BOOK ONE: Chapter 3: The Price of Power
The voice in Marcellus's mind was a river of consciousness, and he followed it, leaving the safety of his ship. He descended onto the desolate surface of the planet, the weak light of the dying suns casting long, mournful shadows across the landscape. The colossal dragon, **Zoth**, had shrunk, transforming from its mile-wide ghost into a powerful, humanoid figure standing before him. It was a dragon, but it walked like a man, its black, spiky scales shimmering with an electric force. Its strength was undeniable, but its face was old and worn, a deathly pallor beneath the scales, its once-golden eyes dimming with exhaustion.
"Hello, human," Zoth said, his voice now a low, rumbling echo in the thin air. He extended a hand, a gesture of peace and a silent invitation. "I have lived far too long. For days, I have waited here for a human to fly by with a certain energy. I can feel it in your aura. You, my friend, are a friend of darkness. Do you deny it?"
Marcellus looked down at the ground, a familiar bitterness rising in his throat. He thought of his mother, the whispered curse words and the venom in her eyes. *A friend of darkness*, the dragon said. Yes, he was. The darkness of his past, of his soul. He had embraced it.
He snapped his head up, meeting the dragon's tired gaze. "Yes, I'm dark. So f\*\*\*ing what? You're going to make me your evil slave?"
Zoth laughed, a dry, rattling sound that was more of an exhale. "No. I will die and give you my essence. In return, you will carry on my legacy. The **Dark Energy** that I possess is my creation, a cosmic power I have honed over a billion years, distinct from your elemental magics."
Marcellus's eyes widened at the mention of a billion years. A being that old, and yet it was dying?
"Yes," Zoth replied, a weak smile on his face. "Anyone can die if they are killed. I have been through far too many battles, my friend, and I'm sure you will, too." He took a deep, rattling breath and exhaled onto his palm. A sphere of pure black electricity materialized, a miniature sun of concentrated **Dark Energy**. Zoth's golden eyes turned black as pitch, and he blew a black mist toward the sphere.
It was an offering, a gift of cosmic proportions. The sphere slowly drifted across the five feet of space between them and, without a sound, entered Marcellus's chest.
A shockwave of power slammed into Marcellus, a pain so exquisite it was indistinguishable from euphoria. His human body was being remade, molecule by molecule. The **Dark Energy** sphere didn't just break him; it **fused** with the familiar pinprick of his elemental **Dark Magic** core. His bones stretched, his muscles ripped and reformed, and his skin tore as it hardened into black, spiky scales. His **Dark Magic eyes** were overwritten by a sudden, flashing intensity of gold and black. His long, black **dreadlocks remained separate, but their texture changed; they were now covered in tiny, minute scales, no longer the hair of a Pandorian, but a biological extension of his new reptilian armor.**
As the world went white, Zoth's final words—heavy with the weight of a billion years—echoed through his vanishing consciousness:
"With great power comes great sacrifice, human. **And I'm giving you my life. Don't waste it.**"
Then, the world went black. When he awoke, he was no longer just a human mage.
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