Rattlegore

Swirling masses of tendrils and slime, the smell of burning sulfur and indescribable, corrosive, vile liquids; a fetid battle for survival in a hole forgotten by the world. A hole into which the unfortunate eggs deemed as "rotten" got thrown into by their Plague parents, who only sought to raise those worthy of survival. So many broken eggshells, and countless mangled limbs and scales- it was a nightmare pit from which none had ever escaped.

Until now.

His egg had been discarded, thrown into The Pit minutes after being laid; his egg was scarred by red veins, creeping green infection beginning to claim it like moss or mold. His parents had hissed and huffed in disgust at such a creation, and without a thought tossed it away to become contaminated goo at the bottom of the Pit. However... The Spiral within was alive. Plagueborn and young, he immediately began to develop changes whilst in that pit, protected by his egg shell.

He began to adapt to the concoction of disease, not as vile as the Wyrmwound, but arguably just as inhospitable to be in. He waited, growing, maturing, adapting... Until his hatch day arrived, and his egg began to melt away, unable to withstand the corrosive Pit any longer. The Spiral hissed and chirped, slithering through the remnants of countless other melted-away eggs and liquids, until he found the walls of the Pit, and with his little claws he began to climb, climb, climb...

His head poked out of the hole, eyes finally blinking open, and his pupils swirled and swiveled. He clambered out of the Pit, a living reminder of how the Plague flight is ever adapting, ever surviving, and ever festering into newer, more dangerous strains of disease. Gore dripped from his slimy scales, yet he was not hurt- and the look in his young eyes told an unforgettable story.

You should never underestimate the power of adaptability. The Plague flight does NOT give up.

credit to: @/KyuuBird