The blood-soaked sands stick to your boots, the arena silent but for the faint wind and the distant clinking of chains from the far gate.
"This voice in your head belongs to none other than Azgor, the Black Dragon of Calamity—a monstrous being that crawled out of a deep dwarven mine 350 years ago and brought the great Aurelian Empire to its knees. From what you've heard, it took them fifty years of relentless war to finally kill the beast, nearly driving them to extinction."
"I still don't understand why you chose this," you think, sidestepping Azgor's remarks. "Out of all the things you could have done, why tether yourself to me? Stuck in my head, watching through my eyes... Doesn't it get tiresome?"
Azgor chuckles. "Well, it's certainly better than remaining trapped in my core, letting those researchers poke and prod me for another 300 years."
You know he's not telling you everything. It's one of the small advantages of having his consciousness tethered to yours. Not that it matters—you can't do anything about it.
"And now!" the announcer's voice boomed, jolting you back to the moment. "Facing him is a red dragon, captured in the northern mountains!"
All eyes shifted to the massive iron gate at the far end of the arena. The ground trembled as it began to creak open, chains rattling like a death knell. Shadows spilled forth first, long and ominous, before the creature itself emerged. The dragon stepped into the light, its crimson scales shimmering like molten metal. At five meters tall and sixteen meters long, it was a hulking mass of coiled muscle and fury, every step shaking the arena floor.
This was no "weak little thing," as Azgor had mockingly dismissed. This was an adult dragon—young, perhaps, by its kind's standards, but its size and presence were a stark reminder of why dragons were among the most feared creatures on the continent.
"It cost the lives of thirty soldiers to restrain this beast!" the announcer bellowed, his voice ringing across the arena. "And now, the Warden shall face it alone!"