(A chapter! WOW! 'How can that be, oh great author?', you might ask. I tell you how, I found some time in between nerve-wrecking exams and painful studies! It was hard but it felt good to ease my mind once in a while! There might be some grammar mistakes but please blame it on my mental fatigue!

Enjoy the chappy! :D )

The low rattling of wood on hard ground echoed through the nightly air. Chilling winds blew over weather-worn roads, gaunt and coloured in a dirty mix of yellow and brown.

Thick spruces with dark green needles flanked the doggerel road. The foliage swayed around in the freezing breezes, mimicking the divine prayers of hundreds, holding their hands up and adoring false Gods.

The moon bathed the air in a silvery, opal light; a handful of fireflies danced around the grey lights and created a beautiful image of pure nature. With their bodies flickering like small torches they paraded as twinkling as stars through the clouded sky, circling around the sparse light the moon was gifting the still forest.

As the wooden wheels met with dry foliage and sear needles a rythmic crackling consorted with the whispering wind.

Those same wooden wheels supported dark carts. Only a few shadows left the dark interior and as quick as they appeared they vanished into the warm safety of absolute darkness.

It was not long after that a hooded figure peeked through one of the carts, long enough to make the moonlight sketch its contours without the figure noticing. Just a few gentle rays of silver light connected with the jade skin and as fast as they came they faded into nothigness.

A sleek face with rosy dimples and tender red lips was slightly illuminated; a curtain of red hair draped the fairy being in a mantle of vermillion flames. Even the nearby fireflies hushed over to the fable creature and hoaxed around the blue eyes made of sapphire. The wind halted in its tracks, gazed at this miraculous fair maiden and dared not to call on its gales to make even a speck of dust appear on her skin. Nothing dared to approach this bud of pulchritude, that would someday topple kingdoms with its beauty, and smear its fairlec.

For some this image would have invoked feelings of idolization and deep veneration. But those that gazed deeper into the twin seas of crystal blue, deep into the soul of the meek girl, saw nefarious hate and heinous desires. They coiled around her soul like feral spirits, taking on the form of giant wyverns and devouring each other. Further in between the mixture of roaring hate and borderline madness was a shivering speck of sadness and grief, suffocated by the giants made of crimson wishes.

Those unfortunate firebugs, those that reached to deep into the aura of immaculacy, combusted into a firework of incarnadine flakes.

"Tsk! Pesky insects!", a cold dejected voice escaped the rose petal lips of the young damsel. The voice was ghastly emotionless and riddled with bygone loss.

As the words fell a sudden change took place.

Where once rested the delicate skin of an innocent girl, pink and tender, an epitome of innocence, was prouding itself now with deep red scales, layering into an impenetrable bullwark of haemal coloured sheen.

Countless of those red scales clustered over the girl's cheeks into a triangular motive, each had one notably brighter scale topping it all off. The flaming scales, brightening up the dark as if it was day, made one think about the fiery eyes of a mighty dragon, starring holes into your soul, and as chance would have it, it was indeed of its kin.

The once gentle eyes, beady and pure, contorted into fell slits, cruel and inanimate. A tad of ruby red confined the sapphire blue pupils in a ring of fire that threatened to consume the warm sea of azure that laid within.

A paramount desire of strength walloped in those same eyes, a powerful desire that throned on top of love and kindness, that built up on the ruthlessness of its bearer and grew only stronger with the passing of time. It was an emotion that surfaced by the eschewal, the loss, of a loved one -of many loved ones-. It made this young blossom wither into a construct of vile thorns that only wanted to kill and feast on its cold revenge.

In a sense it made the beautiful girl, now feral and with bestial features, contrast with herself. A burning desire for unspeakable power stemming from biting cold apathy.

Soon after the girl stretched her tired neck and the draconic traits on her face vanished, with a sigh. A tender hand gripped her shoulders and pulled her back into the safe interior of the dark cart.

"You idiot! What if someone had seen you?!", a scolding, strong yet feminine, voice lectured the young girl.

The speaker was covered in the blackness of the cart, only a female ring around the shade was discernible. As her body was seemingly melding into the shadows a rough outline could not be recreated, only equally brilliant blue eyes, much like the girl, could be seen.

"Tch! It's not like anyone would come close to these cursed lands...", the girl retorted in an aggressive tone and hit the cart with her fist. The wood tootered and a light red bruise became visible on the girl's hand, at the same time a large indentation and sharp splinters appeared on the wood. The girl's actions and her tone made one think that the relationship between both figures was not favorable.

"You know, I am only worried about you, about us...", a single hot tear poured out of the figure bathing in darkness. Hundreds of emotions packed into this single drop of salty liquid that was the manifestation of human sadness. Like crystaline glass it bursted open as it hit the ground and diffracted the dying light into numerous colours.

"What do you even know! You traitor! You let them die! You let her die! YOU! You should have taken her place instead!.....", under the accumulated and surpressed stress the dam of emotions showed the tiniest of cracks and made old emotions resurface. With great resolution the girl tried to keep her emotions in check but spiderwebs of tiny fractures made the dam leak further and further, each drop of emotion as hot as magma. The voice of the young girl cracked and two streams of tears flowed freely from her pearly eyes without her noticing. The boiling drops pelted on the wooden planks like hail. The wood groaned in sorrow as though it commiserated with the poor creature, weak and fragile as a sheet of glass.

"I won't try to deny it. I betrayed you, I betrayed everybody! But I won't breach the promise I made with your mother. I will protect you; both of you!", the dark figure shifted its gaze at a shivering body in one of the carts corners. Even through the thick darkness the sleek, black-bluish hair was visible. "You can hate me all you want, but I will keep my promise!", brazenly the woman talked about betrayal, a past disaster, and yet her eyes were placid, unwavering like a bastion of calm.

The girl on the other hand turned into an emotional wreck, a ship that was tempest tossed and wanders the stormy sees, all alone and without a course. The only light she could remember, her only beacon of security, was the memory of a single youth, his passionate gaze and the comfort he provided. But alas destiny is cruel and made her watch as he was ripped from her arm's reach, to never be seen again; in a literal sense.

It might have been the desperation that she felt at that moment, that surfaced so vivid like it did on the cursed day, that made her reach out with her tender hands and grasp the mirage of the long gone boy that whispered her sweet lies. She was so close but in the last moment the image vanished into thin air, left a bleack spot of empty space, humming with dripping forlorness.

Pangs of sorrow seared through her eyes, blinded by it she didn't, or couldn't, notice the two hands that were twirling around her body.

With nearly unnoticable movements the figure pulled the pule girl into a deep intimate hug.

The girl shivered slightly but eased up soon enough and pressed her teary face into the bossom of the female figure. With sniffs and snot she bemoaned the things she lost and made way for all the pain and sadness she kept in her heart.

"I will protect you, you and your brother...", the figure whispered into the girls ears, a mantra of security. The prayer-like whisper faded with the wind and the rattling of the carts outside into nothing more than a sonorous humming.

Like that the wooden caravan continued to clatter over the uneven ground. Dark brown horses neighed and let their caudates whip through the frigid air as they troted into the full moon, blurring at the horizon behind a blanket of grey clouds.

------------

My sights were glued on the knight, gripping me by my collar and pulling me out of my cell, with violence. Some might think I would be angry, but how could I? This would be my last day in this hellish prison, my last day to eat rotten food scraps from the muddy ground, my last day to kill and consume the steaming flesh of those that were unfortunate enough to cross my path in dark corners, my last day to drink a thick soup of brakish water and feces, that tore my throat and made my stomach bloat with intense cramps. Yes, this would be my last day after which I will once again be able to taste sweet sweet freedom

Cumbersome the man moved through the narrow passages with me in tow, every now and then he would give me a menacing look over his shoulder and check if I still followed him, which I complied.

We were walking a straight path, the knight gave me a look backwards and abruptly his eyes widened in shock. Suddenly the knight began to frantically gyrate with his arms in a pathetic fashion as his body leaned forward and his eyes trailed behind. His foot slipped on the wet stone and before he fell face first into the ground he swirled his arms to find his balance. Regrettably, not, it was already to late.

With a deep clonk he mashed himself deep into the floor.

For a split second he did not move and I went through the odds of him being able to die from such a fall, luckily I hadn't to worry about him as a pained groan escaped the prone knight, it was muffled but the pain was clearly audible in a low voice.

With shaking arms he straightened his craned back and gave me a searing look with capricious eyes.

A large bloody gash adorned his nosebridge, it pulsated vividly and oozed out large amounts of blood between burst skin and splittered bone. The throng of blood painted his lower face and his chest mail in a bright red.

Although his eyes were switching between a look of killing the slave that was barely holding in his laughter or bury his face in shame, I was still unable to retain my poor facade.

Goblets of spittle flew through the air as I bursted out laughing like a dying horse, literally, it was not a pleasant sound. It was a cacophony of a dying rattling noise and intermittent coughs. Even on earth my laugh was cringeworthy.

The knight's face was crimson in shade and his eyes were bloodshot. His jugular bulged in a vivid purple and beads of sweat crowned his brow. Licking his blood smeared lips and smacking them together like a rabid dog he directed one hand towards his sword, hanging loosely at his waist, and glared daggers at me.

My disfigured laugh briskly halted with a sharp last cough, it sounded much like a broken recorder that tried its best to render voices from ten years ago, but failed miserably in doing so.

I gave the knight a crooked smile, my sharp canines were displayed in its full pearl white magnificience. Those fangs of mine cut two deep nicks into my lips, the wide smile turned into a terrifying mask of cruelty.

I tried to kick up the gear and made my smile widen a notch. The corners of my mouth ripped like crows' feet, it hurt like a bitch but this sudden urge to scare the man in front of me shitless was just to overwhelming.

'Terror', the only way to describe the man's expression. From a flame red his complexion turned into a pale white tinged with a vomit green. It was hilarious.

The man's legs gave way and he fell on his butt, yellow liquid seeped out of his metal garments that trembled like weak oaks in autumn. In his fear he forgot the collar that would prevent me from any underhand action against the knights or anyone in the vicinity, but whatever.

"I know where to go from here.", I told the knight slovenly, not a tad of penitence in my voice, I was, after all, pretty proud with my work.

"Oh and that...", I pointed at the puddle of piss under the man's ass. "I don't think your sword will help against that.", I chortled and turned my back towards the shivering beggar of a man. Only now did he notice that he was still holding onto his puny sword. 'Boy, that won't even be able to scratch me.', I thought and laughed out loudly in my mind.

My smile vanished from my face as I walked straight through the dark corridors, at some point the wounds on ym face completely sealed themselves. This self-regeneration ability of mine was spectacular. Only wounds that went straight into the flesh and bones would leave knobbly scars but even the worst of fractures would heal correctly. On earth I would be a walking miracle.

Alas this world isn't earth and as much as I would like to explain my own constitution, it is just simply impossible. As far as I know there is no known organ that could change the raw energy of mana into tissue, it could be a solution if my body used mana in this process, but it didn't.

Ever since I grew those horns my physique turned abnormal. My body enlarged quite a bit and I stood now flat 5,7 feet (~173cm), my strength and overall durability and density of my body changed from normal into superhuman. If the volatile element of mana would come into play I could somewhat explain it, but it seems as if my body absorbed a third unknown source of energy, one that was not mana nor the essence in the air.

It was mind boggling to me. Each and every logic I tried to explain this phenomenon with ended in absolute failure. It was simply impossible to apply earthly science on a world of magic and swords. I could remember some books and novels that talked about reincarnation and how the protagonist changed the world with his knowledge, social hierarchies and conventions were all overthrown. But in reality this is all but an impossibility. And I had to come to an understanding.

Freeing myself from the toiling thoughts, stuffing my mind with uneeded ideas, I closed in on a shining gate. The corridor widened and revealed the glittering wall of grey steel that towered intimidating in front of me. All I saw was my ticket to freedom in this symbol of ligation, that tried to oppress me and break my will.

Two knights stood at each side and only glimpsed at me with disinteressed faces, until they saw that the knight escorting me was missing. Their swords instantly drew out of their scabbards and a human barricade blocked my way.

Although I still had the collar on me and thick chains clung to my feet, a trademark of mine, I was in no way defenseless.

I could only give a ridiculing sneer and gave the four knights, each of them, a bone-chilling glare.

"That guy is ok, he only pissed himself a bit.", I snickered before the last word fell.

"What did you do, you demon?", one of the knights asked, trembling and clenching his sword with both of his hands.

"I really didn't do anything, that guy is just dumb. Who slips on the ground and breakes his nose? Seriously, he is just stupid.", I didn#t even try to mince my words, that guy was honestly stupid. Tripping like a moron and breaking his nose.

Of course the schadenfreude in my voice couldn't be concealed.

"Now, open the gates. A fight is waiting for me and I'd rather not keep looking at your faces, lest you want me to vomit right here on the spot.", Oh how I enjoyed my last day here.

Ever since the marquis cleared my circumstances and made me a legitimate slave the knights behaved less radical, right before a fight they mostly didn't even lay a hand on me. After all the abuse would be visible for the whole rows of spectators once I step outside.

They could only gnash their teeth. One rembling knight pointed with his chin into teh hallway behind me. "Go, look for that guy.". "Allright.", a flat dialog; and with that finished the addressed knight stood up and jogged into the damp maze of winding paths.

I wanted to call out to the knight, threaten him, humilate him but my words were cut short by a druming noise outside. 'It begins.', I mused to myself.

"TODAY, YOUR BELOVED ASHURA WILL BE FIGHTING ONCE AGAIN! WITH THE STRENGTH OF A BULL AND THE WITS OF A FOX, WILL HE BE ABLE TO BEAT ASH? THE KNIGHT IN SILVER, THE NOTORIOUS DRAGONSLAYER, A PRODIGY WITH THE SWORD. WELCOME, ASH THE SILVER DRAGON!!!!!!!!!!!!!".

'Wow....', I gulped heavily as a slight tremble went through my body. This was more than Eirich told me yesterday. I expected some dandy prince charming, an idiot with the sword that solely relies on technique. A virtous knight in white, a keeper of self-proclaimed justice. But what I got instead was a supposedly 'dragonslayer'. If what I imagine under dragon was slain by this 'Ash', then I was sure to have a good fight waiting for me.

Incredibly loud cheers erupted from behind the gate, small pebbles dropped from the ceiling as the whole building started to shake. The stampeding feet calmed down only after a minute or two, preventing my ears from spontaneously combusting into flames from the incessant noise.

As before the gate took its sweet time to open up, leisurely and without a real hurry. It creaked and moaned like an elderly man that was trying to snatch his glasses from the ground. It was a painful time to just wait and twidle my thumbs.

Ungodly seconds later the gate finally revealed the patched up arena, countless fights left their marks on ground and walls alike and only the most bare of reconstructions made the encirclement not collapse on itself. In a sense it was dangerous but gave the arena its own little charm.

My first foot stepped out from the shadows and into the burning midday sun. Without shoes I could feel the scorching sand and dust beaneath my feet slowly burning into my soles.

With hurried steps a slim youth came running over. A thin collar wrapped around his throat and marked him as a slave. With great effort he carried a massive sword over the ground. Tears of sweat formed on his face as he reached me with exhausted gasps. Fatigue was written all over his face and the thin linen cloth covering his body was drenched in reeking sweat.

I grimaced over the stench and accepted the sword with an affirmative nod. The young man's eyes lit up as though he has seen his life's idol, which I probably was. It made me uncomfortable and I felt myself dug my feet into the ground in embarassment. Mind you, I am not antisocial but if someone looks at you like a God it gets kinda uncomfortable. Can't even undertand how all those celebrities can withstand such emotion filled glares.

My trusty broadsword was rocked in my arm much like a baby would. It was not the sharpest, not the most beautiful, but it packed a punch that no other sword could compare to. This rough slab of iron was a mirror of my own stalwartness, unrefined but unyielding. The countless battles left their blooddrenched marks on the sword but with pride it endured the whole nine yards of damage that was done to it. It might have been an inanimate object but it incorporated the truest of the warrior's heart.

Breaking my gaze with the sword I let it skid over towards the opposing entrance. My heart somewhat expected the haughty noble boy dressed lavishly in silver plates to exit from this dark cave but against all odds the exact opposite came true.

A man, tall and muscular yet clearly agile in his movements stood in the gate. A combination of leather and ash grey plates covered his body, it looked savagely but served its purpose.

The man was roughly forty years old with a head full of grey hair. His face was stern and somewhat wrinkled but it exuded a battlelust comparable to absolute beasts. His dark brown eyes starred holes through my body and his brawny arms and hands clenched tightly around a silver longsword and a thick bullwark of a shield. If you are proficient with the shield there is simply no need for massive armors that covered every part of your body.

I got the same feeling from him as from a veteran commander, strong and resolute, just but strict.

'Did Eirich lie to me or was he simply misinformed? No, how can somebody overlook this?', I asked myself and wanted to scream at the same time.

No matter how i lookeda t the situation, the man infront of me was a pro, a veteran, in fighting. Through five years of daily killing I could tell if a person had obvious opennings, if their stance was correct and if they had the muscles to support the techniques. And this man, this warrior, had all of it.

There was not one discernible openning that I could exploit, not even a taunt, verbal or physical, would do me any good, I was sure of it.

And then it happened.

"Hello my dear fans! How are you today?!", the scarred knight voiced out in a high pitched tone, a jolly tone.

And for a moment his whole persona changed. Opennings everywhere, I couldn't even traced the least bit of danger from this 'clown'.

It slowly dawned onto me, that guy was a monster. Playing the innocent role in public and then being ruthless in fights. The whole bragging was probably true and not some hokum I thought it was after seeing the man with my own eyes. He just palyed the role of a fool perfectly. Those that experienced the fight would have no way to tell the tale of it. And I doubt those bloodcrazed spectators, all brawn and no brains, would even begin to fathom the sheer might of this man's techniques.

Some people may think an observant spectator might derive some of the subject's idiosyncrasies just from watching; I call it bullshit! You have to experience the fight first-hand, be in the fray and face your foe, and not slump down on your ass and watch two people brawl it out and now you think you know all their quirks.

"To all the gentleman, and ladies!", he winked. "This fight is for you! And I hope you will enjoy it!", he turned around while giving a large bow.

With his smile still clinging weakly onto his face he gazed at me.

"Boy, let's get serious...", the same man from before stood now before me, unwavering and massive like a boulder. I doubted that even my father had the same prowess as this man, but I might be wrong.

A deep tinge of sadness bore its fangs into my heart but with a quick slap on my cheek I woke up from my self-inflicted stupor.

Ash stood on the same spot, tall and threatening, and waited for my first move. Before another second passed I sprinted forward, the large sword blazing behind me in a trail of stone grey.

I pushed all manners of defense aside and simply engaged like a madman with the notorious 'dragonslayer' Ash. I could see his teeth gleaming beneath a wide smile as he eyed me amusedly.

To win against a professional you have to apply tactics that no one would even think about. You have to discard your sanity, hold hands with madness and simply fight. There was no way I could win this fight, my rational mind told me as much. Even with a body of herculean strength and speed, a sharp knife could pierce through my muscles, in between my bones, and into my heart. Instant death was all that awaited me.

But what happens if you just ignore all kinds of tactics, everything that people hold as the norm, and indulge in craziness? You become unpredictable, a thorn sticking in their sides that won't let loose no matter what. And I would do the same.

Like a shooting star I smashed violently on the ground. Ash's eyes narrowed into observant slits. I did not let him wait long as I once again emerged from the rising cloud of dust. With a massive overhead slash no more, no less. It was an attack so stupidly slow and brutish that anyone, yes even a child, could have dodged or blocked it if they had the ability to do so. But think of yourself in my opponents shoes. You are a veteran in melees presumably. And the opponent you face is the same as you, cold-blooded, calculating and yet fervent and unrelenting in his attacks. But what happens now when this same opponent, one you think highly off and expect exquisite tactics no less, dashes straight forward like a pricked baboon? You would be confused.

There was no tentative side stepping, probing each others attack range and constitution, no circling around each other, only a simple straight forward attack. It would be the same as if a waiter comes to your table to bring your food but instead of your main course he delicately slams the desert right into your face!

I gnashed my teeth and let my arm sear through the air. The hot summer sun beamed on my back as I crouched mid-air with the swing. Like a hammer hitting an anvil the massive broadsword connected with the ashen shield in a firework of golden sparks.

I felt the earth crumble around our position and light quakes travelled through the ground. I had no idea how Ash could withstand this blow but after seeing his wide grin and those brilliant white canines sticking out I felt a chill creep down my spine. I wanted to retreat but when I heard a silent prayer leave Ash's lips I knew it was to late.

In a moment's notice a white circle appeared beneath Ash's feet. His silver eyes turned into a blinding white and the leather strips holding his armor together suddenly tensed up. I saw his muscles swell between the small gaps, hot and pulsating with red hue.

Before I could even gasp in surprise the large bastard sword in his left smashed square onto my chest with its flat side. With the little mana that still cursed through my veins, a small impetus of mana that was free from the collar's restrictions but not enough to change the natural laws as I will it, I could faintly discern the changes that took place in the air. The sensation of steam being drawn into a large vortex all around Ash. I had little time to observe this phenomenon before I made the mana in my veins bubble up to their maximum. I found it out while killing all those people prior. The mana in my body could strengthen it to some point, it was unexplicable.

BANG BANG BOOM!

I skittered across the earth like a pebble over the water, each impact causing small ripples on the ground, and pierced straight into the arena's walls.

My bones ached and my organs stirred from the kinetic energy that travelled through their mushy flesh. Acidic bile left my throat and splattered all over the ground, a tinge of blood was present as well.

Eyes tearing from the stench I tried to close them, but what a fool I would be!? I endured through the sour stench and stood up with trembling legs. I glimpsed over my shoulders and saw a massive indentation in the wall which made me shiver instinctively.

Like a foal I staggered forward, my sword left my hand but as loyal as it was it travelled nonetheless a long distance behind me like a subservient dog.

I leaned forward to pick up the sword and groaned as my spine punished me for the painful movement. The tidbit of mana I used to enforce my body made me survive the brutal impact, but I doubted it would work a second time. Just so that you know, the mana that was being kept inside my body was the residue mana that the collar could not stop from leaking. I don't know which process it used but the metal -or some other material- inside the collar made it absorb the ejected mana and the mana that rummaged inside my body. For a person like me who considered himself as some kind of mage it was quite a fatal instrument.

Wrily I smiled at the blade that was for the hundreth of time grasped in my rough hand. I glimpsed from the sword into the mass of gaping onlookers, half disbelieving that I survived the blow. It took my only the fraction of a second to locate a certain blonde individual.

'Miril...', I mused her name in my thoughts, silently I whispered for strength, strength that I found in the image of this fragile looking girl. Though weak and barely able to hold a sword she confronted me each day with a warm smile, no matter what atrocities I comitted. She did not ignore my quirks, she accepted them. There is no way I could hide the slaughter I time and time again caused in the slave house whenever my mind went to the deep and dark recesses. The stench of blood was sometimes so heavy around me it was odd that a person wouldn't think about a gruesomely mutilated corpse walking past them. I kept my rational, but some things inside of me are broken. Well broken would not be apt to say... they disappeared. Thoughts, memories, emotions, some of them were simply lapped up by oblivion. I knew I changed, my thoughts were mostly happy and bright, but then other times... it would start. Febrile nights full of aching and crying, whailing and cursing; praying.

Something deep inside of me was already dead.

(The MC is not emotionaly stable of some of you might have guessed, you see how he goes from 'Happy-go-luck Oh my babe is here' to 'Fuck this shit I would rather die!'. I just want to highlight that the MC is NOT unaffected by the life as a slave. In later chapters it will show more clearly.)

I picked the sword by the far end of the hilt and let it glide through my palm. It felt good, the raspy leather bound to the hilt felt so familiar and safe.

Ash was just standing there, arms raised up and shouting and laughing loudly. "HAHAHAAH! THAT IS THE LEGENDARY ASURA?! WHAT A JOKE!", as his voice trailled of the crowd errupted in cheers and chaotic laughter.

"What a joke that boy is.", "Asura?! He is just another demon slave!", such phrases boomed down from the levied seats.

For some odd reason I didn't feel particular hate for Ash, his eyes respected me as a fellow warrior, but those people! Those people that randomly spit out their thoughts, drenched in dribble and maliciousness, as if they knew it all; I couldn't forgive those people.

My once pale face flared as the heat resurged into my body. Pain burned from my horn all the way down to my face, a pain that ate away my skin and flesh. The dark scar, the tribal stigma, I had forgotten about it. I had forgotten about the vision, the transformation that sparked from eternal hate and thirst for carnage.

With great effort I surpressed my emotions, unshouted screams were silenced in my throat. But I knew it was futile, so instead of surpressing these emotions I used them as a fuel. A fuel for my victory.

An animal becomes its strongest once cornered.

The still steaming Ash grinned as my eyes radiated a crimson light that even I could make out. The mixture of smaragd and ruby light, flashing intensely, made dread sprout around me like little daisies.

My bones cracked as I shot forth. the sword trailed behind me like the tail of a massive leviathan and it struck with the same speed. Shaking the whole arena by its massive power I clashed with Ash's trusty iron shield.

Blood dripped through my orifices, my eardrums burst from the reveberating boom and even my brain was sent into a violent ride of vibrations.

Ash's shield, this ash grey bullwark, did not show the slightest inclination of breaking even though my blow hit like thunder.

I gnashed my teeth, still flying atop of Ash and holding me up only with the force of my arm, I pressed harder.

SPLURCH!

A slight pain, An ashen light. A red trail.

Why? Why did I always forgot the sword of his?!

"Boy, this shield is made of dragon bones, scales and skin. You think your toy can break this?!", he laughed.

Skewered on his sword I could only raised the corner of my lips in a sarcastic smile. As I stood now so close to Ash In could indeed see it. Thin, unnoticable scales layered atop of the shield, they formed a defense that would put any metal on earth to shame.

I saw the reflection of my face in the shield. Scarred, bloody and exhausted. The portrait of juvenile joy and idleness was replaced by a youth, a man, that experienced the hardships of this world the hard way.

If I had protected them; if I had only died early on, ravaged by the beast; if I hadn't been reincarnated, what was my point even?!

My last moments were dry and demure. I fought rancorous against my death countless times already. Who had the aspiration to keep going after this, this.... yes, what was it even?

With my hand gliding down the sharp blade, cutting my skin open, I trailed all the way down to Ash's hand. He trembled suddenly, I felt it through the metal and the contact with his fingers.

"Open your hand...", I whispered.

As if an unknown force beckoned him, a force from the heavens, he did as I commanded.

The sword left his hand and he stood there, one palm pointed to the heaven, and I slightly staggered backwards from the released force.

With known movements I gave him a low-five, motioned him to make a fist, and gave him a fist bump. What prompted me to do such a thing, I don't know, I just felt like it.

"This is how we say goodbye from where I come from. Remeber it.", I told him.

The world turned upside down and suddenly I starred at the sky, my head hurt and breathing became hard. My hair felt like a bird's nest and sweat formed in small puddley all over my body. Blood stained my chest and made a small altar of crimson under my body, with a mighty grey obelisk situated in the middle. It strangely enough remembered me of my first death.

I was tired and just did what I ought to do. I closed my eyes and waited as I did on the faited day, fearing what would come next. Regrets? One or two. I still hadn't told Miril I love her, and I did. And I hadn't found my family, if they are even alive.

Those were only two regrets but they were heavy ones. Ones that would follow me into my next life, I knew it somehow.

My last fire's extinguished out of existence. The dragon drew his last breath...

(The new Arc should begin in the next chapter! Sorry i you think that Hyrion is a dumb fuck that is more of a muscle head than a rational thinker. But as said prior, deep rooted hate and wrath tainted his judgement.)