The world came into focus through a haze of pain and confusion, like emerging from a thick, suffocating fog. Samaras's eyes snapped open, his vision blurry at first, sharpening slowly to reveal the dim confines of a cave. Water dripped from jagged stalactites overhead, plinking into shallow pools that reflected faint, ethereal light filtering through cracks in the rock. The air was heavy, damp, laced with the musty scent of moss and decay. His body felt weak, small, frail, not the mighty form he vaguely remembered. He tried to move, his limbs responding sluggishly, scales scraping against the cold stone floor.
What... what is this? Where am I?
His mind raced, fragments of thoughts colliding like shattered glass. He was... he had been something more. A dragon, ancient and powerful, soaring through endless skies, flames roaring from his maw to consume empires. But now? He lifted a tiny, underdeveloped, clawed hand, barely larger than a mortal's fist. His wings, if they could be called that, were pathetic stubs, useless flaps of leathery membrane that twitched feebly against his back. His tail, short and stubby, thrashed weakly, stirring up dust. He was a whelp, a hatchling reborn in weakness. But why? How?
A sharp pang shot through his skull, and memories flooded in unbidden, flashes of betrayal that made his blood boil even in this diminished state. He saw it all again: towering figures cloaked in divine radiance, gods with eyes like stars, their voices thundering judgment. "You have taken too much, Ignis Eternal," one had intoned, his form shifting like liquid light. " The flames of creation are not yours to hoard. For your hubris, you shall be bound, cursed to wander in shadows until the balance is restored. "Chains of ethereal energy had wrapped around him, searing his scales, draining his essence. He had roared in defiance, flames erupting in a cataclysmic burst, but it was futile. The gods had sealed him away, casting him into oblivion, only to awaken here in this gods-forsaken hole.
Samaras snarled, the sound echoing weakly off the walls. The name... Samaras. It left a balance, a remnant of his true self, though the gods had stripped away much more. His power, his memories, were mostly locked behind a veil, tantalizing glimpses that faded as quickly as they came. He pushed himself up on trembling legs, his small body aching from the effort. The cave was vast, a labyrinth of twisting tunnels branching into darkness. Faint bioluminescent fungi clung to the walls, casting a sickly green glow that illuminated scattered bones, remnants of previous inhabitants, perhaps prey or predators long gone.
Hunger gnawed at him, a deep, primal void in his gut that demanded satisfaction. It wasn't just for food; there was something else stirring within, an urge that twisted his thoughts. Lust? No, not yet fully formed, but a simmering heat, a drive to dominate, to claim. In his prime, he had reveled in his conquests of flesh and fire, bending others to his will. Now, it was a whisper, teasing at the edges of his mind, urging him to grow, to evolve. But first, survival.
He crept forward, claws clicking softly on the stone. The cave floor was uneven, slick with moisture, and he nearly slipped into a puddle that reflected his pitiful reflection back at him: crimson scales dulled by grime, golden eyes glowing with faint inner fire, horns barely nubs on his head. Pathetic. He needed strength, essence, or whatever scraps this place could offer.
A skittering sound caught his attention, echoing from a nearby alcove. Rodents. Small, furry creatures darting in the shadows, their eyes glinting like tiny beads. Prey. Samaras's instincts kicked in, overriding the disorientation. He lowered his body, muscles coiling despite their weakness, and stalked closer. The air grew thicker here, scented with the musky odor of the vermin. There were three of them, gnawing at a moldy root, oblivious to the predator in their midst.
He lunged, faster than he expected, his claws slashing out in a blur. The first rodent didn't stand a chance; his talons raked across its back, ripping through fur and flesh with a wet tear. Warm blood sprayed, splattering his scales and the cave wall in crimson arcs. The creature squealed, a high-pitched wail that cut through the silence, its body convulsing as life ebbed away. Samaras pinned it down, feeling a rush of energy surge through him, an essence boost, raw and invigorating, like a spark igniting in his core. It wasn't much, but it sharpened his senses and made his limbs feel less leaden.
The other two scattered, but he was already moving. He pounced on the second, jaws clamping around its neck with a crunch of bone. Blood filled his mouth, hot and metallic, spilling over his chin as he shook it violently. Fur tore free in clumps, and the rodent's struggles weakened, its tiny claws scratching futilely at his scales. He relished the kill, the dominance of it, the way life yielded to his will. The third tried to flee into a crack, but Samaras's tail whipped out, slamming it against the stone with a sickening thud. He descended on it, claws eviscerating its belly, guts spilling in a steaming pile amid the pooling blood.
Panting, he devoured the remains, tearing into the warm flesh with savage bites. The essence flowed stronger now, a tingling warmth spreading through his veins, mending the ache of his rebirth. But as he ate, that other urge stirred again, primal and insistent. It wasn't hunger for food anymore; it was a deeper craving, a need to assert control, to bond, and to conquer. In his fragmented memories, he saw flashes of it: powerful forms writhing beneath him, cries of ecstasy mixing with roars of triumph. Here, in this isolation, it was just a tease, a promise of what could be if he grew stronger. His body responded involuntarily, a heat building low in his abdomen, but he pushed it down. Not yet. Survival first.
Wiping blood from his maw with a scaled forearm, Samaras surveyed the alcove. The kills had left a mess of blood smeared across the floor, bits of fur and bone scattered like offerings. It felt well, a mark of his presence in this new world. But the cave held more secrets. As he turned to explore further, a faint pulse caught his eye, a soft, red glow emanating from deeper in the tunnel. It throbbed like a heartbeat, drawing him closer despite the wariness prickling his scales.
What is that? An artifact? A trap?
He approached cautiously, the glow intensifying with each step. The air grew warmer, charged with an unfamiliar energy that resonated with the essence he'd just absorbed. The source was a crystal, embedded in the cave wall, its surface etched with ancient runes that seemed to writhe like living flames. It called to him, promising power, but also danger; the gods' curse lingered in his mind, a warning that nothing came without a price.
As he reached out a claw, the crystal flared brighter, and a voice echoed in his head, not his own, but mechanical, ethereal: "Initialization Imminent. Curse Active."
Samaras froze, golden eyes widening. The system? What new torment was this? The pulse quickened, and the cave seemed to hold its breath, waiting for him to