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The Tale of Viserion
chapter 08: And The Earth Trembled

chapter 08: And The Earth Trembled

In the sky above, the clash between titans had already begun. Thanor, soared through the atmosphere with such speed that the very air itself screamed in protest. His fiery mane blazed against the night, trailing sparks that lit the sky like burning meteors. He was the embodiment of raw elemental power, his aura pulsating with waves of heat that distorted the space around him.

His target, the cloaked figure, was shrouded in an inky blackness that seemed to swallow the light around it. The figure moved with fluid, unnatural grace, a void in the fabric of reality. No words were exchanged—there was no need. They understood each other in that primal way ancient enemies do, where nothing mattered but the battle itself. Thanor knew immediately that this being was an abomination, an affront to everything his blood burned to protect. The cloaked figure, too, understood that Thanor was a force that could not be allowed to live.

As they collided, it was as though the sky itself fractured. The first impact shook the heavens, a reverberating crash of energy that rippled outward, obliterating clouds and splitting the very atmosphere. The land far below trembled as if groaning under the weight of their power. With each clash, the air burned with residual energy, and the fabric of space quivered and tore.

Thanor, surrounded by the blazing red of his flame-imbued aura, lunged forward with a speed that defied reason. His fist, wreathed in fire, cut through the space between them like a comet descending upon the earth. The cloaked figure raised an arm in response, a shield of impenetrable darkness forming to meet the assault. When the two forces met, the shockwave was so intense that it evaporated the landmass beneath them. Entire sections of the ground disintegrated into nothingness, leaving only molten craters in their wake.

The air crackled, humming with the aftermath of the energy expelled in that single exchange. Thanor pulled back for a moment, hovering in the void, his eyes narrowing as he assessed his enemy. The figure remained as it was, untouched, the dark energy around it swirling like a tempest, yet calm, as if the force Thanor had unleashed was inconsequential.

Undeterred, Thanor flared his wings, his aura expanding outward in a brilliant explosion of fiery light. The temperature in the surrounding area rose rapidly, the very air combusting from his presence. His body became a blur of motion, each strike faster than the last, each one sending shockwaves through the atmosphere. The ground below them continued to crumble, vast stretches of land vanishing into molten rock as the aftershocks of their battle rippled across the world.

Every time Thanor’s fists connected with the cloaked figure’s dark shields, the clash would send cracks through space itself. The ground fissured, mountains collapsed, and the ocean receded, vaporized in the wake of their power. With each blow, the world bent to the will of their battle, unable to withstand the sheer magnitude of their might.

The cloaked figure retaliated without sound, a mere shift of its hand sending waves of darkness towards Thanor. These waves, black as the void, carried with them the weight of oblivion itself. Entire sections of land were consumed by the darkness, erased from existence in an instant. Thanor dodged the attacks, his movements sharp and precise, but the destruction they wrought could not be undone. Each wave that passed left nothing in its wake but empty, hollow space where once there had been land.

Thanor’s eyes blazed with fury, the ember of his soul ignited by the sheer scale of destruction before him. He summoned the full extent of his power, drawing upon the ancient energies of the Emberheart Clan. Flames erupted from his body, spiraling outward in tendrils of molten heat, turning the sky into an inferno. His fists glowed white-hot, the air around him warping from the intensity of the heat. With a roar that shook the heavens, he charged forward once more.

This time, when he struck, the power of his attack was magnified a thousandfold. His flames scorched the sky, igniting the clouds and turning the night into day. The land below erupted in firestorms, the molten earth boiling and bubbling as Thanor’s fiery essence descended upon it. He hammered the cloaked figure with blow after blow, each one capable of obliterating entire continents.

Yet, for all his power, the figure endured. The blackness around it absorbed the blows, diffusing the energy into the void. The figure’s movements were swift, almost imperceptible, as it shifted through space, evading Thanor’s strikes with unnatural precision. Where Thanor was fire and fury, the cloaked figure was cold and calculating, its every movement deliberate, as though it were biding its time.

And then, it countered.

In a blur of motion, the figure appeared behind Thanor, its hand outstretched. From its palm, a beam of darkness shot forth, slicing through the sky with terrifying speed. Thanor barely had time to react, twisting his body to avoid the attack, but the beam grazed his side, cutting through his armor and drawing blood.

The impact sent Thanor spiraling through the sky, his flames flickering as he fought to regain his balance. The searing pain from the wound was nothing compared to the rage that now boiled within him. His aura flared brighter than ever, the flames around him roaring to life with renewed intensity.

He would not be defeated.

With a snarl, Thanor summoned all the power within him, his body radiating heat so intense that the very air around him began to burn. He raised both hands above his head, calling forth a massive sphere of molten energy, a condensed form of his essence. The sphere pulsed with power, its surface rippling with flames, glowing brighter and brighter until it outshone the sun.

The cloaked figure, sensing the danger, did not retreat. Instead, it raised its hands, summoning a vortex of darkness that spiraled around it, forming a barrier of pure void energy. The two forces, fire and darkness, stood poised to clash once again.

With a roar that echoed across the sky, Thanor hurled the molten sphere toward the cloaked figure. The sphere traveled with such speed that the air itself ignited in its wake, leaving a trail of fire behind it. It collided with the vortex of darkness, and for a moment, the world stood still.

And then, the explosion came.

The impact was cataclysmic. The collision of fire and darkness sent shockwaves through the earth, flattening mountains and vaporizing oceans. The sky itself seemed to tear apart, the very fabric of reality buckling under the strain of their power. Landmasses were obliterated, entire sections of the world vanishing into the void as the aftershocks rippled outward.

Thanor hovered in the sky, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he watched the aftermath of his attack. The firestorm had engulfed everything, the sky alight with the flames of his fury. But as the smoke cleared, he saw the cloaked figure still standing, its form flickering but intact.

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For a brief moment, they locked eyes—Thanor’s burning with the heat of a thousand suns, and the figure’s empty, hollow, and cold. There was no fear in the figure, no hesitation. Only a calm, unwavering presence, as though it were merely waiting for its moment.

The ground beneath them continued to crack and shatter, vast stretches of land sinking into the sea as the battle raged on. Yet neither combatant paid any heed to the destruction around them. Their focus was solely on each other, locked in a struggle that transcended the physical world.

Thanor’s chest heaved as he readied himself for another round, his flames reigniting as he prepared to unleash yet another devastating assault. The cloaked figure, too, readied itself, its dark aura swirling with malevolent intent. The land continued to crumble beneath them, the sky ablaze with the remnants of their previous clash.

And still, they fought on.

Neither willing to yield, neither willing to fall.

….

Sometime later as Thanor landed upon the ground, the earth trembled beneath his feet, fissures splintering outward from the impact. The skies, which had been ablaze with the aftermath of their clashes, darkened as the flames surrounding his human form flickered and then ceased altogether. The sudden absence of heat left the air cold and hollow, a silence so profound it seemed as though the entire world had paused to bear witness to what was about to unfold.

Thanor stood still, his breath slow, his eyes closed as if communing with forces long forgotten. His chest heaved once as he exhaled, and when his eyes opened again, they glowed with an ancient fire. He began to speak, his voice low and guttural, reverberating with a language not heard by mortal ears for millennia. It was the Dragon Tongue, a primal force of sound that caused the very fabric of reality to tremble. The words carried a weight that no ordinary being could comprehend, their meanings intertwined with the elements, with time itself.

The skies darkened further, as if retreating from the power now building within him. His flames had vanished, but in their place came something far more terrifying—an impending transformation. Thanor’s body began to shift, his bones cracking and realigning, the muscles beneath his skin rippling with the raw energy coursing through him.

His voice, now tinged with a deep, almost sorrowful resonance, filled the air, “It has been two thousand years since I have shown my true form. You insolent creature... For you to have pushed my mortal body this far tells me you possess skill, but that ends now.”

As the final word left his lips, the sky itself seemed to bend around him. The very fabric of space warped as something colossal began to stir, something older than civilization, older than the stars. His form swelled, growing more massive, and in the heavens, a great shadow began to take shape, extending across the horizon, wrapping itself around the very planet. It was as if the world itself was buckling under the immensity of what was awakening.

In the distance, oceans roiled as if sensing the transformation. Storms gathered, swirling into monstrous typhoons. Mountains groaned under unseen pressure, and the very earth quaked in anticipation. Even in faraway lands, other beings felt it—an unshakable dread, the unmistakable presence of an Emperor. In spatial dimensions beyond mortal comprehension, ancient creatures and powers long hidden stirred from their slumber, their eyes shooting open in sudden fear as the stench of death permeated reality itself.

The being before Thanor, shrouded in its dark cloak, faltered for the first time. Its pupils dilated in terror as it looked up. What it saw was beyond comprehension. The thing wrapping around the planet was not a mere body, but the essence of a true dragon, an ancient entity whose power dwarfed even some of the Shadow gods. This was not just a transformation—it was the manifestation of Thanor’s primal, godlike nature. His true self.

The cloaked figure, which had stood tall against all previous attacks, now trembled, its void-like energy wavering, the air around it crackling with the tension of impending doom. And it wasn't alone. All across the world, those sensitive to the shift in power felt the overwhelming force. In distant realms, immortal beings of power quailed in their hidden fortresses. Even the stars themselves seemed to flicker, dimmed by the awakening of such a monstrous force.

Thanor’s body glowed faintly, the heat radiating from his form warping the ground at his feet. His muscles expanded further, his fingers elongating, forming the talons of a dragon. Scales the color of molten rock began to emerge from his skin, rippling across his body like rivers of fire. His eyes, now slitted and glowing with an inner inferno, bore into the cloaked figure as if marking its end.

Just as Thanor was about to speak again, his voice thunderous and final, ready to unleash the full brunt of his immortal wrath upon the creature, the air shifted. For a moment, time itself seemed to slow. Something appeared beside him. A hand—cold, firm—was placed upon Thanor’s shoulder. Thanor’s transformation halted mid-motion, his flames dimming in an instant.

“Forbidden White Dragon Art 7 Glacial Prison.”

The voice was calm, yet authoritative, and it cut through the silence like a blade. Thanor’s eyes darted to the side, where Viserion stood, his face set in an expression of utter seriousness. His hand remained on Thanor’s shoulder, and where his touch lingered, a creeping frost began to spread. Ice crackled outward, spiraling around Thanor’s form. The ancient heat that had once threatened to scorch the very world was swiftly snuffed out, encased in a barrier of pure, unyielding ice.

Thanor’s entire body stiffened as the frost surged through him, his fiery transformation frozen in place. His enormous, half-draconic form was trapped, mid-shift, the massive wings and claws that had been forming now suspended in the ice. The transformation was halted completely. Even the land beneath them, which had been on the verge of collapse, cooled and steadied as the cold spread out across the ground, encasing it in crystalline ice.

The entire state of Washington had turned into a frozen wasteland, the ground gleaming with frost and the air filled with an eerie stillness. Thanor stood immobilized, his fiery rage extinguished for the moment.

Viserion let out a breath, his eyes flicking towards the massive frozen form of Thanor before turning to face the cloaked figure still trembling in the distance. “Cool yourself off,” Viserion said, his tone casual but with an edge of reproach, “Did this creature make you so angry that you’ve lost all reason and wanted to destroy everything?”

Thanor’s eyes flickered with restrained fury, but he couldn’t speak, encased as he was in the Glacial Prison. His aura pulsed from within, but Viserion’s icy grip held firm, refusing to allow the full might of his transformation to be unleashed.

Satisfied that Thanor was contained, Viserion turned his full attention to the cloaked figure in the distance. The being, now exposed to the gaze of Viserion, quaked under the weight of the new presence. Unlike Thanor’s burning fury, Viserion’s power was colder, more calculated, yet it carried an ancient weight that was just as terrifying. He stepped forward, his feet crunching on the frozen ground, his eyes locked on the figure.

“Now,” Viserion said quietly, but his voice carried across the space like a death knell, “Let’s see what you're made of.”

The atmosphere grew thick with tension once more, but this time it wasn’t fire or fury that filled the air. It was the cold, sharp presence of a being who controlled both life and death with the same indifference. Viserion’s power began to seep outward, like frost spreading across the surface of a pond, steady and implacable. The cloaked figure, already weakened by Thanor’s earlier onslaught, felt the weight of this new presence press down upon it.

For the first time since the battle had begun, the figure took a step back.

Viserion’s gaze didn’t waver, his steps slow and measured as he approached. Each step he took caused the ground beneath him to freeze over further, the cold radiating from him in waves. And all the while, Thanor remained frozen behind him, his fiery wrath simmering just beneath the surface, but for now, locked in the prison of ice.

The battle had shifted. And the cloaked figure, once confident in its power, now found itself facing not just the fiery rage of a dragon, but the cold, unyielding force of absolute strength.