Lich for Hire

Chapter 127: Written in Fate

The House of Cerberus never imagined that a single sacrifice could go so catastrophically wrong.

After Geronimo transformed into a half-dragon, the once-frail boy became an unstoppable force.

The House of Cerberus's well-trained servants and guards could not survive even a single exchange with him.

A beat of his wings could summon a gale strong enough that they were unable to keep their footing.

And once Geronimo closed the distance, all it took was a casual squeeze to crush their heads, helmets and all.

The disparity wasn't just a matter of raw strength. The fanged mouths covering Geronimo's body were terrifying weapons in their own right. When he lunged at someone, those mouths would tear greedily into flesh, chewing and devouring anything in reach with huge bites. Even metal armor could not withstand them.

Geronimo vented his fury without restraint.

"HAHAHAHA! Die! All of you, die! You miserable ants!"

By now, Geronimo no longer looked human in any sense.

He slaughtered every servant of the House of Cerverus. The flesh he devoured merged rapidly into his body. His height swelled from barely one and a half meters to nearly two. The dragon wings on his back grew even more grotesque. Fully spread, they spanned almost ten meters and were covered in fine dragon scales. Curved horns even sprouted from his head.

The guards' weapons sparked uselessly against those wings, unable to even pierce their scales. The half-dragon cut them down.

Across the plaza, Geronimo killed and consumed over a hundred fully armed guards. Meanwhile, the sinister shadow in the sky watched on with satisfaction.

It had been far too long. At last, a dragon's roar could be heard once more across the continent.

"Go, my child," a voice boomed from the heavens. "Let the world know that the dragons have returned."

The voice of the Dragon Queen, Tiamat, reverberated through the sky, startling the remaining members of the House of Cerverus hiding within the castle.

A man clad in a long robe patterned with dragon sigils rose to his feet. He was the family's prodigy, the warlock Abraham Torres, who was one step away from the realm of legend.

Warlocks were a peculiar profession. Though outwardly spellcasters, their power did not come from their own intellect, but from the gifts of the patrons they worshiped.

Put simply, they were sycophants.

In places like the Feywild, the Abyss, or the realms of dark gods, there existed countless powerful beings aligned with evil. Many of them delighted in accepting the worship of lesser intelligent creatures and would deign to become their patrons.

It was a relationship similar to that of gods and devotees, except that those worshiped did not have to be gods nor even to possess divine power. They merely needed strength superior to their followers.

Such relationships rarely developed into true religions. Most patrons had no doctrine and no interest in cultivating faith. They merely raised a few "pets" on a whim.

Warlocks were precisely pets who grovelled for scraps of power. More pitiful still, Abraham Torres's patron was not even the Dragon Queen Tiamat, but some obscure demon from the First Hell.

Yet Abraham Torres was deserving of the title of genius. With only a tiny fraction of a demon's favor, he had grown into a formidable warlock and used that power as the basis for reaching the legendary threshold.

The House of Cerberus's continuous sacrifices allowed Abraham to completely sever ties with his original patron. Now, he stood on the cusp of transformation. If he could gain the favor of the Dragon Queen Tiamat, becoming a legendary warlock would be all but guaranteed.

Who could have imagined that such a crucial sacrifice would go wrong?

What exactly was this half-dragon?

The moment Abraham Torres heard the thunderous roar from the sky, he teleported straight to the blood-soaked plaza.

Most of the House's retainers were already dead. Mangled corpses were stacked into a grotesque tower. The half-dragon sat atop it, gazing down at Abraham with mocking eyes.

Abraham did not act at once. Instead, he bowed deeply toward the massive shadow in the sky.

"Great Dragon Queen, may I ask if this half-dragon before us is your chosen?"

Geronimo also looked up. He had been too lost in the thrill of slaughter to consider where his power came from. Was it from that shadow above?

To Abraham's eyes, the shadow was little more than a vague blur. But to Geronimo, it was a colossal, multicolored dragon with five heads.

Remembering what he had endured, Geronimo hurriedly knelt atop the mountain of corpses, releasing wave after wave of draconic roars.

The draconic tongue had been passed down through generations of the Cult of Dragonkind. He had thought he had forgotten it, but in truth, it had long been etched into his soul.

Abraham frowned. Something felt wrong. Tiamat clearly had no intention of compensating for the House of Cerberus's losses. Still, if this half-dragon truly was Tiamat's chosen, perhaps the tradeoff was acceptable. He seemed powerful enough—he could be a useful enforcer for the household.

To his surprise, the Dragon Queen burst into wild laughter and delivered her decree. "You two, attack one another. Whoever survives shall receive my blessing. True dragons grow by killing. Do not disappoint me."

Geronimo froze for a brief moment, confusion flickering across his mind. By the time he grasped her meaning, three streaks of crimson energy were already blasting toward him.

Abraham Torres had been far faster to react. Without the slightest hesitation, he condensed crimson power in both hands and fired it at the half-dragon.

This was the first spell every warlock mastered, and their most fundamental one: Eldritch Blast.

Three surging bursts of arcane energy detonated against the unguarded Geronimo, tearing through his dragon scales and shattering more than half of the fanged mouths covering his body.

A warlock's entire life was devoted to enhancing Eldritch Blast. Their advanced abilities revolved around it: multi-casting, devastating knockback, additional enchantments.

This triple-cast was Abraham Torres's crowning achievement, the embodiment of his near-legendary power.

Geronimo was blown straight out of the air. Flesh split apart, exposing a grotesquely warped skeleton beneath.

The half-dragon boy tumbled to the ground, landing amid the slaves who had not yet been killed.

Geronimo had interrupted the ritual, then focused solely on slaughtering the House of Cerberus, allowing many slaves to survive by sheer luck.

Seeing him fall, gravely wounded, several slaves rushed forward in anguish, trying to help their "hero."

If Geronimo died, they would have no hope left.

They never expected the wounded Geronimo to envelop them with his dragon wings as they drew near.

A few screams rang out. As the wings unfolded again, Geronimo stood upright once more.

He still bore wounds deep enough to expose bone, yet they were already far less severe than before.

At his feet lay several mangled corpses, torn as if by a ravenous beast.

Geronimo did not spare them a glance. Though they had once been slaves like him, they were now nothing more than food, fuel for his recovery.

Abraham Torres watched coldly. His next Eldritch Blast slammed straight into the surviving slaves.

He had no intention of fighting a monster with limitless regeneration. First, he would destroy all of its "healing potions."

The blast erupted among the slaves, corroding flesh, eroding souls, and killing most of the pitiful survivors.

Geronimo roared and beat his wings, launching himself toward Abraham.

Abraham gathered another Eldritch Blast, trying to shoot the half-dragon down—but time and again, Geronimo dodged with uncanny agility.

A caster's flight could never match a dragon's wings in speed or maneuverability. Even retreating at full speed, Abraham was caught.

But though Geronimo had closed in, Abraham did not panic.

He had anticipated this. At this distance, Eldritch Blast could not miss.

The spell he had already prepared detonated instantly, with three bursts at point-blank range.

One of Geronimo's dragon wings was blown completely to pieces, reduced to dust and hurled away by the blast.

Yet instead of triumph, Abraham's expression twisted in shock. The wing had detached from Geronimo's body even before the explosion.

The half-dragon had abandoned his own wing in advance.

Abraham had no idea how he had torn it free at the root, but the full force of the blast had been wasted on the severed wing. The wing was obliterated, but Geronimo's sheer momentum allowed him to surge forward unscathed.

His razor-sharp claws locked onto Abraham's shoulders. The fanged mouths in his palms shredded the warlock's robe and devoured his flesh greedily.

The agony shattered Abraham's composure. He tried desperately to cast a spell, but he could not focus. In that half-second of hesitation, Geronimo opened his original mouth and bit down on his neck.

Just like a true dragon, he tore enemies apart with claw and fang, then devoured their flesh.

Abraham Torres's blood, saturated with potent arcane power, poured down Geronimo's throat. His wounds knit together once more, and the severed wing began to regrow.

Abraham tried to resist, but horror seized him when he realized his body was completely paralyzed.

The half-dragon's teeth carried a potent toxin. The instant Geronimo had drawn blood, Abraham lost all ability to move.

They fell from the sky together. Geronimo used Abraham as a cushion, smashing him into the ground. The impact shattered most of the warlock's bones.

It was a fatal miscalculation.Thinking that he had won, Abraham hadn't even erected a Mage Shield. He had planned to lure the half-dragon close and cripple him, never imagining that he himself would be the one crippled.

How had it come to this?

Abraham was unwilling to accept his defeat. He still had countless ways to deal with the half-dragon, yet now he could not even move a finger. He could only lie there as his flesh was devoured.

What had he done? He was a conservative fighter. Why would a spellcaster like him attack this monster with such a risky ploy?

"This shouldn't be happening. I was about to become a legend. I am my family's hope. I can't die like this."

In his final moments, Abraham Torres saw the shadow in the sky smile.

Suddenly, he stopped struggling. He understood everything.

True dragons had to grow through combat. The Dragon Queen had stirred his fanaticism, stripping away the caution every spellcaster needed. From the very beginning, he had been nothing more than prey, allowed to struggle only so this half-dragon could learn how to hunt.

The moment the half-dragon was born, his fate had been decided.

Above, the crows continued to circle, no doubt eager for their feast. Only this time, it was the House of Cerberus that would be devoured.