Arthur’s colossal form moved through the valley like an approaching storm, each stride accompanied by the crunch and grind of ancient bones reduced to ash. The dry, brittle remains scattered beneath the weight of his scaled feet, releasing clouds of dust that coiled around him like spectral tendrils. The dim, reddish light that filtered through the iron-gray sky struggled to pierce the shroud of his presence, casting elongated shadows that seemed to writhe as he advanced. The earth beneath him felt strange—a pulsing resistance, almost as though the land itself resented his intrusion, siphoning energy with every step.
His Obsidian Skin shimmered faintly, adjusting its temperature in response to the malevolent heat rising from deep fissures in the ground. The cracks seemed to breathe, exhaling sulfurous gas and whispers of power that tickled his senses, feeding the unease that settled deep within his massive frame. Arthur’s golden eyes, hardened and sharp, scanned the horizon. The valley stretched endlessly, flanked by jagged outcroppings that loomed like the broken teeth of some ancient colossus. The silence pressed in, heavy and watchful, as if the very stones bore witness to his intrusion.
Suddenly, a pulse surged through the Cursed Crown in his grasp, a wave that rattled the essence within his Void Core, causing it to crackle ominously. The crown’s dark power erupted in brief flashes—visions of the second child: massive wings, eyes that glowed with a molten, predatory intelligence, and scales blacker than the deepest abyss. The sight pierced through Arthur’s mind like a spear, bringing with it a searing, oppressive presence that tested the boundaries of his mental defenses.
A deep, rumbling growl emanated from Arthur’s chest, vibrating the air with its force. His psychic defenses surged, the energy within his horns sparking as he pushed back against the invasive presence. The mental clash was brief but intense, the probing force retreating, leaving behind an echo of laughter that hissed through his thoughts like venom. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, the beams of destructive energy orbiting his horns speeding up, their faint hum adding to the ambient tension.
The valley seemed to shift around him, its lifeless silence now accompanied by an almost tangible pressure. Each rock formation bore unnatural shapes, twisted and sculpted by forces long forgotten. Some jagged peaks resembled the agonized faces of warriors, their features etched in eternal screams of defiance and terror. The energy that clung to the valley was old—ancient—and carried the weight of countless battles lost and won.
Arthur’s claws flexed, the tips gouging deep furrows into the ground as he continued forward. The memory of the second child’s vision lingered in his mind, an image that refused to dissipate. The dark wings, vast and terrible, seemed almost to beat in time with his own heart, each pulse a reminder that he was being watched, judged, and awaited.
As he pressed onward, the ground beneath his feet shifted, trembling as if in response to his presence. The Cursed Crown throbbed again, stirring visions of wings unfurling and a blaze of dark fire that promised both destruction and cunning. The faintest rustle, a whisper that was more thought than sound, skimmed through his mind. The second child was aware of him, its thoughts brushing his own like a predator testing the limits of its prey. Arthur’s claws gouged deep into the ground as he resisted the urge to lash out. His psychic power surged, forming an invisible barrier that pushed back the probing, sentient presence.
A low growl resonated from him, a warning to the unseen force, echoing off the jagged walls of the valley. Yet, even as he roared his defiance, a sense of foreboding settled in his core. The warning issued by the System earlier replayed itself in his mind, laced with an almost mocking tone:
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION] Object: Obsidian Spire Description: A natural formation of volcanic rock fused with elemental essence. Resistant to extreme heat but susceptible to impact-based forces. Known to shatter under sufficient blunt trauma.
Arthur’s eyes burned with defiance, but beneath it, a flicker of doubt gnawed at him. He shook his massive head, the glowing beams orbiting him casting erratic shadows that danced across the valley walls. Fog began to rise, thick and unnatural, swallowing the crags and broken stones until the horizon was obscured by a shifting, opaque curtain. The silence deepened, broken only by the faint thrum of his aura, an echo of power that defied the suffocating dread that gripped the air.
His psychic senses extended, probing through the dense fog. What he found were fragments—faded battle cries, desperate screams that reverberated like echoes of a long-past war. Fleeting images of ancient warriors, their spectral forms clad in forgotten armor, surged through his mind. Each specter bore the same haunted, defiant expression, their voices a cacophony that whispered of vengeance and despair. The unsettling sensation clawed at Arthur’s mind, and he shook it off with a violent snarl, his claws raking the ground as if to carve out the remnants of memory.
A sudden tremor beneath him made the ground quiver, and for a moment, it felt as if the valley itself held its breath. The silence pressed in, thicker now, until the only sound was the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat, pounding like war drums in his chest. The eerie atmosphere weighed down on him, each step an effort as the ground seemed to cling to his limbs, leeching strength with every movement.
The air shifted suddenly, bringing with it a chill that felt wrong in the searing heat of the Badlands. Arthur’s eyes, glowing with molten fury, swept across the fog-shrouded valley, sensing something just out of reach. A glimmer of movement caught his attention—a fleeting shadow that darted between the jagged peaks, vanishing before he could lock onto it. His destructive beams crackled with anticipation, their energy vibrating against the air, ready to unleash at the slightest provocation.
The whispers grew louder, not just in his mind but around him, as if the very rocks were whispering secrets. Words in a language long forgotten, guttural and sharp, gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, stirring anger and confusion. His psychic power pulsed, creating a shield that dampened the invasive voices. But their presence, though dulled, remained, scratching at the edges of his consciousness.
Arthur’s growl deepened, resonating through the ground like an avalanche. He knew better than to let doubt fester; it was a poison that weakened even the mightiest. His gaze shifted to the far end of the valley, where the dark horizon hinted at an ominous, awaiting presence. The Cursed Crown in his grasp hummed, eager and restless, as if yearning to be brought closer to whatever lay in wait.
The whispers resumed, this time so soft they barely touched his thoughts. But they spoke a single truth that resonated deep within his ancient, monstrous heart—a truth that Arthur, the Drake of Destruction, could not ignore.
A cold, creeping sensation traced the length of his spine, and he swung his massive head around, scanning the fog and shadows that surrounded him. The silence deepened, broken only by the distant crack of shifting rock. Then, the System’s presence flickered to life again, its warning colder this time:
"Beware the second child. Intelligence rivals strength."
A defiant roar erupted from him, piercing the silence and scattering the fog in waves. The sound rolled across the valley, reverberating through the jagged outcroppings and shaking loose the ancient ash that clung to their surfaces. But even as the roar echoed away, the heavy sense of being watched remained, pressing down on him like a physical weight.
Arthur stood unmoving for a moment, the silence following his roar more deafening than any sound. The dread, instead of dissipating, lingered like a shadow cast by something unseen. The Cursed Crown throbbed with dark anticipation, and his claws flexed once more, carving deep furrows into the stone as he prepared to advance.
He stepped forward, every movement deliberate, each stride resonating with the promise of destruction. The fog thinned as he moved, parting reluctantly to reveal jagged formations etched with ancient, cryptic symbols. Some glowed faintly as he passed, their light extinguishing as if bowing to his might. But the deeper he ventured, the stronger the sense of another presence became, coiling around him like a noose.
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A sudden burst of energy rippled beneath his feet, shaking the ground and sending cracks spidering outward. The valley itself seemed to shudder, an ancient thing awakening from a long slumber. Arthur’s Destruction Pulse activated instinctively, releasing a shockwave that shattered loose stones and sent a tremor through the fog. For a moment, silence reigned once more.
Then, from the shadows, a faint, echoing roar replied—distant yet unmistakable. It was a sound that promised power, cunning, and challenge. The second child awaited him, and it would not be taken by surprise.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed, the molten glow intensifying as he advanced forward.
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