Stormageddon

He’s a Drill Sergeant for the army of The Stormcatcher. He takes out young recruits, and sends off scrappy soldiers to battle for SCIENCE. His friends call him Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All. All genes have been changed in his lifetime, he likes to experiment!

It was dark, and he decided to do something reckless. So he chose the Coliseum, for its intense training. He had always been a challenger.

He didn't know it would be so hard fighting in the shadows. They wrapped around him like a cloak, hiding every scale in his body so it felt impossible to breathe.

He was beginning to manifest a strange notion of fear. It blocked out every sense, charging into him like a serpent and wounding him so that he found it hard to do anything. He fought on, however.

He was not a quitter.

The sky pressed on toward blue. Blue, the color of his wings. The color of a failed experiment. But it was, of course, necessary.

He would do anything for science.

He began to find a pattern in his consistent attacks. He had slayed more dragons than he could remember, more dragons than he could care to remember. His mind was a flurry, all concentration planted in the battle, the endless fight.

He started wondering why he was doing all the fighting.

He realized that those monsters he had killed were members of Beastclan, dragon's worst enemy.

He stopped contemplating. His mind was focused only on a few notable things.

He didn't care to explain what those things were, exactly.

Sweat marked a clear line down his neck. He didn't think he had ever sweat so much before.

When he looked down, he thought he could make out the smallest hint of muscle, creeping out of his otherwise skinny build.

He felt rather pleased by this discovery.

He played with the idea of giving up. Wouldn't it be so simple, so easy?

Day blended into night, the skies changing rapidly around him. In fact, the seasons were changing rapidly around him. Trees were shooting out of the soil, reaching their long, elegant branches towards the pale light visible just beneath the thick lining of clouds.

He felt himself gain a little more sanity, a little more.. what was that?

Hope. He was beginning to feel hope blooming in his chest. Perhaps he could make it to becoming a brave and noble warrior, after all.

But the pain.. if he started thinking about it, it would quickly overcome him... the best thing to do was to forget..

But he couldn't forget.. not when he was so tired, so aching all over his body..

When he glanced down, he could make out the rough lines of battle scars flecking his scales.

So he didn't look down.

The sky was too bright for a winter day. It plagued him unnecessarily.

He finally saw the reaches of dusk. Would he end where he had began

It appeared so. But that was only the sky. He could see himself, growing from the battles, the fierce work involved in the Coliseum training. He had proved himself a warrior.

And he didn't regret a thing.