SIDE STORY - THIRD ACT

In its rampage, the cataclysm reaped countless lives. Those scenes that had broken the King were painted again and again. Endlessly, they repeated, carbon copies on different canvases. The cries of the powerless echoed across worlds as the slaughtering went on for many moons, uninterrupted.

By then, much blood had been spilt, and many tears had been cried.

A lot, yet never enough. They were not enough to fix what had been broken. Only the dulled fauces and talons had shed off their weakness, regaining the sharpness of the black dragon's Zenith. But the sharper the claws and the more efficiently they ravaged, the duller the Broken's senses grew, and the deeper It fell.

Then, the thirteenth dawn broke.

Suddenly, the cataclysm found that It had nowhere left to walk upon.

Its road had come to an abrupt end, the Heavens in the flesh barring its path.

There, peerless and sublime, stood the Highest. 'He'. The Jade Emperor that had ended the Endless Slaughter by his own hand.

The Fell King felt helpless at the inevitability that had taken away even his next step, and could only await in despair.

Cold sunbeams fell like pouring rain over one of many empty worlds with no one left to grieve.

A silent cry of rang out then to meet the rising of nine suns.

The Jade Emperor had cut down the black dragon.

…

With the fatally wounded dragon in tow, the Lord crossed many worlds and witnessed the cruelty and mindlessness of the crazed beast from its end to whence it had begun. He saw destruction and brutality the likes of which even mindless beasts would abhor. He also understood the unimaginable loss that was the genocide of the Brightfolk. And similarly, he entertained the vicious cycle that had led up to it all.

The Highest greatly pitied its madness, induced by all the pain and wrath in the fallen dragon king's heart. 'He' naturally could make out the budding Love that had been buried in its depths, but could that possibly excuse the unfulfilled lives that had been stolen by its talons in return?

No one could ever emerge victorious or just in such a horrid clash. All had sinned immeasurably, with naught but pain to show for it.

The Highest grieved the victims of the cycle he loathed.

Nonetheless, to avoid such a situation from ever occurring again, judgement had to be passed and carried out without prejudice.

'He' intended to pass his Judgement at the waning of the ten moons. And alas, that time came, the Jade Emperor moved to end the Monster!

…however, the World could not tolerate that.

And at that, even a Heavenly Lord was helpless.

'He' felt a boundless Karma tugging at him, refusing to let this be the last the world could see of this being! Meant to be so grand, and yet had been warped to become so wretched…

Under the pull of this irresistible Fate, the Jade Emperor was brought to a deep cave in the land of the Brightfolk, a place where the light, be it the rays of the nine suns or of the ten moons, was blocked from reaching deeper in by a mysterious power.

The World acted at that moment: mysterious Laws limited 'It' into the body of a mortal man, a weak and frail creature. The Emperor understood it would remain forever so, unless its blackened heart could radiate a blinding radiance.

'He' was left speechless at the machinations of Destiny, and could only leave the broken dragon in the ravine's depths with a heavy heart.

With this in place at least, the Highest reassured his helpless self, 'It' would not be able to harm anyone any longer.

…

The black dragon bled profusely from the grievous wounds on his human-form body. Lying there in the deepest darkness, the dimmed eyes slowly recovered their light. Immediately, the pain of his horrifying injuries jolted him wide awake.

Together with the unbearable ache, the memories of his kin and of the Brightfolk resurfaced. He then recalled his actions and was miserable, feeling unbearable guilt, and shame.

He soon came to relish in the pain of the flesh, for it distracted him. It meant he wouldn't have to see the bloodied canvases in his memories. He wished to never fall asleep, knowing that if he were to ever feel the warmth of the Brightfolk in his dreams, he might never be able to bear the coldness of a world without them. He wished to never dream, afraid that he might break again.

Pangs of regret clawed at his chest, and they felt akin to the talons of a feral beast, talons much like his own, gripping at his heart.

His freedom. His hoard. His kin. His Pride. The dragon that had nothing left shed glistening tears in the pitch-black. The glimmering stream slithered forward like a pristine snake and soon disappeared into the depths of the dark ravine.

…

It was on one particular day, a dawn governed by a cycle of pain rising and subsiding.

All of a sudden, the dragon-made-man noticed a radiant silhouette had appeared in the darkness of the deep valley. When it grew closer, he discovered it to be the figure of a woman dressed in white garments. To his horror, on her face, a perennially warm, otherworldly kind, and incomparably Bright smile was on display.

He was mortified. He felt unable, unworthy of facing another being. He felt his sole presence could irredeemably sully even the vilest life. Even more so, someone that exhuded a warmth oh so familiar and precious.

He shouted, yelled, cried for her to stay away. Unsuccessful, he tried intimidating her. He menaced awful threats, uttering horrifying wretched words that revolted him at the mere thought. All this, because he was terrified. The unbearable guilt of countless innocent weighed on his mind, and he was most afraid of himself, sickened at the thought of drawing a single more drop of blood.

No matter. That's what she appeared to say. She approached and came to his side, unfettered and clean. No matter how close she came, how much she saw, the world reflected in her eyes remained pristine and lovable.

As if it were only natural, the white-robed woman sat by him and gently stroked his tired, damaged body...

She caressed him with the lightness of a morning breeze and whispered comforting words. With each caress, the many wounds would somehow begin to magically heal. Soon, not even dried blood, nor dirt, was left.

Listening to the reassuring words of the white-robed lady, the dragon-man felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier... Regardless of his wishes, they inexorably lowered and finally, after so many days of uninterrupted anguish and inextinguishable ache, the dragon closed his cinder eyes.

Glancing over with a satisfied giggle, the white-robed woman sung him lullabies, with a soft and tender voice that carried hints of a gust of wind, and of rustling foliage; all the while, even after the humanoid black dragon king had closed his eyes, the smile, a warmth that expressed understanding and acceptance of the whole world, never left her face...

The dragon king found himself captivated by that smile, seeing it and it alone, and keeping on seeing it even when his eyelids had drooped down completely.

His fears of those smiles, just as warm as they were painful, that he much dreaded appearing, were unfounded. They remained dormant in the deepest recesses of his mind.

The anger, the guilt, the flames, and the blood.

They all slept with him as the song soothed them.

In that primordial peace and silence, he dreamt.

And in those dreams, he again saw Her, and Her alone.

End of the THIRD ACT