I Received System to Become Dragonborn

Erend and Eccar stood side by side on a ridge overlooking the battlefield, their expressions grim as they surveyed the carnage below. The battle had been raging for what felt like an eternity yet the tide showed no sign of turning. The angry spirits of their fallen enemies kept rising as if death itself could not claim them.

Erend tightened his grip, his knuckles white with the strain. His gaze followed the relentless cycle of destruction and resurrection. For every spirit that was struck down by an Elven blade or blasted apart by a Mage's spell another would take its place.

"Something's not right," Erend muttered. "They shouldn't be able to keep coming back like this. No matter how many we cut down, more just keep rising. It's... unnatural."

Eccar who standing beside him nodded in agreement. His sharp eyes narrowed as he observed the battlefield. He could feel the same wrongness in the air, a malevolence that ran deeper than the spirits themselves.

"Yeah, this isn't just some ordinary ghosts," Eccar replied, "I've seen battles with the undead before, but this is different. It's as if they're being driven by something, or someone."

Erend frowned, turning to look at his companion. "You think someone or something's controlling them?"

Eccar's gaze remained fixed on the battlefield, his expression hardening. "Yes. This kind of relentless assault, the way they keep coming without pause… it's too coordinated. It feels like there's a will behind it. Something or someone is pushing them forward, forcing them to rise again and again."

"If that's true then taking down the spirits won't be enough. We need to find out what's behind this and stop it."

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King Gulben's sword cleaved through the air with a bright arc, its blade humming with the ancient power imbued within it. The sound of steel meeting spectral flesh echoed across the battlefield as he delivered a decisive strike to the heart of the giant spirit.

The monstrous entity let out a howl that reverberated through the air. Then the massive spirit shuddered, its form wavering as the force of the Elven King's blow began to unravel the dark energy that held it together. Find adventures on m v l e m p y r

With a final roar the giant spirit crumbled and dissolved into a cloud of blackened mist.

But that hope was short-lived.

As the mist dispersed King Gulben watched with a grim expression as the ground beneath the fallen spirit began to tremble again. From its depths, the familiar darkness began to swirl once more.

"No…" Gulben whispered, his heart sinking. He could feel it. The resurgence of that malevolent energy that refused to be quelled.

In mere moments, the scattered fragments of the spirit began to coalesce again. The air thickened with the stench of death and from the abyss another giant began to rise.

This new giant was every bit as fearsome as the last, its form just as immense. The Elves who had begun to lower their weapons in relief now raised them again.

The giant spirit let out a roar, this one even louder and more terrifying than the last. It lunged forward, its massive arm sweeping through the ranks of the Elven warriors, scattering them like leaves before a storm.

King Gulben grit his teeth, his jaw clenched in frustration. The cycle was repeating itself.

The Elven King surged forward again, his sword once again glowing with the ancient Magic. With a powerful leap he launched himself toward the new giant, aiming to strike it down as he had before.

---

Deep beneath the war-torn battlefield, where the light could not reach and the cries of the dying were but muffled echoes, the creature slithered in the darkness.

From its hidden hideout the creature sensed the futile struggle above. The desperate shouts of the Elves as they battled against the endless tide of spirits. And it sneered.

A low guttural chuckle bubbled up from its throat, reverberating through his subterranean hideout like a dirge. It was a sound of cruel amusement, a mockery of the efforts of the Elves and their valiant king.

"Fools…" it hissed, its voice a whisper that would never reach the ears of those above. "They fight so fiercely, so desperately… yet they know not the truth."

The creature uncoiled slightly its sinuous body shifting in the shadows

"As long as I draw breath they will never win."

Its mouth twisted into a hideous grin.

Suddenly, a deep rumble shook the earth around it. The tremor was different from the vibrations of the battle above.

The creature's eyes snapped open. Its senses flared, instinct honed by centuries of survival kicking in. This tremor wasn't a result of the Elves' futile struggle; no, this was something more powerful. It could feel it—a disturbance that was not born of the surface skirmish but from a force much closer, much more dangerous.

The earth began to tremble again. The walls of its subterranean chamber groaned under the strain, and the creature's sneer faltered. Something was wrong.

Then, without warning, the ground beneath it heaved, splitting open with a suddenness that took the creature by surprise. The crack in the earth widened and from the darkness emerged a clawed hand pushing its way through the fissure. The hand was covered in scales.

The creature recoiled, its eyes wide with shock and fear. It could sense the power radiating from the limb that dwarfed anything it had ever encountered. This was no ordinary force.

As the clawed hand pushed further into the chamber the creature felt a cold dread creep into its heart. It knew in that moment that it was no longer the master of this domain. Whatever this being was, it had come for it, and there was no escape.

The hand flexed its talons and the creature tried to slither away, its once-confident grin now replaced by a grimace of terror, but the earth around it continued to crack and break apart, trapping it within the growing chasm.

The clawed hand reached out, the sharp tips of its talons grazing the creature's hide. And the creature let out a desperate hiss. But deep down, it knew—it had sensed the danger.

The clawed hand gripped the creature tightly. The creature thrashed in vain.

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