'I can smell smoke… though it's fleeting. Where could I be right now?'

Zmey Ashbane thought, a 'roaming' sound playing in his brain as if something else were alive there. He didn't feel a headache; just slightly nauseated. His saliva felt thick in his throat. Having his eyes closed, he sat on something that had a rough base. He slantly leaned his back on the back support of the same texture, just like a superior drooling nonchalantly in their perfect seat.

'This is the last time. I'm ending it similar to the eighth resurrection.'

'Damn… can't believe I'll finally be able to rest.'

His body was pulled up under an unseen force. The memory of his recent rebirth drifted to his mind as quickly as a flying arrow. There in the minded picture was he; in a brown V-necked shirt and baggy pants, standing at the edge of a cliff on a mountain dominated by nature.

Tension had hung in the air like a fog. It had as well been hot temperate that day – one which was just enough to smolder his heart beneath his chest wall. He made the suicidal decision without hesitation. And the last feeling he had was as if thousands of swords were stabbing him in his internal structure. This had been impossible to register back then…

Zmey opened his stare. The first material seen was a distant golden door flanked on both sides at the frame by blazing flame lamps.

"Where's this…?" A tiny and piercing sound shrieked up in his mind. He screamed out, his back reverting from the support immediately and bending while he pinned a finger to his temples.

The sound maintained its pitch. Zmey had caught the whistle of the wind until now. The damned note made it hard to even hear anything else. It felt as if it was demanding attention. Not to itself, Zmey strangely knew, but to something else unknown.

'What is… what is happening to me?' he contemplated. His inner thoughts were barely audible under the pressure of the high-pitched hymn. Just at that moment, a surge coursed from anywhere near his chest to his head.

It felt like the familiar thrills one realizes when either excited or anxious.

As the surge reached, the tiny persistent sound dissipated with a pop sound. Zmey had for a second thought this was over. Until he revealed his stare to somewhere different from wherever he had been a moment ago.

His eyes darted from here to there, but a black hue shadowed them the whole time. Everywhere was dark, and the hush was like a silent whisper to Zmey's ears. But notwithstanding, his seat was still intact. Suddenly, a flame lit up in the distance. It was this diminished to his eyes that could fit the size of his thumb.

'This isn't any process of my reincarnation. It's easy to say that… this is exclusive only to the ninth resurrection… the last reincarnation. Yeah, that should be the assumption if only I hadn't learned everything about the Ninefold Resurrection ritual in my original life,' his mind raced as he anxiously kept rooted in the seat. Though the thought of someone or something attacking him from behind never left his mind. 'What's this shit, for real?'

Before Zmey could take another hurried breath in, his attention locked onto the flame as it grew larger. The process was like an originally little but winged creature becoming more giant to the eyes as it released the wings to the full extent.

However, the size not only increased. But also became wider as it spread through the unbroken expanse, blurring Zmey's vision as it approached him.

The flame was approaching at a fast rate. It was going to burn him alive if it reached!

However, instead of being anxious, Zmey grinned and drooled more into the seat. He said, "Good! I didn't want to live this life either. The suffering is enough… I can't take it anymore."

His grin was wide, although something else underlaid it. Something contrasting. Every single time he's reincarnated brings nothing else than grief and sorrow. The grief of being killed in the deadliest way by his loved one.

The cycle of the dark ritual plunges his killer in his previous life into the mystery of the next one. They would somehow have a connection with his path and would surely die the same way they had killed him. They weren't at fault, or perhaps Zmey was the one who never blamed them.

He didn't belong to their era. He should have long been dead when he was just himself. Son to the best blacksmith – Robert Stonewood - in the Astral Kingdom. Member of the highly esteemed large family of Stonewoods. The top martial arts student in his family's martial arts establishment, The Oakhammer Dojo Academy!

But instead of dying in his era, fate wove him between nine different ones under the curse of the Ninefold Resurrection ritual performed on the full moon night. It all started from then. He still recalls the metallic scent of blood, the icy color of the Hearthstone Crystal, the glowing Soul Essence, and the sight of the Phoenix Ash.

There were so many other ingredients – all just to kick him into the endless sorrow.

No, none of them was at fault. He was just an uncalled-for entity. And the rightful owners exorcised his kind… that was only natural.

A fiery gleam cast on his mean surroundings, stretching his and the seat's shadows on the pavement surface. The surrounding air grew sultry, every breath a suffocation. Zmey sat more at ease, shutting his eyes in silent surrender and ease.

However, the case was different. He recalled something. Soaring in the orange twilight sky was a large red reptilian Western Dragon with four rigid legs positioned at perfect points to aid its mobility.

The dragon exuded fierceness as it inflamed roofs and buildings with its breath, people fleeing in its presence. Zmey was simply recalling something out of nowhere, yet he somehow felt as though he was the one who had done that.

The red dragon's massive wings dissipated into clouds in its path, its scales shining under the twilight sky. Smokes rose from the havoc it had caused. However, it never seized in drifting forward for more prey. Amidst the memory re-gathering, Zmey cursed under his breath, "Damn… that's too cruel."

The scene shifted in his mind. Now, he saw a bulky-armed young man with pale skin sitting on a dark-stone-built throne in a kind of ancient throne room. From his high spot, downward, was a path lined with a red carpet - with golden designs flanking on both sides – that began from the end of the dark stone stairway that led up to the massive obsidian throne he was sitting in, to the end of the throne room, at a golden door that had gemstones on it.

On both sides of the throne room, open sections revealed the dark clouded sky view. But there was a flickering lightness that made the surroundings brighter. The palace was grand with the existence of towering spires that rose high above it, a big gemstone inscribed at the uppermost part.

By the sides of the throne room, pagodas with creamy small-dimensioned windows counting to five each either had their bases shrouded in the thick cloud that marvelled the place or was suspended in the air while having prongy spikes beneath them. Atop these pagodas, on some, were red dragon banners with respective emblems hung.

If this was to gain the original owner's memory, then why get transported to such a place? He had to say, this reincarnation seemed was unlike any other. In the previous ones, everything would just get transferred the moment he held something related to the rightful owner.

'The red dragon is the young man. And that's the body of the being I woke up in. Interesting…'

'Nice. Am I happy or do I despise this? All the life I have lived wasn't real either, so as this. I don't care if it's a beast or a human. The most important thing is that being a kind of dragon with a cruel history is just made for me. If I descend to Earth now as a dragon, then I will die easily. Forgive me, dragon. I can't live this life to the day those I trust will kill me. Only I understand this better.'

….

"Your Majesty?"

Zmey gasped lightly as the question came out of nowhere, his voice faintly piercing through the silent darkness. In the blink of an eye, a soft, chilly air caressed his skin from both sides. On opening his eyes, it was a golden dragon statue sitting along the red carpet ahead that he first had seen. And most importantly, there was another person there.

It was a lady. A frank-countenanced type standing on the red carpet before the two golden dragon statues. Their eyes locked.

She was a young lady dressed in a lotus gown. The gown had a white liner at the front. Her skin, shining and seemingly soft, complimented her medium-sized eyebrows. She had long black hair that shined under the moonlight reflection. Those well-taken-care-of hairs had a flower hairband at one side, and two buns made at the front near her temples. Wrapped around her waist was a long strand that had multiple locks; just by her hip alignment was a green jade tied to that strand. It was translucent, having the form of a phoenix.

"Your Majesty?" her tone grew indented with a hint of concern. She unconsciously took one step forward before her lordship stopped her by raising his hand.

Zmey cleared his throat, rising and sitting back abruptly. Perhaps… trying to make sure he seems like the ferocious red Western Dragon emperor. The actual owner of this body. As a tenant, he should at least not mess things up already.

He gazed at her shoulder instead of her face; those small red pupils were looking anxiously at him. 'She's Aura DrakeBorn, a Celestial Dragon. She's this owner's only friend. But instead of being on such terms, she became his right hand. I'm not surprised though.

From the memory I have, the dragon is one of wisdom, noble bearing, and calming presence, making them ideal as a level-headed confidant for guidance. Zmey Ashbane might have been ruthless, but a kind of cool settles in him every time Aura DrakeBorn is around him. Just like now! Crap… I just feel like keeping her at ease. The dragon's personality is still intact!'

Aura's lips had parted ways as she gazed anxiously at the man seated on the obsidian throne. She asked with concern, "Your Majesty… are you feeling unwell again?"

'Again?' Zmey repeated in his mind. Placing his elbow on the rough-skinned armrest, he rested his cheek there (a kind of seating posture, he recalled). With a gentle calculative tone and eyesight, he asked, "Why do you feel unnecessarily worked up, Aura? You can see that I'm fine…"

"Pardon me, Lord Zmey," Aura closed her eyes and bowed her head a little, exhaling sharply. She just apologized, though she seemed more resolved about her anxiety than anything else. "I was only worried because you've been sick in your throne for a very long time. You know, you usually get better in a few hours after experiencing such. However, this recent one had a longer duration. So, I was worried sick."

She then glanced up, sighting Zmey's lips parted, and eyeballs lowered like someone equally confused and surprised by something. But she didn't let that prevent her from putting on a smile.

"But seeing you now, I guess I can be at ease that you have got better. The next full moon wouldn't likely be near, so you'll be able to have some rest. I respect your resilience, Lord Zmey. Not everyone can be as strong as you, ruling the entire Infernosphere while still battling your full moon curse."