From the world-eating serpent unloosed a shiver of elation, an anticipatory hiss as if the liberation from his shackles were no less than his own unsealing. That of an apocalyptic beast and his return to oldest power; the rightful state of Fell Dragons born to command the Emblem bracelets and conquer all that existed within sheerest imagination. Weakness, sibling, ambition. Leveraging the primeval tool of his past at that, what eternity to pass between this homecoming and the last!
As if to agree, his mortal existence glowed in its new godlike apparel, rejoicing as he flexed and released the fingers of one formerly constrained hand. Greater stretching a muscle of latent domination meant to be purposed yet so rarely put to use. He laughed once more, deep and rich, thrumming with joy and malice and all in-between. "Hurt me? My foolish Divine Dragon, I am awakened. No-one, neither you nor our enemies, shall be able to stop me as I am."
The age of the Fell Heir's greatest feats and mistakes had been long ago and simultaneously not long enough. It would not be hard to remember the man Rafal had been, in this state. In this moment. For centuries he had chased the strength that evaded his birth, compelled and ruined and reborn by the very existence of power - or by its unsightly lack. But, the difference maintained in that he was not yoked to it any longer, that he had gone from thrall to master of his own fate. That—now?—a merciless edge infused burning carmine, no longer so vicious for the wrong reasons.
What a greater perspective, despite all appearances, would know to be resolve: "Let us show them the look of a fight they cannot hope to win."
The combustion of the doors to their once imposing holding cell led to questions of its original sturdiness. So easily did it crumble, testament to their combined might, that it might have been a house made of straw. That the dragons it contained might have been perceived as far lesser for it. But, this was merely the perk of a vastly heightened form, Rafal knew. This was the fate of all others to dare cross their way! He pressed forward, ahead of his Emblem. Nevertheless, lingering always and faithfully within her reach.
"Raise the alarm, the prisoners have escaped! The dragon—gah!!" Cut.
"D-Don't let them escape!! Surround them. . .ugh!" Rend.
"You bastard, go to hel—" Slice.
As Divine and Fell moved as two halves, gargling voices were silenced on the sling of a spectral blade wielded with all the technique of a crushing axe. A path of destruction paved through the halls as easily as butter, lined with countless lives guided toward their maker in seemingly unending number. Insignificant all, for even reserved by the overarching goal of escape, Rafal sought after a single, miserable face amidst the masses who opposed them. One wretched enemy, only: "Hear me," cut, rend, slice, "bring your leader, the masked man, to me. Then, and only then, will I consider letting all you remaining to keep your heads!"
