The Truth and the Making of God (I)

Nidhogg.

In Norse mythology, the black dragon is known as the symbol of 'Despair.'

Legend has it that it dwells at the bottom of the World Tree, known as 'Yggdrasil', gnawing at its roots.

When the Yggdrasil's roots are devoured, the tree will decay, and the twilight of the gods, known as 'Ragnarok', descends.

At that time, it will unfurl its wings, flying over battlefields laden with corpses, heralding the coming of the apocalypse.

But where it goes after that, no one knows.

Some say as the embodiment of the end, it vanishes alongside the Ragnarok. Others claim it did not die but was weakened by the end of the Age of Gods and hid within the reverse side of the world. Yet, some say it offended a powerful entity and was sealed away in an unknown place.

Various tales abound.

And now, this dragon symbolizing despair has appeared before Arkhan.

"What do you mean when you say I stole your power?" Arkhan squinted his eyes slightly. He couldn't recall any connection between himself and Nidhogg.

Wings that blocked out the sky extended to the edge of his vision. Its form, like molten iron, was ancient and imposing, both demonic and angelic in its magnificence.

This was the Dragon of Despair, the harbinger of the world's end.

"That despicable thief stole my power, intending to use it to annihilate the White Dragon, the incarnation of the will who rejects the Age of Man."

The massive mouth opened, each word spoken as though carrying the weight of a thousand pounds, leaving no room to breathe.

"And you, you are the weapon created using my power by that despicable thief."

Arkhan furrowed his brow slightly, "Could you be a bit more specific in your explanations? Your riddles are confusing. Could you use a few more words, maybe?"

"..."

Nidhogg fell silent for a moment, and then, from its pitch-black vertical pupils, a brilliant light suddenly burst forth.

Arkhan stood still, allowing that light to consume him.

===

"Is this really okay?"

A middle-aged man, wearing a crown on his head, holding a scepter in his hand, and draped in a cloak, stood in the magnificent hall. His eyes showed a hint of complexity.

"Ah, come on, don't put on that troubled look. This thing was not easy for me to steal from that place~" said a man with white hair, holding a cherry wood staff, his face wearing a warm smile that was as refreshing as a spring breeze.

'Uther and Merlin...' Arkhan stood in the corner, squinting slightly.

In Ector's study, there hung a portrait of Uther, so he naturally recognized the middle-aged man with the crown.

Arkhan touched the nearby pillar and his hand passed through it, realizing this place was some kind of memory projection. He then walked straight through the pillar.

A thoughtful expression crossed his eyes as he continued to silently observe.

"You understand it well too, Uther. Vortigern is about to become the 'Final God', if we can't find an entity to match him, Camelot's downfall is just a matter of time."

Merlin said that with a carefree smile.

"But now, except for Britain, the true ether in the rest of the world has all vanished. Those gods are either dead or gone. There are no other gods to be found now, except for that White Dragon. So... we need to create our own god, don't you think?"

Merlin flicked his wrist, and a palm-sized black scale appeared in his hand.

As soon as the scale appeared, a terrifying power of death filled the grand and splendid hall, turning it into an eerie and sinister place.

Uther furrowed his brow slightly, and the crown on his head emitted a starry, misty radiance, blocking out the power of death.

"The Dragon of Despair who devours the world, Nidhogg." Merlin smiled, seemingly unaffected by the aura of death. "With its scale, combined with your blood, we can create the most powerful king of Camelot in history. With this power, we can defeat Vortigern."

"Is this really okay?" 

"Ahh, come on, don't put on that troubled look. Just like the rise and fall of the sun, the world's most fundamental law is the balance between light and dark, prosperity and downfall... don't you think so too~?"

"I'm just..." Uther's face showed a hesitant expression, but in the end, he sighed. "Never mind, I understand."

As if someone had pressed the pause button, the scene in front of Arkhan suddenly froze. Then, the surroundings distorted, and in the blink of an eye, everything underwent a dramatic change.

===

There lay a vast forest, and in the center of a clearing, a massive magic circle emitted a faint, ethereal glow.

In the heart of the magic circle, a baby lay peacefully.

"It looks like it was a success, want to cry, Uther?" Merlin chuckled.

"I haven't cried in forty years, Merlin..." Uther replied nonchalantly.

"Eh~? But usually, parents should be moved to tears when they see their child being born, shouldn't they?" Merlin cocked his head.

"If I could, I'd love to know what it feels like to cry, but that's a luxury I can't afford..." Uther remarked.

Merlin seemed about to say more but suddenly froze, turning to look at the baby.

Black and deathly patterns had crawled over the baby's body and an immense surge of the power of death exploded from the tiny body!

"Not good!"

Merlin immediately placed a hand on Uther's shoulder and tapped his staff to the ground, the two of them vanished in an instant.

The power of death swept across like a storm in all directions, and within a five-kilometer radius, trees seemed to have aged a thousand years in an instant, their lush foliage withering and decaying rapidly. Many animals that couldn't escape in time met their demise under this power of death, their flesh melting and fur decaying, leaving only skeletal remains.

In just a moment, the land within a five-kilometer radius had turned into a dead land, devoid of any life.

Space warped as Merlin and Uther reappeared.

Surveying the grim scene around him, Uther sighed.

"Failure."

"...Iyahaha~ who would have thought that even a great mage like me could make mistakes? Oh well, the nature of the world is never that simple after all~"

Uther approached and gently touched the baby's cold body, his eyes showing a hint of complex emotions. "...What should we do with this child?"

"What should we do?"

Merlin shrugged his shoulders as if none of this was his problem.

"You saw it, right? No breath, no heartbeat, and blood frozen in the veins like stone. This child is unquestionably dead. He no longer belongs here. Nidhogg's power is just too overwhelming, and with the resources and technology we currently possess, we can't create a body capable of containing that kind of power.

But luckily, this time we've gathered enough experience. I promise we'll succeed next time. However, now that Nidhogg's scales are gone, and I don't know when that 'place' will open again, how about we try to change the dragon? I think the red dragon Albion would do."

As their figures faded into the distance, only a lifeless baby remained, forever trapped in this dead land.