Sounds of wailing and cursing rang out everywhere he could see, men in two distinct colors slashed at each other, eyes red and expressions distorted. The stench of blood coated the air, mixed with other unsavory smells of ruin and death. Reign had landed in a battlefield.
Before Reign appeared, a soldier in red impaled his sword into a soldier in green, twisting with a fierce grunt, his opponents face twisted in pain and disbelief as he collapsed, life fading from his reluctant eyes. The soldier in red looked around, seeking his next opponent
Reign happened to just pop up next to him so the soldier raised his sword, swinging it fiercely at Reign. Reign didn't even have time to think, he raised his hand in defense.
He felt a shape pain then a sound of metal hitting stone. He looked up to see the dark gem he had stolen from the dragon's den. In there it had looked dark but in the light it was actually dark red. The sword had cut part of his hand but luckily for him, it had blocked by the gem. Red blood welled out of the wound, soaking the gem.
Meanwhile the soldier was surprised, he had expected to cleave the shirtless Reign in half, through his hand and chest, especially since he seemed to be tier less. But no matter, a second swing would do the job.
He raised his broadsword again but this time Reign lifted the sword he had gained from the dragon's den and thrust it at the soldier. The soldier moved his sword to block the strike, intending to swat it aside and follow it up with a mighty swing
Fate had other plans. Reign's sword, it's edge flickering with a sharp glint, cleaved through the warrior's sword like mud, it didn't stop. The sword hit the warrior and slid through his armor and chainmail like butter, piercing through the soldier and out his back.
Both participants in the battle were stunned, the soldier stilled as blood gurgled out of his mouth. His eyes still in disbelief, mirroring that of the soldier he had slain just a moment ago as the life fled his eyes.
Reign meanwhile was stunned, he had never in his life expected to take someone's life. He had been raised in the law abiding modern society, killing was taboo and foreign.
He felt a ringing sensation in his head, nausea rose, the bile in his gut roiled up his throat and threatened to come tumbling out.
Before he could acknowledge this sensation, he felt a burning heat in his hand. He looked down, curiously to see what was happening. He spotted the dark red crystal in his hand, he could feel it heating up, as if it had been placed in a fire.
All of a sudden It dissolved in his hand, turning into a dark red liquid. Reign was startled, he shook his hand, moving to flick off the hot mass but it was like glue. Then, without warning, the air changed.
A weight crashed down on the world, heavier than any mountain. It was not physical, yet it crushed on every soul present. Breaths hitched. Knees buckled. Swords slipped from trembling fingers. The very atmosphere thickened, turning into an invisible ocean, pressing down from all sides.
The sky darkened—not from clouds, but from sheer presence. It feels as if the heavens themselves shivered in fear.
Hearts pounded in mortal chests, not from exertion, but from something primal, something written into the bones of every living creature—the instinct that screams: Predator.
Those closest to the source of the pressure collapsed outright, their bodies refusing to move, their minds teetering on the brink of unconsciousness.
Even the strongest warriors, those who had braved countless battles, found themselves drenched in cold sweat, hands shaking as they struggle to even breathe.
A shadow, a blurry phantom appeared all over the battlefield, and for a moment, it felt as if the sun itself has been swallowed.
Those who dared to lift their heads glimpse a figure in the distance—scales like molten gold, eyes like burning suns, wings stretching wide enough to blot out the horizon.
A dragon.
No need for words. No need for threats. Its mere existence was a declaration of supremacy.
And in that moment, every soldier—no matter how brave, how battle-hardened, or how determined—knew one undeniable truth.
They were prey.
Reign too was frozen, the pressure this time was illusory, but it dwarfed the dragon from before by orders of magnitude.
It was like comparing the light of a firefly to the moon. He could clearly feel the origin of the pressure; it was the molten lava like liquid on his arm.
The liquid flowed into his body, streaming through the cut in his hand and into his bloodstream.
He felt it the moment it did, it burned. The liquid surged into his veins like molten lava, searing through every nerve, igniting every fiber of his being. His body convulsed, muscles locking as if trying to resist the overwhelming invasion. His throat locked, leaving him unable to scream out his agony.
The liquid poured through his arm, shoulder and finally his heart. And then—his heart stopped.
For a fraction of a second, silence. An abyss. The threshold between what he had been and what he was becoming.
Then—BOOM.
His heart thundered back to life, no longer human, but something far more primal. Something ancient. Power flooded him, raw, untamed, a storm raging beneath his skin.
He could feel it—his flesh shedding its weakness, his mind stretching toward instincts that were not his own. Hunger. Pride. Dominance
His bones ached, stretched, thickened, as if reforging themselves into something stronger, something other. His flesh crawled, pulsing with heat, as scales—small at first, like tiny embers under the skin—began to form, spreading along his arms, his chest, his back.
His breath hitched, then rushed out in a ragged exhale, thick with heat. The air around him shimmered, distorted by the rising temperature of his body.