The world shuddered and cried out in fear, as the Dragon of Calamity’s nightmarish call thundered throughout the heavens. Before its lair, high in the sky, the silhouette of the embodiment of evil rained down arrows of cursed smoke, and, down below, in the depths of the earth scoured by fire and poison, writhed the great reptile that would end the world.

            Demon Lord Ide, the enemy of light, and the Dragon Lodegrim, the engine of extinction. These terrible beings fought fiercely through day and night, and, as old and cryptic legends later spoke, the aftershocks of their brief, but destructive fight could be observed across the continent.

 

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            “ALCUIN! HAVE YOU GONE MAD?!”

            The demon, Magion Ide, shouted as she launched javelins of solidified shadow down at the monster’s giant, writhing form. Crimson thunderbolts and swarms of phantom monsters, wreathed in ash, attacked from all directions, threatening to sear and rip her flesh. And, even as she peeled away the dragon’s scales with her deadly bolts, despair bloomed in her heart. It was because she knew that the monster's body would reconstitute itself faster than she could wound it.

            “ALCUIN!!!”

            A torrent of pure nothingness cut through the dragon’s many sorceries and lanced against his flank, unleashing a small flood of toxic, green-tinted blood, and writhing intestines.

            The glare in the sole eye that peered from Lodegrim’s head intensified for a moment, and, as though a mere illusion, his whole being disappeared amidst a rain of thunderbolts. Beads of cold sweat slid down Ide’s pale face, and her lips bent into a bizarre expression only a demonic being could produce.

            “I..! I yie-guaaah?!”

            A giant hand with six wicked talons had already wrapped around her torso, and Ide was smashed against the ground below. A blow that would’ve crushed a human’s ribcage into fine puree. For a Demon Lord, it was merely painful, not deadly. And yet, the attack itself, and the force of their fall, strengthened by Lodegrim's sheer size, caused Ide to gasp and whine in pain.

            “Ooh! Ohkay!! I yield!!!”

            A sloppy admission of defeat came from the Demon Lord’s mouth, as she dispelled the cloak of shadow around her body. Having noticed her erratic panting, the dragon made a strange sound and rapidly withdrew, crashing his bulk against the black and ashy ground that seemed to stretch out endlessly around his nest.

            “…”

            “Good God, Alcuin, j-just what is going on? Ahahaha!”

            Ide spoke with a strangely flushed complexion. Somehow, the fiend displayed both hate, fear, curiosity and arousal, all at once. It was a symptom of the strange affliction that spurred all fiends to violence and madness. Unable to stand the sight of his companion, Lodegrim turned away and simply raised one of his limbs, speaking dryly as he pointed towards Granfell's direction.

            “Ide. You will never order me around. Granfell will surely be destroyed. But because you tried to force my hand, I’ll do it slowly.”

            “Whaat?! Why are you being so petty all of a sudden?!”

            “This is the Lords’ way. The defeated must obey the victor. Don’t question me.”

            “Huhuhuhu! Is it a girl, Alcuin? Did you find a maiden to abduct? Ehehehehe! You perverted little snake!”

            “Ide. Shut up.”

            Even before he was finished speaking, the dragon snapped his jaws around Magion Ide’s torso and head, prompting a wholly inappropriate squeal from the Demon Lord.

            “WoaaaahhH!!! How lewd!”

            “Ithe. Shuth uph.”

            “Ow ow ow! Okay, I’m sorry!”

            “Sthoph metthing with my fun”

            “Alcuin, pleeease let me go! These clothes cost so much to make!”

            With the expression of someone who’d accidentally chewed on a bug, the Dragon of Calamity spat out his ally and stared down at her blankly. He couldn’t help but agree that Ide’s dress and cloak were otherworldly in their craftsmanship. In fact, it was a level of quality worth exploiting.

            “I defeated you, Ide. Now you will listen to my command.”

            “Ugh… What will it be, Serpent Lord?”

            “You will help me prepare lodging for a human guest, Demon Lord.”

            “Huh? That’s it?”

            “I will borrow your tailors, and a cook.”

            “O-okay! But I can’t give them away fore-“

            “I have one more thing to say.”

            “Huh? What is it?”

            “Even if you find my future guest while you’re in Granfell, don’t try to curry favor with me by capturing them. And don’t go easy on them either.”

            “Them? It’s a she, isn’t it? Well, don’t worry, I won’t interfere with your girlfrie-!”

            Demon Lord Ide barely managed to get those words out before she was unceremoniously chewed on and spat out all over again.

 

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            Grand Magion Alcuin Lodegrim, Duke of the Land of Everlasting Fire, and Lord of Serpents. That was how the pretentious subhumans that lived at the boundary between the world of men and world of monsters addressed him.

            The Dragon of Calamity flushed the lingering taste of brimstone in his mouth out with a burst of summoned spring water and manifested the sorcerous art he’d used so much in recent days – reconstitution. Dissolving into fog and ash, he disappeared into a narrow slip of spacetime, leading elsewhere, and remade his flesh from scratch in a wholly other place. The foot of the mountain where he spent his last few days.

            It wasn’t out of laziness, but of necessity, that he had to meditate, and think about one last thing before he made a move.

            “Transient Blade.”

            It was a title that human who opposed him twice bore. Perhaps to others, she might’ve looked like a seasoned warrior, a fearsome enemy, or maybe, to the inhuman beings that lived at the foot of his mountain, a hideous eyesore.

            But for Alcuin Lodegrim, she was an impasse.

            “Transient… Blade…”

            At the root of each art, from sorcery, to Rollo Nagan’s original martial arts, to blood power, and to the clergy’s esoteric arts, was a wish. And, deep beneath the layered tomes and theories of sorcery that Lodegrim had accrued over his lifespan, was one such, simple wish. To analyze, comprehend, and predict, all of existence.

            And so, no matter why one learned the art of sorcery, their end point was understanding. Understanding of the present, the future, and the past.

            The rank of Grand Magion was not easily attained, and required a certain understanding of the three periods. The knowledge of true history. Comprehension of the present. And finally, precognition.

            Whenever he gazed upon Transient Blade’s form with his precognition, he saw only death. If he slayed her, he would die. If she emerged victorious against him, he would die. If he ignored her and passed into Granfell’s heartland to wreak havoc, he would die. And if he confined her, to learn the secrets of this bizarre ability of hers, he'd also die.

            The Transient Blade, a swordswoman from that doomed country. To Alcuin, her inner workings were akin to the most well-hidden secret in all of existence. A manifestation of certain doom that, in its gruesome mystery, was deeply captivating.

            He wished to know everything about her. Even if that meant he’d accelerate his own demise. And, most of all, he was obsessed with subverting this irreversible destiny that transcended the worlds’ innumerable timelines.

            When he gazed upon the future, branching paths snaked in all directions, terminating in a myriad miserable deaths. But, among those endlessly elaborate dead ends, he felt a certain commonality.

            “If Transient Blade and I were one, perhaps, this fate could be avoided.”

            Had Demon Lord Ide heard his words, then, she would have mocked him mercilessly.