corundum said. "That the trial has gone on this long is a good sign. If Swiftride was going to fail, I suspect he would have failed swiftly. Leishen would only be taking this long if he truly wished to get Swiftstride's measure."

"Leishen was born in the First Age," Brother Dragon added. "His storms bring nourishing rain, and his flames clear what is rotten to let new life grow. Either path – storm or flame – would help Swiftstride. If it is speed he seeks, then the path of storms would be better. The wind is swift – but lightning may be swifter still. However, the path of flames offers raw destructive power, as well as a set of skills that do not overlap with Antaria's."

"So a question of complementary or supplementary skills," Xiang mused. "A difficult question – one that many warriors would have differing opinions on." He glanced at Corundum and Brother Dragon. "What would you choose?"

"We are dragons," Brother Dragon replied. "As such we often fight alone. This means that we must either possess a focused skillset so overwhelming that it can simply crush whatever dares to challenge us, or we must have a well-rounded skillset that can respond to any threat. Both approaches can be found amongst primordial dragons. Based on how Antaria prefers to approach opponents, I believe supplementary skills would work better."

Xiang's brows furrowed. "She fought with great speed and agility, yet she hit far harder than I expected."

"Indeed," Brother Dragon replied. "Most warriors who focus on speed and agility sacrifice power. To make up for this, they emphasise accuracy and may employ magic or weapons to increase how much damage they can inflict. Antaria is something of an oddity in that regard, most likely due to her particular magical affinities."

"I see." Xiang nodded. "So if Swiftstride were to obtain supplementary skills…"

"The idea would be for the two of them to develop a fighting style that emphasises overwhelming speed and immense power. Strike first and end the fight before it can truly begin." Corundum bared his teeth. "A popular strategy amongst dragons when it comes to aerial combat. Many aerial battles are effectively over within seconds – even if a battle does not actually end immediately, the injuries sustained or the positional advantages gained can prove decisive."

Corundum thought back to the many aerial battles he had fought. It was only at the lowest and highest levels that aerial battles tended to become drawn out affairs. Novices often lacked the skills required to end battles swiftly. In contrast, true experts were generally able to avoid making any serious mistakes, turning aerial clashes into extended battles where endurance could become an important factor.

"In any case," Corundum said. "All we can do is wait." He paused. "Still, it would be troublesome if Swiftstride were to suffer any permanent injuries. Antaria would be quite displeased with me."

Haitao chirped at him from atop Xiang's head. Trust the salamander to sympathise with the winged unicorn.

"I warned Swiftstride of the risks. He has done little to impress me so far, but I will not shame him by taking away his ability to choose his own fate. It is his life to risk."

Haitao crooned and patted Xiang on the head.

"You need not concern yourself with Xiang," Brother Dragon said. "He is not nearly so foolish as Swiftstride. Focus on your own growth. You have some growing to do before you can worry about anyone else."

Xiang stared in awe as the qilin approached. The storm came with him. The winds howled, lightning flashed, thunder roared, flame blazed, and the waves rose and fell like mountains of water – and yet nothing was harmed. Not a single bird was forced from the sky, the wind died just before it reached the trees, and the surging waves turned calm to lap gently against the shore.

It was an awe-inspiring display of power and control.

The qilin himself was majestic although it was impossible to pin down his true nature. He was at once cervine, equine, and draconic. Electricity coursed over his body, and embers drifted from where his hooves touched the air. He had a single horn upon his head, and it shone with all the power of a storm and all the wrath of a wildfire.

Magnificent. Absolutely magnificent.

Fire and thunder shone in the qilin's eyes, and for a long moment the creature stared at Xiang before his gaze shifted to the salamander upon his head and then to the two doppelgangers beside him. The former drew a small smile from the qilin whilst the latter turned the small smile into a full blown grin.

"You are multiplying, Doomwing," the qilin drawled, though his voice carried clearly over the howl of the tumult of the storm. "Although perhaps not in the way some of your fellows would prefer."

The two doppelgangers said nothing, and the qilin made his way down from the sky to stop at the water's edge, his hooves touching neither water nor sand but only air. It was only then that Xiang noticed Swiftstride. The winged unicorn was held aloft by the qilin's power but…

"His wings," Corundum said. "He seems to be missing them… along with his horn. Would you care to explain, Leishen?"

The qilin glanced at the unicorn. The stallion's wings were gone, as was his horn, and his body was charred almost black by flame and lightning. Xiang would have thought him dead if not for the faint rise and fall of his chest. "He passed my test, but his foundation was flawed. I gave him a choice. He could add to a flawed foundation, or I could destroy what was flawed, and he could rebuild anew under my guidance." He inclined his head in respect. "I underestimated him. He asked me to break his foundation and help him build a better one. What you see is the consequence of that."

"And what sort of foundation will you help him build?" Corundum asked. "I brought him here, so his fate is also my responsibility. What shall I tell his mistress?"

Leishen did not reply in words. Instead, he pushed an image into their minds. Xiang fell to his knees. He saw Swiftstride not as he had been or currently was, but as he might be – a unicorn with wings of flame and lightning and a horn of storm and fire. His hooves and wings would bring thunder and embers with each step and beat, and he would race through the skies swifter than any of his kin, at least since the days of old when unicorns and qilin had been many.

"My blood is thin in him," Leishen said as the vision faded. "Yet it responded to my power eagerly. It reminded me… of before." His gaze shifted to Xiang again. "We qilin are few now, so few compared to the First Age. I was young then, tiger-man, so young. I was no legend, no titan who brought storms and wildfires. I was young, and the qilin were many – so many that the thunder of our hooves alone was a storm, and the skies darkened when the Great Herd passed. But those days are gone, and the Great Herd is no more. Once, I could not have counted all of my siblings and cousins, yet now I carefully watch over each of my descendants. It makes me wonder how I missed this one, but I am glad to have found him."

"How long will it take to train him?" Corundum asked. "His mistress is human. It will help neither of them if old age takes her before he returns."

Leishen chuckled. "I shall help him build his foundation and show him the path ahead. But it would serve him better to walk that path alongside his mistress than me. I cannot be sure how long it will take, but he is determined. He will return to her soon."

"Then take him," Corundum said. "And train him well."

"I intend to." Leishen smiled. "The three of us together again. It is almost nostalgic."

The three of them? Xiang's brows furrowed. The qilin was surely referring to Doomwing, but who would the other person be? Not Swiftstride. The qilin had only met the unicorn today, and the same could be said for Haitao. Was it him? Xiang could not recall meeting the qilin before, and certainly not in Doomwing's presence.

"Take better care of him this time, or do you intend to let him make the same choice as before?" Leishen asked.

It was Brother Dragon who responded. "It is his life to live or to give. I will not dishonour him by taking the choice from him."

Leishen nodded. "I expected such a reply. You are a dragon through and through." His gaze locked onto Haitao, but the salamander did not shy from it. Instead, the little creature met it evenly where so many others would have fled or collapsed on the spot. "Take good care of him, little one."

Haitao chirped. He would.

"Then I shall depart," Leishen said, turning and rising back up into the sky with Swiftstride. "May fortune favour you all."

And as the qilin departed, the storm went with him. Xiang watched him go until the storm could no longer be seen. Only then did he turn away and make his way back to the village with Brother Dragon and Haitao. Corundum, however, took to the skies. No doubt, he would have some explaining to do when he next saw Antaria.

Antaria had thought that nothing could top the sheer spectacle of the volcano Doomwing called home. It was the largest and tallest peak she'd ever seen – so tall that despite flying, she'd been forced to look up at it. She was sorely tempted to ask if he'd used magic to make it bigger, but she couldn't help but feel that would be rude. It was his home, after all. Flying to the top had not been easy, and she would have suffocated in the thin air if not for the magic he placed on her.

Yet the majesty of the volcano itself paled in comparison to what it held. Within the crater of the volcano was a huge lake of molten lava, and around that lake was Doomwing's hoard. The sight of it almost broke her mind. It was…

Great piles of precious metals heaped up the way a child might heap sand on a beach. Chest after chest after chest full of jewels, rare potions, mystical fabrics, and more scattered like leaves beneath a tree. Arcane devices of unspeakable power – objects that kingdoms would go to war over – left here and there the way a careless scholar might leave scrolls or books. Above the centre of the lake, beneath the night sky and surrounded by four elementals, was an egg. The surface of the egg seemed to mirror the sky above, black with twinkling stars.

"That is a stellar phoenix egg," Doomwing said. "And before you ask, you cannot have it."

Antaria huffed. "I wasn't going to ask for it."

The thought had definitely occurred to her. There was something almost… hypnotic about the egg. However, she knew better than to ask. Anything that Doomwing was treating with that much care had to be incredibly important.

As they landed on the shores of the lake of lava, she was once again glad that Doomwing had used his magic to protect her. The flight here had been interesting enough – soaring over a volcanic landscape marked by fields of jagged rock, rivers of lava, and towering pillars of rock was not something she thought she'd ever do – but the heat here was absolutely stifling. As strong as she'd gotten, she would have been dead within moments without Doomwing's aid.

"So… do I just… go and pick something out?" Antaria asked.

Doomwing moved toward the lava and slid into it the same way a crocodile might slide into water. "One of my doppelgangers will assist you."

Antaria took a reflexive step back as a wave of lava splashed against the shore nearby. "How many of those do you have?"

"Enough."

And then he was gone, his entire form vanishing beneath the surface of the lake. She stared. The lake had to be enormous if he could fully immerse himself in it.

"Come with me."

She turned to find another one of Doomwing's doppelganger's waiting for her. Despite looking absolutely identical to Corundum, he held himself differently. There was an… eagerness to him that seemed almost youthful in comparison to the more measured way Corundum carried himself.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"You can call me Littletooth."

She blinked. "Littletooth?"

The doppelganger chortled at her dumfounded expression and nudged her with his head. "It's a nickname an old friend used to call me by whenever she was annoyed at me. She was so proud of her big teeth. In comparison, my teeth were a more normal size although to her, they seemed small. Hence, Littletooth."

"She must have been a good friend if you let her call you that," Antaria said as she followed him away from the lake and over to the seemingly endless piles of treasure that awaited.

"She was," Littletooth said. "She really was."

"Ah." Antaria winced. "Sorry." It was easy to forget sometimes, but Doomwing must have lost a lot of friends over the years. And even dragons could grieve.

"Do not apologise for things you cannot change and had no way of knowing about." Littletooth waved his stubby tail at her. "Now, come along. We don't have all day, and I'm sure you're eager to look around."

Antaria grinned. "You bet I am."

It was one thing to see the massive piles of treasure everywhere but quite another to know how much they were worth. Littletooth seemed to know the value of every single thing, and he was only too happy to tell her how much things were worth. That chest full of potions? Enough to buy her kingdom. Those bolts of magical silk? A king's ransom. Those jewels? Forget conquering neighbouring kingdoms. She could just buy them all.

It was utterly insane, and she sincerely hoped that none of the dwarves ever got to see this place because they would absolutely go mad with greed if they did. However, as breathtaking as it was to wander amidst entire hills of wealth, she did have a reward to pick out, and she wasn't stupid enough to waste such a precious opportunity on something like gold or jewels. She said as much, and Littletooth chortled and led her to another part of the hoard.

"Here, you will find weapons, armour, and assortments of items that you might find useful." The doppelganger smirked. "The more… illustrious items are kept elsewhere."

"Aww…" Even if she wouldn't get them, it might be nice to see the kinds of items that even Doomwing considered remarkable. "Still… there's a lot here."

And there was. Rather than being dumped into piles haphazardly, the items in this area were all neatly arranged onto shelves and racks that seemed to go on forever. She wondered how Doomwing had even managed to arrange them so neatly before remembering his telekinesis. His size might stop him from handling objects with his claws, but she'd seen how fine-grained his control over his telekinesis was.

"What about this?" Antaria asked, picking up a sword.

"Not a bad item," Littletooth said. "A sword from the Second Age, elven make. It is designed to cut through almost anything when enough magic is run through it. Without magic, it's still very sharp, but nothing that a truly skilled dwarf can't match. I can't say I recommend it, though."

"Oh? Why is that?" Antaria asked.

"It was designed for elves. You're stronger than any normal human, but elves tend to have large magical reserves. As you are now, you'd get maybe… ten seconds of proper use out of it before you exhausted yourself. It's not bad, but I think you can do better."

Antaria hummed thoughtfully and continued walking until another item caught her eye. "What about these?" She held up a pair of winged sandals.

"Those were made using the willingly given feathers of a griffin. They will let the wearer soar through the air like a griffin," Littletooth said. "You can't fly that well yet, but you might get there in a few years." He scoffed. "Griffins aren't nearly as good in the air as they like to think. Besides, they're not exactly lucky."

"Oh?" Antaria said. "Why do you say that?"

"I got those from a human who tried to kill me in the Third Age. I used a spell to cut off his legs, and he dropped out of the sky like a rock."

"Ouch."

"This was out over the ocean, so the fall didn't kill him. But the sharks did."

"…" Antaria winced. "Yeah. Let's keep looking."

The next item to catch her eye was a blue charm.

"What about that?" she asked.

"Not a bad choice. That is a charm made from the scales of a water salamander. It allows you to breathe freely underwater and to speak and hear regularly as well," Littletooth replied. "And before you ask, no water salamander was harmed making it. Instead, I – or rather, Doomwing – simply collected the scales after they were shed."

"That would be handy, but there are ways of surviving underwater using just my magic, right?" Antaria asked.

"Yes. You are almost at the point where you will be learning how to sustain yourself using only magic, at least for a while. Such techniques will also allow you to survive underwater."

"Never mind then. Let's keep going."

She wasn't sure how long they wandered before something else caught her eye, but Littletooth was seemingly content to wander around explaining the items on display.

"You don't mind that I'm taking so long?" Antaria said.

"Not really. Doomwing is taking a nap in the lake, so we're in no hurry. Besides, I'm happy to talk about everything in this hoard." The doppelganger's eyes gleamed greedily. "I still remember being a hatchling, with hardly a coin to my name. Being able to boast about all of this pleases me."

"Well, it's certainly worth boasting about," Antaria said. "What about that?" She pointed at a pair of glasses. "What do those do?"

"Another good choice. Those were made by a master dwarf craftsman during the Third Age. Dwarves, in general, aren't particularly good at using scrying and detection magic. Instead, they're better at instilling magic of that kind into items. Those spectacles can see through illusions, detect traps, and reveal information about your surroundings."

"That does sound very handy," Antaria murmured. She picked them up. "What sort of illusions and traps can they handle?"

"Anything up to the equivalent of tenth-order magic. If you run magic through them, you can also see through things to some degree. Try it."

Antaria put the glasses on and stared at Littletooth while running magic through them. "I don't notice anything different."

"You can't see through my body," Littletooth replied. "My own innate magic and defences are too high, but try looking at yourself."

Antaria did and then gave a squawk of surprise. "You can see through clothes with these?"

Littletooth chortled. "The dwarf who made those had a sense of humour – and that function was originally designed to see through armour, so you'd know where to stab the other guy. But, yes, you can see through clothes with those."

"Uh… maybe I'll choose something else."

"Are you sure? The analysis abilities are very useful since it can give you a rough idea of your opponent's strengths and weaknesses. However, it won't work on opponents who are above a certain level of power or who have the right type of magical resistances or magical defences in place."

Antaria bit her lip. "It is tempting, but it just… it doesn't feel like it's for me, if you know what I mean."

Littletooth nodded. "Then we can keep going."

They continued to wander. It was actually quite fun. Some of the items were truly bizarre, and Littletooth delighted in explaining the intricacies and oddities of each and every item she asked about. There was a gourd that could convert magic directly into wine – the work of some alcoholic alchemist from the Fifth Age. There was a pair of pants that put themselves onto the wearer. Useful, but a little disturbing, especially since the pants were prone to commenting on the wearer's weight. There was even a mask that let her take on the appearance and voice of someone else. She had strongly considered that before setting it aside. It just wasn't her style.

Finally, they came to a section of musical instruments.

There was a set of drums that could drive people insane when played. Littletooth offered to demonstrate, saying she was strong enough to resist the effects of short-term exposure, but she hastily declined. There was a lyre that could beguile and enchant those who heard it – and that was just too creepy for her tastes. She was happy to bash her enemies over the head with rocks, but she wasn't going to control their minds. Littletooth gave her an approving look when she set the lyre aside.

"What about that?" she asked, pointing at a flute. "What does that do?"

"That?" Littletooth toddled over the flute. His slightly awkward proportions made him almost adorable, especially since he hadn't attempted to rearrange her skeleton the way Corundum regularly did. "It is a summoning flute."

"What does it summon?"

"It calls spirits and elementals associated with the sky," Littletooth said. "And given your magical affinity with the sky and how you've managed to take charge of the monsters… yes, it might be suitable for you." He paused. "There's just one problem."

"What?"

"Do you actually know how to play a flute because you can't just blow into it and expect it to work. No. There is a whole book of songs that goes with it, and you have to be able to play those songs for it to work. Moreover, once you summon them, you'll still have to win their loyalty and trust."

Antaria's eye twitched. "What? Are you serious?"

"Absolutely." Littletooth handed her the flute and then called over a book. He opened the book, and Antaria found herself staring at music she couldn't read.

"What sort of notation is this?" she asked.

"Elvish, from the Third Age. Human musical notation is actually closer to the dwarven style since humans have, historically speaking, had more contact with dwarves due to trading food and other supplies for various metals and jewels."

"…" Antaria took a deep breath. "I've never played the flute before, but how hard can it be?"

Littletooth gave her a sceptical look. "By all means, try your best."

She did. And it was awful.

"Damn it…" Antaria's fists clenched. "I really don't know how to play the flute or read this music, but… I don't know… something is telling me that I should pick this flute."

"Is that so?" Littletooth peered at her and the flute, and she felt the whisper of magic surround her. "Yes, now that you mention it, it does seem to have taken a liking to you. It would be a shame to just put it back, but…"

"I know someone who can teach her."

Antaria yelped and stumbled back as Doomwing suddenly loomed over them. "Could you not do that? You're supposed to be having a nap." She scowled petulantly. "And how can you even sneak up on us like that? Did you use magic?"

"This is my lair," Doomwing replied. "I can do as I please."

"The glasses would have allowed you to see him," Littletooth said before turning to Doomwing. "You said you have someone in mind. Are you thinking of…?"

"Yes," Doomwing replied. "It will give her a chance to prove herself… and it is about time that Antaria met her properly."

"Who are you talking about?" Antaria asked.

"You will find out when we return to the village," Doomwing replied. "Take the flute and the book. You may continue to explore my hoard while I store my friend's hoard. Once I am done, we will return to the village. I will fly there and carry you with my telekinesis."

"Are you in a hurry?" Antaria asked. As swiftly as she could fly, she still moved at a snail's pace compared to Doomwing.

"I was responsible for the… incident that destroyed my friend's lair. I see no reason to delay any further in repairing it and returning his hoard."

Doomwing went off to the opposite side of the lake to begin storing away his friend's hoard. Littletooth nudged her with one of his overly large wings and grinned.

"What?" Antaria asked.

"He's just eager to see his friend again," Litteltooth said. "After all, it has been an entire Age since they last met face to face."

When they arrived back at the village – good grief could Doomwing fly quickly when he wished – Antaria went to look for Swiftstride. She hadn't paid as much attention to him as she probably should have, but he had always been fond of music. However, she couldn't find him anywhere.

"He has left to undertake his own training," Corundum said.

She rounded on the doppelganger. "What do you mean?"

His explanation was swift, concise, and made Antaria feel like he had punched her in the gut.

"He felt like that?" Antaria asked. "Why didn't he say anything?"

"Do you think he would have wanted your pity?" Corundum replied. "More than anything, he wants to stand at your side – to be someone you can rely on. His weakness made that impossible, so he has sought to rid himself of it. You have grown stronger. Allow him the opportunity to do the same. Instead of worrying about him, focus on how you will welcome him when he returns triumphant."

"Yeah…" Antaria said quietly. "You're right. But still… I wish he'd said something to me."

"You have been busy," Corundum replied. Her eyes flashed, and he continued, "That is not a criticism. It is a statement of fact. Perhaps it is time to establish a proper bureaucracy, so this does not happen again."

"You might be right about that…" She shook herself. "Doomwing said I'd be meeting my music instructor when we got here."

"Yes, I did." Doomwing rumbled. "She should be here any moment…"

The space beside them bent and twisted, and a blonde woman appeared.

"You… you were at the tournament," Antaria said. "You said you were a friend of Doomwing's." The woman had never introduced herself. Instead, she had hung back, observing closely as Antaria and Doomwing's other followers interacted.

"I am," the woman replied, and she seemed strangely pleased when Doomwing did not gainsay her. "You said that you needed someone to instruct her, Doomwing?"

"She needs to learn how to play an elvish flute and how to read elvish musical notation. Unless I am mistaken you know how to do both."

"Music is important to my people. My mother made sure that I was well educated in a number of musical traditions and instruments. An elvish flute and elvish musical notation will not be any problem." The woman's lips twitched. "Let us hope she is better with a flute than my father. That is one thing I hope she hasn't inherited."

Doomwing's brows furrowed. "Ah… I had almost forgotten how abysmal he was. Yes… your mother forbade him from playing one, and Marcus threatened to break his flute over his head if he played another note."

"Um… who was your father?" Antaria asked. "And why would I inherit anything from him?"

"Ah." The woman smiled. "Allow me to introduce myself properly."

The air around her shimmered, and the woman was no longer just a regular woman. Instead, she was the most beautiful woman that Antaria had ever seen with hair like spun gold and eyes like emeralds. There was something… strangely familiar about her features too, and as more of the illusions around the woman fell away, a pair of fox ears appeared atop her head, and nine golden tails appeared behind her.

"Kitsune…" Antaria breathed. She had heard of them but had never seen one herself. And nine tails? According to legend, nine-tailed kitsune were exceedingly rare and incredibly powerful. Yet staring at the kitsune in front of her, she could hardly feel a thing. It was almost like she wasn't there. That meant she must have unbelievable control to go with her raw power.

But wait…

A kitsune with golden hair… one whose father might be related to Antaria in some distant way… and those features…

Those features weren't so different from the ones she saw in the mirror every day.

The kitsune smiled. "If it helps, you have my father's eyes, more so than many of his other descendants."

Antaria finally put the pieces together. "You're…"

"Yes." The kitsune smiled. "My name is Hikari. Elerion the Valiant was my father. I suppose that makes me your… let's say aunt since I'm not entirely sure how many generations it has been."

"…"

"Hikari," Doomwing said. "I am leaving her in your care." He paused. "I am putting my trust in you."

There was a weight to those words that even Antaria could feel.

Hikari inclined her head. "I understand. I will be worthy of it."

"I hope so." He turned. "While I am gone, Corundum shall speak in my name."

And then he was airborne, his great wings carrying him away from the village at a speed no bird could hope to match.

"How considerate of him," Hikari murmured. "Had he not used magic, we would all have been blown away." She smiled at Antaria. "We will begin in earnest tomorrow, but do you have any experience with a flute?"

Antaria's response was to raise the flute to her lips and blow.

And Hikari's response?

"I… see." She glanced at Corundum. "It seems I shall be quite busy."

Author's Notes

In my head, this chapter was supposed to be about three thousand words long. Oops. Oh well.

In any case, there's a lot going on here. Swiftstride is finally getting off his ass and trying to power up the way everyone else is. However, his previous lack of near-suicidal bravery means that he needs to go extra hard. But, hey, if Antaria can be dropped out of the sky, why can't he lose his wings and horn (temporarily)? Don't worry about him. He'll be back better than ever now that he's got a qilin to show him the way.

And speaking of the qilin, did you catch the meaning of his words to the two doppelgangers and Xiang? You will also have noticed that the doppelgangers aren't all the same despite all coming from Doomwing. I will just say that their names are not coincidences.

As for Antaria, she picked her item. In keeping with her theme of picking up minions (she really is a lot like Doomwing in that regard), the flute will let her call on spirits and elementals – and in keeping with her theme of having to work for it, they won't just obey her. She'll have to win them over. That said, it is a very useful item. Depending on which spirits or elementals she can form links with, she can fill any gaps in her skillset since there's basically a spirit or elemental for anything if you're willing to look hard enough.

And now Doomwing is headed off to meet Ashheart. That should be fun. It'll be just like old times, minus the Exiled Star walking around judging everybody.

Last edited: Apr 6, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Apr 6, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 49: The Dragon Greets A Friend

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SecretTwelve

Apr 7, 2024

#989

Chapter 49: The Dragon Greets A Friend

The land below Doomwing was a reflection of its ruler – a vast, seemingly endless expanse of molten rock that dwarfed even the volcanic region in his own territory. Towering pillars of basalt, obsidian, andesite, and rhyolite jutted up toward the sky like the fangs of some titanic beast. Great, glowing rivers of lava cut through the landscape, the molten blood of the world pouring from countless wounds.

The skies were filled with fliers, from drakes and wyverns to lizards that used flaps of skin between their limbs to glide and snakes that used huge frills to catch the columns of hot air that rose up from the molten landscape. Reptiles of every size could be found on the ground as well, from colossal serpents and hill-sized tortoises to small geckos and hardy lizard-people.

The entire region was actually a single enormous super volcano, one that Ashheart had bent to his will long ago when he had first settled there. He had made his lair atop the centre of the super volcano, and the nexus of all the region's many currents of magic was directly beneath his lair. That was the prize Kagami had sought at the end of the Sixth Age.

Had Doomwing's trap succeeded, he would have trapped her in Ashheart's lair and then forced the super volcano to erupt. Despite all of the power she had already gained by that point, even she would have been unlikely to survive. And even if she did survive, she would have been weakened enough that Doomwing should have been able to finish her off.

Unfortunately, she had proven exceedingly cunning. Doomwing had been forced to blow up Ashheart's lair in a bid to keep her from escaping, but she had still managed to slip away. He had been able to keep the super volcano from erupting needlessly, but it had not been easy. Nevertheless, the currents of magic in the area had been badly damaged, and he had been in no condition to fix them after the final battle against Kagami.

The remains of his trap were clearly visible from the air. Instead of Ashheart's lair, there was a perfectly circular crater that was ten miles wide. To his magical senses, it was like staring at a hole in the world. When he had realised that Kagami was escaping, he had turned all of the power from the magical currents that met beneath Ashheart's lair inward, forcing a collapse that had been followed by a huge explosion. It had not been as powerful as making the super volcano erupt, but it had been quicker – and time had been of the essence with Kagami in the midst of making her getaway.

In the end, Kagami had escaped, and Doomwing had been left with little to show for his efforts. Even now, he couldn't help but be impressed by how Kagami had been able to find a way through all of his imprisonment and binding magic. Some of it had been brute force, but a lot of it had come down to talent, cunning, and careful study of his methods.

Waiting for him in that crater were Ashheart, Adamantheart, and Diamondfang.

Doomwing landed near them. For a long moment, nobody said anything. Instead, Ashheart's molten gaze drifted over the crater as if picturing the lair he had lost. It wasn't often that Doomwing felt small, but Ashheart was half again as long as he was and far bulkier besides. It wouldn't surprise him if the other dragon weighed twice what he did, maybe even more.

"You really blew up my lair," Ashheart rumbled. "Hearing it is one thing, but seeing it… and your opponent survived this?"

"She was able to escape." Doomwing paused. "In truth, had I succeeded in trapping her here, I had planned to force an eruption of the super volcano."

Ashheart stared. "She must have been formidable indeed to warrant such extreme measures."

"She was," Doomwing said. "She was extremely cunning and gifted when it came to matters of strategy and tactics. Her only weakness was her lack of power, and she found ways to remedy that."

"I see." Ashheart nodded. He moved forward, and his mate and his son retreated. "It has been an Age since we last met face to face."

"It has," Doomwing replied.

The other dragon's eyes narrowed. "It doesn't sound as though you've allowed yourself to get lazy, but I have always prized actions over words." He bared his teeth. "Show me what you've learned since the last time we fought!"

And with a roar that shook the earth and sky, Ashheart lunged.

When Regal Flame had learned of what had happened to Doomwing at the end of the Sixth Age, she had immediately offered Diamondfang and Adamantheart sanctuary in her territory. Doomwing was in no condition to protect them, and Ashheart had enemies who would gladly take advantage of his and Doomwing's absence to strike at the pair.

However, she had underestimated the impact of Doomwing's actions against Soulseeker. Even with the other primordial dragon sleeping for a century at a time, none dared to threaten Ashheart's mate and son. At some point, Doomwing's injuries would be healed, and when they were, he would go looking for Diamondfang and Adamantheart. If something had happened to them, there was no telling just how terrible his rage would be.

It was entirely possible that what he would do to those responsible would make what had happened to Soulseeker seem merciful.

Even so, Regal Flame had entrusted the other female dragon with a rare item that allowed her to call upon Regal Flame from anywhere in the world and to share what she perceived with Regal Flame as well. No intelligent person who enjoyed living would dare to harm them, but there were fools who cared more for pride or revenge than their own survival. If worse came to worst, Diamondfang could call for aid, and Regal Flame would deal with the situation herself.

Diamondfang had never had cause to use that item, so when she activated it, Regal Flame had been prepared for the worst. As far as she knew, Diamondfang and Adamantheart were with Ashheart. For Diamondfang to use the item – there had to be another primordial dragon involved, for only another primordial dragon could pose such a threat to Ashheart that calling for help was necessary. But who could it be? Ashheart was supposed to be fully healed, but even at half strength, there were few who would choose to face him willingly. He was simply too dangerous, and any attack on him was bound to draw Doomwing's attention.

Regal Flame was still running through all of the possibilities in her mind when the hazy image from the item grew clear. Her eyes widened, and found herself staring at the image in awe as her followers swiftly gathered to watch alongside her. After all, it wasn't every day that two primordial dragon fought.

Especially when those two primordial dragons were Doomwing and Ashheart.

Ashheart was much as Regal Flame remembered him – absolutely enormous and built more like a living mountain than a dragon. His scales were a mesmerising mix of browns,blacks, reds, yellows, and oranges, and the volcanic glow that emanated from within him cast baleful light upon the walls of the crater where he and Doomwing fought.

For all of Ashheart's awesome size, it was his unexpected speed and skill that were his greatest weapons. He could move far faster than a dragon his size should be able to, and he had an exquisite grasp of both his own strengths and his own weaknesses. He was no lumbering brute, capable of nothing more than wild swings and desperate blows. He fought with a ruthless sort of cunning, moving to box his foes in, so he could leverage his size and strength while mixing attacks that could instantly end the fight with blows designed to slow down and cripple his foes.

Many times, Regal Flame had seen Ashheart simply overwhelm his opponents, closing in on them with surprising speed and then dismantling them when they tried to use his own size and strength against him. On the occasions they had sparred, Regal Flame had swiftly realised how futile it was to face him in close quarters. He was simply too skilled in that arena, and he could not only deal far more damage than her but also absorb far more as well. Blows that would leave her broken and barely capable of fighting scarcely seemed to matter to him.

The smartest thing for Doomwing to do would be to take to the air and use his superior aerial mobility to keep his distance while bombarding Ashheart with magic.

Yet Doomwing did not do that.

To her disbelief, Doomwing did not try to retreat as Ashheart charged. Instead, he met him head on, scales flashing ruby and sapphire in the sun, a vivid contrast to the earthy, volcanic scales of his opponent.

The pair met with a sound that put thunder to shame, and the whole crater shook with the force of the impact. In an instant, Doomwing was on the backfoot, Ashheart's superior bulk and strength driving him back, their claws, tails, and wings tearing huge furrows in the earth. Rather than face Ashheart's strength head on, Doomwing pivoted, trying to throw Ashheart off balance.

The larger dragon gave a booming laugh as his own footwork – swift and graceful despite his size – let him keep his balance. But Doomwing was not done. His tail lashed out, coiling around Ashheart's ankle and trying to trip him. Any other dragon would have fallen, but Ashheart was equal to the task. His own tail stabbed into the ground to keep him steady as he yanked his leg free and batted at Doomwing with his wings.

Regal Flame's breath caught. Ashheart's wings were mighty weapons. He was not the most agile flier, but his straight line speed was impressive, and lifting his massive body into the air must take incredible strength. There was no way that Doomwing could dodge. She knew it, and Doomwing knew it too. But rather than flinch from the blow or try to mount a futile defence, he chose to roll with the attack.

Doomwing was still thrown off balance, but he retaliated with his own wings, aiming at Ashheart's face. For a moment, the larger dragon was blinded, and Doomwing ducked, heaving his whole body forward and driving his shoulder into Ashheart's belly. Sparks flew as Doomwing's smoother scales clashed against his opponent's jagged scales. Ashheart skidded back, and then he was reaching down, his form bent almost double as he tried to catch Doomwing in his claws.

Doomwing saw the danger at once and managed to get clear, only for Ashheart's tail to swing in like a mace. The attack caught Doomwing across the side, and there was enough force behind it to lift him off his feet and send him tumbling back. He righted himself quickly as Ashheart charged again, covering the gap between them with unbelievable speed.

The wall of the crater cracked as Ashheart slammed into it. Doomwing had just barely managed to dodge. Yet the impact did little to slow Ashheart down as he lashed out with his tail again before his claws flashed, tearing through the air with all the force of a hurricane. Rather than try to match Ashheart blow for blow, Doomwing gave ground, blocking and parrying when he had to, and looking for opportunities to sneak in blows of his own.

All around Regal Flame, her followers watched, murmurs running through the crowd as they tried to make sense of what they were seeing.

"Ashheart is winning," one of her followers breathed. "I can't believe Doomwing is losing."

Regal Flame wanted to chastise the other dragon, but Frostfang cut in before she could say anything.

"Of course Doomwing is losing right now," Frostfang replied. "He has yet to use his magic."

A chill ran through Regal Flame. Frostfang was right. Doomwing had yet to use his magic. Instead, he and Ashheart were engaged in a contest of pure physical might. And although Ashheart was definitely winning, Doomwing was holding his own. But why wasn't Doomwing using his magic? Unless…

Her eyes widened.

This was for Ashheart. The other dragon had been asleep inside a mountain for an entire Age. He was fully healed, but he had yet to test his abilities against an opponent of equal stature. Doomwing was giving him that chance. At the same time, this fight was also giving Doomwing a chance to see if Ashheart really was healed, or if his injuries were still slowing him down.

The two dragons stared at each other for a long moment, and then Ashheart flared his wings and stood to his full height. Thick cords of muscle rippled beneath his scales, and his broad chest swelled as he took a deep, deep breath. He smiled, and there was not a single dragon amongst Regal Flame's followers whose breath did not catch when they saw that smile.

That was the smile of a warrior who no longer had to hold back.

Ashheart surged forward again, but he was faster this time and far more decisive. It was terrifying to realise just how much he had been holding back. His attacks were swifter, stronger, and aimed with even greater precision. The whole fight up until this point had simply been a warm up, a chance for him to stretch his legs and test his body. Now, at last, he was fighting in earnest.

And Doomwing was losing.

It was obvious to anyone with eyes. The disparity in physical ability was simply too much. Blows shattered scales and left gashes, and it was all Doomwing could do to keep Ashheart from landing a fight-ending attack. And yet Doomwing was smiling, a bloody, savage smile. He was happy that Ashheart was strong, happy that Ashheart was fully healed and once again capable of overwhelming him in close combat.

And happy, perhaps, because he finally had an excuse to use magic.

There was a flash of light, and then seven separate fifteenth-order spells slammed into Ashheart at the same time. A maelstrom of otherworldly lightning and arcane light sent the tectonic dragon tumbling back as Doomwing traced a dozen greater runes and sent them sailing through the air toward his foe.

It was a mystical barrage that would have reduced a regular Fourth Awakening dragon to a bloody smear. Ashheart roared, and the ground heaved upward. Doomwing's barrage was met with a huge wall of stone reinforced with Ashheart's magic. The wall came apart in a shower of debris, but not before blunting Doomwing's assault. With another roar, Ashheart bounded forward, wrapping himself in the remains of the wall and crafting a titanic-suit of dragon-shaped armour out of it.

Ashheart himelf was a mile and a half long, but with the armour on, he had grown to more than double his usual size. He lifted one enormous claw and brought it down on Doomwing – only to be met by a roar backed by telekinesis and a pair of ancient runes that reduced the armour to dust and then hurled it away. Not to be outdone, Ashheart seized control of the dust and flung it back at Doomwing, his magic turning it into a hail of rune-enhanced rocky devastation that sent plumes of debris flying into the air.

Doomwing himself was unharmed, a glowing barrier appearing to block the attack as he finally took to the air, his wings beating rapidly as he dared Ashheart to challenge him in the sky. Never one to back down, Ashheart followed, teeth bared in a smile that showed just how much he was enjoying the chance to fight a worthy opponent.

There was a sound like a mountain breaking apart as Ashheart drew his head back and unleashed a storm of lava breath. Doomwing banked and then spun, twisting through the air as he dodged the attack and replied first with flame and then with spells and runes that rearranged the landscape when they missed and drew blood and broke scales when they hit.

Ashheart's lava breath might not seem particularly dangerous to a dragon, but Regal Flame had seen firsthand what it could do to the unwary. First and foremost, it was far hotter than lava should be. In fact, it was so hot that it shouldn't even be liquid. Instead, it should be some kind of searing vapour. However, its liquid state made it even more devastating.

The lava would cling to those it hit, burning them and slowing them down as it hardened and cooled, making it more difficult for them to stay aloft. Ashheart could also control the lava, and she had seen him wrench other dragons out of the sky once they had been hit by enough of it. And even if he couldn't pull them out of the sky, all he needed to do was to slow them down enough for him to hit them.

Ashheart might not be graceful in the air, but being rammed by a mile-and-a-half-long dragon would undoubtedly end almost any fight in his favour.

Doomwing was not a fool, and he knew Ashheart better than almost anyone, so he kept his distance and let his magic strike for him. The skies over the crater were lit by a dazzling display of arcane might as Doomwing began to combine techniques in a way that had Regal Flame longing to improve her own skills – and she was no slouch when it came to magic.

Grand alchemy was used to create a spear out of material that could amplify the effects of lightning magic before an ancient rune of lightning was combined with an ancient rune of target-seeking. The resulting weapon was propelled toward Ashheart using more runes and spells, all of them enhanced using charms made on the spot from more alchemy.

Ashheart laughed joyously as the projectile lanced toward him like the judgement of an angry god. Ancient runes of strength, lightning resistance, and magic suppression flared to life around his claws as he turned in the air and swung down with all his might. The spear struck his claws – and then streaked into the crater, where it exploded with terrible force.

As Ashheart unleashed another wave of lava breath, Doomwing tore the moisture from the clouds, surrounding Ashheart in a vast bubble of liquid before more magic crushed inward, increasing the pressure thousands and thousands of times over. Ashheart laughed again, and heat erupted from his scales. The water turned to steam, but Doomwing wove magic into the steam, turning into a mist designed to blind and confuse.

Ashheart wheeled about in the mist. Magic enhanced his senses, and a handful of simple but incredibly powerful detection and analytical spells rippled out from him. In the meantime, Doomwing had concealed himself with an ancient rune of stealth as he readied a more powerful attack. Unable to locate his foe, Ashheart opted for a direct but effective counter attack.

He ripped the walls of the crater apart and turned the skies over the crater into a whirlwind of shrapnel.

As well-hidden as Doomwing was, Ashheart could feel every speck of dust and every piece of rock or dirt. Hiding from him was impossible, even with an ancient rune of stealth. Chuckling ruefully, Doomwing dismissed the rune. There was no point in using it any further. Instead, he used his telekinesis to begin etching dwarven script onto all of the debris whirling around them before shoving as much as he could at Ashheart and then activating the dwarven script.

Regal Flame grinned.

The dwarves had always been fond of explosives.

The resulting explosion was such that it seemed, at least for a moment, that there was a second sun in the sky. When it cleared, Ashheart was still airborne, his eyes gleaming with delight as he studied the litany of wounds he had sustained. None were all that serious, but the fact that he had taken so many spoke to the impact of Doomwing's magic.

"You're still holding back," Ashheart drawled.

"I have been using some ancient runes," Doomwing drawled back, keeping a steady distance in the air.

"Bah! Those are far from the most powerful you have. Those are for playing around. I want to fight!"

"If we fight any more seriously, I might end up having to heal you again." Doomwing chuckled. "And we still have to fix your lair. What are we going to do if either of us runs low on magic."

Ashheart threw his head back and laughed. "Hah! You have a point. I wouldn't want to keep you from your next appointment."

Regal Flame steadfastly ignored the look that Firetail gave her at that remark.

Doomwing inclined his head. "It's good to have you back, Ashheart."

"It's good to be back," Ashheart replied. "And it's nice to see you haven't let yourself get rusty while I've been gone."

"Rusty?" Doomwing laughed, and Regal Flame was struck by the simple joy in the sound. She wished she could hear it more often. "I've had to work twice as hard with you gone!" His voice softened. "Let's try to avoid that happening again."

"I'll make no promises," Ashheart replied. "I will do what must be done." He bared his teeth again. "So we'll just have to grow strong enough that sacrifices like that aren't necessary."

"Yes," Doomwing replied quietly. "I suppose we will."

The image cut off there, and Regal Flame said nothing. Instead, she savoured what she had seen. Doomwing and Ashheart had only been sparring semi seriously, yet it was still breathtaking to watch two absolute masters of their craft at work, especially when they had such different approaches to battle.

"Did you see that?" she asked, turning to her followers. "Those are the heights you should aspire to. If you think yourself a master of close combat, ask yourself how you compare to Ashheart. If you think yourself a master of magic, ask how you would fare against Doomwing."

Regal Flame's own fighting style was somewhere between the two since she boasted outstanding physical abilities and formidable magic. It had been a long time since she had sparred against Doomwing. She would have to insist upon it when he visited.

Glancing at Frostfang, she saw the young dragon who had accompanied him waving his claws in the air as he spoke in awe of what he had witnessed.

"Would you mind if we stayed for a few more days?" Frostfang said. "If we leave before getting a chance to speak to Doomwing, I don't think Squallwing will ever forgive me."

Regal Flame bit back a laugh. "Of course."

Her mirth faded as she noticed more than a few of her female followers casting lingering looks back toward where the image had been. She gave a low, warning growl, and they slunk away sheepishly. Her eyes narrowed. She would have to keep a close eye on them, just in case any of them tried anything… foolish.

An amused chuckle caught her attention, and she glared at Frostfang. The winter dragon met her gaze evenly and then turned, practically carrying Squallwing off as he continued to rave about some of the magic he'd seen. At this rate, perhaps she should be more worried about the young dragon attaching himself to Doomwing like some kind of magic-seeking barnacle rather than other female dragons.

Doomwing was content. Even with his mirror and the scrying magic he could use through it, he had been worried that Ashheart was not truly healed. No longer. He had felt Ashheart's strength himself and had tested it with tooth, and claw, and flame, and magic. His friend was healed. His mistakes had not left Ashheart weakened or crippled.

"That was a fine bout," Ashheart said. "It is a pity we could not go further, but you are right. We need to fix my lair, and our more powerful attacks would leave us drained – and perhaps do permanent damage to this area." Ashheart's wounds were already healing, and it would not be long before no trace remained of them. "How shall we do this? You are the expert."

Doomwing had considered the matter before arriving. "You can handle transforming the landscape. Your magic is much better for it than mine. However, we can repair the currents of magic together. You can do the larger-scale parts and leave the finer details to me. As for the defences, we can do that together as well. There are things you can do better than me, and things I can do that you cannot."

"Oh?"

Doomwing briefly explained his ability to weave defences into the very currents of magic themselves.

"A potent ability indeed," Ashheart mused. "Yes, I can see how useful it would be in an area like this. It would make my lair most secure. And I can see why you have not spoken too openly about it. Without forewarning, your enemies would be hard pressed to deal with it."

"Precisely. The best defences are the ones your enemies do not know about." Doomwing shifted slightly as the ground began to tremble. It was always impressive to watch his friend reshape the land. "By the way, Diamondfang, why did you activate that item of yours?"

He had noticed the female dragon activate the item just before he and Ashheart began their battle. From what he had been able to deduce, it allowed her to share what she perceived with others. He had been tempted to simply cut it off with his own magic, but then he had recognised the magic within the item. It belonged to Regal Flame, so she must have some good reason to use it.

"I thought she and her followers might be able to learn from your bout," Diamondfang said smoothly. "After all, my mate is exceptional in close combat whilst you are exceptional with magic."

"I see." Doomwing could see the logic. "I shall have to speak to Regal Flame about it when I visit the plateau. She may have a few followers that could benefit from my instruction. She may even wish to spar since it is unlikely that any of her own followers can truly challenge her."

"An excellent idea," Diamondfang said. "You should definitely do that."

Doomwing took to the air as the crater began to buckle upward. "Fixing your lair should only take us two or three days at the most," he said to Ashheart. "And at least half of that time will be spent organising your hoard."

"You brought my hoard?" Ashheart asked eagerly.

"Of course. It is exactly as you left it. It was tempting to organise it myself, but I know you have your own system."

Ashheart nodded seriously because hoards were serious business. "Yes. I will explain it to you when we get to that part."

Author's Notes

This is how manly dragons greet each other after an Age apart – by beating the crap out of each other. In all seriousness, this is what a fight between primordial dragons might look like. Not only are they vastly more powerful than their lesser kin but they are also vastly more experienced. And that really shows in how they leverage their own strengths and protect their own weaknesses.

Ashheart is not some kind of dumb brute. He knows what he's good at, and he knows how to leverage that while avoiding what he's bad at. Meanwhile, Doomwing might be renowned for his magic, but he is absolutely not a pushover in close combat. Indeed, there aren't many who could do as well against Ashheart as he did. And once he gets going with his magic… yeah. There's a reason why even other primordial dragons try to avoid getting dragged into a contest of magical might against him. It's a losing proposition.

Meanwhile, Regal Flame will have her work cut out for her when Doomwing visits for a variety of reasons. Also Diamondfang… she knows how to repay a favour. And if Squallwing wants to learn from Doomwing, boy, will he have his work cut out for him since the Doomwing approach to learning is 'if you're not on the brink of death, you're not really learning'.

In all seriousness, though, getting to see that fight is a huge deal for Regal Flame's followers because it lets them know what to aspire to and how far they have to go. That's true even for dragons who've already achieved their Fourth Awakening. There is a cavernous gap between what a dragon who has only recently reached their Fourth Awakening can do and what a primordial dragon can do.

Last edited: Apr 7, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 50: The Vampires Has A Problem

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SecretTwelve

Apr 10, 2024

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Chapter 50: The Vampires Has A Problem

It was telling of Marcus's past that he looked upon the burgeoning ranks of his followers and wondered when something would go wrong because things had been going far too smoothly as of late. History had taught him that unfettered success was always followed by some sort of horrible disaster that involved screaming, treachery, and plenty of near-death experiences. And unlike a certain somebody, he wasn't a gigantic, flying, fire-breathing reptile who could literally crush his enemies with a thought.

Doomwing had plenty of awesome powers at his disposal, but Marcus had always believed that his telekinesis was the most awesome. Sure, Marcus could use magic to imitate telekinesis, but it wasn't as if he could just go around making people explode or crushing them into mangled spheres of gore. Doomwing could do exactly that, and he wasn't shy about doing it either if people annoyed him enough.

Still, it was hard not to be at least a little bit optimistic. The war in the north had gone very well for him. As was so often the case with vampires, once things really got serious and ancients actually started dying, even the most idealistic of his opponents began to prioritise survival and adopt a more pragmatic approach.

Marcus had defeated several other prominent ancients in battle, which had prompted many of the remaining ancients to realise that, actually, they were perfectly content to serve him if it meant being given a position of authority and avoiding a horrible death. How eminently reasonable. A few of them had been snakes in the grass, but Quintus was very good at detecting treachery while Faustina had several concoctions in her repertoire that were perfect for dealing with anyone planning some good, old-fashioned vampiric betrayal.

He'd only had to kill three more ancients before the others had fallen into line. He'd honestly expected worse. He'd been fully prepared to kill at least twice that number before the others finally got it into their thick skulls that he was more than capable of dealing with their treachery. Fools. Growing up in his father's court had taught him more than enough about betrayal and how to deal with it.

The only major betrayal he'd missed since the long-ago days of his youth had been Kagami's, but the kitsune had been on a completely different level when it came to deception and misdirection. Even Doomwing and Dreamsong had been caught off guard, and neither of the two dragons were easy to fool.

Marcus now had ten ancients under his command, making his faction the strongest from a purely numerical standpoint. The only faction left that could truly oppose him was headed by Aloysius. The other vampire was actually an old acquaintance. He had once been part of his father's coven, and he had somehow managed to survive the carnage when his father had turned on his own supporters.

Marcus had heard of Aloysius over the years although he'd never had a chance to speak to him again. The other vampire had a reputation for being cautious, powerful, and well-versed in all manner of esoteric arts and rituals. Thankfully, however, he seemed free of the insanity that had driven Marcus's father to pursue increasingly horrific lines of research.

Aloysius was supposed to have eight ancients under his command, including several that Marcus held in high esteem. It was a pity they'd joined the other vampire, but the same integrity that made Marcus want them on his side also meant they were unlikely to turn their coats. Even so, he'd sent missives to Aloysius and his followers, promising them position of authority if they would acknowledge his right to rule.

The replies had been straight to the point. Aloysius was going to fight, and none of his followers intended to switch sides.

Marcus could respect that resolve, and he'd spent the past two weeks planning how to deal with Aloysius. The other vampire was older than him, but Marcus was reasonably confident that he could beat him in single combat since Aloysius had focused more on research than combat. However, that was assuming Aloysius was willing to face him alone in a fair fight. Since Aloysius was not an idiot, Marcus doubted that would ever happen. Instead, Aloysius would only be willing to face him with his supporters at his side in a situation that was as favourable as possible.

Damn it.

If only Aloysius was an impetuous fool. Oh well. Marcus had always known that the battle for the north would come down to difficult opponents like Aloysius. But if he could beat the other vampire, then the remaining ancients should all fall into line. None of the remaining factions had more than two or three ancients to their name, and most of those were on the younger side for ancients, less experienced and less powerful than the ancients who followed Marcus.

He was also hoping that once Aloysius fell, the ancients who served him would be willing to accept Marcus's rule. Most of them were quite competent, and he had no desire to slaughter them just because they happened to follow someone else who might actually have made a decent king. Moreover, a fight to the death against those ancients would undoubtedly result in at least a few deaths on his side, which would only weaken his position.

Marcus was about to summon Quintus, so they could discuss their preparations for dealing with Aloysius when the other vampire rushed into his chambers.

"We have a problem," Quintus said. The normally composed vampire looked quite frazzled, and his spectacles were askew.

"Ah." Marcus nodded. "There it is." He got to his feet. "All right. What is it?"

Quintus turned. "Follow me."

Marcus followed Quintus to the walls of their settlement. With Faustina and the other ancients under his command, they had been able to go from a wooden stockade to a proper wall made out of magically reinforced earth, concrete, and slabs of enchanted stone. It wasn't pretty, but it was effective, and Marcus would always choose effective over pretty when it came to battle.

Faustina was already waiting for him at the top of the wall, and the other vampire's pretty features were drawn into a deep scowl.

"We have visitors," she growled. "Look."

He peered over the wall. Huddled outside the wall was a large group of humans and vampires led by one of the ancients under Aloysius's command. There were wounded amongst them, and the ancient – Claudius – seemed to be on the verge of collapse. He was missing an arm and a big chunk of his left side.

"It's been a while, Claudius," Marcus shouted as his own forces readied a variety of spells and weapons at their unexpected visitors. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Marcus," Claudius shouted wearily. "I seek sanctuary for myself and my companions."

"Sanctuary?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You do realise that we're on opposing sides, and that your leader and I are probably going to try to kill each other sometime in the next fortnight."

Claudius sagged, and he might even have fallen to his knees if not for the support he received from the female elder vampire beside him. "Aloysius has lost his mind. The other ancients… are dead at his hand."

"…" Marcus stared and then he glanced at Quintus. "Did he just say what I think he did?"

The other man seemed just as taken aback as him. "I believe so."

Marcus shook himself. "I know you to be an honourable man, Claudius, but I'll need more than your word. What proof do you have?"

Claudius shuddered. "I can offer you some of my blood. My memories will not lie."

Marcus's brows furrowed. It was possible for an ancient to poison their blood, making it toxic to anyone who drank it. However, that was usually fairly easy to detect, and Faustina was there. It should be impossible for anyone to deceive her about something like that.

"Very well. I'll send someone down to collect it. Do not make any hostile moves."

In short order, Marcus had a small sample of Claudius's blood. He checked it himself before passing it on to Faustina. The alchemist ran a variety of tests and used a number of different spells and runes before giving it back.

"It's genuine," Faustina said. "And it doesn't appear to be tainted in any way."

"All right." Marcus nodded. "I'll drink it. If anything bad happens, kill them all."

Quintus gave him a toothy smile. "Of course. Treachery should be repaid with treachery, after all."

Marcus took a deep breath and drank the blood.

Screams.

Blood.

Death.

Aloysius's body thrashed at the centre of an elaborate magical formation. Blood erupted from within him, and his screams trailed off as he jerked back onto his feet. His eyes opened, but there was nothing in them except hunger, a deep, insatiable hunger.

An ancient – Lucretia – went forward.

"Are you all right, Aloysius? Did it –"

She died an instant later, her head torn off before Aloysius's body just… exploded into a cloud of blood that devoured the rest of her. Aloysius reformed, but his body was wrong in so many ways. His arms and legs were no longer the same length, and his ribs protruded from a chest that now featured a gaping maw lined with circle after circle of whirling teeth.

The other ancients reacted at once, launching attacks at the abomination, but they too fell in quick succession. Within moments, there were only three of them left. The other two screamed for Claudius to run and take as many of their followers as he could.

He ran – only for the building the ritual was conducted in to come apart in a shower of shattered stone. A… thing made of teeth, claws, bone, and blood rushed out of the building. It devoured anyone it could catch, human and vampire alike. Spells and weapons flew, but nothing could stop it. Claudius screamed for everyone to flee before turning just long enough to pour every ounce of his magic into a binding spell.

It cost him his arm and a chunk of his left side, but the creature that had been Aloysius went flying back. It crashed into the ruins of a building and roared as glowing bands of magic wrapped around it and bound it to the earth.

"Follow me!" Claudius screamed. "Follow me if you want to live!"

Marcus staggered as the vision ended. Taking a deep, deep breath, he gazed down at Claudius.

"Claudius," he shouted. "I need to know if anyone in your group came into contact with that thing other than you."

"Why?" Claudius asked.

"Because if they do, you need to kill them right now."

Claudius looked around at the group. "I don't think so. I think I'm the only one who…"

He trailed off as a young vampire at the back of the group began to twitch. His eyes rolled back, and then he lurched forward with a bestial howl. Bone burst out of his arms, turning them into scythes as blood poured out of his eyes to form a crude horn upon his head. He bared teeth that were now too long for even a vampire and leapt toward Claudius.

"Damn it."

Marcus unleashed a seventh-order spell, and the fledgling crashed to the ground as if he'd been struck by a boulder. Despite the pressure bearing down on him, he tried to rise, limbs jerking and flailing wildly. A second spell set him alight, and Marcus kept the spell up until there was nothing left of the fledgling except ash.

"That's why you need to kill them," Marcus growled. "Check everyone in your group – everyone. I'm not letting a single person in until I know they're not going to turn into one of those things." His lips curled. "Use healing magic on them. It won't just be painful – it will be excruciating to them if they've been infected."

Marcus called a meeting once the group outside had been properly vetted. There had been two more infected people. Neither was as far gone as the first, but Marcus wasn't going to take any chances. Claudius killed them himself after promising to take care of their families. He was honourable like that.

"Okay," Faustina said as she took her seat at the table. "What the hell is going on? What was that thing?"

The other ancients in the room were less vocal but no less concerned. Each of them had lived for thousands of years and none of them had seen anything quite like that before. Only Marcus knew what they were dealing with.

"Claudius," Marcus said. "Why don't you share what happened with everyone else. I got a decent idea from the memories your blood shared, but there wasn't enough to give me the full details."

Claudius slumped into a chair. He'd been given blood to heal himself, but his weariness had only increased. "I'm not sure where to start."

"Start with the ritual," Marcus said. "What was Aloysius planning?"

Claudius closed his eyes and the nodded. "Aloysius has always been a thoughtful man. That was why we followed him. We thought he would make a good ruler. However, your recent successes put him in a difficult position. He knew he couldn't beat you in open combat, so he needed an advantage, something to give him more power. He didn't explain it to us fully, but he spoke of something called a Blood Ascension into a true ancient."

"What is a Blood Ascension?" Janus asked. The ancient had joined Marcus not long after Faustina. He had an affinity for teleportation magic. Admittedly, he couldn't teleport very quickly or very often. However, he could move large numbers of people a considerable distance. He wasn't much of a fighter, but he didn't need to be, not with powers like that.

"I'm not surprised you don't know about it," Marcus said. "Even my father didn't fully understand it, and he knew more about vampires than just about anyone." Marcus didn't have to say who his father was. Everyone at the table knew, for better or for worse. "In fact, I'd say the only people in the world who still know would be people who knew my father. As one of his followers, I'm not surprised that Aloysius knew – but I am surprised he would even attempt it."

"Aloysius said it would make him more powerful." Claudius's brows furrowed. "He said it would make him stronger than any normal ancient. According to him, that would be enough to end this war. You and the others could all kneel or die, his power would be that overwhelming."

"If it worked, he'd be right," Marcus said. "If Aloysius had succeeded, he'd be at least ten times more powerful than I am now."

"What?" Quintus blurted. "His power would increase that much?"

Marcus couldn't blame him for being surprised. In terms of raw power, Marcus was the most powerful person in the room. Throw in his greater experience and skill in combat, and he could probably take on three, maybe even four of the other ancients at the same time and win."

"Yes." Marcus scowled. "But there's a reason I didn't think he would attempt a Blood Ascension."

Claudius shuddered. "The ritual required some blood and sacrifices, but nothing too… extreme. Aloysius was quite confident about it, and he spent perhaps a week preparing the ritual. When he was ready, he called all of us to attend the ritual. The idea was that if something went wrong, we would be able to intercede." He shook his head. "Something went wrong, all right, but nothing we did mattered." He then gave a brief description of the ritual and what had happened afterward. "As far as I know, the others ancients are dead. As for anyone who wasn't able to follow me… I suspect they're dead as well."

"Or worse," Marcus said. "They could be like those things we've already killed."

"What happened to them?" Claudius asked. "What happened to Aloysius? What is a Blood Ascension?"

Marcus looked around at the other vampires. "I need all of you to swear a magically binding oath bound with blood that nothing that I am about to say leaves this room." He waited for them to give their agreement before nodding at Faustina. "Can you handle the preparations?"

"Of course."

In short order, all of them had a cup full of blood in front of them. It had been made by mixing blood from each of them, and Faustina had performed a ritual that would allow it to bind all of them to secrecy regarding the matter they were about to discuss. Given what Marcus was about to talk about, he would accept nothing less.

Only after they had all emptied their cups did he begin to speak.

"What I am about to say is based on my father's research, my own investigations, and a certain level of informed conjecture. As such, I cannot be certain that it is wholly accurate although I'm reasonably confident that I've got the most important details correct." Marcus folded his hands together. "What do you know about the origins of vampires?"

"We were born after the progenitor of our species performed a powerful ritual," Claudius offered.

"That's pretty much correct, as far as I know. What you may not be aware of is that vampirism itself was probably an accident. My father believed that the progenitor wasn't trying to perform a ritual to become a vampire. Instead, he was trying to bind an astral parasite to his will, and he inadvertently bound it to himself. That's why blood is so important to us – blood is tied to the soul – and why light and holy magic are so effective against us. Our souls are inherently unstable since slapping an astral parasite onto a human soul isn't exactly conducive to long-term stability."

"Well… that explains a lot," Faustina muttered. "Our weaknesses to living water and sunlight are probably caused by that too."

"Correct. Living water carries with it a certain level of life, growth, and nature magic, which is antithetical to astral parasites. Likewise, sunlight is the strongest mundane analogue to light magic, so it can be quite devastating to younger vampires." Marcus sighed. He hated dredging up memories of his time around his father and his court, but he needed those memories now. "My father theorised that as a vampire gets older, the parasite gets stronger, which is why ancients can walk in the sun and aren't completely helpless against immersion in living water."

"That makes sense," Quintus said. "If we are the host and the parasite draws its strength from us, then an ancient would have a parasite that has spent centuries gorging on blood and power."

"Precisely. Now, being a vampire does come with plenty of advantages. If we are indeed the hosts, then it's in the parasite's best interest to make sure we are as powerful as possible. After all, if we die, so do they. That's why vampires are far stronger, faster, and more durable than humans, and why we can develop a host of different abilities, from controlling animals to adopting a gaseous form that can ignore physical damage." Marcus pursed his lips. "The important thing is that we are in control. The parasite is not. My father believed that the reason some fledglings go mad and why we have an overwhelming thirst for blood is that the parasite can occasionally get a little… testy if it isn't fed properly." His lips curled. "That voice you hear in the back of your head when you haven't fed properly in a long time? That might be the parasite telling you to feed if you know what's good for you."

There were shudders all around the table. They had all heard that voice although for most, it had been a long, long time. Fledglings heard it the most often, a voice in the back of their head telling them to feed and feed and feed. As a vampire got older, and they became more efficient at extracting sustenance from blood and other sources, that voice got quieter. For ancients who could derive tremendous power from even small quantities of blood, to say nothing of the other methods they developed to sustain themselves, that voice was basically an unpleasant memory, nothing more.

"Now, we're all ancients here. We are, by and large, the pinnacle of our species. So how do we get stronger? The answer is fairly simple. What if you could fully merge with the parasite? You'd have a much more stable soul, and you'd have full control over all the abilities the parasite might have. In fact, if you were able to fully merge with the parasite, there's no reason you wouldn't experience a qualitative increase in power since you are now very, very different from a regular vampire. There is no more host and parasite. There is only you. That is what a Blood Ascension involves, and that is what a true ancient is."

"Is that why the progenitor and the five great ancestors were so powerful?" Claudius asked quietly. "I never met your father, Marcus, but the stories of him and the others…"

"My father was the least of the five before his treachery," Marcus replied. "But even then… even as the least of the five, he was capable of things that I can only dream of. It would explain why they were so much more powerful than the rest of us. We have to contend with parasites, and, yes, we usually don't notice them since we're the ones in charge, but that doesn't mean they're not there. Using your powers in concert with another entity – even one bound to your very soul – will always be less powerful and less efficient than doing it yourself."

"But something must have gone wrong," Claudius said. "The progenitor and the five great ancestors were never described as… as that thing Aloysius became."

"And that's where things get ugly," Marcus said. "You see, the reason I didn't think Aloysius would try a Blood Ascension is because of what can happen. Basically, a Blood Ascension involves facing the parasite in astral combat and defeating it. You can then devour it and claim its power for yourself. But… what if you don't win?"

Faustina went pale. "You'd lose your soul… or… or worse."

"There are four possible outcomes during a Blood Ascension," Marcus said. "The first and most ideal is that you defeat the parasite, become a true ancient and crush all of your enemies. That's the outcome that Aloysius was aiming for. However, if you lose, the parasite consumes your soul and takes over your body."

"Wait." Quintus scowled. "There are stories… old stories of ancients experiencing great changes in personality after massively increasing power…"

"It is entirely possible that those ancients were the result of the parasite winning and taking over the body. For obvious reasons, the parasite isn't going to behave the same way as the former host. Of course, we can't be sure since my father and his fellows made sure to kill every ancient that experienced a drastic change in behaviour."

"And they'd have good reason to," Claudius said. "Not only would they be strong enough to be a threat but they also wouldn't be like us at all. They'd be a parasite wearing the shape of a person."

"Exactly," Marcus said. "As for the third and fourth outcome, this is where things get nastier still. Sometimes, the astral battle between the host and the parasite is so intense that the backlash ends up obliterating them both, along with the body. Those stories you've heard of ancients just exploding for seemingly no reason are probably based on instances of this. But it's the fourth outcome that is the worst, and I think it's the one we're dealing with. Sometimes, the host and parasite are so evenly matched, that neither can win. Instead, they merge but both are left as little more than husks, and the body is no longer controlled by either of them. Rather than logic and reason, the body is motivated solely by instinct… and the oldest of all vampiric instincts is hunger."

Claudius dragged in a deep, ragged breath. "That thing that Aloysius became… it ate everybody it could reach. Some of the others tried mind magic, but it didn't work."

"Of course not. That thing doesn't have a mind the way you or I do. Instead, it's a bundle of instincts. But do not – even for a second – think that makes it weak," Marcus said. "You're still dealing with something in which the soul of the host has fully merged with the parasite. That grants it physical abilities far beyond any ancient. It is also capable of using many vampiric abilities at a level we can't hope to match."

"Its ability to alter its own body, to control blood, to consume others…" Claudius nodded firmly. "Those are all things we can do, but not to that extent."

"That thing will consume everyone it can reach. And it will grow stronger with each and every person it devours. It's not just drinking their blood and consuming their flesh. It's devouring their souls. I shouldn't have to explain how powerful it will become given time."

"And the others?" Claudius asked. "The ones we had to kill earlier. Why were they like that?"

"Vampirism can only be passed on in certain ways since it involves the parasite in the sire separating a small part of itself off to infect someone else. That is what my father believed. That also explains why the sire has influence over their fledglings – the parasites in the fledglings are pieces of the parasite they have. This thing we're dealing with is operating on instinct, so it's trying to spread itself as far as possible. It is highly likely that every single one of its attacks is at least partially soul based, so it can infect almost anyone it comes into contact with."

The others all rounded on Claudius, and the vampire himself was utterly alarmed. However, Marcus brought his fist down on the table.

"Calm down," he growled. "Claudius should be fine. Think about it. Claudius is an ancient. The parasite inside him must already be quite powerful. Do you really think it's going to let some shard of another parasite take over him?"

Faustina laughed. "Is that how it is? Makes sense. Nobody likes a crowded house."

"Exactly," Marcus said. "The parasites in us ancients should be strong enough to resist being infected although we can still be killed – as Claudius's fellows found out. Everyone else, however, is at risk of infection."

"That still leave us with an important question," Quintus said. "What are we going to do with Aloysius – or, rather, the thing he became?"

"It's very simple," Marcus said. "We're going to kill it."

Author's Notes

More explanation of how vampirism works in this world. As you can see, it's not exactly pleasant. Parasites everywhere. And an astral battle for the body at a certain level? That's rough, buddy. At least dragons don't have to worry about getting their bodies taken over if they fail an Awakening although it is possible that they could explode, so there is that.

But, yeah, Marcus has his work cut out for him. Yes, in Doomwing land, it's all about that possibility of romance. Over in Marcus land, it's eldritch abominations that eat ancients for breakfast. On the upside, what better way to prove you should be king than by absolutely murdering the crap out of something that already murdered the crap out of a bunch of ancients?

Note that vampires came into being in the Third Age (as mentioned in a previous chapter). They were not created by the First Gods.

221

SecretTwelve

Apr 10, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 51: The Vampire Fights

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SecretTwelve

Apr 11, 2024

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Chapter 51: The Vampire Fights

"Kill it?" Faustina blurted incredulously. "You think we can kill it? Because unless I've got the numbers wrong, that thing killed seven ancients in a matter of minutes. Counting Claudius, there are twelve of us. I don't know about you, but those don't sound like good odds to me."

Marcus looked around the table. He could hear and see sounds and expressions of agreements. His fists clenched. It would have been easy to call Faustina a coward, but she at least had the excuse of being awful at fighting. She was a brilliant alchemist and researcher, but battle had never been her forte. Yet even the ancients who supposedly specialised in combat were agreeing with her.

Cowardice.

It was one of the fundamental sins of vampire kind, right there were treachery and greed.

Over and over again throughout their history, cowardice had cost them. It had cost them one homeland, but he refused to let it cost them another.

"So you want to run?" Marcus asked.

"We could," Aurora said. "It would be the smart thing to do." As a mage, she was used to calculating the odds of victory, used to standing back and making calm, rational assessments about whether or not fighting would be worth it. "Faustina is right. That thing tore through seven ancient in a matter of minutes. We'll last longer because we've got double the numbers, but it's hard to see us winning."

"Why not call that dragon friend of yours?" Janus suggested. "He could kill this thing for us."

There were nods all around the table, and Marcus felt his blood boil. Perhaps he'd spent too much time around dragons and humans.

"Cowards," he growled. "All of you are cowards."

"It is not cowardice to flee a fight you cannot win," Claudius replied. "Nor is it cowardice to seek help against a stronger opponent."

Marcus shook his head. "You don't see it, do you?" His gaze swept around the table. "Not all of you are old enough to remember, but I was there when we still had a homeland. I was there when my father wiped out the other members of the Council of Five, and I was there when he turned on his own followers and wiped them out too. Do you know what all the survivors did afterward?"

Silence.

"They hid. They ran, and they hid. Oh, a few of them spoke of vengeance, but none of them really meant it. None of them had the courage to actually plan against him. I tried. I really did. I approached every vampire I could find who might be willing, but none of them had the courage to join me. Even when my father lost himself completely and became the Fourth Catastrophe, still no one else was willing to fight against him. Even as his folly consumed our homeland, everyone else just ran and hid. That's why I sought out the dragons. It may have taken them a while to realise what a threat my father was, but when they understood, they didn't run. They didn't hide. They fought!"

"They might have won," Brutus said. "But it cost them. Dragons died facing your father. What chance would we have had?" Brutus was older than Marcus, and one of the few remaining ancients who could trace their descent to another member of the Council of Five. Marcus's father had been incredibly thorough in annihilating their followers. "Fighting would have gained us nothing."

"Not fighting cost us everything!" Marcus replied. "Think of what we could have achieved if the survivors had faced my father together. At the very least, we would have been able to slow him down or get earlier warning to the dragons. Instead, by the time the dragons finally fought him, his power had grown vast and terrible. Our homeland had to be destroyed to stop him!"

"Your 'friend' did that," Brutus hissed.

"It was either our homeland or the world," Marcus said. "And I was one of the people who suggested he do it. But it never would have gotten that far if so many of us hadn't been cowards." He sagged back in his chair. "I'm tired. Aren't you? I've been wandering for so long, looking for a home I'll never find. But now… after all these Ages, we have a second chance, a new home. Do you know how rare it is to get a second chance? Do you know how absurdly lucky we are to have an umbral veil within reach? If we run now, where will we go?"

Brutus leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his broad chest.

"You're old enough to remember the five great courts," Marcus said as he wove an illusion around the room. It was drawn from his memories, and it showed the decadence, opulence, and glory of the five great courts of the vampire homeland. "But look at us now. We're the greatest of our kind, and this is what passes for court amongst us." He pinned each of them with his gaze. "The Council of Five was horribly flawed, and they were evil, but they had many reasons to be proud – and so did we. We were glorious then, a nation, not merely in words but in truth and deed. Now all we can muster are pale imitations of the past and half-remembered stories. I remember when we didn't have to worry about our fledglings burning in the sun. I remember when elder vampires could walk the streets during the day. This place, here and now, is our chance to have that again. And you would have us run?"

They looked away, and Marcus's fists clenched again. He could still remember the look of solemn understanding on Elerion's face before they'd gone to face Kagami. He'd known he would die fighting her. He'd known, but he'd still gone. Why? Because it had been necessary, because he would never have been able to live with himself if he'd chosen to hide while others fought and died in his name for his nation. If only vampires could have that same courage.

"I will not run," Marcus said. "I've run long enough. No more. If the north is to be my home and my kingdom, then I cannot run. I must defend it – with my life if need be." He paused, and his gaze hardened. "Nor will I call upon a dragon to help me. Why should I? What kind of king would I be if I had to call upon my friend for aid whenever something happened? Who could possibly respect such a king? No. A vampire brought about this folly, and so it falls to vampires to deal with it." His gaze softened. "What's the point of living as long as we do if we spend our whole lives running away whenever things get hard? If we can't stand our ground when our new homeland is at stake, then when can we? Running… running is easy. And it get easier every time you run until eventually all you can do is run and run and run. Fighting… fighting is hard, and it's scary. I don't care how old you are. That's always going to be true. But there are times when you run and times when you fight. I'm telling you, here and now, that this is a time to fight."

Faustina swallowed thickly. "Do… do you really think we can win?"

Marcus bared his teeth. "I've been called a fool before, but no one has ever called me suicidal. I'm not saying it'll be easy, but I think we can win – and without any of us dying either."

"What makes you say that?" Brutus rumbled. The other vampire was even taller than Marcus and built like a bear. Hopefully, Marcus's words had managed to stir his warrior's blood.

"First and foremost, we know what we're up against." Marcus nodded at Claudius. "Claudius and his fellows didn't – and it cost them. One of them died without even knowing what was happening. Another two died as they tried to retreat and gain distance, and another two died after they hesitated. The remaining two were overwhelmed, but the fact that Claudius is here means they at least did better than the others. In a fight, information and initiative are key. Claudius and his fellows had neither, but we will have both."

"So you say," Aurora murmured. "But words are wind. What do you intend?"

Marcus's eyes gleamed. "An all-out assault. We have powerful mages and one of the best alchemists in the world. We also have several highly skilled warriors. This thing is operating mostly on instinct. It's not going to be using advanced tactics and strategies. It's going to see us, and then it's going to try its best to rip us to pieces. So we hit it hard. Right from the start. The strongest magic we can muster. And then we hold it off as best we can while hitting it with more of that magic and whatever atrocities Faustina can prepare."

"Your plan is worryingly simplistic," Claudius murmured. "But… perhaps simple is best." His brows furrowed, and he stared at the arm he'd regrown. "The others… they were good people. They died, so I could live. And yet… yet I find myself wishing I could avenge them. We'd known each other for centuries. I counted several of them as friends. To leave that thing unchallenged… it does rankle."

Brutus chuckled. "I have been searching for a worthy opponent. I can't think of too many more worthy than the thing we'll be fighting."

Janus made a face. "I might also have been holding out on you…"

"Oh?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "And what do you mean by that?"

"You know how my teleportation takes a while to use?" Janus said. "Well… there is a way to make it go faster. It'll only work once per day on each person, but I'll be able to snatch you out of battle and pull you to my location."

Marcus's eyes widened. "That would basically give everybody a second chance in a fight."

Janus nodded. "Yes. I was keeping it a secret since, you know, we all have secrets, but if we're going to be fighting this thing, then I can't really keep it a secret anymore, now can I?"

Marcus grinned. "That's the spirit." He banged his fist on the table. "We can win. If we fight this thing together, we can win – and we can all go home in one piece. But we can't hold back. We need to use everything we have." He took a deep breath. "You have an hour to prepare. If you have any treasures you haven't used yet, any abilities you're concealing, or any magic that you're saving for a rainy day, now is the time."

Marcus went straight to his chambers to prepare. He might not be able to lug around as much stuff as Doomwing, but he had access to storage spells and various forms of storage equipment. And although he had tried to use as little extra equipment as possible to make a better impression on his followers – nobody thought highly of someone who relied solely on excellent equipment to fight – now was not the time to hold back.

The very first thing he called out of storage was an ornate set of black plate armour. Its pristine appearance was a testament to its quality since it had spent centuries underwater. It had belonged to an enemy of his father, and his father had decided that killing his opponent was too easy. Instead, he had trapped him in the armour, disabled its abilities, and then paralysed him with magic before flinging him into the sea.

His father's enemy had sunk all the way to the bottom of the ocean. There, trapped by magic and the crushing weight of the ocean, he had slowly starved to death. He'd been an ancient, so starvation would have taken centuries – centuries alone in the cold dark of the ocean floor. Marcus had eventually found him with the help of some generously paid merfolk.

The other vampire had already been dead, but the armour had been completely intact. Marcus had disposed of the body in accordance with vampire traditions and had claimed the armour for himself after dispelling the magic his father had used to disable its abilities. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on just how deep the bond between the armour and its original master had been.

To put it simply, the armour was haunted. It wasn't the actual ghost of its previous bearer. Instead, it was an echo, a sort of spiritual resonance that plagued whoever donned the armour, subjecting them to the madness and ravings of its previous owner. And there had been plenty of madness and ravings over the long centuries of slow starvation.

But even so, the armour was worth it. It was umbral armour – armour that allowed the wearer to use potent shadow magic. There were very, very few people who could build armour like this left, and there were very, very few people who had the materials required. Marcus certainly didn't. Despite being haunted, the armour also retained its ability to adjust to new wearers, so Marcus didn't even have to worry about getting it adjusted – not that any dwarf would go within a hundred yards of the thing.

As he began to put the armour on, Faustina bustled into the room. She hadn't bothered to knock, and he could feel her anger without even turning.

"A pretty speech isn't going to save us from that thing," Faustina said. "You might have won over the others, but I know you. You've always been good at giving inspiring speeches. It's one of your few redeeming features."

"If you're here to scold me, help me put this on." Marcus handed her pieces of the armour.

"Wait… is this haunted?" Faustina cast a spell. "It is haunted! You're going to wear haunted armour into battle! Are you insane?"

"It's umbral armour, and it's only a little bit haunted." Marcus donned the helmet. Already, he could hear the voice of the armour's former owner cursing him as the son of his murderer. However, it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. "Faustina, I meant what I said. If we hit it hard and fast with everything we've got, I think we can beat it. This thing will only grow stronger the longer we leave. This is the weakest it will ever be, so we need to strike now." He turned. "I'll be counting on you. All of the weapons, concoctions, and bits and pieces you've got for fighting ancient vampires, bring them. All of them."

"Damn it." Faustina huffed. "You're not really giving me much of a choice here."

Marcus sighed. "We don't have much of a choice, not really. But if things go poorly, I will give the order to retreat, and I will be the one to cover the retreat. That's the least I can do." He put one hand on her cheek. "I'm not going to put you on the front lines. We both know you're terrible at fighting. But your support will be essential. I can't do this alone."

Faustina's lips curled and she shoved his hand away. "If I die, I am going to haunt you forever. I hope you know that."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." Marcus reached for a dozen daggers made of obsidian. "Now, grab whatever you need, and don't forget to bring plenty of blood. I'm sure we'll be needing it."

Marcus led the others through the whirling snow. They moved as swiftly as only ancients could, their presence obscured by magic as they made their way toward Aloysius's camp. They stopped on a hill overlooking the camp, and Marcus motioned for Quintus to get to work.

The bespectacled vampire nodded and cast a subtle but powerful scrying spell over the area. Aloysius might have been able to detect it if he'd been in his right mind, but the monster he'd become was unlikely to notice anything short of a direct attack.

"It's big," Quintus said. "You can't see it through all the snow, but it has to be at least thirty feet tall, maybe a little more."

Marcus nodded grimly. "Everyone in the camp has probably been turned into an infected husk under its control or has been converted into more flesh for its body."

The others looked a bit queasy at that.

"How many infected?" Marcus asked. The snows here were thick and laden with magic. Even for a vampire, seeing through them wasn't easy without using magic.

"At least a hundred." Quintus paused. "Do we have to worry about them wandering off?"

"If we kill that thing, they should die too. They're not proper vampires. A blizzard like this will probably kill them off too, which is why we haven't seen any wandering around. That thing will likely wait until the blizzard stops before sending them out." Marcus chuckled mirthlessly. "And before you ask, it's not really intelligent. That's the kind of thing it probably learned through trial and error."

"So what now?" Aurora asked. She had the most powerful attack magic of any of them.

"Now, we split up." Marcus motioned to Brutus, Felix, and Julian. "The four of us are the best at close combat. Once we begin our attack, we'll move in and keep it occupied. Our objective isn't necessarily to kill it – it's to keep it from going after our mages and ranged support who will be doing most of the damage. I shouldn't have to say this, but stay sharp. That thing is big, strong, and fast. Evade attacks whenever possible. Do not get into a contest of strength because you are going to lose."

Marcus nodded at the others. "Aurora and Vespera, I want you two on that hill over there. When I give the signal, hit it with the biggest spell you have. At the very least, that should injure it and wipe out the infected around it. After that, attack as opportunity permits, but warn us first. I don't want us getting caught up in your attacks. Janus, since you're the one who can teleport people out of battle, I want you to stay here with Quintus. He'll be running communication and scrying magic for everybody, and he'll make sure you can see the whole battlefield. Claudius and Faustina, I want you to trail me and the others into battle. Focus on disabling and binding it. Do not engage it directly. Allow us to fight it. Cecilia, I want you on that hill over there, and I want you, Cornelius, over there."

"Is it wise to split up?" Cecilia asked. She tightened her hold on her bow. "It might be able to single us out."

"If you're all together, it can try to attack all of you at the same time. If you split up, it'll have to divide its attention. If we're lucky, that might even confuse it," Marcus said. "Same thing as Aurora and Vespera. When you see an opportunity, take it. If you think we might get caught up in your attacks, say something. Everybody understand?"

There were nods all around.

"Good. Then get into position."

Aurora took a deep breath of the frigid winter air. This was insane. This whole thing was insane. It would have been better to run and hide, but damn Marcus and his talent for inspiring speeches. Once the others had all agreed, there was no backing out, especially since if they won but she and her sister didn't participate, they were bound to get demoted.

"Are you ready?" Vespera asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Aurora sighed. It was easy for people to mistake her for Vespera. They were twins, after all. But Vespera had always been the braver of the two of them, or perhaps the more foolish.

"When you're ready," Marcus said, his voice carrying to them clearly despite the blizzard and the distance, thanks to Quintus's communication magic. "Hit it with everything you have. It's… resting at the centre of the camp."

"It won't matter too much where it is," Aurora replied. "Because there won't be a camp once I'm done."

For as long as she could remember, Aurora had been fascinated by attack magic. Whether it was throwing fire, hurling lightning, or unleashing tearing winds – if a spell or rune could be used to destroy things, then she wanted to learn it.

"Vespera," she murmured. "Together."

"Together."

Aurora began to weave multiple twelfth-order spells together. Spells for fire and wind and pressure, along with spells for force, shattering, and cleaving. Her burgundy eyes began to glow as she called on more and more of her power. Beside her, Vespera was deploying rune after rune of enhancement.

It was funny. They were twins, but their abilities were so radically different. Aurora specialised in attack magic whereas Vespera could hardly use any attack magic at all. What she could do, however, was enhance the abilities and magic of others.

"Careful," Quintus advised through his communication magic. "It's stirring. I think it senses your magic."

"It's fine." Aurora growled. "I'm just about finished anyway."

Her jaw clenched, and her eyes bled from burgundy to deep crimson as the last of her spells snapped into place alongside Vespera's runes. There was a brief pause and then a deep, echoing boom that sent snow tumbling down the hills around them. A bolt of blindingly bright magic crackled from her hands and slammed into the centre of the camp.

And then there was light and fire and utter devastation.

The force of the explosion threw her and Vespera off their feet, and the blizzard around them was blasted aside. A towering pillar of raw heat and radiance rippled upward as the devastation on the ground spilled outward, obliterating the camp and sending huge clouds of steam billowing outward. The hillside beneath them trembled and threatened to give way as the shockwave of fire and force first incinerated everything in its path and then turned the ground into molten slag.

It was enough power to obliterate a large town or a small city concentrated into an area far smaller than either.

Aurora wanted to believe that was enough to win the battle, but she only had to hear the enraged, inhuman screeching that filled the air to know it wasn't enough.

"Damn it." Aurora reached for a potion to replenish her magic. She'd dumped a significant chunk of her power into that attack. "How soon until you can go again?"

Vespera was busy gulping down a potion of her own. Faustina might be a maniac, but she knew how to make good potions. "Give me a second…"

"Let's go!" Marcus barked as the flames subsided. Aurora hadn't held back. That attack would have killed just about any ancient outright, but their opponent was far from dead. In fact, based on the sounds it was making, and the way its massive body was thrashing about, all they'd done was piss it off.

"Damn," Brutus grunted as he ran alongside Marcus. "You'd think that would do more damage."

Snow was rushing back in, turning into rain as it ran headlong into the residual heat left behind by the spell. Ahead of them, the abomination was still thrashing about. Huge chunks of its flesh had been left blackened and charred, and they tumbled off its body, only to be replaced as quickly as they fell away.

It was truly monstrous now, with nothing even vaguely human about it remaining. Instead, it walked on seven, gigantic, stumpy legs, and its entire body was covered in a variety of tentacles, bony claws, and jagged ridges of chitin. A number of longer appendages extended out from its body, each of them ending in barbed flails.

Marcus's jaw tightened. This was not going to be an easy fight, and he was glad that he'd left Ivar and his other followers behind. They had wanted to come along, but this fight was beyond them. Not only were they at risk of being infected, but they would likely die within a single minute of fighting this thing.

"Split up!" Marcus shouted. "Attack it from all sides! Keep it distracted!"

As the others broke off to circle around the creature, Marcus charged straight ahead. Overhead, an arrow wreathed in explosive magic and runes of piercing and breaking lanced through the air – Cecilia. It thumped into the side of what passed for the creature's head before detonating in a gory explosion. But the creature did not go down. Instead, it roared, and there was a flash of crimson before spikes of blood speared through the air back toward Cecilia at speed so great they left thunder in their wake.

Marcus could only hope she'd been able to dodge or that Janus had been able to pull her out of harm's way as he closed in. The creature howled, feet stomping the molten earth, and then it turned, a huge tentacle coming down toward him with all the force of an avalanche.

He leapt to the side before hastily calling upon his armour's power as the tentacle jerked toward him with impossible speed. He fell into his own shadow and emerged several yards away, the voice of the armour's previous wearer filling his ears.

"Son of a monster!" the voice roared. "Abomination! Unworthy of life!"

"Oh, shut up," Marcus grumbled. "I'm busy."

He leapt, and a rune of cutting formed around his blade as he brought the sword down on one of the creature's limbs. To his disbelief, the weapon only sank an inch or two in before stopping. How tough was this thing? He yanked his weapon free and retreated hastily as another arrows soared in, striking the monster in the side before exploding.

Good. Cecilia was still alive.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brutus bring his pole axe down in a brutal overhead chop, only for his weapon to meet a similar fate as Marcus's.

"This thing is tough!" Brutus growled. "I've cut several yards of solid stone with strikes like that!"

"It must be enhancing its body with the blood it has consumed," Marcus shouted. "If we can keep it hitting it, it'll start running out of blood. Then we'll be able to – Julian, you fool, dodge!"

On the other side of the creature, Julian had raised his shield to catch a blow from one of the scythe-like appendages the monster had. It cost him his shield, his arm, and half of his torso. He went tumbling end over end, and spears of blood thudded into his body as the monster batted Marcus aside and ignored a spear thrust from Felix to focus on the downed vampire.

"Janus!" Marcus shouted. "Get Julian out of here!"

There was a flash of magic, and then Julian was gone. Marcus grit his teeth. Janus had to put blood seals on all of them to use that ability, and he'd only be able to use it once for each them per day. In other words, even if Julian got back into the fight, he wouldn't have the luxury of a safe retreat next time.

Somehow following the magic, the creature turned and unleashed a volley of bony spines toward the hill where Janus was. There was a crack boom as a bolt of lightning leapt from a neighbouring hill to intercept the attack. The electricity jumped from spine to spine, shattering them, before turning to strike the creature.

That must be Cornelius. Lightning magic was his speciality.

For a split second, the monster faltered, and another arrows truck it in the side before exploding.

"That idiot," Brutus hissed. "You told us not to meet it in a contest of strength, and what's the first thing he does? Try to block an attack with his shield!"

The monster lunged forward with surprising speed, and it was only Brutus's excellent reflexes that kept his head on his shoulders. As it was, his armour went flying off his upper body in pieces. Drops of blood rained down on him, and the ancient vampire screamed as the blood pierced through his skin before exploding inside his body. He tumbled to the ground, wounded, but not dead, and Felix leapt, soaring through the air to land spear first on top of the creature's back in a display of agility that Marcus wasn't sure he could have matched.

"Oh, come on," Marcus gestured with one hand, and shadows formed and yanked Brutus out of the way. He tossed him toward Faustina who was hiding amidst a pile of half-melted stone that the creature had tossed up in one of its earlier attacks. She shoved a healing potion and gourd full of blood into Brutus's mouth as Claudius reached out with both hands.

A binding spell took shape, and glowing bands of light grabbed hold of the monster's legs, pinning them in place.

"Aurora," Marcus shouted. "Now would be a good time."

"Just get clear," came the reply.

Marcus didn't need to be told twice, he and Felix fled, and he stopped just long enough to throw the rapidly healing Brutus over his shoulder before another massive explosion bloomed around the monster. The blast sent them tumbling through the air, and Marcus used his armour's powers to grab hold of Faustina and Claudius before they could hit the ground.

He skidded to a stop in time to see the abomination's flesh ripple before a large chunk of it simply burst free and shot toward the hill where Aurora and Vespera were. The entire hillside vanished in a blast of corrosive blood, sharpened bone, and warped flesh. The two ancients would likely have died if Janus hadn't pulled them out of the way in time, but the abomination was already turning, its body transforming into a bloody mist as Cecilia's next arrow went right through it and Cornelius's lightning struck but to seemingly little effect.

"Faustina," Marcus shouted as he burst into motion. "Now!"

The female vampire tossed a bottle at the cloud of bloody mist. A flick of Marcus's wrist sent a spell to break it, and black vapour filled the air. There was a hideous, screeching sound, and suddenly the monster was no longer a bloody mist. Instead, it was forced back into its solid state, confused, angry, and still far too close to Janus and the others for Marcus's liking.

"Get out of there!" Marcus roared. "Go!"

He charged and drove his blade into one of the creature's legs, pouring magic into the strongest rune of cutting he could make. Finally, his sword began to bite, and the creature stumbled as its leg came apart in a shower of gore – but not before it unleashed another hail of bloody spears at the hillside.

"Agh!"

That was Janus.

Another bolt of lightning crackled in, accompanied by yet another arrow, and the monster lurched back. Up on the hill, Marcus caught a glimpse of Aurora raising her hands before fire began to rain from the sky. With no time to build up a stronger spell, the attack was more of a distraction than anything else, but it gave Vespera time to grab Janus and drag him away. His legs were gone, along with one of his arms.

Marcus hissed. The fight was getting out of control. Behind him, Faustina threw another bottle. It shattered against the creature's side, and the blood floating in the air around it began to quiver. Marcus seized the opportunity and pulled as hard as he could. Blood magic was something he was very, very good at. The blood went flying away, and Claudius gestured again. More bands of light formed, but the monster was ready for them this time. It sent several tentacles thumping down toward Claudius, and he was forced to abandon his spell as he and Faustina scrambled out of range.

"Get up," Marcus shouted to Brutus. "Come on, you big ox! Get up!"

"Urgh…" The other vampire stumbled to his feet. "Damn it. This thing is tough."

Felix leapt again, twisting and driving his spear into the monster's head only to have to yank it free and flip end over end through the air to keep from being torn limb from limb by a wave of gnashing teeth and clawing scythes.

"Keep hitting it," Marcus shouted. "Don't let up."

And yet, as the fight went on, Marcus realised that they were losing. They simply couldn't do enough damage, and with Janus out of the fight, any hit could be their last. Aurora was no longer able to attack freely either. The monster had realised the threat she posed, and it was taking everything Marcus and the others had to keep it from reaching her. Worse, the abomination was pelting both Cecilia and Cornelius with a seemingly endless barrage of bone shards and corrupted flesh. The pair had no choice but to keep on the move, lest they be overrun, and that kept them from using their most potent attacks.

"Marcus…" Faustina grabbed his arm. She had hit the creature with bottle after bottle of her concoctions, but even they couldn't do more than slow it down. "We're losing."

"I know." He took a deep breath. There was one last card he could play. He wasn't looking forward to it, but… "Faustina, you brought that potion, right? The one you've been working on for me?"

"The enhancement potion?" She nodded. "Yes, but…" Her eyes widened. "You're actually going to use it."

"Well, it's not like we're going to win if we keep doing this."

Brutus had lost an arm, but he was fighting gamely on with his remaining arm. Julius, though, had yet to re-enter the battle. He never had been the quickest regenerator or healer. Even Felix, usually so swift and nimble, had begun to slow down, exhaustion beginning to creep up on him as the monster grew more used to his attacks and began to overwhelm him with its extra limbs.

"Fine. But you won't have long, maybe fifteen seconds."

"Fifteen seconds? That'll have to be enough." Marcus reached for the potion. "Wish me luck."

He downed the potion in one big gulp, and his whole body was suddenly consumed by a maelstrom of power. His jaw clenched so hard he was afraid his teeth would break, and his muscles tightened until he feared they would burst. It was too much power, too much speed, too much everything.

That was why they hadn't all just downed some of this potion and why Faustina considered the potion a failure. It enhanced the body to such a degree that it was no longer possible for a person to properly control themselves. All of that strength, that speed, everything – none of it mattered since the person would be unable to use it properly.

Unless they were someone with the right kind of mind magic who also happened to have a mastery of blood magic.

In other words, whoever drank it needed a very unique skillset – a skillset that Marcus had. Even as his body threatened to lurch out of his control, he layered on spell after spell and rune after rune of perceptual enhancement until he could finally – finally – take proper control of his body. But even that wasn't enough. To really get the most out of the enhancement, he had to use his blood magic to essentially puppet his own body because it was now capable of moving in ways that would normally have been impossible even for him.

As his perceptual enhancement and blood magic came into effect, the world seemed to slow down until it was completely still and in perfect focus.

He lifted his hand and clenched his fist. Strength beyond what he'd ever known filled him. Around him, the others were moving in slow motion, and the supernaturally swift motions of the abomination were finally not only readily visible but actually predictable. Marcus took the daggers he'd brought along with him and flung them around. Even with the potion, he'd need them to make this work.

In his hands, his sword began to shake. All of the power he'd stored in it since the Sixth Catastrophe – all of that energy was being dumped into it now to make it as sharp and deadly as possible. He could last fifteen seconds before the potion wore off or his body failed under the strain. At the rate he was burning through it, the energy stored in the sword would last roughly that long too.

He took a single breath and then dropped into the shadows at his feet. He reappeared over the monster that had once been Aloysius and brought his sword down with all the strength he could muster. The blade cleaved through the abomination's flesh, sending a torrent of gore bursting upward. It reached for him with countless twisted limbs, but he was no longer there. Instead, he was beneath the beast, carried there by the shadows as he lashed out again, carving a matching furrow into its underbelly.

It bellowed in pain and fury, and Marcus sank back into the shadows before reappearing and striking once more. Over and over again, he vanished into the shadows, only to re-emerge, unleashing a dozen strikes and then more than a hundred in the span of a few seconds. It was more than he could ever have managed without the potion, and the insults from the armour's former wearer grew into a warped cacophony as time stretched, each moment turning into an eternity.

But the monster had caught on. Spears of blood stabbed into the shadows as it finally overcame the effects of the concoction Faustina had used on it earlier. And now, Marcus called on the daggers. It was a simple idea, really. Blood magic could be used to push and pull blood toward the user. That was the simplest and easiest way to use blood to attack. But with enough practice, the opposite could be done – the user could be pulled or pushed toward blood. And on those daggers was Marcus's own blood, as solid an anchor as he could ask for.

His blood magic roared to life, yanking him out of the way of attack after attack as he continued his frenzied assault on the horror before him. Again and again, he hit it, but it refused to go down, its massive form bearing down on him with impossible speed, its barrage of bone, blood, and flesh threatening to cut off all his avenues of retreat.

Fine.

If Marcus couldn't dodge, then he would do the next best thing. He would take whatever blows weren't fatal and try to dish out more damage in return.

He lost his left arm, the armour not durable enough to withstand a full-blooded strike from the creature at close range. He ignored the pain and brought his sword down on the closest tentacle – and it didn't grow back. His eyes widened. Had they finally reached the limits of its regeneration –

The potion wore off.

Time returned to normal, and weakness flooded his limbs.

"Marcus!" He stumbled back, blood flowing from one shoulder. His mind was wrapped in fog, and Faustina's voice seemed to be coming from far away.

Claudius's magic rippled to life around the creature, and chains of magic coiled around its body. It struggled, but it was no longer able to break free so easily. An arrow thudded into its side before exploding. Above them, the blizzard parted as colossal bolts of lightning rained down on the suddenly immobile monstrosity.

"Keep hitting it," Marcus slurred as he tightened his hold on his sword.

Another mountain of flame enveloped the beast, sending him tumbling headlong through puddles of melted snow that soon gave way to stretches of scorched and smouldering earth. He stumbled to his feet and shambled forward. The creature was trying to flee now, trying to escape before the others could resume their attacks. Brutus tried to halt it and was sent flying by a flick of a huge, barbed limb. Felix managed to stab it through the throat, but its gnashing teeth forced him to relinquish his weapon, and then a blow from one of the abomination's limbs sent him tumbling back, ripped in half.

"Go to them," Marcus shouted, scarcely aware of what he was saying as he dragged himself forward. Quintus was there, entering the battle at last in a desperate bid to keep their opponent from escaping. His glasses cracked as a blow sent him tumbling away, but he had delayed the monster that had been Aloysius long enough for the group's three ranged attackers to unleash their next attacks.

The abomination stumbled, landing awkwardly on its side, as its many legs scrabbled at the earth in a bid to keep it moving. Claudius was bleeding from his eyes and mouth as he used another binding spell, hauling the creature back down as Marcus continued to stumble forward. Chunks of the horror's flesh were sloughing off, and they were no longer regenerating.

Ahead of him, barely visible through the creature's twisted ribcage was its heart. Marcus staggered forward, sword raised – and was promptly impaled in the stomach and chest. He spat blood. He'd managed to dodge just far enough at the last moment to keep his heart intact. His sword shook in his hand as he called up the last dregs of power he had, forming a rune of true death around it and –

Suddenly he was standing in a place of mist and silence.

What… what was going on?

Was… was he dead?

And then from the depths of the mist came his opponent. Its many mouths bayed and roared, but no sound reached him.

His eyes widened. This… this must be an astral attack. It must have realised that he was about to kill it and launched a last ditch, instinctive astral attack. Marcus braced himself to meet the monster only for another figure to emerge from the mist. It was him – but not him. No. It was the parasite inside him.

It turned to him and smiled before launching itself at the creature. Here, size meant little, and the abomination skidded to a halt.

His parasite glanced over its shoulder at him and spoke. Even if he couldn't hear the words, Marcus could still read its lips.

Go. Finish this. I'll see you later.

And then –

And then he was back in the snow, impaled by the horror's claws. He raised his arm, the rune of true death finishing around his sword, and then he drove his weapon forward. It pierced deep into the abomination's heart, and he twisted it savagely before jerking it from side to side as the rune of true death took effect.

Marcus slid off the monster's claws as it toppled to the ground with a final, ponderous groan before finally going still.

"Marcus!"

He looked up. Faustina was there.

"Marcus?"

"I'm… I'm fine." He waved in the general direction of their opponent. "Make sure it's dead."

"I…" Faustina jerked back. "It's disintegrating."

Marcus blearily shifted his body until he could see it. She was right. The monster was disintegrating, its flesh turning to ash as its blood boiled away.

"Keep an eye on," Marcus ordered. "If it moves, blast it." He groaned as Faustina helped him to sit up before pouring a gourd of blood into his mouth, along with a healing potion. When his wounds still refused to close, she slid her wrist along the edge of his sword before offering it to him. He tried to refuse, but the smell was too strong. He latched onto her wrist and drank, her ancient blood flowing through him in tides of strength and vigour.

"The others?" he gasped as he pulled away. "What about them?"

"Alive," Claudius said. "Some of them barely, but still, they're alive."

"Go to them." Marcus motioned vaguely. "See to them. I'll live. See to them."

As Claudius left, Marcus allowed himself to smile.

"Hah!" He laughed. "We did it."

Faustina looked at him, and apart from the usual affection mixed with exasperation, there was awe in her gaze.

It was something he would see in the others when he was finally well enough to get up and meet them.

A week later, the remaining factions surrendered to him.

Marcus was officially a king.

Author's Notes

So, Marcus and the others got their assess kicked for most of the fight, and even his super power up wasn't enough to win the battle on its own. But that makes sense. This thing they were fighting was a real monster. In the past it took vampires like Marcus's father or the other members of the Council of Five to put down such abominations, and he's no match for any of them just yet. However, they won because they were able to successfully whittle it down until stabbing it in the heart was actually enough to kill it.

You can bet that Julian is going to get a lot of crap for basically being knocked out of the fight at the start. Oops.

On the other hand, Marcus fought it in close combat, did the most damage out of any of the melee fighters and also struck the killing blow. That's the kind of man you want for your king although he'll definitely be handing out rewards to the others because they all did their part, whether it was long-range support or binding magic and potion usage. Credit to Janus too. He saved a bunch of them before getting knocked out of the fight.

But, yeah, this kind of thing, when other vampires hear about it, they want no part in fighting the group that beat something like that. Nope. They're going to surrender and join the winning team.

Good on Marcus. The king in the north. Well, except for Frostfang, but he's kind enough to let Marcus have his moment.

How do you think Doomwing will react to finding out that Marcus almost died multiple times instead of calling him. He'll be proud, but probably a bit pissed off too because if Marcus actually did die… yeah. That would be one less friend. But he'd understand why Marcus had to do this without his help even if he kind of wishes he'd call.

Anyway, next chapter, we return to our regular Doomwing-related programming.

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SecretTwelve

Apr 11, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 52: The Dragons Build A Lair

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SecretTwelve

Apr 11, 2024

#1,076

Chapter 52: The Dragons Build A Lair

Nobody was perfect. Doomwing had learned that the hard way. Focusing on one thing meant neglecting something else. Time spent learning magic was time he couldn't spend improving his skills in close combat. Of course, there were tricks, ways to shift the odds in his favour. Doppelgangers and constructs could be used to split his attention and effectively multiply his time. Dream walking could be used to make even the time he spent sleeping productive.

However, there were things that no amount of ingenuity could overcome. Magical affinities were a prime example of that. For all of Doomwing's magical prowess, he was not equally gifted in all types of magic. He was predisposed toward certain types of magic, both due to being a nova dragon and due to more idiosyncratic quirks.

Yes, he could – and had – beaten people in the past while using magic for which they had a stronger affinity than him. However, those victories were predicated on two conditions: either his opponent was lazier than him or less powerful than him.

Lazy opponents could be beaten with their own magic because they knew less about it than him and had less experience with it. Their stronger affinity meant nothing if they didn't have the knowledge and experience to make use of it. He'd lost count of how many opponents he'd beaten over the years due to his greater knowledge and more thorough practice regime. Many of those opponents had been other dragons who simply hadn't been able to believe that he could beat them with their own magic despite not specialising in it.

The smarter ones handled their defeats with grace and used them as motivation to work harder and study more. Those were the ones who improved and Awakened further. The stupider ones blamed their losses on bad luck or some sort of trick on his part, as if study and practice were forms of deception. Those were the ones who stagnated, often failing to Awaken further or falling in battle against the Catastrophes since their skills failed to match their courage. Still, he'd give them credit for being willing to help. They might not have been smart, but their bravery was still worthy of praise.

Power was another matter. Some of his opponents over the years had been exquisitely skilled, but it hadn't mattered at all due to the overwhelming disparity in power between them. He could remember one particularly determined storm drake that he'd met. The drake had been a master of weaving lightning and controlling the winds and rain to his advantage. Unfortunately, he'd been a quarter of Doomwing's size and had possessed perhaps a tenth of his magical power.

Despite his greater skill, Doomwing had overwhelmed the storm drake with raw power, seizing control of the storm from him and unleashing bolts of lightning that had dwarfed the smaller reptile's. It would have been easy to kill him, but he had managed to win Doomwing's respect. In the end, he had let him go and suggested he steer clear of him in the future because he would not be so merciful a second time.

To his credit, the storm drake had taken his words to heart, and they had never crossed paths again although he had eventually found his way into Stormbringer's service. He had died an Age ago, having Ascended further than any storm drake Doomwing knew of. Stormbringer was hopeful that at least one of his descendants would manage to go one step further and reach the drake equivalent of a Fourth Awakening.

The most troublesome opponents to face with their own magic were people who not only had a strong affinity for a particular kind of magic but who were also knowledgeable, hardworking, and powerful. Such individuals were true masters of their magic, and Doomwing knew better than to face them using their own magic. Instead, he would draw upon the breadth of his skills, bringing to bear magic that was designed to defeat them.

Ashheart was one such person.

His friend possessed an overwhelmingly strong affinity for volcanic magic, as well as fire and earth magic. He also possessed raw power befitting his titanic stature. And although Ashheart had never been the most studious individual, he loved to learn more about his powers and how they interacted with the world around him. He had an almost childlike curiosity, and Doomwing had often found him happily fiddling with some small, subtle aspect of his power that would later prove incredibly useful.

Ashheart did that not out of any specific desire to plumb the mysteries of magic. No. He did that because it was fun and because he loved learning more about his powers and what they could do. It was amusing to see a gigantic dragon hunched over a small pool of lava, his attention focused on some miniscule effect that most would have considered barely worthy of notice. It became considerably less amusing – and more awe inspiring – when that same dragon used that same seemingly miniscule effect on a larger scale to produce effects that Doomwing would never be able to recreate using the same method.

So when it came to altering the terrain around them, Doomwing was content to stay out of the way and let Ashheart work.

Rather than stay airborne, Ashheart preferred to be on the ground, as close to the changes as possible. His mighty frame grew taut as he bent not only the crater but the entire landscape around it to his will. The volcanic glow within him grew brighter, and his eyes blazed like twin infernos.

Doomwing reached out with his senses, and a slow smile crossed his lips.

Ashheart was impressive as ever.

Beneath them, the other dragon was carving out a massive cavern and filling it with magma. It was a roughly spherical space more than ten miles in diameter, and it was still growing. The magma that filled it was torn up from the very depths of the world, pulled from an even vaster reservoir that lurked far, far beneath them.

Apart from the central chamber, Ashheart was making other chambers. These were not being filled with lava. Instead, he was weaving magic to keep lava out of them. They would probably serve as chambers to hold his hoard or as rooms for he and his family to rest in. Having to travel through an underground sea of lava would make his hoard and family virtually impossible to reach for anyone who wasn't a dragon or some kind of subterranean monster. If Ashheart wanted to put things in his hoard or take them out, he could always manipulate the earth or use protective magic to carry things through the magma, and his family should have no problems traversing the magma.

But Ashheart wasn't done yet. Simply having a hole in the ground full of lava was hardly befitting a dragon of his stature. Instead, he heaved up the edges of the crater to form a shield volcano. The vast lake full of lava that filled the massive crater served as the entry point to his lair, with the lake extending down through the rock until it met the underground sea of magma below.

Not far away, both Adamantheart and Diamondfang were watching in awe. They could both sense what was taking place, and it was likely that neither of them had ever seen anyone manipulate the ground like this before. In the entire world, Doomwing could think of only one person capable of something similar.

Quakeclaw was a primordial chthonic dragon – the highest form of earth dragon – and he might have been able to match the sheer amount of rock, earth, and stone that Ashheart was moving. But not even he could have manipulated so much lava.

As Ashheart finished crafting the bones of his lair, he turned his attention to the currents of magic beneath and around them. He gave a low rumbling laugh and then turned to Doomwing.

"You made quite a mess of the currents of magic, my friend."

Doomwing shrugged. "Had I managed to trap the Sixth Catastrophe, I would have made an even bigger mess. On the upside, I would have been able to win without taking a spear of god-metal to the chest."

"A fine trade," Ashheart said. "Work with me. It will be easier if we work together, and you will be able to weave your defences into the currents of magic."

Doomwing allowed himself to descend until he landed on the slopes of the volcano Ashheart had made. Staying airborne while manipulating the currents of magic would be almost impossible, especially if he intended to devote his full effort to them – and he was not about to cut any corners when it came to his friend's lair.

He closed his eyes and extended his senses as Ashheart did the same.

His friend's presence in the world of magic was like a volcano on the verge of erupting, a font of tremendous power kept in check by his unshakable will and determination. As Doomwing reached for the closest current of magic, that will and determination expanded, enveloping the entire area. Doomwing was incredibly skilled at manipulating the currents of magic, and he was capable of far finer control over them than any other dragon. But when it came to shifting currents of magic rich with the power of earth, fire, and the molten heart of the world, nobody came close to Ashheart.

The entire region's currents shifted as Ashheart bent his will to fixing the damage Doomwing had done and sculpting the currents to best serve his lair and it surroundings. At the same time, Doomwing made minor tweaks and adjustments, honing the larger, rougher movements that Ashheart excelled in. At the same time, he began to weave potent magical defences into Ashheart's lair and the area around it.

Nobody would be able to sneak up on him, whether by air, on the ground, or even underground. The lair would be shielded using power drawn from the multitude of magical currents that flowed through and around it. Combined with the magic Ashheart had woven into his lair that would reinforce it when under attack, it should virtually invulnerable to aerial bombardment or underground assault.

Anyone hoping to attack Ashheart would have no choice but to dive into the lava and face him – and that was really just a complicated way of committing suicide because Doomwing doubted there was a person alive who could face Ashheart in a sea of magma and hope to prevail.

If Doomwing wanted to attack Ashheart's lair, he would have to sabotage the currents of magic in the area before calling upon some of his strongest runes and spells to blast the volcano apart and lay bare the sea of magma beneath. It would not be easy, even for him, and if Ashheart chose to retreat deeper into the magma, Doomwing would be hard pressed to draw him out unless he was willing to call upon power the likes of which had laid waste the homeland of the vampires and wounded Mother Tree.

And that was the point.

A dragon's lair should be their fortress, their place of ultimate safety and security.

Doomwing's volcano might have stood alone, but it commanded an excellent view of every possible avenue of approach. With all of its defences and detection magic, it would be able to weather the might of even another primordial dragon while giving him ample time to attack his foes before they could even reach him. He was confident that in a long-range battle, he would emerge victorious. He had multiple ways of attacking targets who were further than his eyes could see. Few knew just how capable he was in that regard because virtually everyone who'd seen those abilities was dead.

Ashheart's lair would be the same – an impregnable fortress where his friend could relax, secure in the knowledge that he, his family, and his hoard were safe. Only a fool would ever lay siege to this place, and such a fool would perish the moment Ashheart chose to retaliate.

When Doomwing next opened his eyes, it was well past dusk. However, there was no shortage of light, as the orange glow of lava lit up the night. He took a few moments to stretch, extending his senses once again to make sure that all was well. He nodded in satisfaction. The currents of magic were exactly as he and Ashheart had discussed, and the magical defences he'd woven into them were all in place and functioning properly.

Not far away, Ashheart shook himself, the volcano trembling in response. "That went quickly."

"More hands make light work," Doomwing remarked. "And this area was yours up until your wounding. It is not surprising that it responded so eagerly to your touch."

Ashheart beckoned Adamantwing and Diamandfang over. "Now to the matter of my hoard… how shall we organise it? In the past, I simply grouped things according to their worth, with the most valuable items together and the least valuable items together."

"A decent system," Doomwing said.

Ashheart grinned toothily. "A decent system? You seem displeased."

"It is not how I would have done it," Doomwing said.

Ashheart glanced at Diamondfang, and she hid a smile behind one wing. "It is nice to see that some things do not change. I recall you lecturing me on better organising my hoard back when we were still young dragons who had yet to experience our Third Awakenings."

"Is that so? I do not believe I lectured. I believe I merely offered sound advice."

That prompted a barely hidden snicker from Diamondfang. "He was quite happy to offer both me and Adamantheart advice when it came to our own hoards," she said.

Adamantheart's smile was brittle indeed. "He was… most thorough."

"Of course, he was." Ashheart nudged Diamondfang with his head. "Did you and our son bring your hoards?"

"Of course," she replied. "We have been carrying them with us since you arrived. Admittedly, we are not as skilled in storage magic as you or Doomwing, but he crafted several storage devices to help us."

"Ah… so that is what you have been carrying around. I had wondered." Ashheart reached out with one wing and patted Adamantheart on the back. "You are young yet, my son. In time, you will have your own lair with your own hoard. For now, you shall share my lair. It will keep your hoard safe and offer you safe haven as you work toward your next Awakening. The currents of magic here are especially rich, and they will nourish you."

Adamantheart inclined his head. "Thank you, father."

"Hah!" Ashheart beat his chest with one enormous claw. "What father does not wish for his son to succeed? You have only recently experienced your Second Awakening. Staying in a place like my lair will make it much easier for you to achieve your Third Awakening."

"That is still a while away," Adamantheart said.

"Your foundations are solid." Doomwing peered at the younger dragon, a handful of powerful analysis and scrying spells activating. "It will, of course, take some time for you to reach that level, but the work we did in preparing for your First and Second Awakenings has left you with very solid foundations to work with. Many dragons spend centuries after their Second Awakenings dealing with instabilities or working through impurities and imperfections."

"Hmmm…" Ashheart studied Adamantheart intently as well. "You speak truly, my friend, and you have my thanks for the guidance you have provided. What of my mate?"

Doomwing turned his attention to Diamondfang. He had not been as involved in her Awakenings as Adamantheart's simply because she had grown up elsewhere. In contrast, he had been there for Adamantheart's First Awakening and had helped guide him toward his Second Awakening although he had not personally witnessed it. "She has some work to do…" he murmured. "Her Third Awakening was well done, but it was not perfect. In particular, her raw power could have been greater before making the attempt, so there are places in her magical circulatory system that need to be smoothed over and reinforced, as well as places where other struggles during the process left blockages that must be cleared or impurities and imperfections that must be further honed and refined. Still, there is nothing too troublesome to deal with I believe her greatest issue will be acquiring the power required to try for a Fourth Awakening."

Ashheart nodded in thanks and gently stroked Diamondfang with his tail. "Then my lair will be good for her, as will my presence. There is a lot of power here for her to draw upon, and I can give her exposure to my own magic. It is not quite the same as hers, but it may help." He paused. "Or would that be unwise?"

Doomwing shook his head. "Both of you have some relation to earth dragons, so focus on that aspect of your magic more than one the fire or volcanic aspect. Be mindful of your power too, Ashheart," Doomwing warned. "Your fine control is not always the best."

The other dragon accepted the warning without complaint. "That is true. I shall have to be mindful, lest I harm her by using too much of my power. As the time draws near, or if she encounters any issues, I may call upon you for advice."

"By all means," Doomwing said. "Now, back to your hoard…"

"What would you suggest?" Ashheart asked. "Since I will have to reorganise my hoard anyway to put it in my new lair, this would be the ideal time for a better organisational system."

"I would suggest a system that splits items up into their Age of origin before separating them via subject and then alphabetically."

Ashheart gave him an amused look. "A most thorough system although I can see the advantages. Items from different Ages do tend to stand out, and it is always good to know where items from the First, Second, and Third Ages are since they tend to be quite different from the others. And grouping by subject and then alphabetically… a reasonable choice. Still, that is a lot to remember. I know you make extensive use of memory magic, but I prefer not to rely so heavily upon it."

"Fair enough." Doomwing knew that Ashheart was less gifted in those arts. "But you need not rely on memory magic. He took out a crystal. I call this a filing crystal. When you add an item to your hoard, you can imprint your magic upon it and this crystal. You can then tell the crystal where you are putting an item and why. The crystal will remember, and in the future, you can ask it to help you find what you want based on the sorting criteria you used when adding things to your hoard."

Ashheart nodded thoughtfully. "A most useful item."

"I developed it while organising my collections of books and scrolls before expanding it further." Doomwing grinned. "You can even make copies of the crystal and give them to your family, so they can locate whatever they need from your hoard."

"My parents would have liked something like that," Ashheart said. "I remember when I was a hatchling, I would go rummaging around in their hoards. I would ask them where to find things, and they would get so sick of me looking for them that they would just go off to find those things themselves. A crystal like this would have saved them plenty of time."

"Yes," Doomwing said. "Although my parents did not have the largest hoards, I too spent many a day looking through what they had, especially since my own hoard was so small." He patted the crystal fondly. "Better still, these crystals can also detect where the objects you've imprinted are, so even if they have been moved, the crystal will still be able to find them. And if someone tries to steal something, then as long as they're not too far, the crystal can lead you to the missing items."

Ashheart's eyes blazed for a moment at the thought of someone stealing from him before he too regarded the crystal with obvious glee. "Yes, such a crystal would be most helpful indeed." He turned toward the lake. "If we have settled upon a way to organise my hoard, then let us begin putting my hoard where it belongs."

He dove into the lava, and Doomwing. Diamondfang, and Adamantheart followed him.

Travelling through lava was always an interesting experience. Lava itself was not something that dragons could easily see through. Instead, they had to rely on their powers and other senses to navigate. For Ashheart, that was simple enough. He could sense and control lava, so he essentially had a map of the entire cavern in his mind's eyes. Doomwing, however, preferred to use magic to navigate although the spells required to do so were trivially easy to manage.

They went from cavern to cavern, and Doomwing was only too happy to deposit Ashheart's hoard where it belonged. It was pleasing indeed to see the joy on his friend's face as he watched his prized possessions come to rest in his new lair.

"I remember this," Ashheart said, nodding at a set of giant shark jaws.

"Where did you get those from?" Adamantheart. "They look… rather small by your standards."

"Hah! Of course, they do." Ashheart laughed. "Those are the jaws of the first giant shark I killed on my own. I was a poor swimmer then – I suppose I still am compared to many dragons – so rather than chasing after it, I used my claws to wound myself, so it would come to me." He bared his teeth. "And although I may not be the quickest in the water, I do know how to manoeuvre. Once I got my claws and teeth on that shark it was over."

Later, Diamondfang asked Ashheart about something else.

"That thing?" The tectonic dragon puffed out his chest. "That is the heart of the leviathan that served as the second in command to the Lord of the Tides. I tore it from his chest." He smirked. "He was a nasty creature, and he managed to inflict several serious injuries on me. But in the end, I was stronger."

In another chamber, Ashheart was happy to boast about another prize. "This? It's the skull of the largest fire titan I've ever fought. The Fourth Catastrophe managed to turn him into a zombie, and let me tell you, that was an interesting fight. He was tough, I'll say that, but in the end I slew him."

"Is it safe to keep around?" Adamantheart asked. "I've heard that powerful zombies can haunt those who keep their remains."

"I had it purified," Ashheart said. "It is no longer tainted."

It took them some time to finish setting up Ashheart's hoard and for Doomwing to give and explains his gifts, like the communication-stone. However, they still had to deal with the hoards of Diamondfang and Adamantheart. When they were finally done, Doomwing was about to retire to another chamber to rest when Ashheart asked him a question.

"You have mentioned your doppelgangers. They seem to be quite useful. Would you be able to teach me how to make some?" Ashheart asked.

Doomwing considered the question carefully before shaking his head. "I'm afraid not. The magic involved is very complicated. At present, I don't know if anyone except me could make them. However, I am working on simplifying the process, and I will let you know if I succeed. In the meantime, have you considered forming a pact with some elementals? They can tend to your hoard and perform a variety of tasks in exchange for being allowed to gather power from your lair."

"Elementals? Hmm…" Ashheart nodded slowly. "I have not given much thought to them since I generally prefer to fight on my own without relying on summoned creatures to aid me. But perhaps it is time to change that. Certainly, it cannot hurt to have a few under my command, if only to watch over things here in my absence."

"I can give you a book about how to form the relevant contracts," Doomwing said. "I would recommend starting with weaker or middling elementals."

"Oh? Why not the stronger ones?"

"The stronger ones tend to be prideful and uncooperative. They often hold themselves above their summoners – even when that summoner is a primordial dragon. The weaker and middling elementals tend to be more respectful, and they can become quite loyal over time if you help them to further their power."

"I see." Ashheart glanced back to where Diamondfang had already curled up, her gleaming, jewel-like scales shimmering in the lava light. "It has been a long day. Some rest would be good, and we can tidy up tomorrow."

Doomwing turned. "In the morning then."

Morning found Doomwing back on the surface with Ashheart. There was a bit of tidying up to do in and around the volcano, but nothing too big. Adamantheart and Diamondfang were both basking on the slopes of the volcano, savouring the morning sun and drawing deeply from the power around them.

However, Doomwing's attention was soon drawn to the horizon where a large group of dragons was approaching. He turned to Ashheart. "Nine dragons, all of them familiar."

"Oh?" Ashheart reached out with his own senses. "Ah." He hit his tail upon the ground, and Adamantheart and Diamondfang stirred from their meditation. "We must greet our guests," Ashheart said.

The dragons reached them and landed a respectful distance away. At the head of them was a male dragon who had already experienced his Third Awakening. He belonged to the volcanic dragon lineage, much like Ashheart, and the resemblance between them in size, build, and bearing was plain.

"Father," the dragon rumbled. "It is good to see you well. I had planned to visit, but my territory came under attack."

Ashheart bared his teeth in a smile. "Lavatide… I trust you dealt with the attack."

Lavatide puffed out his chest. "My enemy fled before me with many wounds. It will be decades before he has the courage to try again."

"Did you slay him?" Doomwing asked.

Lavatide shook his head. "He issued his challenge fairly and openly in accordance with the old ways. We have faced each other in the past, and our battles have always been honourable. There was no need to slay him."

Doomwing nodded in approval, and Lavatide smiled broadly. They were not so many that they could afford to go around killing each other over every challenge. Besides, an honourable dragon who challenged openly and fairly was precisely the sort of dragon they wanted alive. Moreover, should Lavatide lose the next time they fought, he could expect his mercy to be returned. "Good."

Ashheart's gaze went to the female dragon behind Lavatide. Like him, she was a tectonic dragon although she had been born toward the end of the Second Age rather than during the First Age like Ashheart. "Cinderhowl. Are you well?"

Beside Ashheart, Diamondfang bristled. Cinderhowl noticed, and the female tectonic dragon gave the younger dragon an amused look. She and Ashheart's had been mates for a time before going their separate ways. However, they had parted on good terms, and they both cared deeply for their son, Lavatide. There were those who mated for life whilst others stayed together for a time before parting, usually after their hatchlings had reached their First or Second Awakening.

"I am well. And you?" she asked.

"As strong as ever," Ashheart said. He flared his wings and called up his magic. The ground beneath them shook, and the lava behind them bubbled furiously before shooting up into the air.

"That is good." Cinderhowl looked past him to Diamondfang. "Calm yourself. Ashheart and I were mates long ago, but no longer. However, we parted well, so we remain friends." Her attention shifted to Adamantheart. "He takes after you, Ashheart, despite the obvious differences."

"He is my son," Ashheart replied. He looked between Adamantheart and Lavatide. "You two are brothers. I expect you to treat each other accordingly."

Doomwing bit back a laugh as the two regarded each other awkwardly. From memory, they had never met before since Cinderhowl's domain was a reasonable distance away, and Lavatide had chosen to spend most of his time there, perhaps because the volcano where his mother lived was particularly agreeable to his magic. Still, Ashheart had visited him regularly, and he had never hesitated to pass on resources or knowledge that could help him.

"I have my hoard again," Ashheart said to Lavatide. "If there is anything within it that can help you toward your Fourth Awakening, you need only ask."

"Thank you, father." Lavatide inclined his head. "I do not think it will be long before I make an attempt." He glanced at Doomwing. "Although…"

"I will offer what advice I can," Doomwing said. He was not as familiar with Lavatide as Adamantheart, if only because he had been less involved in raising him. Even so, he was Ashheart's son, and that entitled him to no small amount of leeway.

"I will compensate you," Lavatide said before continuing quickly. "I know of the friendship between you and my father, but I am no hatchling, and my wealth is respectable. Allow me to offer compensation."

Ashheart nodded in approval, and Doomwing did the same.

"By all means," Doomwing replied. "But we can discuss that later. As for the rest of you…"

The other dragons came forward. He recognised them as former followers of Ashheart. They had gone their separate ways after Ashheart's wounding, but they had still checked in on Diamondfang and Adamantheart from time to time. They were all brave, honourable, and mighty warriors in their own right, largely taking after Ashheart in their attitudes and dispositions. They had returned to pledge their loyalty once again, and Ashheart was happy to accept them after he was certain they had upheld their other oaths and had not neglected the duties he had given them before his wounding.

With the work on Ashheart's lair done and with his friend speaking with not only to his followers but also to his mate, his sons, and his former mate, Doomwing decided it was time to take his leave. Seeing Ashheart like this put whatever lingering doubts he had to rest. His friend was at full strength, and he once again had followers ready to serve him. Besides, he knew Cinderhowl well enough to recognise the gleam in her eyes. She had no real interest in Ashheart anymore, outside of their friendship, but she was undoubtedly going to tease Diamondfang a bit, if only to see how she would respond. Given her personality, nothing would please Cinderhowl more than for Diamondfang to threaten to tear her throat out despite the disparity in power.

Doomwing had no intentions of being around when that happened although it was strangely heartwarming to see Lavatide and Adamantheart discussing some of their most recent hunts. He bid them farewell and set off toward his next destination with Ashheart promising to visit Doomwing's realm when he had finished settling in and handling his own affairs.

As Doomwing flew he reached out to inform Firetail, and the drake seemed oddly amused. Doomwing also heard some strange noises in the background, but he dismissed those as a few hatchlings mucking around. It wasn't unusual for the drake to keep an eye on some of the younger dragons.

Author's Notes

I'm sure people wanted to know how building a lair goes, so… here's how it goes.

As for Ashheart's family, I think it's important to remember just how old he is. He and Cinderhowl were mates for a time, and they had Lavatide. This was toward the end of the Third Age. Since dragons live so long, it's not unheard of them for them to part ways although they will often wait until the hatchlings have at least achieved a First of Second Awakening. Ashheart and Cinderhowl parted amicably, so they remain friendly.

Ashheart and Diamondfang became mates toward the end of the Fifth Age, so there was quite a bit of time between the two relationships. This is why Lavatide is thinking about his Fourth Awakening whilst Adamantheart is still settling in after his Second Awakening.

Now that Doomwing is awake and active, you can also expect dragons hoping to achieve a higher Awakening to show up looking for advice. Lavatide, Diamondfang, and Adamantheart have the advantage of all being important to Ashheart, which gives them a head start when it comes to getting advice from Doomwing. Of course, the implicit understanding is that if he helps them, then they'll help him in the future. Given how many dragons currently owe him favours, he has a huge amount of sway, which will only grow as he finally starts adding dragons to his faction.

This chapter arrived quickly since I couldn't sleep and decided to write instead of trying to count sheep.

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SecretTwelve

Apr 14, 2024

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Chapter 53: The Dragons Soar

"Doomwing has been sighted over the ocean," Firetail said.

Regal Flame turned away from the book she was reading. It was a tome from the First Age – a work of philosophy written by one of the First Gods. Despite their divine nature, the First Gods had spent much of their time contemplating matters of life and death.

Had they known what would happen to them? If so, they had faced their ends with stoic determination, choosing to die on their feet rather than cower. However, true foresight was an exceptionally rare ability, and everything she knew suggested that even the First Gods could not have known with absolute certainty what lay ahead of them. Mother Tree herself had often spoken of the futility of relying on precognition.

The very act of seeking to know the future could change that future, and the ripples spread by precognition grew larger and larger the further ahead someone looked. The closest that Regal Flame had ever seen to true precognition was Dreamsong's ability to read the currents of the deep dreaming. Supposedly, time and other such rules were less rigid in the very depths of that phantasmal realm. However, even Dreamsong had emphasised that such attempts were… finicky at best.

What she saw were possibilities, and there was often no way to know which of those possibilities was the most likely.

The First Gods had believed strongly in the concept of fate or destiny. Yet, paradoxically, they had also believed in the concept of personal choice and freedom. Personally, Regal Flame believed that there were varying levels of freedom. A cow confronted by a dragon had little in the way of personal choice or freedom. Its destiny was to die. But a dragon, especially one as powerful as her, had a great deal of personal choice and freedom – and with those came the burden of honour.

Honour could be found in facing the inevitable with courage and dignity and in making choices commensurate with a certain way of life.

A normal human confronted by a monster was destined to die, yet they could choose to flee in a hopeless bid to prolong their life for a few seconds – or they could meet their end with courage and stand their ground, knowing that their death would buy their family a few more seconds of life and a miniscule chance of escape. That was honourable, for even the inevitable could be greeted in different ways.

A primordial dragon could choose to slaughter those weaker than themselves, to devour their hearts and flesh without cease, to leave nothing but a barren wasteland behind in their relentless pursuit of power – or they could take only what they needed from their surroundings, slaying only those capable of facing them in battle and ensuring that they did not reduce their surroundings to lands of emptiness and ruin. There was a choice to be made there, and true honour could not be found in both paths.

"He is not concealing himself?" Regal Flame murmured.

Firetail shook his head. The wizened drake might no longer be able to fly well or fight at her side, but his mind was as keen as ever. "He made no effort to conceal himself from our patrols."

"I see."

Concealment was a matter of course for most primordial dragons. It was easier than having to fight every foolish young dragon or uppity kraken that was eager to prove themselves or win fame. It was more merciful too since even a light blow from her ilk could prove deadly.

To help maintain order in her territory and to ensure that her followers were well trained, it was customary for her followers to fly regular patrols. Pairing an older dragon and a younger dragon gave the younger reptile a chance to learn from someone with centuries more experience. It also gave the younger dragon a chance to test themselves against random intruders beneath the watchful gaze of a dragon who would know when to fight and when to retreat.

Doomwing was most likely revealing himself as a courtesy. Had he wanted, she doubted that any of her normal patrols would have been able to detect him if he truly wished to conceal himself. Stealth magic of the highest order was exceedingly difficult to penetrate without prior warning or detection magic of similar calibre. Instead, he would only have to be concerned about detection once he got closer and breached the defensive magic around her domain.

Had he concealed himself, her patrols would have been left shamefaced at their failure despite the fact that no one could have reasonably expected them to succeed. There would be recriminations, pledges to do better, and most likely pleas for him to repeat his entrance to see if they could catch him.

Ah. Perhaps that was it. It would be very much like Doomwing to reveal himself now, so there would be no reason for them to badger him later. He would thus kill two birds with one stone: offering her courtesy befitting her position and avoiding future aggravation.

"Perhaps… perhaps I shall go out and meet him."

Firetail blinked. "My lady?"

"Yes." Regal Flame nodded. "They say he is healed, but I wish to see for myself." She bared her teeth. "Besides, I am reminded of advice my father gave me."

"Your father?" Firetail bowed his head. Like all her followers, he held her father in the highest esteem despite never having met him. "What did he say?"

"He said…" Regal Flame took a deep breath, and for a moment, she was once again a hatchling, staring up at her father's impossibly huge form. She had never imagined he could lose a fight, never mind perish, and she had hung upon his every word as though it had come straight from the First Gods themselves. "Cowardice can be contagious. If I wish to be bold in this matter, then I must be bold from the outset."

Firetail bit back a chuckle. "I… I am not entirely sure that your esteemed father was speaking about matters such as this, but… I do not think he was wrong either. Go. I shall finish preparations in your absence."

She nudged him gently with her head. "As always, you are most reliable, old friend."

And then she took wing, a crimson titan streaking through the air more swiftly than any bird.

Doomwing flew just quickly enough to leave the patrols behind. He had no desire for an escort, and they were not so foolish as to pursue him while using magic to aid their speed. He was not using any magic to enhance his speed, but he still doubted that any of them could match him. And if he chose to use magic? There were very, very, very few creatures in the world who could hope to keep up with him.

As he drew closer to land, he caught sight of crimson scales flashing in the sun. A shape larger than any of dragons he had passed so far dropped out of the sky above him and streaked toward the surface of the sea before pulling up sharply, so near to the surface that the very tip of a long, graceful tail skimmed the waves. She had passed so close to him that the winds of her passage would have thrown a smaller dragon askew.

He snorted. A casual display of aerial agility befitting someone who excelled in every aspect of battle.

"You made no move to dodge," Regal Flame said as she drew level with him. They were of a size although his wings were larger. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips, and her eyes gleamed with the indecipherable blue of distant horizons.

"I knew you would not hit me. You are far too good in the air for that."

"Is that so?" Regal Flame upped her speed just enough to pass him. Embers trailed in her wake now, a testament to her lineage that gave her an appearance similar to a blood-red comet. "I had heard you were fully healed."

"I am," he replied. Was she… teasing him? He had not known her to be so playful, but there was no other reason to let sparks drift from her scales.

"Then show me."

And then her wings were beating, and she was pulling away, the sparks and embers tracing out a path through the sky for him to follow. For a moment, he could only stare, and then his blood stirred. She was challenging him to keep up, and in full view of the patrols he had already passed.

Once, he might have been insulted. As a young dragon, he had often felt the bitter sting of defeat when challenged by other hatchlings to contests of speed. For all that his wings had been large, the rest of him had been scrawny. His endurance had not been the best, and he had often been clumsy and awkward in the air.

But he had trained. He had practiced and studied and learned from any dragon who would teach him. He had forced those who looked down on him and mocked his appearance to acknowledge his superiority.

As an older dragon, his skill in the air was a point of pride. His name was no longer a joke. It was a statement of fact. Where his wings carried him, doom followed. He had an almost peerless combination of speed, agility, and endurance in the air. Combined with his magic, it made contesting his control of the skies a virtual death sentence.

But Regal Flame was an outstanding flier in her own right, her natural gifts augmented by relentless training and hard work. It was not enough for her to be good. No. The standard she pursued had been set by her father, and Sovereign Flame had been called the Uncrowned King for a reason. In no aspect of battle could he be found wanting, and his skills in the air had been every bit as devastating as his flames or his teeth and claws.

It had been a long, long time since someone had challenged Doomwing to an aerial contest so openly. Rather than finding it insulting, he found it refreshing. Perhaps she had concerns about his health. Perhaps she was worried that his wounds still troubled him. But rather than dote on him or fuss, she had challenged him to prove he was hale and hearty.

Very well.

He would.

He roared, and his pace quickened as he followed the path left behind by the sparks and embers that drifted off her scales. Let her set the challenge. He would meet it.

Regal Flame raced through the air, twisting and turning as she carved a sweeping path between the clouds, around the towering pillars of rock and stone that jutted out of the desert, and even across the surface of the sea. Like the tail of a comet, the sparks and embers that came from her scales left a road for Doomwing to follow – and follow it he did.

As fast as she was, as agile as she was, Doomwing was every bit as fast and every bit as agile. He kept pace, never cutting corners, but instead following the trail she left behind with perfect precision. Whenever she looked over her shoulder, he was there, scales flashing sapphire and ruby in the morning light, an expression of mild amusement on his normally reserved features.

Was this it?

Was this the challenge she had proposed?

She bared her teeth. Despite everything she had heard, there had still been a shadow of doubt. Doomwing was good at hiding his injuries, and he hated to appear weak. Yet, here, now, with the two of them shooting through the sky, the truth was clear.

He had healed.

And now that she was sure of that, she no longer had any reason to hold back.

He wished for a better challenge?

She would give him one.

She tilted left and right and then flicked her tail, and then her wings beat the air with greater speed and force, and she felt the air ahead of her part and then shatter as the thunder of her passage echoed through the sky.

Doomwing almost laughed. That gesture… an obvious taunt, one that all hatchlings learned in the early days of their youth when games of aerial tag were often used in lieu of hunts and actual combat. She had challenged him to keep up – and then upped her speed even further. As the shockwaves of her sudden acceleration spread to the horizon, he increased his speed to match hers.

It would not do to be left behind.

Regal Flame blazed through the sky with Doomwing close behind her. Baring her teeth, she unleashed blasts of flame that streaked ahead and then detonated, forming large rings of fire that hung in the air. Grinning to herself she banked sharply and then rolled, spinning through the air and straight into a corkscrew that carried her through the rings.

It was a display of aerial agility that few of the dragons she ruled could have matched, not at such high speed, and not with the rings spaced the way they were. And yet Doomwing matched it flawlessly, the expression on his face one of practiced boredom as he passed through the last ring.

Is that it? He seemed to be saying.

She laughed. She would have done this sooner if she'd known a challenge of this type would bring out his more playful side.

Unleashing more blasts of fire, she no longer restricted herself to rings. Instead, her flames now carved out different shapes that would demand a certain wing position and body posture to pass through unsinged.

This would be more challenging, especially since his wings were larger than hers, but it should still be possible although if he wanted… she glanced over her shoulder again, and his eyes gleamed at the challenge she had set.

No. He wasn't about to shy away from the challenge. If anything, he relished it.

As a hatchling, Doomwing had thought that if he simply flapped his wings harder, he would go faster and fly better. That wasn't entirely misguided, but his parents had explained that flying was more complicated than that, and Mother Tree had given him that fond but exasperated look before telling him to study instead of just flying around carrying rocks.

Wind resistance. Air flow. Lift. Drag.

There were so many concepts associated with flight. Many dragons chose to ignore them because flight was something they did instinctively, something they felt was an art, not something to be approached with the rigorous mind of a scholar. Doomwing begged to differ. Combat was an art, and yet the best fighters he knew all studied it extensively.

Why shouldn't flight be the same?

And so he had studied, learning everything he could about flight, not only from other dragons but also from drakes, wyverns, griffins, hippogriffs, pegasi, and whichever of the gods he could badger into speaking with him. Mother Tree and Dion had helped him even as many of his fellows had made fun of him.

Doomwing – the dragon with big wings who couldn't even fly that well.

But Stormtooth had helped him too. He'd come up with all sorts of ideas about how to use his wings and his body to improve his speed and agility in the air, and she'd happily tried out those ideas with him. She'd always been a good flier, and she hadn't made fun of him, even when some – or even most – of his ideas hadn't worked. Instead. She'd been happy for him. It was better than seeing him mope, she'd said, and it was better to keep fighting than to give up.

Doomwing needed every trick he had ever learned to meet the challenge Regal Flame had set him. A rectangle of flame loomed up ahead, and he spun, following the path the other dragon had set, before flaring his wings and levelling them to pass through the rectangle. A series of less easily described shapes awaited, and he looped back and forth and then up and down while twisting and turning his wings and body to pass through them.

And all the while she continued to increase her pace, pushing to the very limits of her speed as endurance became more and more of an issue. Dragons could fly for days if need be, but flying at full speed was far more taxing than simply cruising through the air. Had he been only partially healed, he might still have been able to match her speed for a time – but he would never have been able to match her endurance.

Now, she was soaring upward, racing toward the summit of the sky, far beyond the clouds. He followed, and the world fell away below them. For an endless moment, she hung halfway between the stars and the earth, and then she turned, folded her wings, and dove. He followed, and they plunged down toward the surface of the sea.

Down they went, building speed, and still she made no move to ease her descent. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he could read the question in her eyes.

Did he have the courage to follow?

Was he confident of controlling his descent instead of slamming face first into the water?

Would he pull up before she did?

It reminded him of another race, long, long ago. Stormtooth had challenged him. They had raced through a storm, the thunder and lightning tearing the sky around them, the rain giving way to hail that shattered on their scales. In the end, he'd beaten her – just barely – for the very first time. Afterward, she grinned at him, teeth gleaming, and she'd been about to say something when her parents had reached out to her with communication magic.

She'd huffed and then promised to find him later, so they could race again. He shouldn't get cocky. After all, it was only one race, and it was the first time he'd beaten her. She'd get him next time – and the time after that too for good measure.

But they'd never had raced again.

Shortly after, the Broken God had attacked and… well… it was probably the last happy memory he had of her.

Doomwing looked ahead as Regal Flame finally pulled up, the tip of her tail just barely brushing a passing wave. Doomwing matched her, and he felt the strain on his wings – and on his entire body – as he fought gravity and momentum and turned his dive into a climb that had his tail skimming the top of another wave.

Her pace slowed, the embers and sparks fading as she let her heat bank. She levelled off and then angled her wings to drift back to him.

"It seems you are fully healed," she said.

Doomwing chuckled. "It would seem so." He paused. "It has been a while since I flew like that. I had almost forgotten how… fun it could be."

"We so often fly into battle," Regal Flame replied. "But it would be remiss to forget the freedom that flying offers."

"Yes…" Doomwing heard a voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Stormtooth, and he decided that, for once, it might not be so bad to listen to it. "Now, let's see if you can keep up with me!"

As Regal Flame watched Doomwing take the lead, she allowed herself a brief moment of introspection. She had heard the stories from the others about how Doomwing had often been teased about his wings when he was a hatchling. Even now, they were still a bit too big for him. Yet who would mock those wings now after they had carried him through seven Ages, six Catastrophes, and countless battles? His name, bestowed by hopeful parents, had turned out to be most fitting indeed.

Author's Notes

I bet you all thought she was going to murder some giant sea monster and dump it in front of him. And, to be clear, neither of them used magic to enhance their flight here. It was a straight up contest.

Last edited: Apr 14, 2024

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