The sky was a sea of storms. Black flames on the mountainous horizon, thunderous and in ruins, killed everything they touched; death itself spreading. Lord Dragon of the Black Flame, Zaryon – the last heir of the draconic age, roared. With immense wings that hid the moon, a grayish hue, and burning eyes, he personified the peak of a civilization that had ruled the world for ages.
Beneath him, a field ravaged by death trembled with the steps of his final adversary. The Knight of the Moon – a magical knight in silver-blue armor adorned with runes from the light of a full moon, approached slowly. The dark-blue sword in his hands, forged to slay calamities, reflected the weight of that final battle.
"Zaryon. The destined death," the knight's voice echoed, calm and firm. "The last prey, as foretold."
The dragon flew. His intense movements made the surrounding mountains tremble. "You humans... so small, so fragile, yet so arrogant."
He landed. Though far in the horizon, his voice reverberated loudly throughout the surroundings. Zaryon was one of the few legendary creatures capable of understanding human language.
"There is no escape from the flames of death. Like all your companions, you will perish."
The Knight of the Moon raised his head, gazing into the dragon's eyes. He did not respond.
What Zaryon said was true. The time had passed when the knight had joined his companions. They were all players who had mastered Dragon's Hunter, a hardcore Souls-like game.
The Storm Knight: Bearer of golden armor with runes that invoked winds and lightning. She was as fast as the wind itself, a destructive force that tore the skies in battle. Her role was to face dragons in the air, where no one else dared to fight.
The Divine Iron Guardian: A giant in heavy armor and massive weapons, whose resistance seemed infinite. He fought dragons head-on, holding their blows while the other knights dealt the decisive strikes.
The Scarlet Arcane: A mage draped in black and red robes, whose destructive magic rivaled the dragons' own power. He wielded all elements, an arsenal that frequently surpassed the natural abilities of the divine creatures he had faced. And finally...
Ripped from their lives and thrown into a cruel world, a world that forced them to become heroes – or lose their minds trying.
There was no choice. Each time a knight died, they were reborn. In front of a divine fire, as a victim of a fate from which there was no escape. Together, they defeated the greatest terrors that ever existed, each battle bringing them closer to the one that would be their final.
However, the feeling of being reborn only to face another battle made the other three lose their sanity. After all, a fight in reality was not the same as holding a controller. The level of skill required to react was much higher, as was the unpredictability of each situation.
Eventually, the weight of dying and coming back to life endlessly crushed them. The storms were thunderous, with intense volume. The iron armor, once a symbol of invincibility, became a crushing burden. And the elemental-arcane magic seemed to consume its bearer, like an obsession.
The Knight of the Moon was the only one left on the battlefields, determined to end that calamity. He had been blessed with an unbearably powerful will. Although dying repeatedly had been equally terrible, the prophecy of the moon gave him hope. That maybe he could escape that hell.
Raising his immense wings again, Zaryon advanced. His burning eyes fixed on the knight, who felt the pressure. The dragon was the largest of them all, powerful, and the weight of his existence threatened to bring eternal death to all that remained. But he remained firm, watching the movements of the legendary creature with an almost supernatural calm.
With a precise move, the dark-blue blade cut through the air, leaving a trail of moonlight that shone like the very firmament. Zaryon roared, his fiery claws launching toward him, but the knight dodged with divine agility.
Creating distance, the knight raised his sword to the heavens, the blade expanding in an intense glow. With a crescent-shaped cut, an explosion of blue magic tore the air, striking one of the dragon's wings.
Zaryon roared in pain. For the first time, his immortality seemed to waver.
"Impudent creature! How is it possible that you hold such legendary power?"
The Knight of the Moon, however, remained silent. He raised his legendary blade again, but Zaryon would not allow that blow to land so easily. The dragon opened its mouth, and a black light began to shine within. A storm of black flames was exhaled, filling the air with the putrid scent of death.
A legendary and enduring battle raged between them. A back-and-forth of thunderous and endless strikes. The skies and the earth trembled with every blow. Until finally, in a moment of opportunity, the Knight of the Moon gathered all the remaining power in his body. With a silent cry of determination, he advanced, delivering a final blow.
His dark-blue blade pierced Zaryon's chest, through his immense heart. Zaryon, the last dragon lord, roared in pain, but with a final breath, his voice reverberated in a lower tone.
"The extinction of our race will not save your soul…"
His body collapsed onto the ground, cracking the surroundings.
Christian, as the one who had been reborn in the body of that knight, had destroyed Zaryon without dying once.
The Knight of the Moon, wounded and exhausted, fell to his knees. In his vision, the sky, still marked by the black fire that slowly dissipated, and a full moon that seemed larger and brighter than he had ever seen before. He lowered his head.
Then, suddenly, everything disappeared.
There was an emptiness. An absolute silence. He didn't feel his body, he didn't hear anything. He felt as if he were in limbo, a prison between life and non-existence. And in that intangible abyss, something occurred.
A familiar voice – distant and ethereal – echoed. There was no emotion in it, only a cold and direct message. Like the words of the prophecy, which had long ceased to manifest in his mind.
"The age of dragons is over. The age of men must begin."
He tried to respond, but couldn't. He tried to resist, but there was no way. That voice always seemed to come from an entity beyond comprehension. A greater force that commanded destiny.
He felt as if his essence was being torn from his body, molded and compressed, like a piece forced into a puzzle it didn't belong to.
And then, he woke up.