The being had made its way back to the surface, a bone chill screech of agony and aggravation sounded from deep within his elongated frame. He would make it known to the world, to all those could hear, his pains within these confines. Scales puffed as he inhaled and pressed his form against the walls, an attempt to release himself; with no surprise, he was unable to free himself. Words were muttered to himself, outraged and stupefied he sunk to the floor of his cage listening to what was said.
“It’s worthless.” The beast muttered, his tone filled with utter defeat and sorrow. ‘Very few deserved their fates.’ rang through his head, what had he done but merely existed to deserve this fate. The other compromise was one that only allowed a brief existence outside of these walls, he couldn’t decide now whether futile existing was better than existing at all. “I will not be slain to gain freedom, death is not freedom it’s just another cage of darkness.” His body coiled down; comfortably now. The weight of his form rested on the floor, cause a great deal of stress to be taken off. “You will regret your choice,” he murmured, “I will fall into the wrong hands. May my words haunt you.”
His bones resonate with the leviathan’s suffering cry; against his very core does the creature’s pain brush. He feels the cage echoed by the entire veil, suffocating Urthemiel’s essence and evoking an array of uncomfortable emotion. As the nameless one shifted in his cage, Vhennug falls silent. Breathing in the musty, stale air of the Deep Roads, and desperately trying to separate himself from the leviathan’s suffering.
Death had been a worthy resolution to him, when he fought the Archdemon. Delivering them both their ending was meant to be written in stone. Instead, he was blinded by a rebirth, and together they forged a life beyond blight and battle.
He wished the same for this dragon, somehow; but such rebirth could not be planned, or even described. Nug senses finality in the caged beast’s message, truth even. He bows his head, as if submitting to the haunting, and exhales meekly. There were too many other choices contending for his regret already.
“I can scarcely fault you for desiring freedom at any price,” earnestly, he relates. “My choice is made for me; that I am incapable of destroying the thing which contains you, does not make me your enemy. Permit my assistance through other means, o' Great Beast.” He swallows the sarcasm in his throat, for the moment. “We may be allies, yet.”
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