"He does. But he, too, ultimately lost." Ahriman snorted, not pursuing the fleeing dragon. This avatar couldn't win against this force of nature in its domain.
Instead, he enveloped the ancient throne before he dissolved with it, leaving contemptuous words behind. "But I'm better than a coward constrained to its pathetic role. Millions of years gnawing at roots like a worm, yet you still spout nonsense in my face?"
Meanwhile, the dragon landed on Naströnd's shore and lowered its head. He observed Adam slide down his massive tongue like a rusted doll, his eyes narrowing.
"His draconic blood thinned, scales melted into the skin, and devil's features replaced the draconic," he muttered, intrigued by how the primordial chaos in Adam adapted his body. He also recognised Tiamat's unique signature and the faint traces of salt water in its movement to fight back the poison.
