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Wassup guys its MDGZX here, just before we start, a small announcement, i will be making chapters a bit shorter but will be trying to upload twice a day, if not twice, you guys will get a chapter a day for sure.
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In the bright sheet of stars sprawled across the non-viable sky, only two things broke the heavy silence of the moment. The first was the shattered, uneven rhythm of a man locked in desperate combat with an ancient monster. The second was the ragged, guttural breath of a myth, one who had long been etched into the stories of mankind. Her eyes fell upon the man below, his body encased in silver plates of armor, now stained with deep crimson rivers of blood seeping from the joints. Each movement he made was labored, each breath a scream muffled by sheer will.
She had endured the passage of time longer than the rise and fall of empires, longer than history dared to count. She had seen warriors of every kind ascend this cursed mountain, brave souls, deluded fools, all seeking to slay the legendary beast in the name of so-called 'justice.' A justice that was nothing more than a veil masking their greed for fame and their thirst for legend. Most of them were sorcerers, arrogant in their belief that the magic of mortals could ever rival the primeval power of draconic heritage. And each one of them had fallen, their illusions shattered by her talons and her fire.
They claimed she was a menace, a monster, yet she had never sought conflict. It was they who came, blades drawn and spells cast, to end her existence for their own glorification. But how foolish they were, fools borne of arrogance and ignorance. Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands? She had lost count of the exact number of sorcerers who perished by her wrath. Their bones had long since turned to dust, but their screams still echoed in the valley beneath her. She fed on them, not their flesh alone, but their magic, their fear, their belief that they were untouchable.
It was through this reign of terror, carved into the ages, that she was given a name. A name that carried weight and dread across every kingdom that dared speak it aloud. She was "Adula, The Mighty Devourer of Sorcerers", a title earned not by cruelty, but by survival.
But she used to like only one single aspect of those greed-hungry humans, that they were willing to justify any corrupted and vile means necessary to achieve their twisted sense of justice, drenched in lust and on the brink of collapse from their selfish desires. That singular quality, persistence, made them interesting, if nothing else. They would charge at her one after another, tireless, like waves crashing against an unbreakable cliff, not because they stood a chance, but because their ambition had blinded them to reality. And yet, for the first time in the deep annals of history, something had changed. She, a being who carried the weight of centuries in the rhythm of her heartbeat and bore the burden of far-fetched wisdom across her outstretched wings, found herself unable to comprehend the man standing before her.
This warrior was unlike the others. Every opponent she had ever encountered reeked of malice, like they were not just touched by flames of corruption, but consumed by them. It is a truth she came to learn across time: once beings lose control over the flame of ambition, they become indistinguishable from it. They are the flame. Ambition breeds hunger, and hunger brings forth self-absorption. That self-absorption eats away at humanity like rot, twisting even the noblest intentions into justifications for violence, conquest, and cruelty. And she, Adula, hated the scent of malice with a depth words could not contain.
After the brutal and merciless death of her mother at the hands of such greed-stricken humans, somewhere buried deep in the forgotten stretch of the Land's Between, Adula left. She fled, soaring across ruined kingdoms and forgotten valleys, seeking refuge at the farthest end of the lands. She yearned for peace. She wanted only silence. She wished to sleep away the ages in a place untouched by the stench of mankind. But one can run from problems; one cannot hide from their nature.
And so, even in the endmost cliff of the world, humanity followed. Their swords gleamed with arrogance, their spells cast with hollow righteousness. They found her. Again and again, they came. Driven by pride, driven by ambition, driven by tales of her terror and promises of glory.
But this man… this lone warrior who now stood before her, bloodied and breathless, was different. He did not shine with pride. He did not scream justice into the winds. He did not chant empty declarations of vengeance. His gaze was hollow, but not with madness, rather, with pain. His stance was firm, but not for glory rather, as if burdened by an invisible grief. This undead's demeanor radiated honor, yet he had none left. His hands yearned to preserve life, yet no life remained in him. And for the first time in all her long and mighty history, Adula, the Devourer of Sorcerers, the Silent Flame of the Forgotten Peaks, could not sense malice in her enemy.
She did not understand him.
And that terrified her more than any sorcerer's spell ever will.
Bu..But this man, who is this man? why he holds a sword and yet reeks of not malice? not even a single bit? She can smell it clearly, his soul, not merely tainted, but rotting. The necrotic stench of dying flesh clings to him like fog. He is, without a doubt, an undead. An Undead who has long crossed the threshold of mortality, who walks not because he chooses to, but because fate drags him onward. In the truth of his existence, this man is no mere revenant. He is an undead, reborn from ashes and bound by the will of some divine curse, a candidate chosen to rise and conquer the shattered throne of the Elden Lord. But then, why is he here? Why does he stand before her in this forsaken place, if not to claim her head like the rest? Surely, he knows who she is. Surely, he was warned. Yet there is no triumph in his eyes, no glee, no glory-seeking arrogance. He fights her, yes, but there is hesitation in his strikes, as though the blade carries weight beyond its metal. He moves not like a killer, but like a man with no desire to kill. Not to die either. It's almost as if he is trapped in a loop of survival without purpose.
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What do you guys think of Adula?? Give me some suggestions surely i will read them :)
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