Deep within the Dragon Emperor's corpse, far below the jagged rib-spires and bone labyrinths that scraped the sky, two royal dragons descended. The very air of the Organ Depths seemed to hiss with ancient malice, alive with the corpse's residual power. It was a place where no light dared breathe.
They came like a funeral procession.
At the forefront was Nýxavor, the Death Dragon King. Every step he took left frost in the air and death in the marrow. Behind him followed an army of thousands; skeleton-drakes, bonewurms, necro-laced drakes, and revenant wyverns, all loyal to his will.
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Behind Nýxavor glided Eilithria, the Phantasmal Dragon Queen, accompanied by her own spectral legion: wraith-lings, dream-serpents, and soldiers of fractured spirit. Together, their combined forces numbered more than any noble dragon could contend with, yet even such numbers were fragile here.
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To come all the way down here cost them dearly as they had lost much even though some were recovered in death. Still the losses were staggering as countless nightmares obstructed their path as the corpse itself was a battlefield beyond comprehension. They had lost thousands already. It was only some fantical zeal that drove them onward, deeper into the corpse.
They climbed down through the Emperor's petrified arteries, crossing bone-bridge after bone-bridge, deeper and deeper into the corpse where reality bent and dissolved. Walls of muscle twitched as they passed. Tendons quivered. Vessels pulsed like wounded serpents. Death Dragon's voice was a rasp of cracking bone. "It lives."
Phantasmal Dragon answered with a whisper that seemed to echo from five directions at once. "What is that we seek exactly!"
"You will find out soon!" Nýxavor hissed, his eyes flickering with fevered anticipation.
The deeper they went, the more the corpse itself seemed alive. Fissures in muscle plates opened and closed, like the lungs of some titanic creature. Clots of crystallized blood jutted outward like stalagmites, only to dissolve and drip molten gold into caverns below. Residual nerves flared, sending pulses that burned the minds of dragons.
The army suffered constant attrition. Eventually, they reached their goal.
The final heart of Zytherion, the Probability Emperor, hung suspended on calcified veins like a star in a cage of dead muscle. It was enormous, a mountain of petrified flesh, its surface cracked with luminous golden rivers. Every few minutes… Thump. The heart pulsed weakly, like something remembering how to die. But that wasn't what drew their eyes.
At the base of the heart, nestled in a cradle of bones fused like a nest…an egg rested. Black. Silent. Empty of all reflection. The size of a house. Its surface was smooth, smooth in the way void is smooth. Light bent around it. Magic slid off it like water off a god's palm. Even the Death Dragon stopped walking. His bones rattled softly. A sign of joy.
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A single pulse of aura radiated from the egg. Half of the Death Dragon's skeletal horde collapsed into dust. Phantasmal soldiers blurred into nightmares and vanished. The two monarchs resisted by sheer force of will. Eilithria's voice sharpened into a blade: "What is this?"
"This is an Immortal Blooded embryo," Nýxavor started laughing. Silence fell over the chamber. Even the heart paused mid-beat. The Death Dragon stepped closer, eyes glowing like coals. The whispers in his mind intensified. "Guard it… until it awakens… until it commands…"
"Do you hear it?" Nýxavor demanded of no one. "Do you hear the voice of the Nest's true dawn? This is the seed. This is what we have waited for! Our time is near."
Eilithria's spectral form quivered in awe. Even she, a master of phantasms could not comprehend the presence of this egg.
-
The western vertebra-stronghold hummed like a living thing as it buzzed with activities.
Artorius stood atop the highest ridge of the battlements, feet planted on a slab of darkened bone polished smooth by ages of wind. His cloak snapped in the cold torrent rushing down from the rib-spires above. Below, the Sword Dragon army worked in tight, perfect lines disciplined, sharp, and dangerous in the way blades left in the rain were dangerous.
He rested one hand on the railing of the bone rampart, eyes narrowing at the horizon. The stronghold was nearly complete now: bone pylons rising like sharpened tusks, mana conduits glowing within bone tunnels, siege constructs anchoring themselves to tendon cliffs. The entire fortress throbbed faintly with the distant pulse of the Emperor's corpse like a heartbeat in stone.
The Sword Dragon King had promised that soon, two more royal dragons would be arriving. "Gem and Fragrance," Artorius muttered. "Great. Just the ones I needed: one who hates me and her friend."
He wasn't nervous, not exactly. But he was bracing himself. Two monarchs arriving meant tension. Danger. Politics sharpened to a razor edge. He had survived worse, but he would rather face a Drake naked and unarmed than deal with an offended Fragrance Queen.
He leaned forward over the ridge. Wind howled between the rib-spikes. The sky beyond shimmered in pink-gold mirage the effect of a small probability storm in the distance. Raijin stood a few paces behind him, arms crossed. The blue-scaled Thunder Dragon squinted into the shimmering horizon. "Do you feel that?" he asked. "The air tastes… wrong."
"It's the Emperor's corpse," Artorius replied. "Everything tastes wrong."
"No," Raijin shook his head. "This distortion… feels like thought, not storm." Artorius opened his mouth to answer but the sky cracked. A ripple rolled across the air, almost silent, almost invisible—except for the way it made Artorius' vision split for a single heartbeat. As if reality blinked. Wind stilled. Sound paused. And then…
A shadow appeared. Not a colorful glimmer of crystals. Not a perfumed gust carrying deadly pollen. A pale, elongated silhouette floated into view, gliding toward the fortress with unsettling slowness. Artorius stiffened. "…That's not Gem or Fragrance."
Raijin bristled. "No. That's—"
"Psychic Dragon," Zoklath finished, voice sinking into dread. Below, Sword Dragon soldiers froze mid-construction. Constructs paused mid-swing. Even the Paper Dragoness, hovering between pylons, stilled like a sheet caught in place by an invisible hand.
He was not large. Not imposing. Not monstrous. But his very presence bent the world around him. His form shimmered like he existed in two realities simultaneously: a long-bodied dragon with pale lavender scales, tentacles for horns, and eyes that seemed half asleep and half bored with existence itself.
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Behind him floated a host of Mental Dragons: smaller, serpentine creatures trailing psionic mist from their horns, their minds humming like barely contained stormfronts. Psychic Dragon's voice projected directly into every skull: «We come in peace. The Sword Dragon summoned us.»
Artorius flinched. Not from the voice but from the way the message bypassed his thoughts entirely, inserting itself. He was glad he had his stoic trait or else who knew if his mind was played with.
Below them, the Sword Dragon King emerged from the central bone gate, followed by his elite guard. "Welcome, S'ryth," his tone was polite. "We have prepared a feast."
The massive doors groaned open, revealing the grand feasting hall constructed of rib bones, tendon cables, and a central table carved from a single colossal vertebra. Mana-braziers lit the chamber with blue fire. The Psychic Dragon entered in absolute silence, though the stone beneath him cracked with each passing thought. Artorius and his companions followed, tension thick enough to choke on.
The Sword Dragon King raised his voice for all to hear. "Tonight, we honor Lord S'ryth-Kael, Monarch of Mind. Let none forget the dangers that roam this corpse. Lone Dragons perish quickly." It sounded like hospitality but every beast in the room heard the threat underneath.
The Sword Dragon King lifted his talons. "Let's enjoy the feast." The Psychic Dragon took his place opposite the King. The feast began. Or at least, the appearance of one. Food was placed. Drinks poured. But no one ate. Everyone watched. The Psychic Dragon tapped a claw lightly on the bone table.
"What exactly do you want?"
The Sword Dragon leaned forward, "You walk alone. That is unwise."
Psychic Dragon's eyes half-lidded looked at the Sword Dragon. "Are you suggesting I join you?"
"I am stating," the Sword Dragon King said coolly, "that lone dragons die first."
A few Mental Dragons hissed under their breath. The Psychic Dragon leaned back slightly, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "Curious. I detect coercion. Veiled hostility. And beneath it.. fear."
Sword Dragon did not deny it. "Fear motivates wiser choices." The King snapped his claws. A group of Sword Dragon elites entered, dragging something heavy and shimmering behind them. The Psychic Dragon's eyes widened barely, but enough. Artorius exhaled sharply.
The Mirror Dragon's corpse. Twisted. Broken. Its once-pristine reflective scales now fractured, still catching fragmented images of the room. The Psychic Dragon stared at the corpse. He did not blink. "…Why show me this?"
Sword Dragon's voice was smooth as he waved at the corpse, "This is a gift."
Silence devoured the room. Artorius watched the Psychic Dragon drift toward it. His body swayed in a hypnotic pattern like someone walking through their own dream. S'ryth-Kael placed a single claw on the corpse. "He is not going to do what I think he is…" he whispered.
The reflections across the Mirror Dragon's scales twisted, distorting the hall, the soldiers, even Artorius's own face. Then the Psychic Dragon lowered his head…and began to feed. It was not physical consumption, not at first. His maw opened, but instead of teeth, spirals of energy poured out, sinking into the Mirror Dragon's skull.
In the center, the Psychic Dragon devoured his brother's memories, secrets, knowledge, and more. Then he bit physically. A chunk of Mirror Dragon flesh tore away. S'ryth-Kael swallowed. And his body glowed. "Weak," the Psychic Dragon whispered, licking reflective blood from his jaws. "You were weak, brother. Too bound to what was and never to what could be."
The Sword Dragon King watched silently, expression unreadable. But Artorius saw something flicker across his face. Not pity. Not disgust. But agreement. Artorius could only shake his head, he was indeed surrounding by monsters.
The Psychic Dragon finished his grisly meal with terrifying elegance, consuming the last piece of shimmering bone and the Sword Dragon rose. "If you have found your gift suitable. I extend to you an offer," he said, voice calm but heavy. "An alliance."
"You desire strength. You fear being outnumbered."
The King's eyes hardened. "I fear nothing."
"Lies," S'ryth-Kael answered gently.
"Regardless," the sword dragon said, "I offer partnership. Lone Dragons, even Monarchs, are fodder in this corpse. If you wander without allies… you die." The implied message was razor-clear. Join me. Or be marked as prey.
S'ryth-Kael floated higher, the hall vibrating with psionic pressure. "Your fortress is strong," he whispered. "Your armies are disciplined. Your ambitions… sharp." His eyes spiraled slowly. "I accept."
The King nodded once, sharp. "Good. Then eat. Drink. Rest. Soon we will go to war."
-
The sky above the Paradoxical Expanse boiled with lattice-shaped lightning, splitting probability into shimmering angles. Any ordinary creature flying here would have been torn into a dozen different possible deaths. But these were not ordinary creatures. From the horizon came a glare so bright it washed color out of the world.
Korvian, the Atomic Dragon, fell from the heavens like a meteor. His scales glowed from internal fission, the plates keeping the burning reactor inside. When he landed atop the shattered mountains bordering the Emperor's ruined wing, the ground vaporized beneath his talons.
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Already waiting for him were his new allies, the Kinetic Dragon, Rhyzallos, was a Kirin with horse-like body perched on a floating boulder that oscillated with captured momentum. His scales were sleek gunmetal, limbs thin but corded with speed-born power.
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Beside him twisted a serpentine figure made of wires, chrome scales, and glowing data-streams: Cyrixa, the Cyber Dragoness, six eyes flickering through countless wavelengths. Her voice buzzed like interference. Her tail plugged into a floating cube of fractal machinery.
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Those two had already bent knee to Korvian days prior though "bent knee" being an exaggeration. They had simply agreed it was safer to run with the most explosive predator in the Nest than against him. But the other two arrivals? They would require negotiation.
The waters darkened nearby as a wave came flooding in like a curtain. From the surface rose a serpentine mass of shimmering blues, greens, and pearlescent whites. Water spiraled around her regal form. Marivexa, the Ocean Dragon Queen, rose effortlessly, the tide bowing beneath her. Her presence was calming, but the pressure around her could crush mountains.
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Behind her drifted the Sound Dragon, Voxarith, his body semi-transparent, vibrating with harmonic resonance. Pale tendrils trailed from her spine, drifting like strands of luminescent sea-silk. Her wings shaped like jellyfish bells stretched thin.
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High above them, the storm clouds twisted into a massive gyre. Lightning burst outward with crackling fury, then a silhouette emerged: Cielo, the Sky Dragon King, whose wings stretched like thunderheads themselves. Every beat of those wings distorted the atmosphere. She had long feathered wings that looked almost like fluffy clouds.
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At her flank hovered Voltaryn, the Storm Dragon, thunderglow pulsing beneath his scales. His body was long and serpentine, an elegant arc of motion.
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This was the gathering of seven Monarch-blooded dragons. Seven voices that could change the fate of the corpse. The Atomic Dragon smiled which was terrifying, because his teeth glowed white-hot. "I am pleased that you all arrived. Punctuality is a virtue in a dying world," Korvian announced, voice vibrating the bones of the surrounding.
Rhyzallos kicked his floating stone, sending it spinning. "Let's cut to the chase, Korvian. They already know what's going on. You brought us because the Sword Dragon is making moves."
"Trying to make moves," Korvian corrected with a smirk. "He was always a predictable dullard." His burning eyes scanned the horizon as if searching for the Sword King. "My dear rival seeks alliances, yes. I felt his pathetic attempts the moment he began fluttering around the corpse like a hatchling chasing crumbs."
Cyrixa hissed softly. "Unconfirmed. But patterns indicate he is engaging other rulers."
"Because he knows he cannot face me alone," Korvian declared.
Sky Dragon Cielo landed with enough force to split the cloudbank into ripples. "Enough chest-beating, Korvian. Speak plainly. You want an alliance? Why should we entertain it? The two of you can kill each other and we will be all the more better for it."
"Foolish woman, the corpse of the Probability Emperor will ignite a war that could reshape even our thrones. Every King and Queen wants a piece. But only one alliance will define the outcome. Our alliance. Do you imagine for a single moment you can take on the Sword Dragon or me if we turned our full attention upon you?"
Ocean Queen Marivexa stirred the tides around her. "So you say. Yet this reeks of self-interest."
"Oh, absolutely," Korvian said brightly. Rhyzallos laughed, momentum skipping backward before coming forward again. "At least he's honest."
Marivexa continued, her tone sharp. "You have Kinetic and Cyber already. You wish to add the dominions of Ocean, Sound, Sky, and Storm. That is five thrones under one banner. You want to walk into the corpse as though it were already yours."
Korvian lifted his head. "It is mine. I am simply offering you all the luxury of being on the winning side." That earned a low choir of displeasure but they knew he had the right of it. If such a grand alliance was secured then they would be unstoppable. Korvian flicked his wings, shedding radioactive motes. "So. Let us discuss terms."