Tycondrius awoke.
It was dark... too dark for even his eyes to see.
That was concerning.
The rage and hatred returned to him in an instant.
He was in a battle-- a great and difficult and *supremely* frustrating battle.
Was it over?
Impossible. He didn't remember winning.
Even if he *did* win, he needed concrete affirmation of the fact.
He willed his body to move...
With... *great* willpower... and a great deal of negative emotions, he WILLED his body to move!
It couldn't end with his impotence!
He had DRAGONS to slay!
Those hideous, scale-ridden abominations were a BLIGHT upon the Realm!
And he wouldn't rest until--
Hm...
He couldn't feel his body.
There was... no connection?
No connection at all?
What the--
Was he... dead?
Did he *wake up* fucking dead?
That was a poor fucking joke.
No.
