The western vertebra of the tail bone, one of the smallest, merely the size of a mountain, became their stronghold. Artorius stood atop the highest ridge, mist cloak snapped by the wind, watching the building unfold with military precision. Thankfully he got all his items back from his wings, to cloak, to chest harness, fur mantle, and so on. Except for one item which the Sword Dragon still held.
Below him, old prisoners dragged slabs of petrified muscle into place, shaping barricades that could shrug off dragonfire. Gladiators hammered spikes of sharpened bone into the slopes, forming jagged trenches. His commanders along with the old wood dragon oversaw the construction of support lattices which were like living root-like structures grown into the gaps of bone rings, stabilizing the fort's interior corridors.
Sword Dragon elites, disciplined to the bone, erected iron pylons that hummed with internal mana. These were anchor pylons, part ward, part bracing structure driven deep into tendon cliffs. Even the constructs were used. Great draconic machines of bone and bronze hauled enormous Emperor ribs into place, forming archways at the fort's entrances. Others anchored themselves into the tailbone and became living siege towers, their torsos rotating, weapon-ports glowing faintly in case of attack.
It was a fortress-spine, carved directly into the remains of a titanic creature. Suddenly they heard a loud crack fill the air. The Sword Dragon king had returned and this time he came with his entire army!
Thousands of Sword Dragon troops in perfect formation, armor like polished weaponry. Dozens of elder advisors, many more champions blooded dragons. An entire flight of elite sword-born dragons. Siege constructs with rotating blade-arms.
And two figures of staggering power: The Paper Dragoness, white and crystalline, wings made of razor parchment, aura sharp enough to cut the air itself. The Pain Dragon, a dark-red brute, scars crisscrossing his body, eyes glowing with sadistic hunger.
When they landed on the ridges, the fort trembled. The Sword Dragon King took in the fortress. Then he shifted his gaze to Artorius. "Impressive," the kinglet said, voice like whistling blades. "You build well for one who has no wings."
"Useful skill," Artorius replied. "Considering your habit of throwing troops into meat grinders." Behind him, Raijin shook his head and Zoklath grinned.
The Pain Dragon's tongue flicked with hunger but the king only chuckled. "You speak boldly even with your collar on."
Artorius shrugged. "You prefer honesty."
"Yes," the Sword Dragon said. The king walked the battlements, claws tapping metal and bone, inspecting troops. His presence pulled every soldier into rigid obedience. Even the constructs oriented themselves toward him, glowing brighter.
"I see you brought everything," Artorius noted. "All your forces. Every asset."
"Artorius," the king said as he moved closer to him. "This biome is not merely a battlefield. It is a throne. I intend to seize it."
"That's reckless. Are you not worried someone will take over your home? A Dragon King corpse is a juicy target especially now that it's been left defenceless."
"That is ambition. I will be throwing it all for my goals." It was eerie how similar the two of them were. Wasn't this the exact same mentality he had not too long ago?
The Paper Dragoness drifted beside the king, wings whispering like flapping papers. "The fall of an Emperor is the greatest opportunity in the history of the Nest. All monarchs are converging. All want a piece."
The Pain Dragon snorted. "Only one will survive."
"Anyways when do you plan to give back my evolution crystal?" Artorius asked outright. When he got his items back before being sent out here, there was one conspicuously missing.
"Oh, this," the sword dragon asked as he held it up in his claws. Then making it disappear, he answered, "Don't worry. I will be holding it on for you."
-
The war room was dark, lit only by the flickering light of mana-infused braziers that cast sharp shadows on the stone walls. At the head of the table sat Sword Dragon King, his eyes sharp and calculating. He had arranged the meeting, and Artorius had been summoned along with his two followers, Raijin and Zoklath to discuss the latest developments regarding the Dragon Emperor's fallen corpse and the arrival of the monarch blooded dragons.
The room hummed with tension. On one side was the Sword Dragon King's inner circle present, the towering figure of Crimson Drakonar, his eyes burning with barely contained animosity. Along with 3 other noble descendant dragons who served it, all silent and expectant. Beside them was the elegant figure of the Paper Dragoness, her translucent, parchment-like wings flickering with faint magic. Pain Dragon, ever the brooding presence, stood in the far corner of the room, his crimson eyes scanning each individual with the unsettling quiet of a predator.
Across from them stood Artorius, flanked by his two trusted companions; Raijin, the Thunder Dragon, his cobalt-blue scales flashing with a faint electrical aura, and Zoklath, the Black Dragon, his obsidian scales gleaming darkly in the half-light. Both of them had fought beside Artorius through countless battles, their bond unshakable.
Artorius leaned forward, eyes scanning the faces of the dragons around him. This was no mere meeting. This was the calm before the storm. Artorius began first, "So let's get the lay of the land. Does anyone know exactly what this corpse is?"
The Sword Dragon answered, "This is the Probability Dragon Emperor, he was called Zytherion, the Infinite Probabilities. He was not merely a ruler; he was a force that bent reality itself. Every decision, every breath, every heartbeat of his reign was a calculation across countless possibilities. Wars he fought were never won by strength alone, but by steering the very likelihood of outcomes toward inevitability. Kingdoms rose and fell not by chance, but because Zytherion made them so."
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Artorius noted how in the end none of his manipulation of it helped him as he was dead in the end. He wondered what brought low this great creature who had control over such power.
The Paper Dragoness unfurled a new scroll. The map was wrong. Paths changed when he blinked. River shapes shifted. Mountains flickered. Landmarks rearranged themselves in patterns that made no geometric sense. Nothing was stable. Nothing was consistent. Nothing was safe.
The Pain Dragon growled just staring at it while Artorius stepped closer, fascinated and disturbed. "It's still forming," he whispered.
"Yes," she said. "The biome around the corpse is being overwritten by the Emperor's last breath." Her voice took on solemn weight. "We call it the Paradoxical Expanse. A biome where probability itself is a fluid, dangerous, and mutable force. Paths vanish, storms strike without warning, creatures mutate unpredictably, and the laws of cause and effect fluctuate violently. Every step is a gamble; every strike could succeed in the most miraculous way… or fail catastrophically. No map is reliable, no strategy guaranteed."
Pain Dragon's low snarl echoed in the room. "Sounds… deliciously chaotic."
Artorius exhaled slowly, his gaze hardening. "So this isn't just a battlefield. This is a war with reality itself."
The Paper Dragoness nodded, her wings flicking sharply. "Exactly. And within this ever-shifting expanse lies Zytherion's many treasures!"
The Paper Dragoness tapped specific sections of the living map. "There are many dangers that have been found out and great hazards with many more that we do not know about! We have the Probability Storms which we believe are caused due to his blood, lightning that may strike before it forms. Rain that falls upward. Winds that fold space. Worse are the Probability Maelstroms deeper in," she continued.
"Entire areas where causality fluctuates. Actions taken here may succeed, fail, or produce outcomes that have no precedent. A swing of your claw could shatter a mountain, or vanish you into nothingness. Scouts who enter rarely return in the form they left. Those who do often find themselves unrecognizable to their allies or even to themselves."
Raijin's cobalt scales sparked. "So… every step, every strike, every spell, every breath anything could misfire in the worst possible way?"
"Or the best," she replied, her wings flicking sharply. "It's impossible to calculate. Also we have Paradox Flora formed from his flesh, they are trees that grow fruit before growing branches. Vines that reposition themselves. Flowers that become carnivores at night. It is all random!"
The map flickered and thin lines appeared, twisting over mountains and forests like glowing veins. "We also have Quantum Tunnels," she said. "They connect random points in the biome. Enter one, and you could emerge miles away or in another dimension entirely. There is no consistency; no two tunnels are ever the same. Some are safe. Most are lethal. Others… never exit."
Her wings flicked, sending a faint breeze that smelled faintly of burnt ink. "Then there are Entropy Wastes, areas where decay is accelerated beyond reason. Then, there are Phase Fogs. Mists that slip through the body changing you from inside out. We also found areas called Reverse Horizons, regions where distance inverts. The closer you walk toward something the farther it gets, until you walk thousands of miles in place."
A ripple passed over the map, "Next, are Chaotic Currents, probability rivers that flow across land and air. Step into one, and your movement may be doubled, halted, or reversed. We also found Fractured Echoes, places where sound and sometimes thought splits into fragments of possibility."
Just listening to her list of all dangers in this newly forming biome drained the color from everyone's face, they were clearly stepping into a hellhole with no end in sight of threats and hazards.
"I don't get paid enough for this," Artorius muttered.
The Paper Dragoness finally reached the core of the matter. "Finally what we all came here for, the Heartblood, what will evolve our lord into the next stage!" On her parchment appeared a droplet of shimmering multicolored liquid that pulsed with life and power.
"That," she said, "is why twenty royal dragons have come."
The Sword Dragon King leaned back, eyes blazing. "And why we will keep it out of their claws."
Artorius frowned. "You say that like it will be easy."
"It won't," the Paper Dragoness replied. "Especially not with what's inside the corpse."
Artorius narrowed his eyes. "…Inside?"
Her voice grew grave. "Yes. The Emperor carried things within his body that did not die with him." She lifted her wing and the parchment formed shapes of monstrous things.
Thin, wormlike creatures slithered across the document pale, translucent, shimmering with internal constellations. "These parasites drank fate itself," she said. "They attach to a living being and siphon its likelihood of survival."
Zoklath shuddered. "So… they eat your good fortune?"
"No," she corrected, eyes sharp. "They reassign it."
Artorius frowned. "Meaning?"
She flicked her wing. One Fate Leech latched onto a soldier's image. The soldier tripped, fell, and died on a dagger he shouldn't have been anywhere near. Meanwhile, a different soldier across the field suddenly dodged an impossible blow. "The parasite redistributes survival probability at random. Killing one host while saving another."
The papers shifted into a cluster of pulsing sacs. "These larvae, that we call schrödinger larvae," she continued, "existed in multiple states until observed. When unobserved, they are harmless. When seen…"
One of the sacs ruptured. A creature flashed into existence. Then flickered. Then changed shape. Then lunged at the nearest observer with a dozen shifting jaws.
Raijin recoiled. "By the peaks—"
"They collapse into whatever form has the highest chance of killing the viewer," she explained. Next came winged shapes beautiful, luminous, angelic in the way a venomous flower is beautiful. "These creatures," she said softly, "were born from the Emperor's hair. They are holy and profane, beautiful and horrific. They protect anything the Emperor valued."
Artorius tilted his head. "What did the Emperor value?"
She paused. "…Patterns." The Seraphs multiplied in the illusion, their wings forming fractal geometries. "They correct irregularities they recognize as 'errors.' Living beings… tend to be full of errors."
She then revealed creatures that were not parasites, but monstrous hunters, beasts made of shifting angles and fractured geometry. "We call them Probability Predators," she said.
"Born from the Emperor's Statistical Aura and bones. They hunt anything that behaves predictably."
The Crimson Drakonar blinked. "Predictably?"
"Yes. The more rhythmic your heartbeat, the more consistent your movement… the more likely they are to target you."
There were more creatures that the Paper dragoness showed, revealing how deadly this place was. The Sword Dragon drew it to a close as he remarked, "That is the danger of a fresh corpse ready to be harvested. With its arrival comes unimaginable opportunities but also grave threats fit to annihilate us all!" he stated matter of factly.
"Be grateful the Great Ones above prune threats beyond our rank and means," he continued. "But even their sweep misses things. Be ready to face monsters beyond level twenty-five. Some may be around level thirty."
"Well that is just great," Artorius opined. "If the terrain doesn't kill us, the wildlife will!"
The images on the documents zoomed out. The Emperor's mountainous corpse appeared larger than any dragon here by orders of magnitude. His bones were towers. His organs were caverns. His blood rivers had carved entire trenches into the earth.
The Paper Dragoness pointed with a talon. "Inside his body still lies an ecosystem." Then she began listing the layers. "First is the outer layer of his hide, the Skinland! Impossible terrain to traverse," she explained. An enormous landscape of torn hide, cracked scales, and vast leathery plains unfolded. Great patches of Zytherion's skin were laid out like mountains or stretched into dark, wrinkled deserts.
"Then we have the Muscle Warrens where most of the beasties live." Caverns formed by petrified muscle fibers, still pulsing with residual energy appeared, each contraction sending tremors through the caverns.
"Next is the Bone Realms," endless tunnels formed from ribs, vertebrae, and marrow appeared which were like a maze of ivory tunnels. "These are where most of the treasures and resources are believed to be located."
Finally great organs appeared each the sizes of cities, towns, and villages. "This is the core, the Organ Depths. This is where the Dungeon is most likely located and where the most deadly threats are!"
These titanic organs ranged from hearts the size of mountains still beating, lungs expanding with breaths taken from the universe, stomachs whose acid pools melted reality, brain-labyrinths where echoes of the Emperor's will still roam.
The Sword Dragon stood and spoke first, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Let's get straight to it. The ones standing in our way. The Mirror Dragon is dead. That leaves us with 20 Monarch Blooded Dragons vying for control over the corpse of the Dragon Emperor."
Artorius was shocked about how many royal dragons had arrived. If he recalled what Ouroboros said, there were 35 of them with 22 here including the Sword Dragon that meant over 60% had come for the corpse like vultures to a god's carcass.
"The death of the Mirror Dragon will shift the balance of power a bit," Artorius said. "But the number of monarchs in the arena is still too great for any one of us to seize full control. We must understand who we're dealing with and what they're capable of."
"Yes, I already had my little eyes survey the corpse and who has come," the Paper dragon spoke, her voice was a smooth, dangerous purr. "Let's get to the crux of this, shall we?" she began, her eyes gleaming like sharpened paper knives as she laid out her documents.
The first to begin was the Sword Dragon himself, "Just like how you noble dragons are divided into two, so are the royal dragons. There are those who are direct descendants of the Dragon Kings and Queen high above in the Dragon Peaks like me. Then there are those whose ancestors were Kings or Queens."
"That is correct," the paper dragon nodded her head. "Of the Great Kings and Queens are the Shadow Dragon who is a mysterious and lone figure. The Sand Dragon, the oldest royal dragon, the Infernal Dragon who is the greatest smith in the Nest, the Ocean Dragon who keeps to herself in her watery queendom, the Fragrance Dragon who a certain some had dealt a great blow," she said, her gaze sliding to Artorius.
"Then the Gem Dragon who is closely allied to the Fragrance Queen, the Nuclear Dragon who is our lord's rival, the Death Dragon who is still somehow alive, and the Sky Dragon whose land was the most adversely affected by the Dragonfall."
She paused to let them take it all in before she moved onto the Petty Kings and Queens, "Then we have the others from the Twilight and Dawn Dragons twin sisters. The Thermal Dragon, she is allied to the Infernal King, the Moon Dragon a follower of the Shadow King, the Mineral Dragon who allied to the Sand King, the Kinetic and Cyber Dragons who are allied to each other, the Psychic Dragon which was an ally to the Mirror Dragon we slayed, the Phantasmal Dragon who follows the Death King, Sound Dragon who she is allied to the Ocean Queen, and the Storm Dragon, he follows the Sky Queen."
Artorius took a long breath. "This is… a lot."
"Indeed," the Paper Dragoness replied, smug. "And every one of these royal-blooded monsters wants the prizes inside the Emperor's corpse."
Artorius noted how there were many alliances and looked to the Sword Dragon King, "Do you have any close association with the other royal Dragons?"
The dragon lifted his chin proudly and answered with absolute disdain, "No, partnering with others is for the weak!"
A quiet cough came from the Paper Dragoness as she raised an eyebrow. Then the Sword Dragon continued, "though that will change soon!"
Just then the door opened and two guests walked in, who were the two noble dragons that Artorius commander defeated, the Moss and Pollen Dragon.
-
The left wing of the Dragon Emperor's corpse sprawled like a forgotten battlefield, the ribs stretching into jagged towers and the flesh-strewn plains beneath glittering pools of coagulated ichor. Smoke and residue from earlier skirmishes still hung heavy in the air, giving the area a muted, oppressive light.
From the horizon, shadows flickered, long and serpentine, bulky and short, of all different sizes cutting across the uneven landscape of fractured hide. It was not one dragon, not even a dozen it was an entire flight, an army like a dark storm. At their head soared a figure who was no bigger than a cat but commanded this army, Ouroboros, the Wisdom Dragon, scales deep green interlaced with gold, eyes that flickered with aeons of knowledge, whiskers spiraling like the cosmic helixes of fate itself.
Beside him, a shimmering figure emerged: Shiun, the Golden Imugi, her scales the color of molten dawn, she radiated power, yet her eyes betrayed curiosity tinged with unease. Below them, the vanguard of the army spread in perfect formation: different types of dragons from frost to flame, lightning and shadow, armored drakes with blades and cannons integrated into their spines.
Viserion, the Frost Dragon, glided silently in the center of the formation, scales glinting like shards of frozen starlight, his gaze fixed on the corpse with an unblinking intensity. As the dragons approached the left wing, the air thickened with magic.
The residual probability storms that clung to the corpse warped perception; bone and muscle shifted subtly beneath their gaze, illusions forming and dissolving in mere heartbeats. Ouroboros' presence, however, was a stabilizing force. Reality seemed to bend around him yet remain grounded, as though the universe itself deferred to his understanding of patterns and inevitabilities.
Shiun landed with the rest of the dragons as they begin setting up camp, her voice cutting through the low hum of the army's activities. "Ouroboros… tell me," she began, tone sharp yet curious. "How do you know he will be here?" She gestured toward the corpse. "My visions… they are blank. The threads of fate refuse to reveal him. I see nothing but chaos."
Ouroboros did not immediately respond. His eyes, bright and endless, scanned the expanse of the corpse, taking in the twisted landscape as though reading it like a manuscript written in flesh. "If one knows him best," Ouroboros said, "he will always be in the thick of trouble. It does not matter if the world is ending, Artorius Pendrath will place himself where danger converges. He is a storm magnet, a creature that thrives amidst the collision of blades and death."
Viserion, silent as frost-shadowed night, moved forward in tandem with Ouroboros' orders, ice forming along the tips of his talons and along the serrated edges of his wing membranes. They were already preparing for conflict as they could see forces coming their way.