The Chosen One to Rule Them All Chapter 7
Chapter 7: Ericka vs. Skarethia, Part 2
Regina's command echoed through the frozen air, and the silver-haired dragon girl lifted her chin. A slow breath left her lips, frosting the air white as she smiled. Then her eyes ignited—no longer soft or serene, but blazing with ancient, draconic ferocity. A deep, rumbling growl rolled from her chest.
Her wings spread wide. The elegant feathers bristled, hardening, shifting—each plume sharpening into plates of gleaming, icy scale. Her arms trembled, fingertips lengthening into curved, razor-edged talons. The soft skin of her hands shimmered, then crystallized into hardened silver scales that raced across her forearms and up her shoulders like a frost storm spreading over glass.
She arched her back as a violent crack echoed through the air. Her spine stretched. Her ribs expanded. Her entire frame surged upward as if pulled by some invisible tide of power. The beautiful gown she wore dissolved into sparkling particles of frost, revealing scales beneath—tightly interlocked plates of glacial silver that spread across her torso, sculpting into the powerful contours of a true dragon.
A roar tore from her throat—raw, thunderous, and primal. It shook the ground and sent a shockwave through the snow at her feet.
Her horns lengthened, curving back like twin blades forged from winter itself. Her face shifted, soft features pushing outward into a noble, angular, draconic muzzle. Her silver hair whipped violently in the wind before merging into sleek, scaled ridges running down her neck.
Her legs thickened with muscle, feet expanding into massive, taloned draconic paws that cracked the ice beneath her growing weight.
With another roar—louder, deeper, echoing through the frozen schoolyard—her tail lengthened and whipped behind her, carving a serpentine slash across the snow.
The final surge hit her like a pulse of moonlight. Her body expanded again, doubling and tripling in size until she towered above the icy spires around her. Wings unfurled to their full span: vast, silver, and magnificent, each beat of them sending gusts of icy wind spiraling outward.
And when the light faded, a towering, armored guardian of winter, gripping Rune Shaver as frost swirled around her blade, grew with her, her breath steaming in the moonlit cold. With one last earth-shaking roar, her transformation was complete. Standing there was a 600-foot silver dragon.
As Rex watched the transformation unfold, fear and awe washed over him at once. Her form shimmered with an almost painful beauty, every scale catching the light. Intelligence and regal dignity were carved into her features even in this fearsome state. And seeing her towering, serpentine body for the first time left an impression.
Seeing the fear in Rex's eyes, Ericka's draconic features softened. "Don't be afraid, Rex," she said gently. "I would never harm you. The only one I intend to strike is this abomination." She lowered her massive head, trying to ease his worry. But know this," she added quietly, "in this form, our instincts are harder to control… so things might get a little rough."
Suddenly, Ericka surged forward with blinding speed. She struck Skarethia hard, launching her into the air, then followed with a slash of Rune Shaver that carved a deep gash along Skarethia's side and sent her hurtling toward a distant mountain. Ericka opened her maw and unleashed a roaring blast of ice, freezing the entire mountainside solid.
However, she knew Skarethia was far from defeated. A legendary great dragon of her age would never fall so easily. Ericka unfurled her massive wings and glided down in front of Rex, landing with a heavy thud. She shifted into a protective stance, shielding him as if her own life depended on it, eyes fixed on the horizon for Skarethia's next move.
At last, a furious growl rippled across the frozen schoolyard and through the mountains. Vade, et arde sicut calor mille solium… Scorchgrief ("Go, and burn like the heat of a thousand suns… Scorchgrief"). The frozen mountainside glowed crimson, then exploded into shards of ice and rock. From the cascade of debris emerged an injured Skarethia, clutching her side to slow the bleeding. A green light flared from her palm, sealing the worst of the damage—though the wound remained far from fully healed.
"Damn… I really did underestimate you, judging by the power you had as a hatchling." Skarethia exhaled sharply, a rare flicker of respect crossing her face. "Congratulations—you actually forced me to unsheathe Scorchgrief." She kept her palm pressed firmly over her wound, careful not to aggravate it as she steadied herself.
The sword hovers in midair like it is answering a silent summons, its presence radiating both heat and authority. The blade itself is forged from a brilliant, mirror-like metal, sharp enough to catch even the faintest light and bend it into a deadly gleam. Along its surface runs a faint pattern, almost like flowing magma trapped beneath steel.
The hilt is wrapped in dark material—likely charred dragonhide—designed to withstand impossible temperatures. It culminates in a polished gemstone at the pommel, a deep sapphire that pulses with internal light.
The crossguard curves outward like two golden wings, each side chased with intricate craftsmanship. At its center rests a brilliant crimson gem, shaped like a teardrop. This jewel seems to be the heart of the sword, pulsing with faint, rhythmic flashes as though channeling magical energy.
The air around the sword shimmers, distorted by the heat it releases. Flickering embers drift lazily from the flames, dissolving before they touch the ground. The sword emits a low hum—an echo of some deeper power within. It feels like a blade forged in a divine forge, meant for a champion of fire… or a tyrant who commands flame itself.
A spiral of flame coils around the blade, rising from the tip and winding upward in a serpentine path. The fire behaves like a living creature—flaring, tightening, and twisting as though responding to a heartbeat. It does not merely burn; it moves with purpose. The flames glow in a rich gradient, from searing gold near the edges to deep orange at the core. No smoke rises from the weapon—only brilliant, pure heat.
Skarethia shot Regina a sharp glare. "There's no way you should know that. My mistress specifically told me not to take my dragon form. So tell me—how did you find out? Her communication lines are supposed to be untraceable, even to other deities." As she spoke, her eyes drifted to a snowy owl perched quietly on a branch nearby.
Fury surged through Skarethia the moment she spotted the owl. Her glare snapped back to Regina, burning with rage. "You bitch… You had a familiar watching us this whole time. One that can detect every form of telepathy and record everything it sees for its master?" Her anger exploded, and she unleashed a roaring torrent of flame straight at Ericka. But Ericka simply spoke and said, "Prode, et motus gladiorum meorum in vulnera congelata verte." (Come Forth, and Turn my blade's movements into frozen slashes.) and she flicked her blade—ice spiraled outward, catching the fire and melting into a wave of water that snuffed the flames instantly.
Regina smiled. "Yes, Skarethia. I've been watching you this entire time—and I know my little sister is watching as well. Can you hear me, Tiamathress? I know you can, baby sister. Skarethia is one of your most loyal subjects; there's no way you wouldn't be keeping an eye on her." Her voice sharpened. "You and your kind are not allowed here. Leave Ericka and Rex alone, and call your red one back to where she came from."
"Hello, Reginatrix. Long time no speak—especially after you chained me down here for the last five thousand years. I haven't forgotten, elder sister."
Regina's expression tightened with irritation. "You know exactly why you were stopped. You let the crooked whispers of that blade twist your mind, and you drove it into Mother and Father's chests. You split our people and dragged us into war against countless races, all for your own ambition. You had to be sealed away, Tiamathress—your greed would never have stopped until every mortal plane was under your claw."
"And so be it," Tiamathress scoffed. "We are Dragons—the rightful rulers of this world and every mortal plane. Even the other gods tremble before us. I merely taught my children the truth you were too blind to accept." Her voice curled with venom.
"Father, Mother, and even you, Reginatrix, never understood the power we could wield or the eternity we could carve for ourselves. I tried—tried—to make our family see reason. But you refused me." Her tone sharpened into a furious roar. "And when someone refuses the future offer, they become an obstacle. And obstacles must be eliminated. Anyone who will not stand with me…MUST DIE."
"Yes, but the Allfather disagreed with you—just as the rest of the Draconic Pantheon did. Being powerful doesn't make you right, Tiamathress. If anything, your strength should have helped you uphold your duty, yet your greed and arrogance twisted it into something foul." Regina's eyes hardened. "Do not forget—had I wished it, I could have ended you myself. The Allfather entrusted me with power far beyond yours. If I had desired your death, Tiamathress… you would not be speaking now."
"Ha! Don't make me laugh, Reginatrix. Don't get cocky just because the Allfather favored you as his precious, most chosen mate. Without his power, you never would have stood a chance against me—just like Mother and Father didn't." Her voice dripped with twisted pride. "Killing them and their sanctimonious ideals was nothing more than icing on the cake."
"Yet you still lost, Tiamathress. You're still sealed—and you will never be unsealed. So stay buried in your pit and sulk while we thin out your brood one by one. I promise you this: a day will come when the Chrome Dragons cease to exist."
"Really, Reginatrix? Then by all means—enlighten me," Tiamathress hissed. "Tell me how the war in Therdim is truly going. Because from what I hear, the Reds, Blues, and Blacks have made… significant gains. Humans, Dwarves, Elves, Silvers, Bronzes, and Brasses—they're all being pushed back. It's only a matter of time before my children break their lines completely… and send reinforcements to join their kin on every front.
"And before I go, elder sister… two final things." Tiamathress's voice slithered through the air like poison. "First—these cursed chains? I've had help with them. Let's just say… certain members of the pantheon have been assisting me from the very beginning." A low, mocking laugh echoed.
"Ta-ta, Reginatrix. The prophecy may forbid me from killing you, but when I finally break free and get my claws on you… You'll beg for death." Her tone sharpened like a blade. "And lastly—Skarethia. Stop toying with them and use your dragon form. As you are now, the silver brat clearly outclasses you."
Tiamathress's presence faded, leaving not even an echo behind. Skarethia smirked and turned her glare on Ericka. "Stay away from my mate, Erickathrix. You'll pay for this wound—and for daring to touch what's mine." Flames erupted around her, scorching away the snow left by the storm. The air trembled with heat as Skarethia's body began to change, her transformation igniting in a blaze of fire.