The damp dwelling of a greedy demon who stood tall at the very end of human imagination. It had made itself the enemy of everything for the simple desire of ‘obtaining everything’. Because it wanted to have everything, not just pleasure but all the world’s scorn too, it had decided for that to be possible its opponent would have to be the whole world, the entirety of the current era. To find oneself screaming in antagonistic avarice so bile that it would dub the world its very ‘enemy’—aye, it was a most foolish, boorish creature. For words failed to describe the scale of its monstrosity, it was therefore simply something that stood as an obstacle to humanity's story.

The cave it occupied was not unlike a private treasure vault full of jewels. Sublime lustre glistened so beautifully; one could even mistake it for the surface of a lake beneath the soft sky’s gaze. Has it even stolen the sun’s radiance and added it to its unending collection of treasures? By what other means could this monster stay so comfortably in its cave, if not because it had already taken the warmth of the stars above for its personal enjoyment?

“—Foolish, fallacious knight proud. You should sooner forfeit your blade than so fruitlessly throw away your life.”

Its breath was fire and poison, all at once. It might have been able to barely reproduce the complexity of a human tongue, but it would do so while spitting the most corrosive of venom. The air itself recoiled in disgust from being defiled by the creature’s breath. Even he, currently in possession of the name of a courageous knight, couldn’t help but wince once or twice in some small manner.

“It is often said that losing one’s head before letting go of one’s sword is the only virtue a knight holds.”

—It was the terrifying smell of insides, however, that most made the heart rush. Innards spread far and wide, corpses left around and trampled on, the somehow still fresh smell of blood. One couldn’t separate it from their experience of this hypogeal world, no matter how hard they may try. A jewel vault filled from top to bottom with the most golden of treasures soaked in the filth-infested remains of every single being calling themselves a human that had made their way here. If this creature claimed gold as its bed, then this incarnadine must be the blanket it wraps itself in from horn to tail end. Instead of leaking water, the walls let off nothing but that noble, crimson colour that had been barbarically spilled. The knight must have thought, for at least a second, that this demon in front of him could make even something non-living like the walls of a cave bleed.

“Allow me to affirm: it is often the head that falls quicker than the sword. Perhaps if humans held on to the skull above their shoulders tighter than they gripped their steel—perhaps, they would follow a path towards survival than one towards death’s embrace.”

Scales, jagged and sharpened from the many attempts to murder it. They were like spears and shields simultaneously, at the same time piercing everything, at the same time preventing everything. The simple truth was that this creature was beyond even the softness of skin. Those claws it possessed could no doubt slice even fortresses, while its wings would allow it fly—higher and higher than any man could. So high, that human beings would never reach it. So high, that it could even reach the Gods resting above and tear off their throats with any part of its being. There was only a single thing one can describe this monster as, without a moment’s hesitation.

“It’s quite lamentable, isn’t it? How oft is verse written of the gallant that stands his ground, holds his sword steadfast, and still loses all the same? Human legacy might turn out to be a song of death after all. A story of blood written in blood—it’s not so strange I guess.” the knight mused. 

The enemy of an era. A horror whose very existence eroded civilization, prevented prosperity, and denied continuation. Something which human wisdom has designated as a calamity which it must not share existence with. To call it a great adversary would be an understatement; it was, alone, this world's last and only source of unparalleled disaster. 

“Even having witnessed your fellow humans become part of my treasures’ decoration, you would continue that legacy? The bravery you so espouse isn’t the first kind I have seen. Many tread into this place where I have hidden myself to enjoy the glow of my gold, and I bless them with the only gift I can bestow: I allow them everlasting co-existence with my hoard. If this were one of your so-called stories, then…”

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The knight, clad in brilliant silver only matched by the cleanest of the demon’s stash, drew aloft the steel that had been at his hip’s side. He waved it lightly around from one side to another as if checking stock he was planning to purchase.

“A story about a dragon—have you heard one sung? A covetous demon dwells in some sort of great hole, protecting for some unknown reason a great amount of beautiful gold. Why has the demon, clearly obsessed with lustre, chosen the most dark and lightless of places to store itself and its hoard? Why does that demon, furthest from human existence, seemingly assign the same value to gold that they do? Brave after brave embark on a journey to fell that great, greedy evil. Perhaps it is for the sake of protecting the land? Perhaps it is for the sake of some honour? Perhaps it is for the simple sake of proving their power? Whatever the reason, they come face to face with that which can only be called the ultimate enemy of any era it appears in. Naturally, they lose their life. One after another after another, a country’s worth of men become the red curtains that prologue the demon’s cave-fashioned castle. It doesn’t matter how many it kills, how many it strings up on the entrance as a warning, how many it makes scream so loudly so that three kingdoms over can hear—the story continues on, ever steady. No matter how many and what amounts of knights the dragon reduces to unrecognizable corpses.”

All true. For all its life it has had but one constant. A single, solitary fact that had coloured its journey—the killing of human beings. Did it ever keep count? Unlikely, for it was too occupied counting its own treasures. Without slightest joy, without slightest mercy, it was something that could only bring about death. Death towards all that come against it, all that it had decided to name its enemy through the simplest, most childish form of greed. Death towards the era, ruled by humans. If this were one such a story, a story of knights and a dragon, then it would be a story without end. As long as it is the story of a ‘dragon’ killing ‘knights’, then—

“You should hasten your attack. By the time the edge of that weapon points towards me, it would have been melted alongside you.”

Yet, despite having said that, why hasn’t it attacked yet? Why hasn’t it completely removed the knight in front of it, like it has many times before? The answer was the most universal of laws. It had grown old. Far older than any opponent it has ever had, far older than any human that could be. Its eyes were half-shut, its mouth only opening slowly to speak, and whatever could be called its ‘heart’ had been beating far slower than it was used to. It had been a long life, full of death and greed and nothing more.

The knight, at last, or perhaps because he was reminded to finally do so, pointed the tip of his sword towards the direction of the creature.

“Since you aren’t human, I will spell it out for you. A story about a ‘dragon’ slaying ‘knights’ continues on and on, no matter how many knights it fells. It could be one hundred, a thousand, a million, a billion. Even if it carves out a crimson sea that drowns everything, that story would never, ever end. It would go on and on, never letting go. But—a story about ‘knights’ slaying a ‘dragon’?”

“…Hm?”

“A story about slaying a dragon ends in just one, singular step: when ‘the dragon is slain’. A story involving a dragon, therefore, ends when the knight delivers the final blow. When their sword, reflecting the stars of the heavens, rends the flesh of the creature apart. The story ends when the dragon is slain.”

“You—have you therefore come here to grasp the power of a miracle, fully aware of what it means to obtain it?”

The knight couldn’t help but laugh heartily as if responding to the joke of a fellow gentleman. Momentary insanity could only explain so much of his behaviour. To regard the evil dragon in front of him as if a friend on the other side of the table, there wouldn’t be a single self-respecting human who wouldn’t laugh out loud witnessing the exchange. Of course, no self-respecting human would ever call this knight one of their own either. At best he was something betwixt man and beast who was merely able to assume a form resembling the former. To wear the skin of a human was one of his specialities. 

“—The story ends when the dragon is slain. As long as a dragon exists, humans will continue pursuing that miracle for all eternity. Blood shall be shed by all sides, conflict will ever be flamed by this desire beyond conventional reach. Will they seek, however, even when they know what the meaning of a 'miracle' in this era is? Will they shine brighter than the foreign stars which hold prisoner their tomorrows? The answer to both of those...”

“The answer to both of those…” the dragon couldn’t help but whisper and ponder at those words. As a subject of stories, as a denier of prosperity, as a being that constitutes an obstacle that is written to be overcome—

The knight’s blade came crashing down, the hammer of the Gods itself. With such ferocity, yet such gentleness, that it could be said to have split reason and nonsense apart. It is a sword which denies everything and anything other than itself. Against a being like that, which desires everything and anything, it must be the one edge in the world that could affect even a dragon.

“—Why don’t you find out for yourself, O covetous, evil dragon at the edge of human desire?”