Chrysalis

Somewhere in the forest expanse a predator lay. Old and implacable it had hunted these tunnels for hundreds of years. How many creatures had perished between these jaws? How many had been torn by these claws? It was a number too vast to have meaning. Uncountable.

In the early times, where the memories are dim and blurred, it had hunted with such intensity, such ferocity, nothing was safe from its grasp, nothing could escape its immolating breath. Many had tried, powerful beasts, the old kings, beasts grown fat and idle, content to rule their own tiny ponds and venture out only to sustain themselves.

They had all been hunted down, dragged from their lairs and consumed, fuel to the ever burning fire. The predator had grown strong, powerful. It had revelled in that strength at first, seeking more powerful prey, greater challenge, descending ever downwards.

But the one known as Garralosh had grown too strong, too fast. When the call had come, Garralosh hadn't realised what it was at first. It was vindication, triumph! Her long years of struggle, the lonely hunt, had finally borne the ultimate fruit! Recognised for the prowess, the bottomless strength cultivated with the broken bodies of fallen enemies.

It had come too soon. No sooner had the announcement come, then a pull began to exert itself on her. Descend, descend, descend, descend! Every day, every hour, every second, the call tugged, an endless itch that demanded to be scratched.

At first it was fine. Garralosh wanted to descend, wanted to seek its rightful place alongside its peers in the centre of this world. But when it tried to get there … blocked, prevented, barred. No matter where it went, which paths it travelled, they were always there, pushing Garralosh back, fending it off. Barricades that it could not break through, defences that did not yield to her assault, warriors who did not fear her fangs.

They fought, so many times, Garralosh killed them, feasted on them, but was never able to break through, always forced to retreat.

And the pull. It grew every passing moment, insistently tugging at the soul. Descend, descend, descend, DESCEND, DESCEND, DESCEND!

Desperation had followed, then rage, world burning, soul immolating rage. Still there was no breakthrough, Garralosh could not breach past the hated soldiers in black. They tracked, harried, harassed and repelled the great predator every time it drew near the borders. They had erected a cage around it and no matter how desperate it become, the beast could not escape it.

Then the madness came.

her massive bulk, cracking a few trees against her scales. It irritated her, to think back to that time, when the madness had finally taken her. She had charged at the blockage, storming the defences. Battered and bruised, she had killed many but payed a hefty price. Finally the black shirts had brought out their champion and they had

BOOM!

amgrily, sweeping away a swathe of the

smote from her body, the grievous wound forcing her to flee.

ache that refused to fade. The arm was still not

She could feel them, hesitating to draw closer as they knew the danger of being caught within range of her jaws when the rage struck her. Unable to fight, tormented by the constant tugging at

allowed her children to roam free, letting the strong feast on the weaker monsters in the upper layers before returning to join

her crocodilic children was overwhelming before storming the black shirts

mana had surged higher and higher, easing the painful drain on her core and allowing her to rise higher and higher in the Dungeon until finally, she was close enough to the surface to direct her children out of the Dungeon to annihilate the cities of

if the black shirts down below knew what

She hoped so.

wondered if she should feel any sorrow for the thousands she had killed. Perhaps once, she

she reached far back, into the depths of her mind, she can remember a different time, when she wasn't a creature of the Dungeon, she'd been something

if those memories were dream or reality. She could vaguely remember her first years in the Dungeon, the fear, the terror, the

even those fractured memories, of a softer world and a different her, they didn't feel peaceful. She could remember blood, she could remember her hand, without claws,