Stelian knew something was peculiar about the bloodline, it was diluting, getting harder to see across the veil - and he personally couldn't care less. It was unfortunate, sure, what made his bloodline so special was now on fizzling out of existence, but did it really bother him? No. Stelian would go on about his nights committing only the most expensive of thievery -- stealing cut gemstones installed in brilliant filigree from dragonkind museums, something of a mysterious cat burger is how he saw himself; and did he need the assistance of the undead to do so? Also no.
It was during just such a night of obfuscated trickery that Stelian would find out a harsh truth, and come into his descended fate: This would be the night he came into his birthright. This would be the night he became Bound to death.
The heist had gone without a hitch, he had broken through the magic of the security systems imbued with Lightning-tech, for that was his forte. Where he had honed his skills. Stelian had acquired the gemstone filigree, and left a mockery in its place that would make the museum collector a fool come sunrise.
He turned to leave and found he had never been alone, from the moment he stepped into the museum, he had sealed his own fate and this had all been a terrible trap. The rumours his parents had warned him of had been true- Death came for him after all, when he least expected.
"There are other
worlds than these," he shuddered, horribly confronted with the twisted version of himself, some dark nether-version that looked at him with empty, hungry, sharks eyes - void of any sense of morality, knowing only what it wanted, what its passion drove it to do: hunt.
They stared across the room, a field of abandon between the two dragons; sizing up one another, assessing and making silent judgements... Their lives counting on their immediate survival, Stelian knew instinctively it would be a fight to the death. The threat was there, it didn't have to be spoken aloud. There'd be no escaping this for both of them.
Stelian was a dragon of finesse and mystique, refined and elegant in his movements by way of his training. His opposite, the
nether-version of himself was a hulking, seething mass with no knowledge of grace. It's dark flesh sloughed off in places. Its maw close to the ground, drooling fluids and creating a sizzle when the puddle grew on the floor beneath it. Its snout pulled back into a sneer, and it seemed ready to rip its counterpart into shreds.
Evenso, Stelian did not back down, he would not. It was not in his nature, there was never a challenge Stelian did not see himself overcoming, and this was simply one more challenge to be fought and torn asunder.
The vile thing lunged at Stelian, screaming in unholy rage. Stelian screamed back in return, the heritage of his mothers side coming to the fore then, he let out his
Nightcall and it seemed to spark his soul into fiery action-- whether or not he knew these were to be his last breaths remained unknown.
Nether-Stelian attacked, lunging forward and racing, and our Stelian howled again and braced for the fight. He thought he could outwit his heathen half and move out of the way at the last second. He was wrong. Instead, they collided. Blinded by excruciating, mind-numbing pain like he had never known, the world went black. Eerily quiet, a silence even the founder Moros would know all too well.
It seemed to stretch out for eternity, and only was broken by haggard breathing.
Suddenly, a voice.
"What price would you pay to return?" A woman asked, barely a tickling whisper in the recesses of his mind. There came the sound of slow hooves, barely audible in the dark.
He replied to the voice: "
Anything." He could not escape his
fate.
