Omega's Rebirth-Chapter 820: The Marked One ()

~Forest Tajmaé; Nymph Terrain Far East Of Keep Skies~

Forest Tajmaé was still in the silence of the night. The wind was sparse but chilling and the sounds of the night life was nothing but a distant echo, muted by the hum of magic and something darker, something more sinister.

Verothrax hated the silence. Especially when it was so deep, he could feel it in his bones. Curling within him like it would suck the life right out of him at any moment. And perhaps it would.

Silence was all he had known for such a long time. For centuries...and not a few of them.

Now, as he lay bound to the cold stone altar, he knew the silence once more. The nymph elders of the three clans surrounded him. He wished they would say a word, chant even. Anything but the damning silence...

They hadn’t let anyone into the High Lady’s place with him. Except Dante, but he had opted to wait with his rider.

It was better. He was used to being alone.

It was cold. The rock beneath him was, the silence was, his heart was...

And it ached. Everything did. A deep, numbing pain...another thing that was all too familiar.

He had heard once, a long time ago, that there were three paths etched into fate long before a soul was even born.

There were those who came into the world, hand in hand with fortune. Before they learnt to knock, doors opened for them. Their victories were earned, but they would have won anyway. It was fated. It wasn’t luck. Just the silent cruelty of ease.

And then there were those born to forever hold the balance. Their path was neither one of fortune, nor one without. It was just waiting...to be carved, forged at their will. With choices, with tears, with blood.

If they fell, they failed at it. If they rose, they bled for it. Most men he had known fell into this category. They were men of honor, men of great feats...feared, but above all, respected. Worshipped even.

They were men he would never be.

For Verothrax...he was one of the marked ones. Those with roads broken before they even took their first step. The kind the Creator watched in silence. Not to guide, but to see how long they could fly before they crashed...how long they could live before they cracked. If they ever got the chance to live.

For a marked one, everything they touched crumbled. Everything they loved slipped away. They didn’t walk the path...they survived it.

The ropes binding his hands cut into his skin. It wasn’t a wise choice for restraining a dragon lord. He could easily tear it apart if he wanted to. They were enchanted too, but magic may have hindered other dragons...he was different. An enchanted cuff would have served better, but it would do.

"You must not resist our magic. Nymph magic is no match for yours." The High lady warned,"If you do, we will fail."

He knew that.

But Nymph magic was the most similar to Fae magic. If he wanted his magic stabilized and all the foreign Fae magic in his veins extracted safely, he would have to trust them.

They were in more danger than he. Extracting magic was a dangerous procedure, especially when Verothrax also had his own void magic mixed up with the Fae magic. But for the nymphs, it was a risk worth taking because pure Fae magic was a rare prize they would never come upon again.

On the other hand, it was an excruciating procedure. The warning was precisely because of this. No matter how painful it became, Verothrax could not resist their magic. If he did, it would all be for naught.

Verothrax only realized it had begun when that numbing pain he was used to, grew into something slow and sharp, like cold metal grating on his bones. It came so suddenly and with such force, he didn’t get to form a gasp or complete his thoughts. He didn’t get to prepare...could one even prepare for this?

The pain surged through him like fire and ice all in one. Like thorns and shards and every unkind fate he had known.

His muscles spasmed out of his control. His claws grew out, scrapping the rock altar. A growl tore out of his throat and his breaths grew shallow. He wasn’t sure how long passed and then it was gone, just as quickly and as abruptly as it had come.

But the extraction had only just begun.

He panted heavily, eyes wide. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he braced for the next wave.

And it came. Without mercy.

It crawled up his spine, dragging with it fragments of dark memory and even darker madness.

He was ten....or maybe younger. He couldn’t tell then, he couldn’t recall even now. Time didn’t exist in that dark abyss. Memories were blades he had buried deep. To remember was to sin.

The dungeons of the shadow tower was cold. A place the sun never touched. It was always cold. Even through his scales, flaked in patches...soft in his youth, brittle from lack of care.

He could see the metal behind his eyes, it was always metal...cruel, enchanted steel. Runes etched in adamantium blade on his skin. Retaining him a constant state of partial shift...skin and scale, a state where both man and dragon tasted the darkness and knew it enough to never forget. To never be freed.

In that cursed place, screams weren’t allowed. Only results.

In that cursed place, minds were bent...spirits were broken.

What could magic become within a dragon? What weapon could be built when their veins were torn to accommodate the darkness they loathed?

Their curiosity... his breaking.

The High Lady chanted a spell, laying her hand flat against his chest. Her magic was soft...softer than anything he remembered, but it still made him flinch.

His magic curled violently within him, like the beast it was, caged in a vessel too small for its havoc...it begged for release...for destruction. Begged to wreck and ruin like he was made to, till all that was left were shadows and nothingness.

It didn’t know anything else, it didn’t remember what safe felt like.

And Verothrax...Verothrax the breaker, Verothrax the shadowdragon...he didn’t either.

"Don’t resist!" The High Lady hissed, her voice strained in effort. "Let it come to the surface. All of it."

So he did.

It flooded his veins like a tidal wave, magic, pain, memories, darkness and curse...all entwined.

There were three kinds of souls...his was the marked one.