{ FIVE YEARS LATER }
In the heart of the dark forest, high up in the jagged mountains, an undead dragon lay in its cave, its massive, decaying frame curled around heaps of shattered bones and forgotten weapons. Nightfall was its cue. Every evening, without fail, it dragged its rotting carcass from the cave and began its patrol through the cursed forest it called home.
It had been six years since it was first summoned—brought into this world by ancient, foul magic to be a guardian of forest. In all that time, nothing had truly challenged it. Not once had it felt fear, or pain, or the sting of a worthy opponent's blade.
There were three strange humans, however. One had dark skin and a reckless tongue, and the other two had wings on their backs like twisted angels. They had fought it once, five years ago, but vanished into the shadows of the endless woods. The forest was vast—searching for them would be like trying to count the leaves on every tree. And so, the dragon stopped caring.
As the last rays of sunlight dipped behind the mountains, the sky melted into darkness, and the creature stirred. It clawed its way toward the cave's mouth, its exposed bones scraping against stone, hollow eyes glowing with a dull, unnatural light.
But tonight was different.
"Ey ty, bol'shaya yashcheritsa!"
("Hey you oversized lizard!")
The dragon paused. That voice. That language.
"Ya zdes', chtoby ubit' tebya!"
("I'm here to kill you!")
It recognized the man. The dark-skinned fool. Still shouting nonsense in that strange, unintelligible tongue. But that didn't matter. The man was an intruder—and all intruders were to be incinerated.
The dragon let loose a guttural growl and inhaled, its ribcage expanding grotesquely. It prepared to unleash a torrent of fire that would turn anything before it into ash.
Nikolai stood at the edge of the mountain pass, staring up at the abomination of bone, rotting scale, and blackened sinew. His expression was calm, but inside his heart thundered.
Five years of preparation had led to this moment. Five long, grueling years of hunting, training, forging weapons, and memorizing every detail of the creature's behavior. Tonight, it would all pay off. They would kill the dragon.
As the undead beast began to inhale, Nikolai's instincts kicked in. 'It's gonna breathe fire!'
With a flick of his hand, he summoned a massive greatshield, easily twice his height and wide enough to cover his entire body. Its base had a sharp spike, which he drove into the rocky ground before crouching behind it just in time.
The dragon's breath came like an inferno. A river of flames bathed the shield in a wall of orange and red. Heat surged around him, but the thick shield held. Sweat poured from his skin, but he remained still, focused.
When the fire ceased, Nikolai didn't waste a second.
"Artom! Igor! Now!"
From their hiding spot in the nearby cliffs, his sons launched their part of the plan. Dressed in slightly larger versions of the armor they had worn years ago, their monstrous forms surged into the air. They were no longer boys—they were warriors.
Wings unfurled with sharp, deliberate motion, and they took to the sky, firing a barrage of cursed arrows at the dragon. The arrows bounced off its hide, but that was expected. The goal wasn't damage—it was distraction.
Nikolai sprinted forward. Chains materialized in his hands—thick, blackened, and pulsing with grayish aura. With a crack, he lashed them forward, wrapping them tightly around the dragon's maw.
"GRIP!" he shouted, casting the binding curse. The chains glowed crimson and tightened.
The dragon struggled, eyes burning with fury, but its mouth clamped shut.
"HAH!" With a roar of effort, Nikolai yanked the dragon's head down to the ground with a sickening slam.
"Go for the wings!" he bellowed.
His sons didn't hesitate. Artom and Igor summoned their sledgehammers mid-flight and dove toward the monster's exposed back.
Though most of the dragon's hide was impenetrable, time and decay had worked in their favor. Portions of its wings had rotted away, revealing tender muscle and brittle bone.
The boys struck with precision, each impact shaking the air like thunder.
CRACK!
SNAP!
The wings shattered. The dragon roared—silently, thanks to the chained muzzle—and thrashed wildly.
It tried to rise, to take flight, but its ruined wings dragged uselessly behind it. Then, Nikolai pulled again, slamming its skull into the mountain floor.
"Boys! Go for the head! Quick!"
Artom and Igor obeyed. They descended like meteors, hammers raised. But the dragon wasn't finished yet.
Its tail lashed out—faster than expected—and struck both boys mid-air, sending them crashing into the rocky slope. Their armor dematerialized on impact, unable to absorb the full force.
"ARTOM! IGOR!" Nikolai screamed, panic flooding him.
They didn't respond.
His heart skipped. Cold dread began to creep into his chest. Then something inside him snapped.
His grip tightened on the chains. His eyes glowed with murderous intent, bloodlust pouring from him in waves. His armor responded, pulsing with dark energy, giving him a monstrous silhouette.
"YOU BASTARD!"
He wrenched the dragon forward and slammed his fist into its skull with a bone-shattering crack. Then, with one smooth motion, he summoned his large warhammer and brought it down.
CRACK!
The skull gave way. But he didn't stop.
CRACK! THUD! SMASH!
Again and again and again, until bone turned to pulp and the dragon's head was little more than mush. Not even undead magic could bring it back now.
Breathing heavily, his rage slowly fading, Nikolai dropped his hammer and turned toward his sons.
He rushed to their sides and dropped to his knees. He pressed his ear to Artom's chest—there was a pulse. Breathing. Then Igor—same. Relief flooded him, and for the first time in minutes, he exhaled.
Groaning, Artom stirred and sat up. "I'm not done yet!" he shouted, summoning his hammer again and spinning around wildly—until he saw the dragon's ruined corpse.
"Oh… guess I'm late."
Igor sat up slowly, rubbing his head. "Ow… did we win?"
"Yes, we did," Nikolai answered, ruffling his hair.
"Sorry, Papa," Igor muttered. "We messed up the plan. We should've been more careful."
Nikolai placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. Plans fail sometimes. That's why you always have a plan B."
"But… we didn't have a plan B."
Nikolai shrugged. "Dragon's still dead."
"Heh… guess you're right."
He turned back toward the still-smoking carcass. The beast wasn't as large as he thought it would be—maybe it was young. Maybe the size of a truck. A full-grown dragon could level cities he assumed. They had been lucky.
"Let's harvest what we can from this oversized lizard," Nikolai said, already moving.
"Okay!"
[ ITEM DEVOURED ]
[ DIGESTION TIME: 1 MONTH ]
"Well, Igor," Nikolai said, reading the system notification. "Your dream of becoming a fire mage will have to wait a bit longer."
"Aww man…" Igor sighed, visibly deflated.
Ever since they had chosen to slay the dragon and feed it to the mysterious mist, Igor had dreamed about the powers it would give him. For five years he imagined breathing fire like a beast of legend.
"You waited five years, what's one more month?" Artom teased.
"…yeah, I guess you're right."
.
.
.
{ ONE MONTH LATER }
[ ITEM DIGESTED ]
[ NEW PASSIVE RECEIVED: FIRE IMMUNITY ]
[ NEW MAGIC LEARNED: FIRE MAGIC ]
[ NEW SPELL LEARNED: FLIGHT ]
[ NEW SPELL LEARNED: FIRE BREATH ]
[ NEW MATERIAL RECEIVED: DRAGON HIDE ]
The mist delivered. And a rush of information flowed inside his brain.
FIRE IMMUNITY gave protection from regular flames—a huge advantage. FIRE MAGIC was a steppingstone, granting weak control over fire. The FLIGHT spell would enhance the boys' aerial speed.
But FIRE BREATH—that was what Igor had longed for.
"Igor! I got the fire-breath spell! You're officially a fire mage!"
"YES! FINALLY!"
"Can I have it too, Papa?" Artom asked eagerly.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I share it with you?"
"HORRAY!"
The DRAGON HIDE was also invaluable. Nikolai had become a skilled blacksmith during their five years of isolation. His shield—the one that saved him from dragonfire—was forged using new techniques taught by the mist.
The mist had rewarded him for his work, giving him the ability to extract magical properties from materials and infuse them into equipment.
His armor and that of his sons were already far superior to what they had worn five years ago—sleeker, more comfortable, more durable. Now, with dragon hide, he would reinforce it with fire resistance and make it slash-proof.
Over time, he learned more about the mist. It couldn't devour just anything. Only magical creatures gave worthwhile rewards. Fish wouldn't grant water-breathing. Birds wouldn't give wings.
And the mist was random. Sometimes you got one reward. Sometimes five.
The dragon had given five. That was rare.
Upgrades to the mist were also possible—using souls. Each upgrade shortened digestion time. So far, he had upgraded it twice.
The next upgrade required "strong emotions and a sacrifice."
The former confused him. The latter… worried him.
For now, though, they had achieved a great victory. With the dragon gone, they were free to explore the rest of the forest—uncharted and dangerous lands that had been off-limits before.
It was during this exploration that Nikolai would encounter someone new.
A girl.
Alone, afraid, and lost.
And soon, she would become more important to him than he could ever imagine.