Fated

The Cerberus family never could have imagined that a sacrifice would produce such an unforeseen disaster. After transforming into a half-dragon, the once frail and delicate youth had turned into an invincible powerhouse. The Cerberus family's well-trained servants and guards could not withstand even a single move from Geronimo. A single flap of his dragon wings conjured a violent gale that swept them off their feet. By the time Geronimo closed the distance, all it took was a light squeeze to crush their helmets and skulls together. It was not merely an enhancement of physical strength. The fanged mouths covering Geronimo's body were fearsome weapons in their own right; whenever he pounced upon someone, those jaws tore into flesh and blood in great gulps. Even metal armor could not hold them back, as though they were truly the maws of a dragon. Geronimo gave wild vent to his fury. "Hahaha! Die! All of you, die, you wretched ants!" Geronimo was entirely transformed now, no longer resembling a human in the slightest. He slaughtered every servant of the Cerberus family. The consumed flesh swiftly integrated into his body. His height, originally a mere 1.5 meters, swelled rapidly to nearly two meters. The dragon wings behind him grew even more monstrous, spanning nearly ten meters when fully unfurled and bristling with dense, fine scales, while curved horns sprouted from his head. The guards' blades struck his dragon wings only to kick up sparks, utterly unable to breach the defense of the draconic scales before the half-dragon cut them down in despair. Over a hundred fully armored guards in the plaza were slain and devoured by Geronimo, while the sinister shadow in the sky looked upon it all with satisfaction. It had been far too long. At last, a true dragon roar echoed across this continent once more. "Go, my child. Tell this world that dragons have returned." The voice of the Dragon Goddess Tiamat resonated across the sky, terrifying the Cerberus family members cowering inside the castle. A man clad in dragon-patterned robes rose to his feet. He was the family's prodigy, the warlock Abraham Torres, who stood just one step shy of reaching legendary rank. Warlocks were a peculiar profession. They appeared to be spellcasters, yet their magical abilities came not from their own intellect, but as gifts bestowed by the patrons they revered. To put it simply—playing the sycophant. The Feywild, the Abyss, the Nine Hells, the divine realms of evil deities... Across these sinister planes dwelt countless powerful beings who relished receiving offerings from other intelligent life and serving as their patrons. It was a relationship akin to that between a deity and a worshiper, except the revered entity did not necessarily have to be a true god or possess divine power; they merely had to be stronger than their supplicants. Furthermore, such bonds rarely developed into true religions. Most patrons possessed no doctrine of their own, nor did they seek to cultivate faith; they merely fancied keeping a few pets on a whim. Warlocks were those very pets, gaining bestowed power by fawning over their patrons. Even more pitifully, Abraham Torres's patron had not even been the Dragon Goddess Tiamat, but merely an obscure devil from the First Layer of Hell. Yet Abraham Torres truly was a prodigy. With only a sliver of favor from that devil, he had forged himself into a powerful warlock standing at the very threshold of legend. Then came the Cerberus family's successive sacrifices, allowing Abraham Torres to sever his ties with his original patron completely. Now was the moment of his transformation. If he could win the favor of the Dragon Goddess Tiamat, stepping into the legendary rank would be a certainty. Who could have anticipated that an accident would strike at such a critical sacrifice? What was the deal with this half-dragon? The moment Abraham Torres heard the booming roar echoing from the heavens, he teleported straight onto the blood-soaked plaza. The Cerberus family members were nearly all dead. Their mangled corpses had been piled by the half-dragon into a tall tower, and the creature was now perched atop the mountain of dead, looking down at Abraham Torres with mocking eyes. Abraham Torres did not attack immediately. Instead, he bowed toward the colossal, sinister shadow above. "Great Dragon Goddess, permit your devotee to inquire: is this half-dragon before me your servant?" Geronimo also looked up toward the sky. Caught up in the thrill of slaughter, he had not paid attention to where his power originated. Could it truly be that sinister shadow in the heavens? In Abraham Torres's eyes, the shadow was merely a hazy silhouette. In Geronimo's eyes, however, it was a chromatic dragon bearing five distinct heads. Recalling what he had just undergone, Geronimo dropped to his knees atop the pile of corpses and unleashed a series of roars. The Draconic tongue passed down through generations of the Cult of the Dragon—Geronimo had thought he had forgotten it, but in truth, it had long been etched into his soul. Abraham Torres frowned. The situation felt wrong; the Cerberus family's losses likely could not be recouped. Still, if this half-dragon truly was a vassal of the Dragon Goddess, it was not entirely unacceptable. The creature seemed remarkably capable in combat—he could simply treat it as acquiring an enforcer. Yet to Abraham Torres's shock, the Dragon Goddess laughed wildly and issued an oracle: "The two of you, begin your slaughter now. Whoever survives shall receive my blessing. A true dragon grows amid carnage. Neither of you disappoint me." Geronimo listened, momentarily dazed. Just as he grasped what the Dragon Goddess meant, three beams of crimson energy were already hurtling toward him. Abraham Torres had reacted far faster than Geronimo. Without the slightest hesitation, crimson energy condensed in his hands and shot toward the half-dragon. This was the very first spell a warlock mastered, as well as their core invocation—Eldritch Blast. Three erupting bursts of magical energy detonated across the unguarded Geronimo, tearing through his dragon scales and shattering most of the fangs bristling across his body. Warlocks spent their entire lives studying how to amplify the power of Eldritch Blast. Many of their advanced features were dedicated solely to enhancing its effects—multiple blasts, potent knockbacks, additional magical infusions, and the like. This triple burst of Eldritch Blast was the pinnacle of Abraham Torres's life, embodying the power of one who had set half a foot across the threshold of legend. Geronimo was blasted straight through the air, his flesh tearing open to reveal a grotesquely warped skeleton. The half-dragon youth tumbled across the ground, landing before the surviving slaves. Because the bloody ritual had been interrupted by Geronimo, and Geronimo had been focused purely on slaughtering members of the Cerberus family, quite a few slaves had miraculously survived. Seeing Geronimo collapse grievously wounded, several slaves stepped forward with aching hearts, eager to assist this "hero." If Geronimo died as well, they would have no hope of surviving either. What they never expected was that the moment they drew near, the heavily injured Geronimo snapped his dragon wings open and engulfed them. After several bloodcurdling shrieks, the dragon wings unfurled once more, and Geronimo rose back to his feet. Several wounds on his body were still deep enough to expose bone, yet compared to before, he was significantly healed. At the half-dragon youth's feet lay several mutilated corpses, their mangled remains looking as though wild beasts had voraciously savaged them. Geronimo did not spare them even a single glance. Even if they had once been captives of the Cerberus family just like him, in Geronimo's eyes, they were nothing more than sustenance to aid his recovery. Abraham Torres frowned as he watched. His next Eldritch Blast slammed directly into the surviving slaves. He had no desire to fight a monster with infinite regeneration; he had to destroy all of the creature's "healing potions" first. Eldritch Blast detonated among the slaves, corroding flesh and grinding down souls, wiping out most of the wretched captives. Geronimo roared, flapped his wings, and shot straight toward Abraham Torres. Abraham Torres condensed another Eldritch Blast to shoot the half-dragon down, but Geronimo nimbly dodged several times. A spellcaster's Fly spell could never match dragon wings in maneuverability, let alone speed. Even though Abraham Torres retreated with everything he had, Geronimo caught up to him in no time. With the two mere inches apart, Abraham Torres showed not the slightest panic. He had anticipated that Geronimo would do whatever it took to close the distance. At this range, Eldritch Blast could no longer miss. His primed magical energy erupted in an instant, all three beams of Eldritch Blast hitting point-blank. One of Geronimo's dragon wings was blown completely to smithereens, the blast's concussive force hurling the severed wing away. Though he had dealt Geronimo a devastating strike, Abraham Torres's expression shifted drastically. To his horror, he realized the wing had already separated from Geronimo's body before the blast had hurled it away. The half-dragon had severed his own wing in advance! Whatever method he had used to snap the wing off at the root, the concussive force of Eldritch Blast had spent itself entirely upon the severed appendage. The wing was blasted away, yet Geronimo rode his remaining momentum straight into Abraham Torres's face. Razor-sharp claws locked onto Abraham Torres's shoulders. The fangs lining his palms shredded the warlock's robes, frantically gorging on Abraham Torres's flesh. The searing agony in his shoulders shattered Abraham Torres's composure. He tried desperately to cast a spell, yet found it impossible to focus his mind. In that half-second of hesitation, Geronimo opened his original mouth and bit directly into his neck. Just like a true dragon, tearing enemies apart with claw and tooth, devouring their flesh and blood. Abraham Torres's blood, brimming with potent magical energy, poured down Geronimo's throat, mending the creature's wounds once more and causing the severed dragon wing to regenerate. Abraham Torres desperately wanted to resist, only to discover in shock that his entire body had gone completely numb. The half-dragon's fangs seemed to carry a virulent venom that paralyzed him the instant it drew blood. The two plummeted from the sky. Geronimo used Abraham Torres as a cushion, slamming him brutally into the stone floor; the violent impact shattered most of the bones in the warlock's body. A fatal miscalculation. Convinced victory was well in hand, he had not even cast Shield, aiming only to lure the half-dragon in close to cripple him—never imagining that he would be the one crippled instead. Why had it turned out this way? Abraham Torres burned with resentment. He had possessed so many ways to deal with this half-dragon, yet now he could not move a single finger, left lying helplessly on the ground as the monster devoured his flesh. It should not have ended like this. He had always been so cautious in the past. How could a spellcaster ever fight such a monstrosity in such a reckless gamble? "No... I was so close to becoming a legend. I am the hope of my family... I shouldn't die like this." Just before he perished, Abraham Torres caught sight of a smile upon that sinister shadow in the heavens. Abraham Torres abruptly abandoned all struggle. He understood everything. *A true dragon grows amid carnage.* It was the Dragon Goddess who had stoked his fanaticism, stripping away the caution a spellcaster ought to possess. From the very beginning, he had been nothing more than food prepared for this half-dragon; his brief struggle had merely served to teach the beast how to hunt. From the moment the half-dragon was born, everything had already been fated. The flock of crows continued to circle in the sky, no doubt eager to feast to their hearts' content. Only this time, they would feast upon the flesh and blood of the Cerberus family.