The Hero's Revenge

There is a desolate valley in the southern part of the kingdom that reeks of death and despair. At its entrance lies an ominous warning一"The living beware," engraved on the rocks in crimson red. A grim reminder from ages past of the horrors that lie within.

Moskov staggered across this land of death. Not long ago, he had witnessed the massacre of his closest comrades.

When the arrows rained down, Moskov's men stepped forward one after another, using their bodies to shield him. As they piled over him, their chilling screams were enough to drive a man mad.

Thanks to the sacrifice of his men, Moskov barely managed to escape that same fate with a sliver of his life.

"Moskov." A mysterious voice rang in Moskov's ears like whispers in the darkness. His presence had stirred something ancient, something evil.

"Who's there?" Moskov looked around warily, but there was no reply.

In this cursed land, the fading sunset dyed the desolate valley crimson before plunging it into an endless darkness. The valley was littered with rocks shaped like scales.

Up ahead, the massive remains of a dragon rose into view. Its bones sprawled throughout the valley, acting as a witness and reminder of this land's grim history.

Moskov, his broken figure stretching and twisting under the setting sun, walked toward the bones as if he were being summoned. In his stupor, he watched the shadows take the form of his younger self, beaming with vigor, standing atop the dragon's skull. He could hear the adoration of the people.

Anger burned within him as blood gushed out from his gaping wounds onto the ground, outlining an ancient seal. A bloody mist emanated from the dragon's remains and flowed into Moskov's body.

The mysterious voice bellowed again.

"I am the Dreadwyrm, the Tyrant of Wrath. But in this age, my Wyrmsoul has become but a remnant of the past."

"Your blood has awakened me. I can feel your anguish, your anger, your hatred!"

Anger? Hatred? Of course...

He was the famed dragonslayer; the brilliant commander who helped unite a kingdom; the hero of the people. But in the blink of an eye, he found himself left for dead in a desolate wasteland. Who in his shoes would not be filled with hatred for this world?

Moskov was born to a nomadic tribe at the northwestern borders of the kingdom where the environment was harsh, resources were scarce, and all manner of deadly beasts and dragons roamed the land. It was a miserable place where survival was never assured.

In his youth, he rallied his tribe against a rampaging dragon and slew it with his own hands. With this act of bravery, he gained fame and recognition across the kingdom as the youngest dragonslayer.

He was recruited by the king and became a loyal soldier of the kingdom. The king promised to grant him and his tribe fertile green lands if he would fight for the king's cause.

The young warrior was entranced by the promises of grandeur, and with the king's support, he formed a mighty legion. He went on to conquer many parts of the continent and slay countless beasts and dragons that terrorized the land. Soon, his tales could be heard in every tavern, and his name was celebrated in every town.

At the same time, the aristocrats in the imperial court became increasingly jealous of Moskov's growing prestige, and as the young commander's list of accomplishments grew, so did the voices of discontent towards him in the Capital. But the king paid them no heed, and instead promoted Moskov even further up the ranks.

When the continent was finally unified, Moskov was to be given a large fiefdom in the northwest and become the first commoner to receive the title of "Lord." He was only twenty-five years old at the time.

The king, after finally fulfilling his ambitions, summoned Moskov to claim his reward. Young and naive, the unsuspecting commander marched proudly with his men towards the Capital.

He imagined an extravagant ceremony in his honor. Perhaps he could even ask for the princess's hand in marriage.

But the only welcome he received was blood and betrayal.

As his company traveled through a valley, they were ambushed by the king's royal guards.

The king himself even made an appearance. From the highest point of the valley, the king glared down at Moskov with contempt as his chilling voice echoed through the valley.

"When you were still useful to me, I allowed you to parade around as the kingdom's great hero. But now the war is over, and your reputation continues to grow and has become a threat to my throne. Your king has one last command... Die."

With a wave of his hand, the royal guards cornered Moskov and his men at an impasse and slaughtered them like cattle. A hero's tragic end.

The next day, the king announced Moskov's sudden passing to the people. The great hero of the kingdom had been attacked by a dragon and tragically lost his life. A grand funeral was held in his name. Thus, the hero's story came to an end. Moskov's name slowly faded from the people's minds, leaving only the legend of the young dragonslayer.

But the story was not over.

"I will have my revenge! Those traitors will pay in fire and blood!" Moskov roared with a burning fury as the demonic power swelled around him.

"Lend me your strength, and I promise your name will once again terrorize this land!"

"Even if the price is your soul?" The wyrm inquired.

"Take it! As long as I get my revenge!"

The bloody mist entered Moskov's body as the ancient wyrm's sealed power found a new vessel. The stench of blood filled the air as the ancient ritual infused Moskov with the Wyrmsoul.

And just like that, the hero was no more. The once proud dragonslayer, who hunted dragons and wyrms alike, embraced eternal damnation to take revenge on the world.

The skies erupted in anger as lightning streaked in all directions, outlining the silhouette of the Dreadwyrm.

In the center of it all stood a fiery visage carrying the remains of the wyrm on his back.

With spear in hand, he emerged from the bloody mist.

"Your hero has returned!"