Eyes, opening to a world painted gold by the sun's rays. A wyrm's body, now completely her own, power of the perished returned.
The fourth time awakening abruptly, surely a pattern was beginning to take hold. Can't origin start without that of the morning?
Blinking, a shimmering light shines out from the wyrm. The shell, now only half way to that of a demigod.
A slight smile manages to take hold, the power oh so rapturous. Verity wondered what marvels she could accomplish with it.
Though, she was abruptly jolted back to reality by a stray kick before she could continue.
Shaking her head, the captivated wyrm notices a foul tasting human locked in its own drooling jaws.
Confused, Verity thinks on in confusion. When, out of nowhere, the wriggling human tears out one of her glorious teeth.
Believe it when I say, Verity howled out in pain. The blood curdling cry was all but pleasant.
Verity's mood soured in an instant, the air tensed like contracting strings pulled by several puppeteers. For a moment, Verity even considered biting the human in half.
Her eyes raged in a vengeful gleaming, the left eye dancing in slumber of green light to which was pouring from the socket.
Her remaining teeth poked into the human's supple skin, drawing the faintest amount of crimson, red blood.
The wyrm intended to rip the human apart. For no powerful beast would let their glorious mouth be defiled by human filth.
Verity faltered for but a second, but a second too long it was.
A black crow glides by; its presence, unnerving. Joined by birds of the like, they fly overhead.
In prompt response, the human screams out; a desperate warning.
Verity instinctively jerks back, somehow, just in time to avoid a giant blade intending to claim her head.
Not expecting what came next though, Verity's right horn was sliced clean off as the blade flew back into the sky.
Feeling uneasy, Verity unintentionally draws from her pool of mana, blowing off the tip of her tail with a lightning bolt wrought from the heavens.
She hears a voice cackle out, the noises more like pieces of metal being scraped together. It's anything but pleasant.
The laughter alone pushes Verity back. Her ears even bleed.
But feeling the power in her veins, Verity decides that she, in fact, is the more powerful of the two and prepares for a fight.
Though, the human only shrieks louder. It can feel what is coming; the earth reeks of it.
Rending the very air, a monster descends into the primitive viewpoint of Verity. Its enormous blade, scratching the earth.
The chain that holds this blade is rusty and tarnished with the blood of thousands. It looks like it could snap at any given time, but it holds a blade so massive without even a groan.
The hand that holds the blade is fixed with seven dark green fingers. Two extending from the palm, but each with rotted, yellow nails.
The teeth are pointed and wicked. They crunch down on a centipede as it tries to crawl out of the creature's mouth.
Looking down upon Verity, it grins that of pure evil, "I've looked all my life for just a morsel of godflesh, killed demigods only to come up empty handed..."
It hefts at the motionless blade and lifts it into the sky, catching the blade with its bare hand, "And now, a mortal with a whole eye of empyrean flesh shows up before my very eyes! Not even trying to flee from its pathetic fate!"
It aims the blade at Verity, the hand shaking with joy, "This will be quite the feast! With this, The Hunters of Derian will finally be able to overthrow the wretched gods! Ahahahahahaha!"
With that said, an oppressive aura slammed down upon the world. Causing most life to wither and die on the spot.
Verity shrinks back in fear. Such power was surely beyond her.
Desperately reaching out to the eye, she urges it to take over... but it does not answer.
Soon a blade descends upon her. Powerful enough to destroy a whole town with little effort.
Verity directs all of her power into one spot and attempts to block the strike head-on. Though, she only manages to soften the blow.
Tearing through her flesh, the wyrm's body was rend in half. A giant ravine separating the two halves.
The Hunter smiles with satisfaction and drops down in front of Verity, the earth cracking under its very weight.
It slowly walks up to Verity. The wyrm's eyes staring weakly at its approaching doom.
Bending down, the Hunter of Derian stares mercilessly at its prey. Two tongues dripping down out of its mouth.
Unable to wait any longer it reaches out for her eye. Fingers inches away from tearing out that which her very soul now resides in.
It pauses though, nails slightly scraping the eye... and pulls back its hand. A sick smile comes to its face and it moves its hand to the other eye.
Sticking its nails into the socket, it rips out the eye and crushes it into bits of flesh. One piece even flew out and into the bottomless ravine.
Satisfied by hearing Verity cry out in pain, it moved back its hand to the other eye. Reaching out, it was only seconds away from claiming the empyrean eye for The Hunters.
But its hand passes harmlessly through Verity. Its prey had begun to glow.
The human in Verity's mouth was being teleported back to their town. A spell that should only apply to humans
Though, through her anguish, the wyrm had bitten into the human's leg and was being teleported back along with the human.
The Hunter could only watch as his prey vanished. It took him a while to realize what had happened.
By the time he figured out that his prey had escaped, Verity was long gone. The Hunter could only revel in anger.
~~~
Atop a rocky mountain, a human meditates to pass the time.
He looked to be in his forties, about and his beard was only just starting to turn grey. Wearing a red vest and black pants, you could tell he was someone important.
His hair was short and orderly, though, it too, was beginning to show his age.
A long sword was holstered on his back, nothing too special but a powerful blade nevertheless. It was covered by a black sheath, hiding the hammered metal from view.
His eyes were a simple brown and had been opened as soon as he heard the footsteps pattering against the hard stone behind him.
He had hoped to hear news of his niece's safe return, but what he heard instead, shocked him to his very core.
~~~
A taller looking man sat across from his client with a devious look on his face. An assortment of blades of all kinds were hidden among the folds of his clothes.
He extended his hand, and a deal had been struck. He was to assassinate the lord of Osthith, a small city.
In return, he would gain a fragment of the famous relic, "Drakeletter." A twin, dual edged blade that could split into two daggers with just a thought.
The weapon was broken in five shards by the ancient dragons, for they feared its destructive power. This conman had already acquired two of them, and with this last shard, he would finally be able to forge half the blade back together into one sword.
This was to be an easy mission, nothing to get in his way. All other possible problems had been dealt with... or so he thought.
~~~
Kneeling before the statue of The Blessed One, a newly appointed priestess prayed for her magic to finally be given to her.
She was already months behind the other candidates and had only made it into priesthood on the promise that her magic would show within the year.
The year was almost over though, she had about a month before the deadline. All she could do was pray.
When a figure tapped her on the back and offered her power in exchange for the lord of Osthith's head, she eagerly accepted. No old coots would crush her dreams! She would show them, she would show them all!
~~~
The Pretender sat upon the throne of gods, fiddling with his holy sword and feeling quite bored. For no god can match his strength.
And quite rightfully so as well. The idea of gods above the tenth tier hadn't even been considered yet.
How could any god match the strength of a genius with the power of Eiden at their disposal?
The answer. None could.
That's not to say the gods didn't try, though saying that such perseverance is from bravery would be a stretch. Gods in their almighty power tend to think they're invincible, and rightfully so.
When you're a mortal with hundreds of thousands of years under your belt and almighty power, you have a right to be confident. But one has to remember, gods aren't mortals; they almost never figure it out.
Each god has a different view on the world. Most older gods however, are in favor of The Pretender. While most younger gods, are in favor of not having a king at all.
But the problem was, the younger gods couldn't exactly do anything about their opinion.
Being weaker, they didn't have much say. Many have already been made examples of; brutally.
Because of this, the younger generation has settled down for the most part... but they have not forgotten.
The Rebellion will strike again sometime before The Pretender's coronation. To which is five hundred years from now.
To most, five hundred years may seem like five lifetimes, but to a god, it's just another few centuries.