Dragon King Icarus Ikarin the Blackwing, more commonly known by his title as well, sat on his throne made from the bones of his enemies and those he personally killed or mutilated and left to rot in humiliation. He was currently reading ravens sent from... spies, in the other Four Kingdoms, telling him of what was happening and if there were any developments worth investigating.
Icarus Ikarin was styalized as Dragon King of the Ilses of Ember, Lord Paramount of Ithill's Flame and Castle Blackhold, Lord Alpha Dominus of the Council of Twelve, the Blackwing, Bane of Sequill, the Doomfist. House Ikarin's sigil was that of a white banner with two dragon wings to symbolize the Ikarin Bloodline and dragon ancestry connecting the wing's joints to a golden diamond kite with separate drops of blood shaped as teardrops.
His Majesty, was a Half-blood Drakurrin, born of the previous Lord Ikarin and a common born Ithillian of the Land of Shadows. Icarus held his mother in high regard, though she died in childbirth, he was told, due to complications with his delivery. His mother was a kind and generous person, he was told during his youth, she would frequently give to the poor and needy, with his Father's wealth of course, he didn't mind, so long as she was happy. When she died, apparently part of his Father did as well, he became cold and ruthless, later dying in a border skirmish to protect his possessions. Being a Half-blood was considered a blessing in the Drakurrin culture, Half-Bloods were in all ways, the better of two races in the Drakurrin's eyes. Immune to certain diseases Pureblood Drakurrins suffered from, smarter, had finer control of their powers, usually received the strongest traits from their family's lineage, and were almost always stronger when they got older, they were late bloomers compared to Purebloods.
House Ikarin were currently, by far, the strongest Dominus breed, Drakurrin culture cared not of the blood one was born of, but the power one held. Power was everything in Drakurrin culture, it was a take or be taken of, society where only the strongest were permitted to live. That being said, only the strongest were allowed to lead. So when Icarus ascended the Throne of Bones, many challenged his strength and claim.
Nothing from the Summer Isles or the Badlands. It was from Lord Gareth Gristlefang, an old rival and friend, though he cared for the old man, it was his adopted son, Altarius, who Icarus wanted to be informed of. Altarius was the Son he always wanted but would never have. His wife, Morgause Peldrigar, Morgaine, she liked to be addressed as, Morra, Blackwing called her, bared his one and only Daughter, Sylveria Ikarin. Drakurrin only had one child, rarely did they ever conceive more than one, but miracles of twins, triplets, and more have been heard of, they were just extremely rare. This being that the growing fetus destroyed the womb making it impossible for the mother to conceive another child, if by some chance it wasn't destroyed, carrying another child to full term was considered highly dangerous and life threatening. The only way to keep the Drakurrin population growing was to have a mandatory marriage law, in which male Drakurrin who were of age, a hundred years by Drakurrin standard, or sixteen years if going by legality in the other three kingdoms. Those who were heir to their breed, to have no less than three mates, with at least one of them being with child, before they were to even considered a true Drakurrin citizen or even be considered ready to take over the duties as the Alpha Dominus, or Alphimia Domineer, of their breed. The only exception was the Dragon King who was permitted to have one. Quite ironic considering it was the founding Dragon King who made the law.
"You have that stare again." A soft yet, reprimanding voice told him. Icarus looked up to see his wife eyeing him curiously. "What is it?"
"Apparently," Blackwing began, "Gristlefang Manor was attacked," Morgause opened her mouth but husband beat her to it, "they're alright, Morra," Morgause breathed a sigh of relief at the news but Blackwing continued as if nothing happened. "That boy, can't seem to keep himself out of trouble. Seems he had to mercy kill his lover, Gareth informed me that he's taking her body to the edge of the Mists. As a final request from her." He threw the letter on the ground tiredly, not that kind of news he was hoping for. He wanted the news to be that the Gristlefang's were visiting, then he could introduce the boy to his Daughter and marry the two. There were many reasons for this. One was that Altarius was the Son he could never have, being son-in-law to him was the next best thing, the second was that he was strong, his Daughter had told him that she would only marry someone stronger than her. Course he believed it that was mainly due to the culture of his kingdom and people. 'Good luck with that,' was Blackwing's thought, 'only those who survived the Usurper Wars, or were naturally strong, could contend against her strength wise, course there are the lucky few of this generation born with unnatural strength. The third reason for wanting to marry his Daughter to the Altarius was because he secretly knew that the boy was King Kalderon's blood. And if he were to acknowledge that, then that would mean the boy would have more claim to the Throne of Shadows than his half-sister who was the current heir due to being first born. How glad he was that the law hadn't changed. That being, a King of any of the Four Kingdoms can legally acknowledge any Bastard as a true born.
But there was always the fact the Kalderon would get pissed at him like usual for some random shit he did and then go to war against his people. Blackwing knew had to be careful, while he could certainly win against the Midnight Reaper, it was the death toll on either side he was worried about. If each side were to take heavy loses, than Icarus would be leaving his kingdom open for attack from the Summer Isles or the Badlands. How he wished if Kalderon would just die, granted they were friends, but the man was a really piece of shit when he wanted to be. If Kalderon died and left the Throne of Shadows vacant without an established heir, then he could enact his plan, though he would have to conscript other allies, maybe from the Mists, Darklands, Shadow Realms, or the Underworld. Whoever he thought, they would have to be able to take on Ashland's elite fighters, and there were quite a lot. While he could probably convince Gareth and Emalla to join him, there were still quite a bit of powerful fighters left, like Lady Acaicia Thorne, Lady Hanninah Belle, and Sir Parrish of the Salem Knights. Not to forgot Solution, and her Golden Lotus assassins, the Nightingale and her fleet, the Dawn Cruisers, as well as Ventari's Circle of Vizirs, led by the current Grandmaster Vizir, Mildoorian, who was trained by none other than the former Grandmaster Vizir and current Grandmaster Artistan, Emalla Gristlefang nee Stormbrooke of the Order of Artistans.
But there were also neutral factions who could turn the tide of a war if used correctly, like the Twelve Elvin Lords, Fairyking Agoth and his people, sellswords and mercenaries, Ghost Company, the Ninetails, the Lycanthric Packs, the Vanpyric Cauldrons, along with contenders who fought for the sea, Elderrim and its rival, Dogma.
"Are you scheming again?" Morgause asked bluntly, Icarus chuckle. "Icarus, I'm being serious."
"I know. Yes... I'm scheming... again." The Dragon King answered truthfully without a care in the world that she knew. "I can't risk going to war against a kingdom that has more War Potentials than I have fingers. It's be preposterous, let alone, insane."
Morgause smiled. "Which, my dear mate and husband, is exactly what you are." She retorted boldly receiving a laugh and a feign look of hurt from her lover. "Come, we're waiting for you, supper has been served." A groan answered her.
"Is it that time already?" The Dragon King questioned, he looked out the window and sure enough, it was night time. "Damn, I must have been so engrossed with my readings that I lost track of time." He said, getting up from the throne, he made his way towards his wife and the two headed to the dinning area where their Daughter, Sylveria, was already eating without them.
"You could have waited." Morgause rebuked her Daughter's lack of mannerism, her face was currently covered in sauce and varies bits of food.
"Not my fault, who was I to know you two weren't fucking?" She asked to which she received a smack upside the head from her Mother when she walk by. "Hey!"
"Language, Slveria," Blackwing said, before smiling smugly, "and its called having sex, which you clearly haven't any experience in." His Daughter turned slightly red.
"Do not encourage my Daughter with your primitive thinking, Icarus." Morgause said, an underlying threat in her voice.
"Yes dear, I won't it again," Blackwing said instantly, his back straightened in fear, while the servants behind him snickered, he allowed the servants to laugh at him. Blackwing didn't want to be seen as a tyrannous Dragon King, rather a kind, lenient, and generous one, he honestly wanted to take after his late mother. Hoping that she was seeing what he was accomplishing somewhere in the afterlife, whatever the hell that was. "For today.... Hehehehehe." He muttered to himself deviously. His wife shot him a look, which he tensed up at, but she did not catch him muttering.
"I can't believe, you're my Father." Sylveria said under her breathe, obviously disappointed since they day she was able to understand anything coming from that buffoon's mouth. Blackwing heard it but smiled at the comment. Good, if she thought he was some joke and not some bloodthirsty warmonger, which he use to be and still is a little, he would be fine and content with that.
Sylveria was a lot like her Father in regards to combat, she was born with his infamous black wings, sharp claws for nails, his black hair, and a slick black tail. Save for the fact that she only had one pair while her Father, she was told, had at least three but only used one. In regards to her Mother, Sylveria had her purple eyes, pale complexion, sharp jawline, and curvaceous female form. Which to Sylveria's opinion was terrible, so many arrogant male heirs would openly stare at her, some of the women as well, which was quite unsettling for her. But who was she to complain, she liked attention and the gifts she received from Dominus heirs wanting her favor. She had built quite a Hoard from it, her own personal pile of treasure to sleep on. Her Father's Hoard in comparison, made hers look like a puddle by an ocean. His was quite relaxing to sleep in, and she still does from time to time, her Mother, apparently had forced him to install a bed as she was having none of it. Even with all of her Father's promises that it was fun and relaxing, Sylveria's Mother would always choose the bed over the Hoard of treasure.
Sylveria watched her parents laugh and playfully shove one another, she wanted that. But Drakurrin culture made if forbidden for one to mate with someone who was weaker. It always had to be a stronger mate, strength was the key to their survival. And she wasn't going to endanger it for her own selfish reasons.
Watching her parents was quite an interesting show. The two couldn't be any more different. Sylveria's Father, Blackwing, was the complete opposite of her Mother, Morgause. He was a Half-blood Drakurrin, more Drakurrin than Ithillian with his infamous black wings, scaled skin, scaled and black as coal dragon hands and tail, tar colored coarse hair, and a childish personality matching his still young looking face. While Sylveria's Mother, Morgause, on the other hand was a mature looking woman who had snow white, soft hair, creamy skin, purple eyes compared to her Father's, Drakurrin amber, as well as soft and mature face, one that had an air of dignity to it. Blackwing was a frontline fighter while Morgause was an Artistan of skill rivaling that of Emalla, Blackwing was a commander, while Morgause was a follower. But they were two sides of the same coin. Sylveria had never see her Father or Mother fight, so always assumed they were pacifists or something along the lines. How wrong she was, yet that did not surprise her parents, they let her think that, ignorance is bliss they've told her, and where their Daughter was concerned, ignorance was always the correct answer.
Supper was a drawl affair for the Ikarin household. Usually consisted of small talk, heavy drinking on Blackwings part, and the occasional dismissal of a servant when they informed them a Dominus was waiting at the front entrance. To Blackwing, family came first, than duty to family, than duty to the kingdom. So it was fairly normal for a Dominus or Domineer to not be invited in, which many surprisingly understood, and would therefore, happily go back to their own castle and spend the rest of their day with their family as well. Only in most dire situation would the King ever heed a Dominus' request to enter and hear their complaint or proposition.
"Father?" Sylveria said, hopeful to pique her Father's attention.
"Yes?" Blackwing asked with hesitation. "Is something the matter? Is it a boy?" Emphasizing on the word 'boy.' But he knew what his Daughter was going to ask, he was able to read her like an open book, she wasn't really good at hiding her intentions, neither was he because it wouldn't be fun in battle, but his enemies were easily fooled by his childish demeanor. Sylveria squirmed a little in her, she always sat to her Father's left, her Mother to his right.
"I want to spar to with you!" Sylveria said abruptly and loudly. Morgause choked on her wine, she obviously did not think that her daughter would ask such a thing.
Sylveria's Father visibly blanked, an odd pause and silence hung in the air as he thought and processed the question. 'Definitely a boy, she never wants to spare with me, most likely trying to impress him, gods, why me? Crimsonfang, why to be such a scheming bastard?.' "I don't know." Blackwing casually said, he stretched his arm in the air, rolling his shoulders while yawning on queue. How he did it was still a mystery. His charade hid the fact that he was scowling at the thought of his Daughter courting someone who was openly vying for the throne. "I'm pretty tired, don't know if I'm up to it." He yawned again much to his wife's amusement. "Wow, I must be more tired than I thought, hmm, maybe I should sleep for a week."
"Father!" Sylveria said. Her face had annoyance written all over it.
"Yes, my one and only daughter, who I love more than anything, but somehow can't find the time to train her and has an excuse every time. What can I do for you?" He asked childishly, planting an elbow on the table and leaning his chin on the back of his hand.
"Father I swear...." She said, more seethed in anger, crushing and bending the fork she held in her hand.
"On the morrow, early, when the sun rises," Blackwing answered his Daughter calmly. "Be at the training grounds." Sylveria smiled, stood up, and began to leave.
"Thank you, Father." Sylveria said turning around and giving her Father a quick bow with her head, smiled and left. Then she stop midway past the exit of the dinning hall. "Oh I'm going to send a whelp to some of my friends, they'll probably want to spar with you as well." Instead of ravens or eagles, who would get hunted and eaten, Drakurrins used whelps, smaller, less advanced species of their kind, though just as smart, to deliver messages.
"Very well, go." Blackwing said smugly. He had a smirk plastered on his face. "Have fun." He watched his Daughter leave without another word.
"Please tell me this isn't going to end up with broken bones and buildings." Morgause asked, running her slim hand through her hair. Blackwing smiled ruefully. "Stop smiling! I'm serious, gods I liked you better when you were a bloody warmonger. At least back then you didn't think when it came to doing things."
"Why do I feel like you're implying sex, Morra?" Blackwing asked. He raised a brow. "Are you?"
She huffed. "That's not the point." Morgause says before getting a light chuckle from her husband. "You are planning something tomorrow, I can feel it. If our, my, Daughter gets hurt in anyway, I can assure you, that you'll be sleeping alone tomorrow, maybe even tonight."
"Really?" Blackwing asked challenging her, inciting her, "and what if I was... say, scaring away a suitor? What would you do then?"
"Then rejoice, because we'll be having sex, my Lord." Morgause bluntly told him, Blackwing was smiling rather happily, a rare and, disturbing site really. "So? Are you?" She says, returning his raised brow back at him.
"Yes Morra, I am," Blackwing answers, smiling, he truly was lucky. Then he turned serious, just a little, but very noticeable by his wife. "Though removing the suitor, will prove... messy. It seems that Alpha Dominus Crimsonfang is beginning to make his move against me. His whelpling Dominus of a son, Jikar, has taken the liberty of trying to court our Daughter. Seems, from the looks of it and from what I speculate, that she's quite smitten with him." Morgause's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"How far are they?" She quietly asked. The servants that were present and listening in, gulped their spit and carefully, very carefully, and quietly, left, due to the amount of Killing Intent they felt in the room.
"She barely won against him, from what I saw." Morgause made a contorted face, obviously not liking what she was hearing, but her husband continued. "I could tell he was holding back. From what I felt from him fighting, he could definitely give his Father a run for his Hoard. That being said, I am much stronger, Crimsonfang is strong in combat, in any regard, Jikar just has more experience, they're more of a political power to be honest. Though I wouldn't put it past the whelp to try and cheat his way for marriage into our house. There's always some fucking coincidental law in their favor I don't know about, it wouldn't surprise me this time or the next if that ever happens." Blackwing looked to the ceiling, wondering what the fuck he's been doing with his very long life. He a heard a scoff, from Morgause, definitely annoyed, he could tell that much.
"That boy, will not receive any kindness from me if she even so much as introduces me to him. I've heard of his behavior." Morgause icily ranted. "Apparently he's a whoremonger, said to have fathered at least three Bastards. I will not have some whoring bitch of a boy marry my Daughter, and into our house for that matter. Who knows what his intentions with Sylveria are, Icarus."
"Most likely as breeding mare." Blackwing answered unemotionally with hint of uncontrolled disgust. "Though the females living in the Isles of Ember are, in any case, second-class citizens, they are still treated with respect. Most of them anyways. Crimsonfang, Ashtail, Mooneye, along with Flametongue, are the only supremacist breeds in the Isles of Ember." He huffed loudly and long, "Too little and too few Purebloods breeds exist. There's so much fucking inbreeding with the, 'I'm so much better than you' ones, that they're all practically fucking brothers and sisters. Literally and figuratively."
"And now I want to kill myself, I wish I never heard that, when we bounded ourselves to one another." Morgause said calmly and evenly, with much disgust. She rubbed her temples, trying to rid her head of incestuous images. "Can we have sex now? I need to get rid of that image out of my head."
"That's what you're thinking right now?" Blackwing asked, completely confused.
"Just shut up and fuck me." Morgause told him, grabbing Blackwing's charred-like hands, pulling up from the table and to their bedroom that was located past several hallways.
"Why couldn't you teleport us?" Blackwing said, he had just thought of that when they finally reached their chambers.
"What did I just say minutes ago?" Morgause asked her bright, but not so bright, mate. "Shut up... and fuck me." With that she kissed him passionately, wrapping her arms around his neck, the two pushed past the door with vigor, landing on the bed with the intent of never leaving until both were satisfied.
The night was young, and the two fucked like the world was ending. The morning, when the sun rose, had an eerie silence, almost like it was precursor to coming violence. Blackwing slept peacefully with his wife in their bed, the amount of love making the two had the previous night, sadly, scarred the servants who had to walk past their room to get to theirs. But in their minds, all was right, and there was nothing to worry about. Or so they thought until their Daughter came in the room. The scene was quite awkward. It was very awkward.
"Father are you--- oh my fucking gods," Sylveria cursed out when she saw her naked parents, well, Father, as her Mother was covered with Blackwing's wings. "Is that what I was hearing all night?" She quizzically asked, not wanting an answer, meaning to say the question as a statement.
"You just ruined a perfectly good morning." Blkackwing dangerously and lowly spoke.
"And you kept me up all night!" Sylveria commented back. "You guys are, what, five, six thousand years old? How are you still having sex at your age is my question?"
"Argh!" Morgause groaned loudly, clearly she was not enjoying the interruption. "What does it take to get a decent morning around here?" She sat up, her body exposed to the elements, her very, red spotted body.
"Mother why do you look like leeches were sucking out your blood." Sylveria stated, knowing full well what the answer was.
"That's not the only thing that was sucking." Blackwing quietly whispered to Morgause's ear. Looking at his Daughter, he asked her the question on his mind. "Now, what are you doing here?" Sylveria blinked at her Father like he was dumb, which he was, just slightly.
"Sparring? We've been waiting nearly half an hour." A days time was thirty-two hours, twelve for the day, sixteen for the night, eighty minutes to a hour, and eighty-five seconds to a minute with the sun rising from the East to the West, at exactly the ninth hour. The time was kept with a simple Sigma of Time, it told the hour and second, along with the day and year. Days and years, were split into four seasons, Season of Anew, Season of Growth, Season of Harvest, and the Season of Death. Spring described the budding of plants, Summer meant daylight or a hot day or days, while Fall was a term which indicated the nearing death of everything, and Winter for the harsh weather which befell the realm during the season of Death. The seasons had a period of Cycles, dictating how long they lasted, the effects of each, lingering at the beginning, some longer than others. Each Cycle were made up of forty days, a year contain twelve Cycles, the Season of Anew had three, Season of Growth had four, Season of Harvest had two, and the Season of Death had three, the Season of Death always being the hardest. Healthy children and adults have lost their lives to the terrors of Eirria. It was currently the Season of Growth, the Third Cycle, twenty-first day, an hour past sunrise.
It is currently the Age of Conquerors, the year being 3477-AC, starting the Age of All-Fathers reaching back tens of thousands of years ago. Dated, 0-AA, where life began and prospered until 1189-AA, now 0-AB, the Age of Breaking, when magic was discovered, a terrible war for supremacy broke out across the realm, till one side rose above all, establishing the Age of Tyranny in 1740-AB, 0-AT, it was called the Age of Tyranny due to the brutal rulings of the first High King. The realm needed strict handling after the immense loses suffered from the war. Following the first, five more came afterwards, each a descendant of the original, some bad, some good, their dynasty lasted nearly nine thousand years, 8749 years to be exact. And so in last one hundred years, due to a short civil war, of the Age of Tyranny, the four Sons of the Sixth High King, decided to end their Father's rule and split the realm into, what is now know as the Four Kingdoms. The Age of Division, 8149-AT, now 0-AD, lasted twelve thousand years, the Age of Division catapulted the realm to a time of peace and prosperity, beginning the Age of Kings. The Age of Kings lasted nearly twenty-one thousand years, 20,899 years to be exact, ending due to the four terrible rulers who ascended the thrones in 17,763-AK, this lead to the infamous War of Usurpers which leads to 0-AC, the Age of Conquerors. When the four Usurper Kings took control, they rebuilt the realm, revoked the terrible laws the four previous Kings enacted on the Four Kingdoms. Punished the nobles, and gave their privileges away, finally bringing peace to the realm once again. Though tensions, due to much argument between the Usurper Kings has slowly divided the realm and has caused suspicion on all sides. The peace the Usurpers have built, has lasted 3477 years, and the people pray to the Elder Gods, for it to last thousands of years to come.
"Oh. Is that all?" Both her Mother and Father asked, laying back down without a care. Sylveria angrily stomped over to the bedside where her Father was laying away from her.
"Father I swear, if you do not get out of bed---"
"You'll complain to the Dragon King?" Blackwing turned around, and sat up to face his Daughter. "Who is, oh wait, me." He was smiling like the idiot his is, obviously finding the situation of his Daughter trying to be threatening, amusing.
"Good one, dearest." Blackwing heard his mate say from under his wing. She obviously found this situation hilarious.
"You promised, Father." Sylveria peeved.
"No I did not, Daughter." Blackwing answered back to which he received an angry and unamused face. "I said be at the training ground on the morrow. I never said I would be at the training ground. There's a difference." He smugly, proudly, and childishly says to her.
"Father please." Sylveria begged, crestfallen, desperately tired of his joking around. She had really been looking forward to this. Blackwing's features softened from his normal joking smile to one of a fatherly look.
Sighing, he gave in. "Alright, give me three minutes." Blackwing told his child. He was given a quick hug and a smile from Sylveria before she left.
"You need to go. You've hardly spent much time with her." Morgause softly told him. She was lifting the soft membrane flesh of his wings from her head. Looking at his with loving face.
"I know, Morra, I know." Blackwing said, he bent down to kiss Morgause, then got up, standing and making his way to the door, naked. Morgause looked below his waist with a sly grin as his back was turned, she could still see his manhood between his legs. Blackwing donned his what he wore when fighting using Tempo Change. A shirt made of black Aether, backless, which hugged his body, showing off his toned physique, baggy black pants, and heavy black shoes made of Aether as well which he tucked his pants into.
Blackwing reached the training grounds in exactly the three minutes he gave himself. He was just incredibly fast, which he loved himself for. The training grounds was more of an arena, about ten feet deep into twenty feet deep into the molten ground they lived on and a quarter a mile-long perimeter.
"You're here." Sylveria said, when she ran up to her Father as he floated got closer to the ground, his two black wings furled themselves and disappeared as his feet touched the earth. She was quite excited and happy that her Father showed up, usually some important meeting took up his time in the mornings, afternoons, and evenings.
"Of course." Blackwing told his beloved child. "Now, who are your friends." Eyeing the group of Dominus' and Domineers, particularly Jikar.
Sylveria waved her friends to approach the Dragon King. Some were hesitant to approach the, supposedly, most feared Drakurrin in their history, while the others walked right up without a care in the world. Jikar Crimsonfang, was one of them. He had an arrogant smirk on his face, one Blackwing certainly did not fail to notice. "I was told by my Daughter that she'd be inviting friends, didn't expect them to be children." He said hotly, he wanted to see if he could provoke them. See who had the guts and bravery of a fighter and who was weak and a coward, that hid behind their family's name.
"I certainly am not a child, Your Majesty. I can assure you that." Jikar spoke for himself rather arrogantly, putting on a smug smirk and calm eyes.
"We shall see, won't we... boy." Blackwing said lowly as he leaned closer to the smaller figure. He emphasized the word 'boy' to get his insult and point across. Jikar was by no means a weak Drakurrin, fairly strong for his age, built large, but he still had some growing to do. As some of Sylveria's friend took a step back, others stayed their position, while Jikar actually had the audacity to take a step forward, meeting his face with the Dragon King's.
Sylveria watched with contained anxiousness. The Drakurrin she liked and hoped to get her Father's approval to court, was having a stare down with her, now imposing looking Father. Never had she seen her Father so calm, eerie, emotionless before. Blackwing lifted his head and straightened himself, quite literally looking down on the whelp before him before eyeing the rest of the group. "So, I was told some of you wished to spar me along with my Daughter." The males, and a few of the females as well, who present, nodded eagerly, wanting to prove their worth and strength to those who were present. Of every Drakurrin present, almost all were Half-bloods, save for two, those being Jikar Crimsonfang and Rymmia Greyscale. "Who'll go after my Daughter?" He asked quizzically, a challenge he secretly issued. Of those present he knew his Daughter and Jikar, maybe Rymmia, were the only ones able to even to give him a small cut with their claws. Rymmia possibly, but he'd never seen her fight.
"I'll go after Sylveria, Highness, if that is alright?" Jikar said. He was careful to behave in front of Sylveria, while he did fancy her, Jikar knew that he himself had a bad habit of running his mouth and being rude to those who were of higher authority than him.
"So be it." Blackwing told the boy, a small, not so noticeable, smile bore his face, of how Blackwing was relishing in his mind of ways to humiliate the boy. "Let's get started shall we, hmm? Traditional combat, anything goes save for weapons, back to back, four paces, then turn and bow. Agreed?"
"Agreed." Sylveria tells her Father confidently, little did she know. And they began.
Back to back against the other, the spectators watched intensely as each step was taken. As both fighters turned and faced each other. "Are you ready, old timer?" Sylveria said to her Father who gave a seriously offended look. "You can still back out. I won't hold it over you for that long, a millennium or two at most."
Blackwing chuckled. "Just bow, I'm already humoring you, try not to press your luck." He advised her. As they bowed and rose, Blackwing made an announcement. "Oh, by the way. If any of you can make me bleed in combat, I will grant that Drakurrin any wish, within reason, that they desire, the wish must also be within my power to do so."
"Noted." Sylveria shout, Phantom Stepping to her Father, swinging her arm to his face, it connected with a loud echo. A shock wave resonated from the amount of force she put behind it, blwoing dust up in the air. She smirked, lifting her head to face her Father.
"Nice punch." Sylveria's smirked dropped. He dropped her hand. "It was good." Blackwing bobbed his head, agreeing to the thoughts in his head. "From what I felt, that was your strongest punch. Am I right?" Sylveria Phantom Stepped several feet away from her Father, she said not a word. "How's your hand feeling, considering it's broken?" Blackwing had his arms crossed, he didn't even move an inch.
"What are you---" She screamed in pain, crackling sounds could be heard, the spectators shivered at the sound. It seems her healing abilities had just stopped to register the pain. "Fuck!" She cried in pain, grasping her arm as her hand slowly, but surely healed.
"Lesson one!" Blackwing says in his teaching voice, it'd been so long since he'd used it. "Never use all your strength until every trick, every move, has been revealed by your opponent. While it's good to go all out, attacking someone you have no idea about is suicidal." Sylveria glared at her Father, strands of her tar colored hair fell in front of her face. She rushed Blackwing again, Phantom Stepping to his right side, planting her foot in front of her, creating a mound of dirt as she slid, cocking her other hand she delivered another punch, this time to his side. The blow never makes it as it was caught by a black hand. Knowing she wouldn't be able to get lose from its grip, she used the grip as momentum and gave a kick to the face, also block. Using her other leg, she finished the attack.
Blackwing had let go of his Daughter to see what she would do next. He saw a punch going for his stomach, though at a slowed speed as he was used to much faster combat. Hitting the fist down and side stepping, continuing to toy with her, Blackwing wanted to see how far along she was with her fighting. It seemed that sending her to the Mists to learn fighting was quite beneficial. Sylveria jabbed, side swiped, swept the leg but could not connect. Her Father easily dodges her attacks, even taking the time to jump over her sweep. A backhand was sent, it connected, urging Sylveria to continue on. Jumping up she twirled in the air to perform a side kick. It was grabbed and she was sent spinning towards the ground, Sylveria, not being one to stop, dug her hand first into the hard surface and with great effort ripped the stone from out of its holding into her Father's face, blinding her for a mere moment. Taking that moment, she delivered a sweep to his feet, causing him to crash onto the ground.
Hoping to finish it, she punches as hard as she could.
She connected.
With the bare ground. Just a small crater in front of her.
"Not bad." Blackwing commented from behind. Sylveria twisted her neck to face him.
"When did you move?" She asked. "I couldn't even track you."
"I know. Lesson two, never let your opponent get behind you, or on top," he jabbed forward, his hand like a straight knife, covered in blue Phantasmic, he stopped inches from her neck. The pressure and speed of his attack sent a wave of wind against Sylveria's backside. "Unless you're having sex." Blackwing answered, not even bothering to fake an answer. The others visibly cringed when they heard what the second lesson was, sex advice. Some were clutching their stomach, other got shivers of disgust. Other were visibly gagging. "Let's finish this shall we?"
Phantasmic interestingly enough, came in nine colors, blue, green, yellow, orange, red, purple, silver, black and white. Each color from blue, being the weakest in the order, to silver, black, and white, being the strongest due to the potency and shear amount those whose Phantasmic are originally silver, black, and or white. Commoners are usually associated with blue Phantasmic, the cause being not of noble descent, blue Phantasmic, contrary to the popular belief of the Purebloods, was just as strong as silver, black, or white, just not as condensed or potent, making easier to control. In fights, where power quite often judged, whether or not one came out on to, it was easy for one to not have control over their Phantasmic reserves, causing them to overextend themselves, and use what they have to the point of death. Unlike others, those who have silver, black, or white Phantasmic would find their powers diminishing over time. Their natural output and reserves are higher than any other and a generally stronger, getting more so with age until it they start to getting too old. Then their strength diminishes, unlike those with blue to purple Phantasmic, whose strength stays the same. Even those who have silver, black, or white Phantasmic lose their peak strength, they are still the strongest, though only by a small margin, more than enough to stay on top, but not too much.
Sylveria nodded, not facing him, "You're never on top, Mother can back that claim, she's told me." Standing up, twisting around practically, re-initiating their fight. That got several quiet chuckles from the audience.
The two clashed again, Blackwing held back, he was internally laughing his ass off when Sylveria made her comment, but kept a stone face. He only throwing punches strong enough to crack bones, not shatter them, which, the gods know, he easily could. Sylveria attacked viciously all over the place, using different forms, tactics, and combos. She kneed Blackwing, trying to distract him, twisting around and elbowing his stomach hard, following with a series of rapid punches. Blackwing just took each attack, he didn't feel much, just small tingles.
Sylveria grew frustrated, her Father's guard was too strong and too advanced to try and break through conventional means. She couldn't attack from the sides, he'd just block and counted, behind was an option, but she knew he was probably expecting that, so she'd had to use force, seeing as she couldn't get passed him without being blocked or countered. So she pushed her Phantasmic output further, arms and legs, along with her hair and wings, though not present, were covered in green fire-like energy. Blackwing did the same, but kept his Phantasmic blue, though he has black Phantasmic, he rarely even uses it, not since the War of Usurpers.
Right hook.
Left hook.
Distraction kick and a stomach jab.
A leg sweep.
Three punch combo.
Five.
Seven.
Nine.
All blocked.
Wings unfurled, a distraction. Was she going to fly into the air?
An opening, a decision made, claws drawn and swiped, ripping scales from the skin.
Not a drop of blood, just flesh.
Blackwing stood their, impervious, smiling as his Daughter, the long rake on his chest from her claws quickly healed along with the shirt he word as if he'd never been hurt. Sylveria was tired. "Lesson three, if your natural Phantasmic you produce with your body isn't on par or stronger than your opponent, they'll heal at a faster rate." Blackwing liked renewing topics of combat to this Daughter, reminding her to think and strategize. "Time to end this." Blackwing said, he took initiative this time, Sylveria breathed hard, not giving up she stood to face her opponent. Blackwing ducked, avoiding a punch that was even slower in her tired state, bobbing and weaving through her attacks, he waited for the perfect moment to strike. It had come in the form of Sylveria trying to deliver a upright kick, Blackwing dodged it, while she was unbalanced, he swept her leg, causing her to fall. In the moment she crashed down, his fist collided with her stomach, sending her flying across the arena and into the wall, creating a indent of her figure.
Blackwing disappeared and appeared in front of his daughter. "You alright?" He kneeled down and his eyes widened for a moment, a moment of vulnerability.
A pained cry answered. "Ow. Fuck." She emotionally said, she was in pain. Sylveria saw that her Father had a look of worry, he wasn't looking at her, rather to her stomach. She turned her head to what her father was starring at.
Her entire lower left side had been completely blown away. Blood was everywhere. "Father." She said, her voice shaking. She trembled in pain.
"Don't move." He commanded sternly. Carefully inspecting void of missing flesh, he lifted his wrist to his Daughter's mouth, "Bite and drink." Sylveria had a questioning look in her eyes. "Do not question my methods, just do it." Knowing that her Father's skin was the hardest and strongest natural defense she knew, she was hesitant to do as he said. Slowly opening her mouth, the pain from her stomach seizing at her consciousness, she bit down at Blackwing's wrist, her sharp sword like teeth sinking into his flesh. Blood filled her mouth and she drank, her eyes closed as she tasted the liquid. She felt better her side was healing, faster, much faster than her body was capable of. Her Father's blood was warm, it tasted, sweet to her, it made her crave it, she felt powerful, stronger than before. Then her mouth was empty, the feeling of flesh left her and she opened her eyes, confused.
"What the hell was that?" She says to her Father after her trance left her. "It was like I was in a trance."
The Dragon King raised an eyebrow. "In a sense, you were." Blackwing explained. "My blood is one of the reasons why we won the War of Usurpers. Its healing property are greater than that of a Phoenix Tear. And they can practically revive the dead, it's why our side lost less troops than the four Kings. But I've seen many become addicted to the taste to the point where they'll purposely hurt themselves in battle in hopes of drinking it once more. It is both gift and curse."
"That is," Sylveria says, stunned, "interesting, and, weird."
"So, I've been told." Blackwing smiles at her before standing up and leaving to the others. "Now, let us go and meet the other dumb cunts who want to fight me. Gods know I could use a real fight, maybe one of the bitches might have it in them to make me draw blood."
"Father," Sylveria blankly says, she stood up and looked at him dead in the eyes, "quit showing off." Her response were light chuckles.
"The day you whelps make me bleed is the day I'll tell your Mother I accidentally dropped you when you were a babe." Blackwing muttered incoherently under his breath.
"What was that??" Sylveria inquired suspiciously.
"Nothing!" Came the answer, the two walked towards the group of idiotic battle mongers.
They were smiling, the group that is, Blakcwing was impassive to them, and Sylveria was clutching her stomach, waiting for it to fully heal. "That was a very one-sided battle." Jikar commented once they returned.
"Shut up." Sylveria retorted, but she knew he wasn't wrong. She winced a little trying to straighten her posture. "Fuck. I really regret that."
"You had your lower left stomach obliterated, what'd you expect?" Blackwing asked. The smiling group then looked at him with a concerned face for themselves. If he showed no remorse for blowing away his own Daughter's stomach, what would he do to them? Kill them?
"Yeah, yeah," Sylveria openhandedly brushed his question aside. Waving it away as if it were smoke. She cracked her neck, swinging her head to the left then to the right, resounding crunches were heard as her neck's vertebrae moved. "You're next, aren't Jikar?"
"Yup." The Drakurrin Dominus answered with a pop to the 'p.'
"Good luck." She said, obviously showing favoritism, she knew her Father was watching and wanted him to get the message. 'Go easy on him, I like him.' Course, no way in Hell, would Blackwing ever, sometime he would, listen to his Daughter, especially when it came to a boy, this boy particularly. Sylveria knew her Father showed no weakness, nor emotion, at some times, but he did care for her, courtesy to the rough treating and strict upbringing, many believed he didn't, thought that he wished that his wife had bore him a Son. While he did wish for a Son, his Daughter, was a someone he was proud of, and would spoil when they were to themselves.
Needless to say, Jikar, did not fare nearly as well as Sylveria. Mainly because Blackwing wanted to pummel him and then kill him, so he wasn't holding back as nearly as much as he did with his Daughter.
"Fuck." Jikar cursed as he was slapped like a bitch once again. He held his cheek.
"Is that all you have boy? Give me everything you have. I will not be as lenient as I was with my Daughter." Blackwing said, he was always more talkative with combatant who he wanted to destroy. The two had been fighting for nearly an hour, mainly because Jikar was a stubborn and prideful bastard who couldn't accept defeat. An admirable trait.
Jikar roared and charged once again to attack the Dragon King.
But their fight was interrupted. A creature fell from the sky, made of metal and fire. Ironically. No one saw it coming, they were too enraptured by the fight, Blackwing didn't either, he to, was too focused on humiliating the Dominus before him.
An Ashbringer. A colossal being of spinning torrents, born of flames and metal, long has it been since one been seen, nevertheless alive, because they're extinct. Ashbringers lived since the dawn of the Age of All-Fathers, and the last were killed off during the Age of Kings, around 8700-AK. How one was before the Dragon Kings and some of his subjects was a mystery. As were the two cloaked beings in the sky, Blackwing finally noticed, watching them, they were strong, Blackwing could tell that they reigned in their powers to the point where only a small trickle leaked from their body.
The cloaked being watched with interest. They were male, one at least twice the size of the other, he was a giant compared to his partner. They had sent the Ashbringer to test Blackwing's strength, to see if his powers had diminished over the years. "Those children." The smaller being says observing Blackwing ordering the others to stay back. "They're quite weak don't you think?"
"Hmm?" The larger one hummed, he was clearly not listening. "Sorry, I was analyzing Blackwing."
"Of course you were," the smaller one scoffed. "You and your damn vendetta." Blackwing was dodging all of the Ashbringer's attacks, he was blur on the training ground, to the whelpling, to the beings in the air, they could see him perfectly, as if he was running at a normal pace. Clearly not the case, as Blackwing was fighting with the intent to kill. "Blackwing certainly hasn't lost his strength, I suspect the out of all of them, only Demerrion will be the weakest."
"Most likely, the man is easy to figure out, shall I send the others to deal with him?"
"No. They are to continue searching for the Godslayers."
"As you wish," the larger man answered respectfully. "It seems the fight's over." Blackwing had flown up to face the Ashbringer, it turned to face him, an almost surprised look fell on its face, its flaming features were touched just slightest by Blackwing's fingers. The Ashbringer froze, unsure of what to do, it raised its burning metal hand, ready to strike, and it was consumed by black fire, Blackwing's Phantasmic reserves, in its uncontrolled state, the energy it gave off burned the air and created a vortex sucking in everything nearby. Then it stopped. The two beings in the air had to lift their hands to cover their faces due to the intensity of the heat, the others, who were Drakurrins, weren't affected at all, but they were clinging onto anything for dear life as to not get sucked into the black flames.
"Let's go, Odyssa. Its time for the Aspects of Sin, to make their move."
"As you command, King Atheirus."
Odyssa released his Phantasmic reserves, a red and blue fire burned from beneath under his cloak, it engulfed the two, covering them, but not burning them, the flames died out and the two disappeared, traveling to Ninamueh.
The Place That is Forgotten.
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