The world swam in a hazy red.
Brook, a young black dragon barely larger than a horse, shivered despite the oppressive heat clinging to his scales.
His limbs, usually brimming with the boundless energy of youth, felt heavy, leaden.
Each ragged breath rasped in his throat, a burning reminder of the fever consuming him.
Panic, sharp and cold, clawed at his young mind.
He *had* to be faster, stronger.
His very survival depended on it.
He wasn't supposed to be alone.
Just a few short weeks ago, he'd been nestled within the warm embrace of his mother's wing, the comforting rumble of her snores lulling him to sleep.
His siblings, a chaotic tumble of scales and claws, had wrestled and nipped at each other nearby.
Now, the memory was a phantom limb, an ache in his chest that intensified with every labored breath.
The scent of burning pine and scorched earth still clung to his nostrils, a horrifying reminder of the day the humans had attacked their lair.
The King's Dragon Slayers.
He'd heard whispers of them, terrifying tales told in hushed tones around the flickering flames of the hearth.
He'd never truly believed they existed, dismissing them as mere stories meant to frighten unruly hatchlings.
Until they came.
Mages, their robes shimmering with arcane power, unleashed waves of fire and ice.
Paladins, clad in gleaming armor, charged forward, their blessed blades dripping with dragon blood.
His siblings… He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to relive the screams, the smell of burning flesh, the sheer terror that had gripped him as he watched them die.
His mother, magnificent and terrifying, had fought like a demon unleashed.
She'd ripped through their ranks, tearing limbs from bodies, her roars shaking the very mountains.
But even she couldn't withstand the onslaught.
With her last breath, she had shielded him, using her immense body to create a path for his escape.
He'd fled, fueled by terror and grief, the echoes of her dying roar a constant reminder of his loss.
For weeks, he'd been on the run, using every ounce of cunning he possessed to evade his pursuers.
He'd flown through treacherous mountain passes, hidden in the darkest caverns, even disguised himself amongst a herd of wild boars (an experience he wouldn't be repeating any time soon).
He'd thought he'd finally lost them.
He'd allowed himself a flicker of hope, the first in days.
And then, the fever hit.
Now, every muscle screamed in protest, every movement an agonizing effort.
The scent of humans, sharp and metallic, grew stronger with each passing moment.
They were close.
Too close.
He could hear the baying of their hounds, the clink of their armor, the excited shouts of the soldiers as they closed in on their prey.
He stumbled, his weak legs barely able to support his weight.
He had to keep moving.
He had to find somewhere to hide.
But the world was spinning, the trees blurring into a dizzying green mess.
He collapsed beneath the shade of a giant oak, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"Just a little rest," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
"Just a little…" A strange tingling sensation began to spread through his body, a warmth that had nothing to do with the fever.
It felt…hungry.
A deep, gnawing hunger that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being.
"What…?"
His fever intensified, a raging inferno beneath his scales.
A crushing wave of exhaustion washed over him, dragging him down into a swirling abyss of drowsiness.
His eyelids felt heavy, so heavy.
Sleep beckoned, a sweet, seductive siren promising oblivion.
But he fought it, his instincts screaming in protest.
Sleep now, and he would never wake.
He'd become another trophy for the Dragon Slayers, his skull mounted on some nobleman's wall, a grim testament to their "heroism."
With a Herculean effort, Brook forced himself to his feet.
His legs trembled, threatening to buckle beneath his weight.
The world swayed precariously, a drunken dance of blurry colors and distorted shapes.
Each breath was a searing pain, each heartbeat a deafening drum against his ribs.
He had to move.
Had to find somewhere, *anywhere*, to hide.
But his body was screaming for respite, begging him to surrender to the overwhelming fatigue.
He stumbled onward, driven by pure, unadulterated terror.
The trees seemed to reach out with skeletal branches, grasping at him, trying to drag him down.
The ground beneath his claws felt soft and yielding, as though he were walking on clouds.
He was losing the battle.
The darkness was closing in, its icy tendrils snaking around his consciousness.
Finally, he could fight no more.
With a low moan, he collapsed, his body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud.
The world went black.
He found himself in a strange, ethereal realm, a place of swirling nebulae and distant, dying stars.
A sense of vastness, of cosmic indifference, pressed down on him, making him feel infinitesimally small.
Then he saw it.
A monstrous shape, vast and incomprehensible, drifted through the cosmic void.
Its form was a grotesque parody of life, a swirling mass of tentacles, gaping maws, and countless eyes that burned with an unholy light.
It was a creature of pure hunger, a cosmic horror that consumed entire worlds with a single gulp.
A planet, shimmering blue and green, drifted into its path.
With horrifying ease, the monster inhaled, swallowing the world whole.
Brook watched in stunned silence, his mind reeling from the sheer scale of the devastation.
This creature, whatever it was, dwarfed even the mightiest of dragons.
He felt a primal fear, a terror that struck at the very core of his being.
Suddenly, the creature turned, its myriad eyes fixing on Brook.
He felt a jolt of pure, unadulterated terror, as though he'd been plunged into an icy bath.
The monster lunged, its gaping maw opening to reveal a swirling vortex of darkness.
He tried to scream, to run, to do anything, but his body was frozen, paralyzed by fear.
Then, everything went white.
He awoke with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat.
The fever was gone, replaced by a strange, tingling energy that coursed through his veins.
He felt…different.
Stronger.
Hungrier.
Images flashed through his mind: the monstrous creature, the consumed planet, a single word echoing through the void… *Taotie*.
He understood now.
The creature, Taotie, a being of immense power and insatiable hunger from the legends of a distant land, had somehow merged with him.
He had inherited its power, its hunger, its very essence.
He could *feel* it within him, a ravenous hunger that demanded to be sated.
He could *consume*.
He could grow stronger.
He could… *evolve*.
A slow smile spread across his face, a predatory grin that revealed rows of sharp, pointed teeth.
The Dragon Slayers were hunting *him*?
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed through the forest.
They had no idea what they were dealing with.
He wasn't just a dragon anymore.
He was something more.
He was Taotie's heir.
And he was starving.