Long ago, in an age nearly swallowed by dust, there stood a knight whose glory shone across kingdoms. A rank five hero knight, sworn to the service of a king so renowned that it was known that his rule eclipsed even the Radiant Kingdom's golden age. This knight was not only feared for his strength, but loved for his heart. To the people, he was the shield that never cracked, the sword that never wavered, and the hand that lifted the weak from despair.
After a year of missions, of blood-soaked battlefields and perilous quests, the knight returned at last to his home. His armor was scarred and worn, his body etched with countless wounds, but his spirit burned bright as he crossed the threshold of his house.
"Daddy, daddy! You're back home!"
A small voice rang out before he could even remove his helmet. His daughter, no more than six years old, sprinted across the floor and leapt into his arms. The knight caught her with ease, laughter booming from his chest as he lifted her high into the air.
"Hahaha! My precious little girl! I missed you more than the sun misses the morning sky!" he cried, holding her close, kissing her forehead as she giggled.
Her tiny hands clung to his scarred face. "You promised you'd come back… and you did!"
"I always keep my promises," he said with a smile so wide it softened the steel in his eyes.
From the doorway, his wife appeared, her beauty framed by the glow of the fire. She had waited endlessly, her heart wracked with fear during his absence, yet her smile now was radiant enough to melt every shadow that had haunted him.
"You're finally home, my love" she said softly, her voice trembling with joy.
The knight crossed the room, setting his daughter down gently before wrapping his wife in his arms. He kissed her deeply, the weight of what seemed like years of longing pouring into that single moment.
"I am home" he whispered against her hair. "…I am home at last."
The daughter tugged on his gauntlet impatiently. "Daddy, daddy, don't forget me!"
He laughed again, crouching down to pull both wife and child into his embrace. For a man who had faced wyverns, warlords, and armies, it was this fragile circle of warmth that made his heart tremble most.
As they settled into the evening, his wife brushed his cheek with a knowing look. "You've carried the burdens of the world for too long. Tonight, you will rest. And I will make you apple pie—your favorite."
The knight's eyes brightened like a little boy's. "Apple pie? You tempt me more than treasure, more than crowns or kingdoms!"
"Greedy as always" she teased, but her smile was tender.
That night, the hero knight sat at his table with the two people he loved most in all the world. His daughter nestled against his side, telling him stories of the games she played while waiting for him. His wife hummed as she baked, filling the home with the sweet scent of apples and cinnamon.
The man who had faced endless war, who carried the aura of legends, smiled like a child as he tasted the first bite of her pie. His calloused hands trembled slightly as he held his daughter's hand, as if afraid the moment would vanish if he let go.
For the first time in years, the knight's heart was at ease.
And for one night, the great hero forgot the weight of the world, living only as a husband, a father, and a man who had finally come home.
A few peaceful days passed in warmth and joy, as if the heavens had finally decided to bless the knight and his family. His daughter laughed in the fields, his wife baked his favorite dishes, and he cherished every moment like a starving man given a feast. For the first time in many years, his sword lay untouched by his side.
But peace is fragile.
On the third night, thunder split the skies open, rattling the earth beneath their feet. The kingdom shook as screams tore through the air. From the darkness beyond the horizon, wings vast as mountains uncurled, covering out the stars. A dragon had come—an ancient creature, scales black as void, eyes burning with malevolent intelligence.
Its descent alone shattered towers and split the ground. Fire surged from its mouth, engulfing thousands in molten death. The once-proud kingdom, a realm whispered to be greater than even the Radiant Kingdom, trembled under the sheer weight of the beast's presence.
The rank 5 masters, dozens of them, gathered in desperate resistance. Their combined aura painted the battlefield in blinding light and unyielding courage. Yet the dragon's power dwarfed them—its tail could crush armies, its wings topple buildings, and its voice carried doom.
Amids the destruction, the dragon finally spoke. Its voice was not a roar, but a low rumble that seemed to echo within the very souls of all who heard it:
"Humans… weak, fragile, fleeting. But I will allow you to live. Every seven days, bring me ten thousand of your kind. If you fail, I will burn your world to ash."
The demand was met with silence, then sobs, then reluctant nods from the king's court. To buy time, they agreed.
But in the king's heart lay a desperate plan: betrayal. He gathered an army one hundred thousand strong—soldiers, mages, knights, and above all, his rank 5 heroes. At their head, he placed his most loyal champion: the legendary knight. The one man whose name alone inspired courage. Once more, the knight was forced to leave behind his wife and daughter, hiding the grief in his chest.
…
When they reached the dragon's lair, awe and terror struck them still. The cavern was not a cave but a world of its own—its arched ceilings so high they disappeared into shadow, its walls wide enough to house kingdoms. In the center, the dragon waited, eyes glowing like twin suns of malice.
No talking was attempted. The king's army surged forth, unleashing everything in their arsenal. The cavern shook with nyx, steel, and war cries. Yet to the dragon, it was nothing but amusement.
It laughed—though none could truly hear it. A deep, vibrating, guttural sound that made blood run cold.
Tens of thousands perished in seconds. Its fire breath reduced bodies to ashes. A single sweep of its colossal tail broke entire regiments like twigs. The ground was painted with blood and ash.
At last, only the strongest remained—the rank 5 warriors. Among them, the knight shone like a star, his blade a silver streak in the darkness. Against all odds, he managed to wound the beast, slashing across its eye. Blood like molten night spilled, and for the first time, the dragon's roar echoed in pain.
But the roar was not rage. It was… laughter.
"At last…" the dragon rumbled, "a worthy warrior."
The knight stood his ground, bloodied, panting, yet unbroken. The dragon's gaze locked on him, not with hatred but with pride, as though it had found its heir.
"I choose you."
Before anyone could react, the dragon's form collapsed into shadow, a mass of mist, living darkness. The mist surged forward, enveloping the knight. He screamed as it forced itself into his lungs, his veins, his very soul. His comrades shouted, reaching for him—but they were powerless.
Moments passed…
The mist was gone. The knight still stood, but he was no longer the same. His armor had twisted into blackened scales, his helmet a dragon's head, his presence suffocating and terrible. His aura had become vast, alienating, monstrous.
The soldiers fell silent.
Then, one whispered:
"Did he… defeat it?"
Another shouted:
"We won! We actually won!"
Hope began to bloom in their weary hearts. But that hope lasted only seconds.
The knight's head jerked back, and from his throat erupted a roar—not human, not beast, but something far worse. A sound so shrill, so bone-deep, it froze the blood in their veins.
In the blink of an eye, he turned on them. His blade flashed once, twice, a hundred times. Limbs, heads, bodies fell like wheat before his great sword. No cries of mercy were heard; only terror. Rank 5 masters fought desperately, but their screams were silenced as quickly as the rest.
By the time the slaughter ended, the cavern was a graveyard. An army of one hundred thousand reduced to silence by a single man.
The knight—now something else entirely—stood amidst the carnage. His chest rose and fell, his giant sword dripping. Yet as the dragon's influence faded back into what remained of his soul, his mind returned. He looked around, confused.
And he remembered nothing.
When he returned to the kingdom, alone, battered, but alive, the people welcomed him with cheers and tears of joy.
"He has slain the dragon!"
"Our hero! Our savior!"
They knelt before him, praising him as the champion who had slain the unstoppable beast. The knight forced a smile, accepting their gratitude… but in his heart, unease stirred.
For though he could not recall what had transpired, something dark lingered in his veins. Something that whispered in the night, something that dreamed of fire and ash.
As the days bled into weeks, the knight carried himself like a shadow of his former self. The kingdom celebrated him, showering him with glory and songs of celebration. But behind closed doors, unease festered within the knight.
His wife smiled, but worry ate at her heart. She noticed it first at night, when his body twitched violently in his sleep, when guttural growls slipped through his lips instead of words. His daughter would tug at his gauntlet, giggling, "Daddy, take off your armor! You're home now!"
But he never did.
He couldn't.
Every attempt to remove it ended in agony—his hands getting injured, his skin searing as though the armor itself was his flesh. And perhaps, by now, it was. He excused it away, hiding behind hollow laughter. His wife convinced herself he was simply proud, so proud of his victory that he clung to the symbol of his strength. But in truth, he was terrified. The dragon's whispers coiled tighter each night, clawing into his mind.
…
It happened one quiet evening.
The knight was playing with his daughter, lifting her up high into the air, her laughter filling the halls. For a moment, it almost felt like peace again. But then—something shifted. His vision blurred red. His chest heaved like a beast starved of prey. His gauntlets clenched tighter around her fragile body.
A metallic snap echoed as his helmet locked shut on its own. His daughter froze, staring in horror as the familiar face of her father vanished… replaced by the twisted shape of a dragon. Fangs, scales, eyes burning with hunger.
"D–Daddy…?" her small voice trembled.
But the knight was gone.
With a roar that shook the walls, his claws ripped through her tiny body. Her scream was cut short, replaced by the sickening sound of flesh tearing. Blood painted the room. His daughter was no longer whole—just pieces, thrown across the floor where moments ago there had been only innocence and laughter.
His wife burst through the door at the sound of the scream—only to see the nightmare before her eyes. Her child's remains. Her husband standing over them, drenched in blood, the dragon's face glaring through the helmet.
"No… no… no…" she whispered, stumbling backward, tears blinding her.
The knight turned to her. For a heartbeat, his human self fought to surface, his hand trembling as if to reach for her. But the dragon's will crushed that flicker of resistance. With a single, merciless swing, his blade severed her head. It rolled across the floor, her lifeless eyes staring back at him.
…
That night, the monster that once was a man unleashed hell.
He stormed through the kingdom like a living calamity. His roars split the heavens, his sword and claws tore through flesh and stone alike. Men, women, children—it didn't matter. Blood ran through the streets, screams were drowned in fire, and the once-great kingdom that had stood as a beacon of glory was erased in a single night of madness.
By dawn, silence.
The proud realm was gone. The streets were lined with ash and corpses, the air thick with smoke and despair. At the heart of it all stood the knight—his armor blackened, his blade dripping, his eyes hollow.
He had no memory of the massacre. He only remembered his wife's smile, his daughter's laughter. Yet around him lay the evidence of his damnation, undeniable and eternal.
The kingdom was gone.
And so was the man they once called hero.
As the knight stood among the ashes of his kingdom, his armor soaked in the blood of those he loved most, a voice spoke into his skull. Low, guttural, ancient. It slithered into every corner of his mind, echoing like a whisper from the abyss.
"Do you see now? You and I are one. I am no mere beast… I am a Rank Six Nyx. My purpose is to carry you higher—to shatter the limits of men and raise you to the rank six realm."
The knight froze, trembling. His lips moved soundlessly as his mind twisted. Rank six—such a thing was the realm of myth, of deities, of power no mortal was meant to touch. His hands shook, dripping with the blood of his daughter, his wife, his people.
"No… no, I never wanted this!" His voice cracked, raw with grief. "I wanted peace! I wanted them… not this curse! Not this hell!"
The dragon's laughter rumbled deep inside him, endless, like a mountain's core.
"And yet… this is the price. Power demands ruin. To ascend, you must wander the world as my vessel. For five hundred years, you will spread havoc, burn cities, crush kingdoms. That is the path to rank six. That is your path."
The knight collapsed to his knees, his gauntlets clawing at the ground, his chest heaving with sobs. "No… please… I can't… I can't bear it. I never wanted their blood on my hands! I never wanted this!" His voice cracked into a scream that shook the night sky.
But the dragon was merciless.
"You don't have a choice."
The helmet snapped shut again with a metallic clang, sealing away his face, sealing away the man within. His screams turned into roars, his tears into fire. His mind fractured, drowned beneath the will of the dragon.
And so, the knight was no more.
For five centuries he wandered, a living calamity. Kingdoms fell to ash beneath his steps, children grew up only to hear tales of the black-armored monster that destroyed whole nations. His name was erased, replaced only with fear—the abandoned knight, a cursed being of endless destruction.
Somewhere deep inside, the man still wept. But his cries could never reach the surface, smothered under the dragon's laughter that echoed through his mind for the next five hundred unending years.