Drakovitch's eyes filled with tears as the weight of his fate crashed down on him.
"So… this is it, then. This is the result of my mistakes. The consequences I face for everything I've done to my wife… And yet it's meant for the greater good. Just as I ask of you to undo this curse… I may have been reborn, but I am slowly dying, even now, at the moment when I finally can… breed."
The main head looked at him coldly.
"If you have nothing else to say, leave. Sulking is the stupidest thing you could do with the time you have left."
Drakovitch wiped his eyes. Suddenly, they flared with a desperate fire.
"Just so you know… I was not built to give up. In my past life, I did everything I could just to have a child. Now that I can, I will not die without a fight. I will not let those bastards win from the grave. Before this curse takes me, I will fill my kingdom with Dragonborn. I will be the father of a new world!"
The Fire head let out a puff of smoke that sounded like a mocking laugh.
"Our blood is too strong, too violent. Only 'White Blooded' humans can survive the infusion. Your family kept its blood pure for centuries just to increase the chances of one successful birth. Without your kin with only you remaining how do you plan to succeed?"
The Ice head lowered itself, breathing a thick cloud of frost across the stone floor.
"Even if you bed a ten normal woman, the chances of a single Dragonborn being born are near zero. With that curse rotting your core, you will be a corpse before you ever hear the cry of a Dragonborn."
Drakovitch didn't flinch. He stepped closer to the massive obsidian snout of the main head.
"Who said I would bed only ten?"
The eleven dragon heads answered in chorus.
"Huh?"
"I'll bed a thousand women. I will turn my palace into a cradle. In my past life, I had nothing… no legacy, no children. I won't let that happen again."
The eleven heads fell silent, their eyes communicating in a way only a shared body could. The main head lowered its gaze, then suddenly burst into laughter, making the other heads turn toward him.
"Bed a thousand women!? HA HA HA! I have never seen a man like you. Even as you are dying, you choose to breed. You may not be our true King, but you are far bolder than he ever was. You have the heart of a father. That is what this world needs. Perhaps that is what the Dragonborn before you lacked. They only cared for war and strength. They never cared for their own kin. You are a different kind of monster."
Drakovitch touched his golden scar, and the look in his eyes was something Tiamat had never seen before. The main head leaned closer, his massive obsidian face inches from Drakovitch.
"You have made me see you, little man. Since you are so determined to live, I will tell you a secret. The kings before you were too 'noble' to listen, but you... you have nothing left to lose."
Drakovitch leaned in.
"Tell me. Please. I'll pay any price."
"A Dragonborn is only the beginning… They only inherit a small fraction of our power. But there is a way to become a True Dragonborn."
The eleven heads began to move, circling around Drakovitch. Their voices joined together, echoing from every side.
"You can shed that rotting skin and gain immortality, just like us. You would no longer be a man. You would be a god. You could live forever and breed an army that would never end."
"How?"
"There is a price. Once you begin, there is no turning back. You must hunt. You must find the other Primordial chosen Kings and Queens—the sovereigns who carry the blood of the other Primordial Beings.
The main head leaned down, its hot breath hitting Drakovitch's face.
"Eat them! Consume their blood and their royal souls. Only by devouring the other Rulers can you fix your body and break the curse. Do this, and you will transcend. You will become... A Dragon!"
The mountain summit felt like the eye of a storm. Each head's voice rang inside Drakovitch's mind. Their eyes and mouths glowed like fire behind the thick, swirling fog. Their words pounded into his skull over and over until the pain was too much to bear.
"Your Majesty!"
Drakovitch jolted awake in his bed. One of his Dragonguard stood over him, face tight with worry, the one who had shaken him from the nightmare.
"This is what I feared, Your Majesty! Please, you must rest. This is too much for you—"
Drakovitch clutched his head, his dragon horns glinting in a stray ray of sunlight.
"Will you shut your old mouth, Percival? Your worrying will be the thing that finishes me off. Your nagging reminds me too much of that useless wife I used to have."
Women clung to him from every side. One was draped over his shoulder, another across his chest, and others sprawled across his stomach. The bedroom was packed with a hundred women. Despite the crowd, Percival looked deeply concerned.
"My apologies, my King. But perhaps we could lessen the number of women you bed each day? Maybe… only fifty?"
"No! Prepare the next group. My time is running out. I must produce heirs before I begin my hunt."
"A-as you wish, Your Majesty!"
Percival called for the maids to clear the room. They began waking the women sleeping on the floor, on top of cabinets, and anywhere else they could fit. The room was a mess of tangled sheets and groggy faces. As they were ushered out, one woman turned back with a smile.
"That was wonderful, my King... call for me again. I could give you thousands of Dragonborn—"
"Shut your mouth, whore! One woman, one seed! That is the strict policy!"
Percival cut her off and shoved her toward the door as she kept winking and squeezing her breasts at Drakovitch. He helped the maids drag away the women who still insisted on having another round with the king.