In the stillness of the ruin, Arthur’s gaze fixed on the Cursed Crown, the object seeming almost insignificant against the vast landscape of destruction around him. And yet, there was something within it—an energy pulsing faintly, a draw that even he couldn’t deny. This wasn’t just a piece of history. No, this was a tool of immense power, linked to the monster lord himself, Volcranax.
Arthur’s horns glowed as he activated [Analyze], and the system flared to life, its metallic voice cutting through the silence:
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION] Item: The Cursed Crown
A relic bound to the Scorching Badlands, designed to reinforce the seals upon the children of Volcranax.
Options:
Use the Crown to strengthen the seals upon the children, ensuring their continued imprisonment.
Unlock the seals one by one, facing Volcranax’s progeny in battle. The path to each child will be revealed.
Arthur growled softly, low and guttural. Strengthen the seals? It was almost laughable. He hadn’t clawed his way to this point just to serve as some passive jailkeeper. No, he was here to conquer, to grow, and to dominate. And if unlocking these seals was the only way to encounter foes worthy of his power, then so be it.
A dark satisfaction washed over him, and he chose the second option without hesitation.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION] The path to Volcranax’s youngest child lies in the Desolate Plains.
Arthur felt the faintest pull, like an invisible thread guiding him forward. The power of the Crown opened his senses to a faint, dormant energy far to the west, buried deep in the Desolate Plains. A slumbering threat. He growled in satisfaction, a cold, eager thrill running through him. This would be no mindless hunt. This was a challenge.
With a final glance at the relic, Arthur absorbed the energy pulsing from it, letting the Crown itself crumble to dust. His instincts sharpened, the psychic tethers it provided guiding him forward. As he set out across the barren expanse of the Scorching Badlands, the land began to shift.
The Desolate Plains stretched ahead, vast and empty, ashen earth pocked with signs of old violence. Massive bones lay scattered half-buried in thick layers of volcanic soot, each one a testament to the battles fought here long ago. The bones of creatures that had once ruled these lands but had fallen to a being far stronger. Bones clawed and shattered, their fractured remains preserved in the blackened soil.
Arthur gave the remains only passing interest until something caught his attention—strange marks carved into the bones. They weren’t from claws or teeth, but rather something more deliberate. Symbols that seemed almost human in their precision, drawn in looping, angular lines that stirred a hint of familiarity in him. He let his mind settle, attempting to decipher the markings, but each attempt only made his psychic senses flare.
A dull ache began to pulse at the back of his mind, and a blur of something—not entirely his memory, nor something from this world—flickered into his awareness.
There it was again. The cityscape. Towers that stretched far into the sky, countless lights glowing from within. His vision shifted, and he saw people, faces he didn’t quite recognize, but who felt familiar nonetheless. They walked beside him, trusted him. A faint memory of a voice echoed, "You’re one of us. You’re supposed to protect us."
His vision snapped back to reality with a jolt, and his horns blazed red, shaking off the fog of memories. Anger welled up in him, raw and visceral. What were these thoughts, these sensations trying to infect his mind? He hadn’t clawed through layers of strength and survival just to be haunted by a past he didn’t care for. Whatever he had been before didn’t matter. Not here, not now.
He stomped forward, the crunch of bone beneath his claws bringing him back to the present. But as he moved, more and more of the surroundings triggered fragments of vision. Twisted structures loomed in the distance, decayed and broken but still discernible as places of former human life. Stone tools and broken shards of clay littered the ground, remnants of a people who had tried, and failed, to survive here.
But one thing kept gnawing at him, something he couldn’t shake even as he moved on: the question of who these humans had been to him. Had he known them, fought alongside them? The weight of that unanswered question followed him, each fragment of memory like a thorn in his mind.
Pushing forward, Arthur pressed on to the edge of a desolate clearing, and the faint pulse from the Crown brightened, illuminating the way forward. He could feel a ripple of energy on the air, like a beacon drawing him closer. The landscape around him grew more desolate with each step, a ghostly silence wrapping around him as he ventured deeper.
And then he saw it—a great maw, a dark cavern carved into the cliffside, swallowing the light as if it led directly into the underworld. Ashen mist drifted from the opening, thick with energy, as though the land itself had molded a prison around something powerful. The aura was oppressive, a brooding weight that hung in the air. If his instincts were correct, this was it. His first encounter with Volcranax’s bloodline.
He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. The thrill of the upcoming fight blazed through him, igniting that primal part of him that thrived on conflict. But in the shadows of his mind, fragments of memory stirred once more, pricking at his focus. It was as if these memories were trying to assert themselves, to make him question his purpose here.
"Enough," he snarled, his growl echoing in the stillness.
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He clamped down on the memories, shoving them to the darkest recesses of his mind, burying them beneath layers of defiance. Whatever he had been in that distant life was irrelevant. Here, he was Arthur—the beast, the apex predator. And that was all that mattered.
He took another step, claws digging into the scorched earth as his eyes locked onto the cavern’s entrance. As he moved, a figure began to take shape in the shadows—a massive, slumbering form, covered in scales as dark as coal, the faint glow of molten veins running along its hide. Arthur’s eyes narrowed further, the taste of the challenge sharp on his tongue.
This was his purpose, his path. To face power, to consume it, and to grow. The memories, the fragments of another life, could not sway him. He was here to conquer, to claim the strength of those who dared to stand before him.
With a final breath, he took his stance, his Destructo Beams swirling around him like orbiting stars of ruin. He felt the cavern’s oppressive air shift, the weight of slumber lifting as the beast within began to stir.
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