Sign In To The Body Of Chaos At The Start

The towering silhouette of the Dragon Clan's Fortress loomed ahead, its obsidian walls etched with ancient draconic runes that glowed faintly under the fractured moonlight.

Yet, to Damon, the stronghold no longer felt like a sanctuary. It felt like a battlefield waiting to be named. This was the stronghold of his biggest enemies at this point, Antares & Varus, and so he'd always be on guard once he's in this fortress.

As the two of them were arriving at the Fortress, deep within the fortress' heart, far below the grand halls and ceremonial chambers where history was carved in stone and prideful oaths were sworn, there existed a place where light dared not linger.

The Obsidian Crypts.

A labyrinth of forgotten passageways, suffocating corridors, and ancient vaults buried beneath countless layers of illusionary wards. It was a place most believed was sealed after the Abyss Wars. But for two men, it had become a sanctum of plotting.

The walls here were not adorned with dragonic murals of valor and legacy. Instead, they pulsed faintly with Abyssal sigils, alive with a malignant hum, like diseased veins beneath cracked obsidian skin.

Seated at the apex of a spiraling blackstone dais, Varus with serpentine grace. His long hair, once a mark of nobility, now hung in disheveled strands,

His slender fingers drummed lazily against the armrest of his throne, each tap weaving subtle ripples of corrupted mana into the air.

Across from him stood his son Antares who stood nervously after hearing the news of Damon returning from whatever gambit he'd gone on once more, and his aura being even stronger.

It felt like every second they spent not killing him, he was growing further and further out of their reach.

Varus's lips curved into a smirk as his gaze flickered over the floating projections hovering between them,.

Antares's jaw tightened meanwhile, his fist clenched at his side, "The younger generation are whispering his name in reverence. They see him as a symbol. That makes him even more dangerous."

Varus's laughter was soft but carried an undertone of razor-thin malice. "Symbols are only as powerful as the breath they're given. Take away the lungs, and the symbol dies."

Antares stepped forward, the floor cracking under his footfall. "You still insist on patience, father? Damon returned from the Primordial Era. He survived the Valley. We sent Divine Steps to ambush him and they perished like insects. Every moment we let him breathe, his power compounds. We should strike now, here, while he's within reach."

Varus's eyes gleamed as he slowly rose from his seat, descending the steps with deliberate elegance. His movements were like flowing venom, unhurried yet undeniably lethal.

"And risk the Clan's fragile balance? Malik and Sapphire are no fools, and Talia even less so. You think they'll sit idle if Damon vanishes within these walls? They'd turn this fortress into a pyre before they let us claim him here."

Antares's growl reverberated through the crypt, his aura flaring with smoldering frustration. "Then what? We let him walk free until he chooses when and where to face us?"

Varus's smile widened, cold and serpentine, "No, brother. We let him walk... but we decide where his path leads."

With a flick of his wrist, Varus summoned a new projection into the air, a dark rift pulsating in the abyssal spectrum. Within its depths, something shifted.

Something vast. Its form was obscured, but its presence made even Antares' seasoned senses recoil instinctively.

"The Nyx'tar Dominion Beast," Varus whispered reverently. "An Abyssal monstrosity birthed in the forgotten realms between the Wellspring's echoes and the Abyss's hungers. A creature that exists in a state of perpetual unbirth, its existence is an offense to reality itself."

Antares frowned, arms crossing, his analytical mind assessing the gambit. "Summoning a Dominion Beast is not a minor feat. The Rift Anchors required would destabilize large sectors of the Clan's territory. The Council will notice."

Varus's grin turned sly. "Which is why we won't summon it here."

He snapped his fingers, and the projection shifted, now displaying a vast expanse beyond the Clan's dominion.

The Skyreach Fault.

A ravine carved into the world like a scar, where dimensional fractures breathed in tandem with the planet's lifeblood. An ancient site once used by the Sovereigns for forbidden experiments. A place where reality was thin. Vulnerable.

"The Skyreach Fault is only two days' travel from the Clan's outer borders. We'll simply have someone give Damon the task to investigate it soon under the pretense of stabilizing the Leyline disruptions caused by the Valley's collapse," Varus continued, voice smooth as silk, "All we need to do is ensure he goes alone."

Antares's eyes gleamed with savage understanding. "An isolated battlefield. A Dominion Beast beyond his current capabilities. A battle where we don't even need to lift a finger."

"Exactly," Varus said, stepping closer, their twin shadows merging on the cracked stone floor. "We let the beast devour him. If he somehow survives, he will be too weakened, too drained. A simple cleanup after that. Either way, his tale ends."

Antares tilted his head slightly. "You've accounted for Malik, Sapphire and Talia?"

Varus's smile turned wicked, "We'll fabricate a clan emergency on the opposite front. A fabricated Abyssal incursion in the Northern Sanctums. With the Wellspring's recent resonance, the Council will be too preoccupied containing the perceived threat. Malik, ever the Clan's shield, will lead the response. Sapphire will not leave his side."

Antares's fingers drummed against his gauntlet, "And Astralene?"

Varus's expression darkened. "A minor inconvenience. She will be intercepted. The Hand of Obscura is already in motion."

Antares's grin spread, feral and satisfied. "Then we move at dawn."

But Varus's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something more, an obsession simmering beneath his composed facade.

"Not yet. First, we must ensure the Dominion Beast will respond to Damon specifically. The creature is mindless but reacts to resonance signatures. We'll need a trace of Damon's aura to anchor it."

Antares's brow furrowed. "A trace?"

Varus extended his hand, revealing a small, crystalline shard, an Abyssal Echo Shard, gleaming with faint remnants of Damon's spatial signature. The shard pulsed gently, synchronized with Damon's chaotic aether.

"I acquired this after the ambush," Varus said, his voice a soft caress of triumph. "It will be the beacon. Once we embed it within the Rift Nexus at Skyreach, the Dominion Beast will hunt Damon relentlessly, no matter where he runs."

Antares chuckled darkly. "Poetic. His own essence will guide his destruction."

Varus turned back toward the swirling projections, his expression contemplative, yet tinged with cruel satisfaction.

"Let him bask in his victories. Let him think himself untouchable. It will make his fall all the sweeter when he realizes he was dancing on strings all along."

Antares's voice rumbled with savage glee. "And when the dust settles?"

Varus's eyes gleamed. "We reshape the Dragon Clan in our image. The Abyss will be our silent partner. The Council, a mere formality. The Seed of Aether, reborn in the blood of the false chosen."

A low, resonant pulse echoed through the chamber as the Abyssal sigils along the walls shimmered in approval, like a thousand slitted eyes opening in unison.

For a brief moment, the air seemed to twist, as if the Fortress itself recoiled from the brothers' ambition.

But they didn't care.

For in their minds, victory was not a matter of chance, it was inevitable.

Meanwhile, far above the Crypts, within his own secluded chamber, Damon stood by an open balcony, staring into the fractured moon. His senses tingled, a chill crawling up his spine. Somewhere in the Fortress, strings were being pulled.

But Damon was no puppet.