In a dark, cavernous space, a man wearing a black skull mask, his body hidden beneath layered black robes, walked slowly past lifeless, ashen-skinned bodies scattered across the floor. They were completely drained of blood, their forms withered and unrecognizable.
But their subtle horns and faded yellow eyes would make one speculate that they were dragonkin.
Bloodied tables lined the chamber, their surfaces stained black and red.
Dried blood.
Strange instruments lay scattered atop them, slick with gore. Beneath the man's feet, red runes pulsed in a jagged zigzag pattern, etched deep into the stone.
The blood did not pool or drip.
It hovered.
Suspended in the air, it flowed as if guided by an unseen current, encased in a strange scarlet mana. Slowly, deliberately, the streams of blood converged, spiraling inward, condensing and compressing around a cocoon.
Its shape was… a black dragon egg.
The man stopped.
Behind the skull mask, he smiled.
