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.

at the blockage,

BOOM!

away a swathe of

grievous wound forcing her to flee. Even worse, that hungering axe had cursed her flesh,

later the effect of the curse still lingered, a dull ache that refused to fade. The arm was still not completely healed, despite enormous efforts being

being caught within range of her jaws when the rage struck her. Unable to fight, tormented by the constant tugging at her core, she had started to raise these children in earnest. An army, to help her break the blockade and make her way

generations, then allowed her children to roam free, letting the strong feast on the weaker monsters in the upper layers

been prepare to wait. Wait until the tide of her crocodilic children was overwhelming before storming

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

with glee. She wondered if the black shirts down below knew what she had done? Did

She hoped so.

her wondered if she should feel any sorrow for the thousands she

her mind, she can remember a different time, when she wasn't a creature of the Dungeon, she'd been something else, soft and pink, vulnerable and

were dream or reality. She could vaguely remember her first

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