With silent steps, he goes around

Unseen to men, without a sound.

An unknown friend, we all must meet

He is the fate; you cannot cheat.

No matter if you’re quiet or loud,

He finds us all, without a doubt.

So sing along, and laugh, and cheer,

Because he is the thing, no life must fear.

When the end comes, to you and me,

The fleshless man will set us free.

So treasure the time that is still your own

soon comes the end, we’ve always known.

Death goes around, Children’s Rhyme

“Sargon, you are accused of heinous crimes against humanity, Dragonkin, and the great guilds. You are charged with mass murder, the transmutation of divinity, and multiple accounts of using black magic without a primer, as well as stealing the magic of a dozen people. As such, you have been sentenced to face execution by the tribunal gathered before you.”

The voice of the high priestess thundered through the mountains, her eyes fixed on the target of her accusation. The blonde woman would be beautiful if she didn’t hide her whole body under the blanket called a nun’s habit. Not even the steadily setting sun could gaze upon a part of her, with every inch of her body hidden beneath fabric.

The target of her speech was a middle aged man with a greesy mane that he had bound into a ponytail. He wore a long coat, black as his hair, with a hood covering most of his face. Only his defined chin and sharp goatee peeked out under the unnaturally long shadows his wear cast over his face. The only response he granted the holy-woman was a soft chuckle. It had been a while since someone had been stupid enough to mess with him. He looked forward to having some fun.

"What's so funny?” The sharp shout came from behind him, originating from a woman wrapped in brown. She was the tallest of the six people surrounding him. Sargon tilted his head to catch a glance at the people to his right. A swordbearer and what seems to be an archer, so it’s three meeles, two ranged, and another with unknown preference. He licked his lips. They had prepared a real feast for him this time. As close as they were, he might've had to rely on surprise to even out their numbers. Still wearing a derogatory smile on his face, he spoke, his voice dripping with arrogance.

“Despite knowing who I am, you didn’t even possess the courtesy to involve a monarch in your little assassination attempt. This is either the height of folly or a yearning for the grave.” In spite of his words, unease spread inside him. Every syllable he said was true, but that imposed a different question. Why did they try to fell him with such meager forces? Did they fail to convince the other guilds to join their attempts for his life? Considering the Hunter’s Guild’s lust for blood and the Spear of Ishael’s craving for something to brag about, this option was very unlikely. So they must have a trick up their sleeve.

He licked his lips, waiting for someone to take the floor. One of the men to his right, an ogre with skin seemingly made out of metal, took the bait and opened his mouth, but Sargon had no intention to let him speak. Before the man could say a single word, a bolt of black lightning erased his head. The decapitated body collapsed, blood splattering everywhere. And thus the game had begun.

Most of the people gathered needed a second to contemplate what just happened, with only the red haired woman in his back springing into action. right away.

Sargon darted around and flicked his left index-finger, which was still black from his last spell, upwards. A wall of earth rose just in time to intercept the wave of fire breath the red haired woman was unleashing upon him. Heat slammed against him like the tail of a dragon.

At this point, the rest of the assassination squad had understood what was happening and began to move. The priestess knelt down, folded her hands, and began a singsan. “Oh lord’s from a time long past…”

The prayer of the early dawn. Sargon recognized it instantly and spun around. He pointed his black finger at the woman, but before black lighting could incinerate her, the knight to his right struck his shimmering white sword through Sargon's arm, severing it. Surprised, the mage’s eyes widened. He had hardened his body appropriately, and yet his limb was gone. Either that sword was an unknown artifact or its bearer was a Mystic. The sword swung around in the air towards Sargon's head, but he avoided it by flinging the space around him into the knight, reducing him to a red smear on the ground.

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“WINCENT!” The scream of the archer ripped through the air, followed by a barrage of arrows that Sagron wiped away by summoning a gust of wind. Funneling his mana into his missing arm, he regenerated the lost limb. The wall behind him shattered, and a scaled fist slammed into his back, breaking his ribs and upper spine. He had already healed both before his body hit the ground.

“...hear what this lowly prayer asks…”

The space around Sargon tore open, swallowing him just to spit him out right behind the priestess. Before anyone could hinder him again, he ended her prayer with a chop of his hand, sending her head rolling over the ground.

“...from deepest dee…” As her last words vanished into the wind, the tallest of the group shot a glance towards a young man to her left.

“Kasper, fucking do something!” The words were directed at the person Sargon didn’t yet know anything about. All others had hints, like swords or wide muscles littered all around their bodies, betraying their trained style of fighting, but this man didn’t. He took a hasty breath and shouted. “Sargon, the use of space magic is forbidden.”

The mage raised an eyebrow. “Oh, making demands now?” With a giggle in his throat, he waved his hand to show the man how little his prohibitions bothered him by repeating what he had done to Wincend with the man's body. Nothing happened. He tried to teleport himself, but to no avail. His eyes widened as realisation hit him. Now the group's overconfidence made sense.

Before he could start another attempt to kill the man, the tall woman shot towards him. Reflexively, he hardened his body, limiting the damage her punch did to a broken arm and a shattered shoulder that he quickly healed. His opponent displayed her sharp teeth in a broad grin. Her short red hair waved around her head, framing her beautiful face. Her eyes were green with slits for pupils, making it obvious who she was.

“Take that, fucker,” she said, her tone pure mockery. Sargon forced himself to smile. Seeing her face, he recognized her. If one wanted to fell a dragon, the most efficient weapon was it’s pride.

“You must be Agarim’s daughter. It's always a shame to see a mighty dragon sire such meager offspring.” With his control over space gone, he resorted to wind magic to push her back by summoning a shockwave of air alongside his words. The woman was flung a few meters backward, slamming into the tree. With a flick of his finger, he sent a wave of black lightning behind her, which would have killed the half-dragon if the archer hadn’t pulled her out of the way in time. Sargon snarled, enjoying every second of it. “Ah, then you are the famous dragon tamer. I really hope you are better in bed than on the battlefield; otherwise, your love’s fall from grace was very cheaply bought.”

His comment didn’t seem to have an effect on the archer, but the red haired woman near him was fuming. "Semna, stay calm; he wants to make us angry,” he warned. The dragon stood up, fire dripping out of her mouth with every word.

"Well, it is FUCKING WORKING!” While she spoke, an inferno of fire burst out of her as she transformed into her true form. Her neck grew longer, and wings broke out of her back as she grew and grew. Sargon stared up at the scaled, four legged titan she had become. He had seen many dragons in his life, with her being among the least impressive. Folding his hands together and raising them over his head, he beheaded the dragon with a simple air based spell. Or at least he would have.

“Sargon, you are forbidden from using elemental magic to harm others.” The moment the mage heard Kaspar's voice, the giant blade of wind he had formed between his palms fell apart. Unwilling to give him even a second to recover, the dragon’s mouth opened and unleashed an inferno of colors towards Sargon. Using one hand to harden the air in front of him, he leaned the rest of his body against the shield of wind, managing to withstand the uncaring heat while the world around him was reduced to sunder.

He tried to form a spear out of the earth to her feet, but it wouldn’t budge. After a few moments, the dragon was out of breath, and the fire around him abated, leaving behind an ocean of molten earth. He flicked his finger, which turned black, and unleashed another spear of crackling energy that hit the dragon’s neck. Her scales just rotted away wherever the lightning hit her. But instead of crying from pain or cowering, the dragon flicked her lower body, slamming her tail into Sargon’s side and sending him flying. The mage managed to use air magic to keep his body out of the pool of molten ground, but one of his arms was swallowed by it. After flying a few meters, a barrage of arrows hit his back, causing him to fall to the ground. A loud sissling sound was audible as his body fell into the hot soup, now missing an arm and several vital organs. He drew as much life as he could inside himself to heal, but Kasper was faster.

“Sargon, you can’t heal your wounds with magic,” he said, thus making it true. Sargon had to admit that this Mythics ability was bothersome. He attempted to lift himself using his one remaining arm, but the half-dragon, now in her human form again, pressed her foot against his chest, forcing him back down. Blood spurted from his mouth, soaking her curved boots. Despite his predicament, he noticed that her neck was covered with black blisters. At least something.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, his voice stained by the pressure she put on him. The dragon displayed her teeth in an angry grin. They were sharp as daggers, even in this form.

“Like hell,” she hissed.

“You can’t truly believe that your lot is able to kill me." He sneered, more because he had nothing else he could do than to achieve any effect.

"Sargon, you are required to feel fear.” Hearing the words, the mage’s chest tightened even further, with thousands of needles rummaging through his heart. That damned…

Upon seeing his reaction, Semna laughed. “Look how he is trembling. Good fucking job, Kasper. Can you force him to bark like a dog? No wait! Make him bleat like a sheep!”

Before Kasper could answer, the archer placed his hands on the dragon's shoulders.

“No, he won’t. We finish this now before he finds a way to weasel his way out of this.”

The dragon rolled her eyes. “Pff, if you say so.” Sargon still saw her hand twitching in his direction before his head was separated from his body.