Immortal Monster CP15

Venus strode through the bustling hub of the modern-styled streets, where the air shimmered with the relentless noon sun. The towering buildings around her, all sleek glass and steel, cast angular shadows that stretched across the shimmering asphalt.

Adjusting the large, weather-worn pack on her back, she set her sights on the castle’s spires that loomed ahead, an anachronism against the urban backdrop.

The castle itself seemed as though it had been yanked from the pages of a medieval fantasy and planted squarely in downtown New York. Its ancient stone walls and crenellations stood in stark contrast to the neighboring high-rises that reached towards the sky like modern-day titans. The castle lived in the shadow of these giants, yet it exuded an aura of timeless authority that demanded respect.

Venus let an idle smirk play on her lips as she approached the castle gates. The guards, clad in armor that seemed equally out of place, stood at rigid attention. The juxtaposition of their medieval garb against the backdrop of sleek, modern skyscrapers was almost comical.

“What is your business here?” one of the guards inquired, his voice a mix of curiosity and caution.

She chuckled, a sound that held both amusement and disdain. “None of your business,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now, out of my way, mortal.”

The guard’s face twisted in confusion and a hint of fear, but he stepped aside nonetheless.

Venus walked past him and into the castle’s keep, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The air inside was cooler, filled with the scent of aged stone and history. Torches flickered along the walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed to come alive.

She made her way through the winding corridors with purpose, each step resonating with the confidence of one who knows her path. The castle’s ancient grandeur enveloped her, its secrets whispering in the shadows.

Venus had arrived, and the castle—both a relic of the past and a defiant presence in the modern world. She made her way to the throne room.

“WindRaven,” she said, her voice carrying an unspoken weight, as if those two words held the answer to everything.

He stood and walked toward her, his gaze flickering with curiosity. “What do you have for me this time?”

A sly grin tugged at her lips, spreading from ear to ear. “You know how much I love bringing you fun toys.”

She placed the bag on the ground, unzipping it slowly, almost ceremoniously. She held her breath, the anticipation hanging in the air like a charged storm, as she reached inside and pulled out its contents.

A large, stone-like object.

WindRaven’s eyes narrowed, full of wonder and intrigue. “What is this?” His voice cracked with excitement, his tone rose in pitch.

“This,” she said, her voice low with a sense of reverence, “is the Dragon King.” She extended the mysterious object toward him, her fingers lingering near its smooth surface.

Like a child in a sweetshop, the prince’s fingers brushed the egg’s shell. With tentative care, he cradled it in his arms. Before he could speak, cracks appeared along the stone-like surface, splitting apart like a fragile shell in the hands of a loving parent.

A burst of vibrant energy erupted from within, and a small dragon sprang free. Its wings unfurled with a delicate yet commanding force.

Tiny crimson scales glinted like rubies in the dim light. The creature leapt from his arms to the floor, its lithe body landing with a soft thud.

Its gills flared as it hissed, narrowing its glowing eyes as it regarded both Venus and WindRaven.

WindRaven laughed, a sound full of delight. “Look at it! It’s adorable!”

He knelt down, awe written on his face as his hands hovered close to the tiny creature. The dragon, eager and wild, suddenly lunged. Its tiny fangs sank deep into WindRaven’s neck.

The prince’s eyes went wide in shock, his body going limp as he fainted, his eyelids fluttering shut.

The door swung open, and the King strode in, his eyes locking onto the beast at his son’s throat. “Guards!” he barked, his voice thick with alarm.

“Oh, stop,” Venus interjected with a dismissive wave. “It’s not hurting him. He’s bonding with him.”

She smirked, her gaze flickering between father and son. “This, Ratcliff is an Elder Dragon. When your son wakes, he will be the King of Dragons. The time has come for the Elder Dragons to rise.”

The King’s scowl deepened, his fury building as he approached the dragon. His gaze locked onto the creature, and with a sharp hiss, it released its grip from WindRaven’s neck. The dragon’s gills flared out in a warning, its eyes narrowing as it glared at the King.

The human king paused, his expression a mixture of disbelief and awe, as the dragon’s form began to shift and change. The creature’s body rippled with a strange energy, bones and sinew rearranging until the dragon stood before them in the form of an adult human.

The dragon—now a man—looked down at his newly manifested form, his muscles rippling under his skin. His mouth twisted into a frown, sensing his vulnerability in the absence of scales.

With a concentrated thought, the man willed his dragon heritage to manifest. His skin shimmered, then solidified, covering him in intricate, shimmering scales that formed into ancient draconic armor—spiked shoulder pads, glinting gold trim across his chest plate.

His long, obsidian-black hair cascaded down his back, and his eyes gleamed with a piercing steel-grey, sharp and untamed.

He locked eyes with the King, a fierce, defiant glare that seemed to challenge him, daring him to make a move. The air thickened with tension, but the King did not advance.

Seeing the hesitation, the dragon’s lips curled into something like a smile, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he picked up his new prize. His mind reached into WindRaven’s consciousness, tracing the prince’s thoughts with practiced ease.

In an instant, he found the image of WindRaven’s room—soft linens, regal furnishings, a space that reflected the prince’s quiet grace. The dragon moved with uncanny precision, his footsteps heavy yet purposeful, as though the very ground beneath him had yielded to his will.

He entered the room, crossing the threshold as though he belonged there, and with a care that seemed almost tender, he laid the prize upon the soft bed, the fabric sinking beneath its weight. The dragon lingered for a moment, as if savoring the peaceful stillness of the space, before turning toward WindRaven.

He settled into a nearby chair, his movements deliberate, smooth. His eyes—cold and unyielding, like the steel of an ancient blade—remained fixed upon the human prince. His gaze was intense, unwavering, a silent promise of the bond that had just been formed and the destiny that awaited them both.