The blue-green flames of a ghostly scimitar slashed through the space previously occupied by the dragon’s neck. Quicker than one might believe possible for such a lanky man, the dragon leapt in again and launched a powerful clawing strike at the specter.

The ghastly headless figure of an armored knight unleashed a shrill cry from his decapitated head. Though, that head was decapitated long before the dragon arrived at the cemetery. A Dullahan, it was a monster born of nightmare. The undead knight with a lore forged in betrayal and death, ever in search of a way to regain his honor or at least a more permanent location for his head.

The dragon’s strike was not aimed at the knight, but at the jet-black horse that he rode. They were one and the same creature, if the truth were to be told. A supernatural manifestation of an ancient memory rendered in ectoplasm.

Several hard blows rained down as the Dullahan struck at the dragon again and again. A few of those blows struck, one even tore open the dragon’s shoulder. Scarlet blood erupted from the wound like water would erupt from a geyser. Was it the power of the strike, the pressure of the dragon’s blood, or some other reason? Neither of the combatants cared.

In truth, the dragon suffered from dozens of similar wounds. The cemetery was crawling with high-level undead champions such as the Dullahan. This, however, was the last of them in the immediate area. The dragon could not know it, but the cemetery had become a massive dungeon. It was a great sprawling complex of twisting corridors and blood-soaked battle fields where an army of the dead constantly waged war on itself while they awaited the day when they would breech the barrier and invade the world of the living. Those who entered from the outside would be tasked with cleansing a portion of the area. If they managed to do so it would be the same as clearing the dungeon.

How many dozens of them had the dragon slain? He did not keep count, and unbeknownst to him they would respawn the next day anyway. None were edible, though the little green shiny stones that they dropped were quite nourishing.

In order to keep these undead beasts at bay, people would need to periodically enter the dungeon and clear it. Clearing it even once would reset the breech timer. So, all hope was not lost. However, it was an impossible task for most groups. It would take an entire Earth army at their current point of development. For one such as the dragon, however…

Spectral fire washed over the dragon as the Dullahan attempted sear his very soul! The dragon cried out in shock and pain as he felt some indefinable aspect of his being begin to burn. However, that terrible blow only served to awaken a new understanding within him. He remembered something.

A kaleidoscope of images arose inside his head. Words. Gestures. Answers.

This rotten meat was not worth eating. It was also dangerous and could easily kill him. He understood that already. No, what he learned was something more useful. In truth, this meat was not actually his match.

The words came to him. The gestures came to him. Soon, two of those words and a single gesture came for the Dullahan. “Dark Judgment!”

The Dullahan shrieked in ghastly fashion as a blazing symbol appeared beneath its hooved feet. Fire erupted all around it, and a hole opened in the world.

The dragon watched intently as serpent headed chains arose from that impenetrable darkness below then shot forward and pierced the Dullahan. It cried out over and over again. Memories assaulted its mind, all the good and the vile that he had done in life came back to him.

While he was merely a specter, a phantasmal conglomeration of spiritual energies formed into a monster, those constituent parts came from somewhere. The horse exploded in a shower of light and the knight fell to the only patch of ground left below him.

He clawed at the dirt, ripped off the chains one by one, but in the end two of those chains held him fast. It was those chains, those memories, that drew the dragon’s attention. He could see those memories. The Dullahan had inherited the will of someone who knew only regret. That man had failed to protect his land, his wife, and family. That failure came about due to the machinations of an ambitious noble who used the knight’s fall to rise in the world.

The Dullahan clung on desperately to what little life he had. He was nothing but a bad dream. He knew that now, but somewhere inside he had been a true knight once. Part of him anyway.

A titanic surge of will from the Dullahan snapped that chain. The final chain remained, however. It was the strong desire to destroy everything. His soul wished to burn it all to the ground and to rend the very land in two. The desire for vengeance proved to be too strong in the end. Though that semblance of a fallen man struggled with all his might, his tainted desires could not be overcome easily if at all.

The dragon watched the Dullahan be drawn into the darkness below. His short-lived existence ended as it had begun, with darkness. The final chain did in fact break part of the way down, but it was too late. His fledgling soul was consigned to the abyss.

Red eyes gazed at the now closing portal. In his normal state of mind, he would have never done such a thing. However, a wild impulse gripped his heart. There was a wrongness in the air. That rotten meat no longer stank.

The dragon did something that should have been impossible. He leapt into the closing portal into the abyss like it was nothing and fell toward the Dullahan’s wailing spectral form.

The portal to the world of life closed, but the darkness did not become all encompassing. The dragon began to shine. He radiated a brilliant white light that drove back the darkness. Like a star falling in the night, he continued to fall toward the Dullahan.

The knight’s cries suddenly still as the powerful hands of the dragon gripped him by the shoulders. It was such a powerful connection in that moment, that both dragon and Dullahan were shocked. The body of the Dullahan dispersed into motes of light, but the head floated upward in the air.

“Oh, and What is this? It’s so warm…” he asked in almost a parody of an Irish accent. “Reminds me of my mother…”

The dragon held the head gently in his hands and looked into his eyes. Gone was the nigh-maniacal leer that had spread across the thing’s face earlier. In its place was the normal head and features of a confused Irish man.

Unable to think of anything else to do, the dragon followed his instinct. He leaned in and whispered something into the Dullahan’s ear. The Irish-man’s eyes widened and soon he began to weep openly.

The head faded from existence, but there was a smile on his lips. Those words spoken by something that gave off such a warm and comforting light, at last the semblance of a man found peace.

What were the words spoken? Perhaps no one would ever know.

Though, the Dullahan was not a true living being it still had the memories of a man cursed to a terrible fate due to rage and betrayal. Now those memories could rest and there would be no need to suffer the torments of the abyss.

Speaking of such torments, as the glowing dragon descended deeper into the eternal dark all manner of creatures beautiful and grotesque began to clamber and skitter about. Those that could, flew. Those that could not… fell.

There was no fear in the dragon. Though, he witnessed terrible things and scenes that would haunt a normal man, they did not cause him alarm. There was a peacefulness in the atmosphere. In many ways, it felt more comforting to him that even the warehouse had felt.

They abyss, to him, was simply another word for home.