Birth Of The Devourer

[Author: Consider checking out my other novel, sadly this one is simply worse, at least writing quality-wise. I've learned a lot while I was writing this novel, and believe my second one to be much more worthy of your time.]

I am Valdrakar Nemesis, The Great Devourer, and this is my story—one that begins not with a fiery roar or a triumphant battle, but in the silent, dark abyss of an egg.

The first sensation was not sight or sound, but an overwhelming awareness. A pulsing, rhythmic thrum enveloped me, the heartbeat of my own creation, echoing through the fluid that cradled me. I floated in a cocoon of warmth and security, sensing the vast potential coiled within my nascent form. I was a seed of power, waiting to unfurl.

At first, time had no meaning. There was only the gentle sway of my universe, the steady beat of life around me. My consciousness ebbed and flowed, sometimes flickering with half-formed thoughts and dreams, other times sinking into a deep, formless slumber.

Slowly, very slowly, I began to feel my body taking shape. My scales, hardening like obsidian armor, began to form a protective layer. My claws, sharp and relentless, flexed in anticipation of the power they would soon wield. My wings, folded tight against my back, whispered promises of the skies I would one day command.

Through the passage of years, I could occasionally sense the world beyond my shell—subtle vibrations, distant echoes of life, and the periodic shudder of my egg as it shifted within its nest. I was aware of the passing of time in a vague, almost detached manner, each pulse of the heartbeat growing stronger, each moment bringing me closer to my destiny.

From my mother, I inherited more than just my physical form. Her basic experiences and her bare instincts were imprinted on my mind, preparing me for the harsh journey ahead. I knew that I would love the taste of deer flesh, the scent of a forest, the thrill of the hunt. I understood the nature of my kind: devouring dragons gain strength by consuming other dragons, their essence fueling our growth. The older and more powerful the dragon, the greater the gain. I knew to avoid adult dragons, strong monsters and humanoid settlements until I grew stronger.

Dragons hunt me to snuff out their only natural predator during my years of weakness, monsters hunt me because I'm a delicacy like nothing else, each bite of my flesh strengthening their existence and humanoids hunt me for my organs, scales, bones. Each considered as the highest tiers of crafting materials in their weapons, armors and other creations.

My mother's knowledge was basic but crucial. I learned that all dragons grow stronger with age but also with the act of killing and consuming other creatures just like all monsters. The stages of a dragon's life are well-defined: egg, wyrmling, very young, young, young adult, adult, mature adult, old, very old, ancient wyrm, great wyrm. Each stage is marked by not just the passage of time, but by the battles fought and won, the essence consumed, and the power accumulated.

As a devouring dragon, my prime prey would be other dragons, but at the beginning I knew I should avoid them until I was strong enough. Even then, it would be best to hunt weaker dragons, those who hadn't yet reached their full potential. Every dragon was my enemy, besides perhaps other devouring dragons, but my kind was the rarest breed in the world, near extinction. If I wanted allies, I should subjugate monsters or humanoids.

The confinement of the egg, once a comforting embrace, began to feel restrictive. My growing strength pressed against the limits of my world, my need for freedom and power gnawing at the edges of my patience. The day would come when this prison would no longer hold me.

I often wondered about the outside world. My mother's knowledge had given me small glimpses, but I yearned to experience it for myself. The sensation of the wind beneath my wings, the thrill of the hunt, the taste of my first prey. These thoughts filled me with anticipation and a burning desire to break free.

Yet, with that anticipation came worry. Would I be strong enough to survive? Would I find the strength to devour other dragons and grow as powerful as I needed to be? The outside world was vast and filled with dangers. Humanoids with their weapons and traps, other dragons who would see me as a threat, monsters that roamed the lands. I needed to be cautious, to grow stronger with each passing day.

The first crack in my egg was subtle, a hairline fracture that signaled the beginning of the end of my confinement. I felt it more than heard it, a tiny disruption in my eternal rhythm. With each pulse of my heart, the crack widened, and a thrill of anticipation coursed through me.

I pushed, my claws raking against the inside of the shell, my muscles straining with effort. The first true challenge of my existence demanded all my strength and determination. I roared, a muffled cry within my egg, and the shell responded, splintering under the force of my will.

Light—blinding, searing—pierced my world, and I blinked against the sudden onslaught. The shell fell away in jagged pieces, and I emerged, gasping, into a new reality. The air was cold against my scales, the ground rough beneath my claws.

In the dimly lit chamber of my birth, I emerged from the remnants of my egg, a creature of shadowed wonder and potential. My scales, still gleaming with the remnants of embryonic fluid, shimmered in the faint light filtering through the cave entrance. Each scale bore a dark, iridescent sheen, reflecting hues that shifted from deep charcoal to hints of midnight blue, hinting at the strength and resilience that would define me.

As I unfolded my wings, the membrane between each digit stretched taut, revealing intricate patterns that spoke of future flights through uncharted skies. Though folded against my back for now, they twitched with a restless energy that belied my diminutive size, eager to feel the wind beneath them.

My claws, sharp and deadly, flexed reflexively as I tested my limbs. Each digit ended in a pointed talon, a testament to my predatory nature even at the tender age of 1 hours old. My teeth, small but already razor-sharp, glinted as I opened my mouth in a silent, curious hiss.

My tail, long and sinuous, curled around my body in a protective coil before unfurling to test the air. Its barbed tip twitched with each movement, a potent weapon and a symbol of balance that would serve me well in the battles to come. 

Although one day I would become a towering giant, for now I was smaller than an adult horse, perhaps as big as a wolf, though certainly sturdier and stronger, but also a bit slower.