Talent Awakening: Draconic Overlord Of The Apocalypse

Draven shifted, lightning snapping. With a swift motion, he drew his massive greatsword from his side—Storm Cleaver, its edge crackling with purple lightning.

“We’ll be taking this elsewhere.”

Before the Emperor could react, Draven exploded forward in a burst of speed and a surge of lightning.

The blood splashed violently as he closed the gap in an instant, his armored hand seizing the Emperor’s fleshy skull with a wet SQUELCH.

The Emperor’s staff flared, but Draven’s grip tightened, purple bolts arcing into the exoskeleton.

With a roar—”HRAH!”—he hurled the Emperor upward, the force shattering the dais and sending him crashing through the cracked ceiling—BOOM.

Stone and blood rained down—THUD-SPLASH—as the Emperor vanished into the reddish-black sky, Draven leaping after him in a streak of lightning.

Arden stared, mouth agape. “What… just happened?” he croaked, slumped against the fractured pillar, his body a wreck of bruises and blood, the jagged edges of his broken mask digging into his face.

The throne room reeked of blood and rot, the shallow sea of dark blood lapping at his boots with every faint ripple.

His sword lay somewhere in the ruins, lost in the chaos, its green runes extinguished.

Around him, his team clung to life—Gina cradling her dislocated arm, blood seeping through her cracked mask; Marcus hunched over, ribs shattered, coughing red into the gore; Jarek dragging his mangled leg, a trail of crimson behind him; Logan slumped against a pillar, his broken arm dangling, breath shallow; Warner and Rainer propping each other up, their masks fogged with pain and exhaustion.

The reddish-black hole in the sky—more visible now—pulsed overhead, its light casting long, twisted shadows across the ruined chamber.

His teammates were shocked by what they were seeing.

“What in the—?!” Gina’s voice broke the silence, her head snapping up despite her pain.

“That’s… a dragon… A knight? A dragon knight? Wait… isn’t that one of Alister’s summons?”

Marcus coughed, blood flecking his mask, eyes wide. “No way… you mean that summoner from the White Comets? What’s one of his summons doing here?”

Jarek dragged himself up, grimacing. “Not only that… How is it here?”

Logan wheezed a laugh, clutching his broken arm. “Hell if I know, but it’s got better timing than us.”

Warner squinted through his mask, shards hovering weakly. “If he sent it, then he must have found a way in somehow.”

Arden was about to speak, but then it came again—that sharp, invasive BZZZZZZZZT, slicing through the fog of his mind like a blade.

He flinched, his head jerking as the static burrowed deep, his vision blurring at the edges. The ancient, layered voice echoed within his skull:

[Aspirant… You have lingered too long in the red mist. Its corruption seeps into your flesh, your soul. Accept the Contract, bind yourself to a House, or it will claim you. Refuse, and you will be turned—remade into a servant of this domain, forever lost to the Emperor’s will.]

Arden’s breath hitched, his blood-smeared hand trembling as he pressed it to his temple.

The red mist—he could feel it now, creeping in his chest, a faint itch under his skin, like something clawing its way in.

His green eyes darted to the dragon knight before the Mad Emperor, and he couldn’t help but feel relieved.

“Arden?” Gina’s voice cut through, raspy and strained behind her mask. She shifted, wincing as her injured arm jostled. “You’re zoning out again—what’s it saying now?”

He swallowed hard, tasting blood, his gaze flickering to his team’s broken bodies. “The voice… it’s back,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Says the red mist’s got me—got us. If I don’t take its Contract, I’ll turn into… one of those.”

He turned toward the Emperor, his stomach twisting at the thought.

Marcus spat blood into the blood pool—and forced a grim smirk. “Turn into that ugly bastard? Seems you don’t have a choice then. What’s this Contract again?”

“Bind to a House,” Arden muttered, his mind racing. “It’s been pushing it since we got here. Says it’s the only way to—survive this.”

Jarek dragged himself closer, his leg scraping wetly, and growled through gritted teeth.

“Sounds like a trap,” Rainer wheezed, clutching his fractured hip, his mask fogged with shallow breaths. “What’s the cost?”

“Didn’t get that far,” Arden admitted, his jaw tightening. “But if it’s right about the mist…” He trailed off, feeling that itch again—deeper now.

“I think the only choice now is to accept it.”

The voice returned.

[Then choose, Aspirant. Will you accept the Contract, bind yourself to a House, and defy the will of the Emperor?]

Arden’s breathing slowed. The blood on his lips felt cold now. He clenched his jaw, then spoke, voice low and resolute.

“I have a question first.”

Silence. Then a hum, deep and alive.

[Ask.]

“If I accept… will I be able to save my teammates too?” His eyes darted to each of them—broken, bleeding, barely holding on. “Can they be protected from the mist?”

A beat.

[They may be registered as sub-household members. They will fall under your dominion, and as such, be immune to the corruption of the red mist—so long as your will holds.]

A breath escaped him, half a laugh, half a sob. “Then I accept,” Arden whispered, his hand trembling as it clenched into a fist. “I accept the Contract.”

The voice roared in approval—not with volume, but with presence—a thousand souls whispering the same name.

[The keeper of the soul flame smiles upon you.]

[A contract has been established.]

[You have donned the house name: Emberwairth.]

[Your blessing grows stronger.]

—

Meanwhile…

Outside, a crash split the silence—BOOM!—as the Emperor’s body smashed through buildings, skidding through stone and dust, shattering walls like paper. He groaned, dragging himself to his feet, blood leaking from the cracks in his exoskeleton.

Then—FLASH. A blur of violet lightning and steel landed right in front of him.

Draven.

The Emperor snarled, blood spitting from his cracked jaws. “I hate dragons… arrogant, winged vermin—”

But Draven didn’t wait.

With a burst of speed, he was already moving—CRACK!—shoulder slamming into the Emperor’s gut before the beast could finish speaking.

The Emperor grunted, instinctively raising a crimson shield of blood and bone.

Too slow.

KRA-KOOM!

Storm Cleaver slashed through it like paper, shattering the barrier in a single strike. Draven twisted mid-motion, then brought his armored boot down on the Emperor’s chest with an earth-splitting THUD, cracking ribs and forcing the creature back into the rubble.

The Emperor gasped, choking on blood.

Draven grabbed him by the leg, hoisting the writhing thing upside down, his arm sparking.

“I don’t have time to converse with a creature about to meet its end. I am following my lord’s will.”

Lightning surged.

ZHHH-CRACK!

He darted forward, a comet of stormlight, tearing through the ruined city—dragging the Emperor through shattered stone and wreckage, his body smashing against debris and ruin, the red mist swirling in his wake.

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