The nearer Artorius and his army came to the Ocean Dragoness's abode, the colder the air grew. He did not bring up the conversation he had with the wooden dragon as he kept them to himself and theorized what was going on inside his head.
Still there were plenty of threats around on the corpse which they had to take care of as they journeyed to where the Ocean dragoness was last seen and he made progress on the way. Congratulations! You have leveled up. Archetype: [Leader] → Lv. 30
Stat gains: +1 INT, +1 WIL, +1 CHA
Gained New Trait: Strategic
Pulling up the new trait he looked at more closely.
Strategic - Patterns unravel before you like threads. Thinks several moves ahead; reads the battlefield like a board. You see the greater whole and opportunities others miss.
The mist over the skeletal landscape, and soon the land itself shifted from hardened bone to smooth, porous stone. When Artorius reached the ridge overlooking her territory, he saw it: A circular basin carved into the colossal remains of the Emperor's lower ribs, filled entirely with churning deep-blue water. A natural amphitheater of bone and stone sloped around it, and at the center rose a spire of ivory.
He descended the final set of bone steps and stepped onto an outcropping overlooking the basin. The water below surged up suddenly, forming a towering column that spiraled around him like a living vortex. Then she emerged.
The Ocean Dragoness rose from the crest of the wave, water streaming off her scales like sapphire. Her long body uncoiled with the grace of a predator and a queen both. Her horns curved elegantly backward, and her frills shaped like flowing fins rippled with azure light.
Her eyes, however, were cold. "You," she said, her voice as smooth and sharp as polished ice. "The dog of the Sword Dragon. What brings you here?"
Artorius bowed slightly. "I am more of an unwilling subject to his plots."
She studied him in silence. "Speak your purpose."
Artorius inhaled deeply. This was the moment. He stepped forward, feet splashing gently into the rising tide. "The Sword Dragon commands you to join him. He wants you to join the hunt for the newly hatchled immortal blooded dragon."
She did not flinch or blink when he announced that. Making it clear that she already received word what was going on. This was not a great start. "And?"
"Well that is about it, either we stand together or fall one by one really!" Artorius stated.
"I think," she said, lowering her head until her eyes met his, "that hunting something immortal is suicide for dragons who cannot even resist their own greed."
"Yeah that is true but the first thing the Sword dragon would do if you refuse is turn his army to wipe you out before heading down. He will not stand for a threat being at his back."
A ripple stilled the entire basin. Slowly, her tail loosened. "That is true," she admitted. Then she admitted something she did not expect, "Did you know my mother abandoned me as a failure?" Artorius did not know what to say to that and let her continue. "Maybe if I walk down this path I will win her favor once again."
-
The Fragrance Queen hovered above the fortress spires, her petals-like wings folded tightly behind her, though their faint luminescence still refracted the torchlight below, casting drifting blooms of color across the bone walls. Smoke and heat rose from the pits where dragons devoured their slain and also prepared for war, but she ignored the clamor, the chaos, the thrum of violence. All of it was secondary now.
Her mind was focused, sharp as a poisoned needle. She had survived the Sword Dragon but for how long and now was made to swear oaths to follow to the very heart of the corpse. From the outer ramparts, she unfolded herself into the night.
There was only one path forward for her to plead for aid. She would have laughed at the situation she found herself in if it wasn't so vexing and pathetic. She couldn't help thinking about when not too long ago someone also came begging her for aid.
The signal had been sent hours ago and finally she answered, the Summer Empress appeared. She could see the shimmer of light against scales. Her eyes burned with solar fire, but there was the familiar calm, measured patience. "My dear, how are you doing?"
"My lady," she bowed her head. "I apologize for bothering you but things are… urgent."
The Summer Dragon's wings flicked once, stirring the air in a wide circle. "Speak, then," she said, keeping her claws tucked behind her back. "I sense your unease. This is not a simple thing if I am correct."
She straightened, letting her wings shimmer faintly as a subtle declaration of presence. "An immortal-blooded dragon has been born," she said, each word measured. "Not a sovereign. Not one of the known lines. A hatchling of true nothingness. A Void Dragon. It is… beyond anything we have faced before."
The Summer Dragon was silent, letting the declaration sink into the marrow of her being. The wind whistled past, and somewhere below, the fortress fires flickered, casting long shadows across the bones of the ancient Emperor. Her gaze swept across the horizon, as if measuring the immensity of the world, weighing options against outcomes unseen by any dragon eyes.
She tilted his head, golden eyes reflecting the sun. "If what you say is true… if an immortal-blooded Void Dragon has indeed emerged… then the Nest itself faces annihilation. The Sovereigns… none of them would stand a chance, not even collectively."
She dipped her head once more. "That is why I come to you. You are among the few with the vision to recognize the gravity of this event. You can help guide what must be done before it is too late."
She inhaled slowly, the air around her shimmering faintly as his aura radiated outward. "And what of the Sword Dragon?" she asked finally. "He has already acted, and his forces gather. Does he seek to slay the hatchling?"
"Yes," she said, tone steady. "He has declared intent to descend into the Emperor's corpse and confront it. But even the Sword Dragon is uncertain… its power is… unlike anything known. He sees opportunity, as do all others who crave evolution beyond sovereign blood, but he underestimates the threat. He underestimates the possibility that nothing in the Nest could survive should he fail. I… fear his ambition could be the undoing of us all if we do not act in concert."
The summer dragon spoke. "You have done well to come to me directly," she said, voice low, deliberate. "I will not claim omniscience, nor will I pretend I can strike at this hatchling alone. But I will act. I will send word to my equals who will listen, who understand the weight of immortal emergence. And I will move to prepare the defenses."
Relief, faint and bitter, coursed through the Fragrance Queen. She inclined her head slightly, masking the trembling of hope beneath layers of decorum. "Your wisdom and foresight honors us all," she said softly. "I… thank you. Time is short, but with your recognition, perhaps we can prevent catastrophe before it is too late."
"Yes, though it will take time so go ahead and join the Sword Dragon to buy us time."
The fragrance dragon froze when she heard that, her expression slipping, "but my lady—"
The summer dragon stopped her, "we all must pull our weight in these trying times!" with that she was gone leaving her standing there.
Below, the fortress churned with war and preparation, the Sword Dragon's forces moving with deadly efficiency. Fires flickered across the walls and pits, casting long shadows over bones and banners alike. And above it all, the Fragrance Queen lingered, her wings drooping slightly as she processed the weight of what had just transpired.
She will not be rescued after all. Her plea wasn't answered.
-
Artorius was halfway towards where the Sky dragoness was rumored to be located when one of his soldiers came with a message. "Sir, sir, we just received word!" he came running up to him. "She's dead! The Sky Dragoness is dead!"
Artorius stopped. "What did you say?"
The soldier skidded to a halt, panting. "The Sky Dragoness… she's gone. Killed. Slain by the rebels."
Artorius stared at the soldier, the words sinking in like a blade sliding between ribs. "Killed?" he repeated, slow, disbelieving. "How?"
The soldier gulped. "The rebel host rumor says they surrounded her at the Tempest Ridge. Frost dragons, thunder drakes, shadowed wyrms an entire coalition. They overwhelmed her. Tore her apart. The sky burned white and blue for miles." Artorius's jaw tightened though he couldn't deny he found it funny that upstart rebels took down a royal all on their own.
"Who reported this?" Artorius asked.
"Travelers fleeing the ridge. Mercenaries who deserted the rebels. And… other dragons, sir." The soldier hesitated. "All stories say the same: the Sky Dragoness fell."
The wind howled along the ribbed corridors of the corpse, cold and sharp as broken glass. Artorius dismissed his soldier with a curt gesture, then stepped aside, staring into the haze rolling over the bone plains. "Let's head back," he called to his men.
Artorius marched with his soldiers through the great stretch of the skinland back to the fort, the news of the Sky Dragoness still hanging over him. Yet even as he walked, something tugged at the edges of his awareness.
The terrain shifted underfoot, the mist thinning as the familiar cracked expanse of the Skinland spread out before them like a pale, endless desert. Sparse winds dragged loose flakes of ancient hide across the ground, scattering them like ash. He had traveled through this region enough times now that he should have been numb to it.
But this time… something felt different. He slowed and took it all in. He watched the drifting scraps of hide curl in the air, carried by the current of possibilities. A scrap would fall then catch a breeze from nowhere. A shadow would stretch then disappear as if reality blinked. Stones lay in one spot on one pass and were gone the next.
At first he had chalked it up to the corpse being unfathomably ancient and half-alive. But now… he began to see it. "Sir?" a soldier asked. "Something wrong?"
Artorius didn't answer. He took a knee, running a hand across the parchment-dry terrain. For a moment the surface felt smooth. Then rough. Then cracked. Every blink changed something small imperceptible unless one was looking for it.
The realization settled over him slowly. This land wasn't aimless. It was choosing. This was the endless possibilities taking shape.
A place where the world had not decided what it wanted to be. Where every moment carried a hundred branching results, all equally real and unreal until chosen. Endless choices. Endless maybes. A horizon of what could be, pressing in on what is.
He glanced back at the Skinland one last time at the drifting flakes, the flickering shadows, the subtle shifts in texture and light then shook his head. What was he doing? Becoming some monk or philosopher thinking about the world.
He snorted and shook his head. Standing up he wiped the skin dust from his hand and continued on his journey. However unknown to him even though he dismissed the sensation as a momentary oddity he had just glimpsed the first thread of a Law. A truth few mortals ever touched. And it would not let him go.
-
The Sword Dragon stood atop the tallest spire of the fortress carved into the Dragon Emperor's cranial vault. Winds tore across the skeletal heights, carrying the iron tang of scorched bone and the lingering smoke from a hundred pyres below. Below, his army waited, tense and disciplined, but his gaze was fixed far beyond the horizon, into the void of the storm-choked skies above.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised a clawed hand skyward, the metallic hum of his presence resonating in the air. "Father," he called, his voice cutting like a drawn sword across the wind. "Blade King, hear me!"
Far above, the clouds churned as an eye slit sharp as a blade appeared. The Blade Dragon King was paying attention and bore into his son with the weight of aeons.
Seeing his father was here the Sword Dragon bowed his head, talons gripping the spire's edge. "An immortal-blooded hatchling has been born in the heart of the Emperor's corpse. One who holds the power to unravel the Nest itself. I seek your guidance… and your blessing."
The Blade King's gaze narrowed. For a long moment, the wind stilled. Even the fires below seemed to pause in reverence or fear. Then, the Blade Dragon King extended a clawed hand towards the Nest, scales glinting like sharpened steel, and plucked a piece of its scale. Thunder and lightning coalesced within the span of his wing, folding into a crystalline shape that shimmered with raw power.
"Take this," a voice rumbled in the skull of the Sword dragon as the item fell down before the sword dragon which it turned out to be a sword. "Let it serve as your instrument against the impossible. Fail me… and not even the Nest shall remember your name." The Sword Dragon's claws flexed, as his metallic scales resonated with the strange weapon. He bowed his head, accepting the gift, and felt the surge of power snap through him like a tidal wave, harmonizing with his own lethal presence.
"I swear, Father," he said, voice low and unwavering, "I will wield it with precision, and the immortal-blooded shall fall."
The Blade King's gaze lingered as lightning cracked, and with a roar that shook the heavens, the Blade King vanished leaving the Sword Dragon alone atop the spire.
-
The moment Artorius crested the final ridge of fused bone and sinew, the fortress came into view and his breath caught, despite everything he had already witnessed in this forsaken nesting ground. The Grand Host had assembled. A storm of dragons.
The fortress built into the jutting vertebrae of the long-dead Dragon Emperor blazed with torchlight. However those lights failed to outshine the armies massed around it, covering the cracked flesh plains and bone terraces in a living tapestry of wings, scales, and raw power. Thousands of dragons.
Royal blooded, noble blooded, elder blooded, champions, elite-bodyguards, armored drakes, spellcasters, berserk carnivores with iron-plated spines, giant wurms, mercenaries, and even feral tribes. It was a sight the Nest had not seen in generations. And each one of them had gathered for one singular purpose to hunt the newborn Immortal Dragon.
Artorius walked through the outer mustering grounds, the air rippling with the heat and pulse of thousands preparing for war. Dragons sharpened talons on whetstone slabs. Others adjusted armor plates strapped to their hides. Spellcasters practiced their abilities. War banners snapping in the wind displayed the symbols of each royal line—Sword, Shadow, Psychic, Dawn, Twilight, Gem, Fragrance, and now… Ocean. The air crackled with anticipation.
His soldiers marched alongside him with steady discipline, but all around them the earth trembled beneath the weight of so many wings and bodies. Instead, he let his gaze sweep the armies as his new trait, Strategic, quietly wove patterns in the back of his mind showing him lines of movement, potential disasters, ways they would break, fracture, or die in so many ways.
Horns sounded, deep, resonant, rolling across the corpse like thunder. The call of assembly. The march was beginning soon. The world around them shifted as dragons took to the sky, wings beating in perfect unison; others slithered or stomped across the ground, forming into organized columns that stretched for miles.
At the center of it all, at the highest spinal tower of the fortress, stood the Sword Dragon. The Sword Dragon stood like a living monolith of iron and scale, wings folded behind him like jagged blades. His presence alone silenced thousands.
"Dragons of the Nest," he began, the words slicing through the air like drawn steel. "We stand on the edge of history." Silence fell across the host. Even the wind quieted.
"We have all spoken of power," he started. "We have spoken of evolution. We have fought, clawed, and burned our way through rivals, enemies, pretenders. We have claimed dominion! We have claimed glory! We have claimed the right to rule the Nest!"
His wings flared open, casting a shadow that swallowed half the fortress. "But today… today we face something none of us have ever known." His voice deepened. "A dragon born with immortal blood."
A ripple of unease spread across the armies. Some dragons snarled, others hissed, others muttered prayers or curses. Word had already spread through the camps as the shadow dragon arrival and his decoration wasn't quite.
"None living have seen such a thing," the Sword Dragon went on. "Not even the Sovereigns. But we have the chance to slay it before it grows." His gaze swept over the armies. "We must do what needs to be done!" he roared back.
"We will descend into the corpse of the Emperor! We will carve a path through the horrors that dwell within! We will face the remnant powers of the emperor! The monsters the Emperor ate! The parasites that survived his death! The organs that still breathe and writhe in darkness!"
Every dragon braced themselves when the last few words were uttered. "And the blood of the immortal shall be OURS!" Roars erupted across the battlefield like a detonating sun. That was the real lure. The Sword Dragon didn't hide it. Every pair of eyes blazed with ambition, greed, hope, or desperation.
"Sharpen your claws," he finished. "Harden your hearts." He spread his wings. "We march now." The Grand Host roared as one, shaking the corpse beneath them.
-
The first step was the Emperor's skin which they had been crawling over this whole time. The vast expanse stretched beneath them, leathery plains crisscrossed with folds of flesh, scars that had hardened over millennia, and pools of coagulated blood that shimmered under the sun. The terrain was deceptive, what seemed solid could collapse into a chasm of sticky tissue.
Their goal was simple to find an opening to head deeper inside which scouts already located and they marched towards it. Artorius led the vanguard, the wood dragon flanking him, his army forming tight formations behind. The dragons under his command moved with fluid precision, his captains directing their forces through subtle gestures and calls.
Artorius' eyes never rested, scanning for anomalies: the occasional shimmer of a probability storm, a patch of fractal flora, the telltale ripple of a hidden predator. They crossed great valleys of scar tissue. Climbed ridges of hardened scales larger than ships. Passed through canyons carved where predators once gnawed the Emperor's flesh.
Still the surface was a dangerous place and since they were at the front they faced most of the dangers that decided to foolishly attack them. Artorius got plenty of kills in and finally hit the last milestone.
Congratulations! You have leveled up. Class: [Storybook Squire] → Lv. 30
Gained New Skill: Copy-Cat
Congratulations! You have leveled up. Race: [True-Blood DragonMen] → Lv. 31
Stat gains: +1 STR, +1 CON, +1 DEX, +1 Per, +1 CHA
Finally he got his class skill, bringing it up he read it more in detail.
Copy-Cat – A squire's duty is to watch and learn. Your imitation is the highest form of flattery. Snatch other's abilities briefly and mimic their skills you personally witness to temporarily reproduce them.
Artorius stared at it and grinned, "So I get to… steal other people's moves?" This was a very good skill and couldn't wait to try it out.
It wasn't long before they found the opening they were looking for, Artorius was glad they were not going up the asshole of the dragon as that had been an option on the table. The ground began to tilt downward, sloping toward a gaping fissure in the monstrous hide, the entrance into the Muscle Warrens.
Just this first hazard of the skin was minor, but enough to remind the army that even on the surface, this was no ordinary battlefield. Flesh shifted subtly, as if the Emperor's corpse still breathed beneath them. Pools of ichor could bubble into corrosive acid at any moment, and strange, carnivorous flora born from paradoxical manipulation of probability reached for the unwary.
The armies halted at the abyss. A massive wound which was clawed open by something long dead or maybe still alive led into a crimson cavern of twisting muscle strands and pulsating flesh tunnels. Warm steam rose from within, carrying the stench of blood, decay, and something… ancient.
Artorius felt it. The corpse was not entirely dead. Something pulsed. Something waited for him deep in there. The Wood Elder murmured behind him, voice barely audible. "Now the true danger begins."
Artorius exhaled once and entered.
-
Author Note: Well things are coming to a head… how will they end.
Also what do you think about the new abilities.
-
Chapter 43
Leveled up Archetype: Leader to Lvl. 30!
+1 INT, +1 WIL, +1 CHA
Leveled up Class: Storybook Squire to Lvl. 30!
Leveled up Race: True-Blood DragonMen to Lvl. 29!
+1 STR, +1 DEX, +1 CON, +1 PER, +1 CHA
Gained New Trait: Strategic
Gained New Skill: Copy-Cat