1 Second After Arthur’s Evolution
Far away, in the heart of the Scorching Badlands, the air began to shift as if the very atmosphere itself was being compressed by an unseen force. The dry winds that constantly swept across the molten plains stilled, and the oppressive heat of the Badlands grew even hotter. The ground, scorched and blackened from the ever-present flow of magma, started to tremble. Fissures formed in the cracked earth, glowing with an ominous red as they leaked streams of molten lava.
Beneath the surface, the Grand-Child of the Titan of Fire stirred.
Its body, coiled within a massive pool of molten rock, shifted lazily at first. The creature was immense, its scales glowing like embers, each one as large as a boulder and radiating unbearable heat. Its form, though reptilian, was colossal, with a long, serpentine body that twisted and wound around the magma like an ancient dragon nesting in a volcano. But there was something more—something terrifying about the creature that defied its size alone. A mini-volcano protruded from its back, spewing ash and molten rock in sporadic bursts as if the very landscape of the Badlands had come to life on the creature’s spine.
Its eyes opened slowly, two molten orbs of pure fire that flickered and blazed with intensity. The heat from its gaze alone was enough to melt the surrounding rock into liquid pools, causing the molten sea in which it rested to bubble and surge violently. With a low, rumbling growl, the titan-descendant raised its head, its neck muscles rippling as rivers of lava flowed down its massive form. The ground trembled more violently now, and the scorching air became so thick with heat that even the strongest of creatures lurking in the Badlands fled in fear.
Small but powerful beasts, creatures that had adapted to the harsh, molten terrain—lava-scaled drakes, magma serpents, and ember wolves—scrambled for safety as the great beast stirred. Their hardened forms, once so at home in the blistering heat, now seemed insignificant in the face of the titan’s awakening. The intense waves of heat radiating from the creature caused entire rock formations to crack and shatter, sending cascades of molten stone flowing across the land.
As the titan-descendant uncoiled its body, it let out a deafening roar—a sound that was less like a cry and more like the eruption of a volcano. The roar echoed through the Badlands, sending shockwaves across the molten landscape. Mountains in the distance rumbled, their peaks smoking as dormant volcanoes stirred to life, responding to the titan’s call. The sky itself seemed to tremble, clouds of ash and smoke swirling above as the roar reached up into the heavens.
The creature’s roar wasn’t just a sound—it was a declaration, a challenge to the one who had disturbed its slumber. Arthur’s evolution had sent ripples of power throughout the world, and this descendant of the Titan of Fire had felt it, deep in the core of its being. The roar carried with it a warning, a promise of destruction to any who dared challenge the dominion of fire in this realm.
Lava cascaded down the titan’s massive form, flowing from the mini-volcano on its back, which erupted sporadically in response to the creature’s fury. Each explosion sent showers of molten rock into the air, the ground shaking with every burst. The creatures of the Badlands, normally fearless, scattered in terror, their instincts screaming at them to escape the wrath of the fire titan.
As the roar subsided, the titan-descendant slowly lowered its head once more, the fiery light in its eyes dimming slightly as it settled back into the molten sea. But the earth continued to tremble, the air still thick with tension, as the creature’s massive body coiled into the molten rock once again. Though it returned to sleep, its presence now loomed over the Badlands, a warning that should Arthur—or any other—grow too bold, they would face the full wrath of a descendant of the Titan of Fire.
For now, the beast rested, but it would not forget the pulse of power that had woken it. It would wait—until the time came to claim dominion over whatever force had dared to challenge its rule.
And as the Scorching Badlands quieted once more, the echoes of the titan’s challenge lingered, carried on the molten winds.
Across the vast expanse of the world, where towering mountains kissed the skies and ancient forests whispered with the knowledge of centuries past, tremors of a different nature stirred the hearts of the powerful. Arthur’s awakening, his evolution, sent ripples through the land, waves of essence so intense that they could not be ignored by those who ruled in silence.
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In the heart of the Elven Kingdom, perched high atop the sacred trees of the woodlands, sat a lone figure.
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The Emperor of the High Elves, a being known as Elandor the Verdant, sat on a terrace carved into the largest tree in his domain. The ancient city of Sylvanholt stretched out beneath him, its graceful spires and winding bridges woven seamlessly into the branches of massive trees. His harp, an elegant instrument made from the finest wood and string, rested on his knee, its gentle melody echoing through the air as he played.
But something shifted. A wrong note sounded—a discordant pluck, accidental and jarring.
Elandor’s pointed ears twitched, his fingers freezing in place as he sensed it—a tremor, an omen coming from the north. His eyes, sharp and bright as emeralds, narrowed as he looked out over his vast forested kingdom. The verdant leaves of the trees whispered to him, rustling in agitation as the essence from Arthur’s evolution washed over them.
“The balance is shifting,” he murmured softly, his voice lilting but filled with tension. He could feel it—a new power, raw and untamed, something born of chaos and void. It gnawed at the peace of his realm, a disturbance in the delicate harmony that the High Elves had maintained for centuries. He placed his harp aside and rose to his feet, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound in the stillness.
Elandor turned his gaze northward, toward the distant lands shrouded in shadow, where the Scorching Badlands lay beyond his reach. Though he could not see the source, he knew something had awakened, and it would not rest until it had devoured everything in its path.
“This... cannot be ignored,” he said, his voice a whisper carried by the wind. “Prepare the council. We must watch for what comes next.”
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In the mountains to the west, beneath the stone halls of a forgotten kingdom, another figure stirred.
Deep within the Ironhold, an underground fortress nestled within the spine of the Graycrag Mountains, the Great King of the Elder Dwarves, known as Thurak Stonefist, stood in his forge, hammering away at a weapon fit for kings. The clang of metal echoed through the stone corridors, a rhythmic beat that had persisted for hours as molten steel shaped itself under his mastery.
But suddenly, the hammer paused in mid-swing. Thurak’s weathered hand, calloused from centuries of working the forge, froze as the tremor hit. Not a physical one—no. This was something far deeper, something that resonated within the stone itself.
The essence.
Thurak’s sharp, gray eyes widened as he felt the pulse of power travel through the rock, reaching him in the depths of his stronghold. He set his hammer down, its weight resting against the anvil with a dull thud, and placed his hand on the stone wall beside him. The stone whispered its secrets, telling him of a power rising, a force unlike anything seen in millennia.
“Damn it all,” Thurak muttered, his gruff voice a low rumble. “Somethin’s stirring in the north. Too soon. Too damn soon.”
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In a city of spires built high into the clouds, among the realm of the Angels, a figure sat upon a throne of light.
The Archangel & Most Radiant Being, Seraphiel Dawnwing, stood in the grand temple of Zephyrion, the floating citadel of the angelic race. His brilliant wings, radiant and shimmering like the dawn sky, were folded behind him as he gazed down at the world below. The celestial halls echoed with hymns, the sound of angelic choirs filling the air with serenity and peace.
But in the midst of the ethereal music, Seraphiel felt the shift. His wings twitched, his divine senses flaring as a ripple of essence disturbed the perfect harmony of the heavens. His golden eyes sharpened, and he stepped forward, his gaze turning toward the far-off horizon, beyond the edge of his kingdom.
“Something rises,” he murmured, his voice melodic but tinged with concern. He closed his eyes, sensing the essence flowing through the world, disrupting the natural order. This power, whatever it was, felt different. It felt... dangerous.
His wings spread wide, glowing with celestial light as he lifted himself into the air, hovering above the temple. The angels around him fell silent, watching their leader with reverence as he surveyed the distant lands.
“A new threat has awakened,” Seraphiel declared, his voice ringing with authority. “We must watch, and we must be ready. The time of peace may be drawing to a close.”
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Across the world, similar moments played out.
In the savage wilderness, the Chief of the Beastmen, a hulking warrior known as Zorin the Untamed, snarled as he felt the pulse of Arthur’s evolution ripple through the wilds. His animalistic instincts flared, warning him of a threat growing far beyond his borders. He let out a guttural roar, a challenge to the unseen power rising in the north.
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And in the golden halls of the High Human Empire, the Emperor’s personal Avatar, a man known only as Caius the Unyielding, sat in quiet contemplation, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. The tremor that had passed through the world reached him, a subtle but undeniable warning that the balance was shifting. His steel-gray eyes hardened as his great blade shone before his eyes.
"Prepare the legions," Caius commanded his generals. "And, alert the king. Something's brewing in the south. This time. . .this time, we will not be caught unprepared."
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As these powerful beings stirred, across the world, monsters, warriors, and kings alike felt the shifting tides of fate. Arthur, still encased in his cocoon, dreamed of what was to come, his body changing, his power growing.
The world held its breath, knowing that when he emerged, nothing would be the same.
The First Stage Evolution of a being with Arthur's potential was not just the beginning of his journey—it was a declaration to the world that a new force had awakened.
The Titan Of Destruction had started its first evolution.