The Multiverse Hunter

The market square at the heart of Obidos had roared with life only moments before. Miners, their backs bent and hands scarred raw, trickled in from the mountain roads one after another—each man hauling the same battered burlap sack over his shoulder. It was the same ritual every dusk: line up, haggle with merchants for scraps, pray for enough coppers to feed their families until tomorrow.

They'd spent dawn to dusk deep in the veins of the mountain—swinging pickaxes through stone, swallowing lungfuls of dust, slipping and crawling through tunnels that could bury them alive any moment. And yet when they emerged into the fading sun, their reward was a single sack—whatever worthless rock the guards hadn't taken first.

No wage. No mercy. If the merchants felt generous, maybe the miners left with a few coppers. If the merchants felt cruel, the men trudged home empty-handed. And some nights… some never made it out at all.

The traders weighed scraps of copper and tin on cheap scales, smirking as they shaved off coin after coin. They didn't care who ruled House Cinder or who died in Nolan lands—so long as the miners stayed desperate enough to sell their souls for bread.

But just as the last rays of daylight slipped behind the western peaks, the air in Obidos shifted. It wasn't something you could see—only feel. A cold whisper curling at the nape of every neck, an ancient dread threading through every spine.

First one man paused—his sack slipping from his shoulder, tumbling into the dirt with a dull thud. Then another, and another. Until the entire square fell silent but for the rattling of stone on stone as sacks hit the ground. Hundreds of eyes turned skyward, straining to pierce the shadows cast by the rising moon.

Above them, a shape moved—a massive shadow covering Obidos from the moonlight. Enormous wings spread wide enough to cast half the market in darkness. It circled once, twice, riding the night wind with slow, predatory grace. And then, without warning, it dove—straight for the heart of Obidos.

"DRAGOOOOOOOON!"

The scream ripped through the silence like a blade. Panic exploded like wildfire. Miners abandoned their day's meagre wages where they lay. Mothers grabbed children by the wrist. Fathers shoved through crowds, dragging wives and brothers and old mothers stumbling behind them. In a single heartbeat, the square turned into a stampede—thousands driving for the city gate, the only thought run echoing in every mind.

At the far end of the square, built like a fortress against the night, the Adventurers' Guild hall pulsed with life. Laughter and rough songs drifted through its shuttered windows. Tankards slammed together. Knives scraped plates. Staves leaned in corners. Swords rested against boots worn thin from wandering the beast forests.

Dozens of men and women filled the ground floor—bounty hunters, monster slayers, mages-for-hire, every last one seasoned enough to know when something wasn't right. They felt it first as a tremor under their boots—a ripple in the air that tasted like death. Conversations died mid-word. Fingers drifted to hilts and staff grips.

Then came the sound—distant but cutting clear through the floorboards.

"DRAGOOOOOON!"

A young swordsman staggered up from his stool, pale beneath his scars. "A dragon? Here?" he barked to no one, voice cracking in disbelief. All across the hall, chairs scraped back and boots hit the floorboards. Drunken eyes sharpened. A dragon—one real dragon—was a bounty worth more than gold, more than land. But also enough to kill them all in the blink of an eye.

Outside, the panic flooded the narrow cobbled streets. The current of bodies shoved through market stalls and past old stone fountains bearing House Cinder's crest. Families clawed for the gates—Obidos's ancient iron teeth that now felt laughably thin against the monster overhead.

The gate square turned into a frenzied tide of shouting and sobbing. Guards scrambled atop the stone walls, bows shaking in their hands, watching the creature circling under the moon's pale light.

"OPEN THE GATES!" roared a man in tattered miner's garb, his children pressed against his legs as he rushed in the direction of the gate..

BOOOOOOOOOOOM

The great iron gates of Obidos didn't simply open—they were blown apart. Massive sheets of iron twisted like parchment, hurling outward with thunderous force that shattered the stone archway they were mounted to. A choked hush fell over the throng of panicked townsfolk as they stared at the rising cloud of dust where the gates had stood for centuries—symbols of protection now reduced to ruin in a heartbeat.

And then the silence broke—winds like razors howled down the street as Abeloth unfurled his monstrous wings overhead. The gust slammed into the packed crowd with such force that dozens were thrown to their knees, cloaks whipping wildly, cries lost beneath the howling air. He landed, a living cataclysm, right atop the old stone fountain at the gate square—crushing marble and spraying cold water up his burning scales.

Where the water struck him, it turned to steam at once—thick plumes hissing and rolling over red scales as if the dragon wore a cloak of mist and fire. Each breath he exhaled sizzled the night air, glowing embers drifting from the corners of his massive jaws. His eyes—two burning coals set in a mountain of muscle and scale—swept over the hundreds of small, trembling shapes before him.

"My god…"

"It's over… we're finished…"

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

The panicked shrieks rose and fell until Abeloth lifted his colossal head and bellowed a jet of flame into the sky. Fire tore open the darkness—an infernal ribbon of orange and blue that lit up every cobbled street, every gaping face, every trembling hand. In that moment, all sound was snuffed out. Fear sealed every mouth.

STEP. STEP. STEP.

A sharp, rhythmic tapping—like crystal on stone—echoed from beyond the wreckage of the gate. A new sound, clear as flint against steel, cutting through the swirling steam that coiled around Abeloth's bulk.

Hundreds of eyes tore away from the dragon, darting to the source of the deliberate, unhurried steps. From the drifting mist emerged a figure—one so dazzling in her beauty that reality itself seemed to hush in her presence.

A woman walked forward, her long blonde hair cascading down her back like strands of spun gold catching the dragonfire's glow. She wore a dress as red as fresh blood, hugging her regal frame like silk poured over sin. At its centre, a deep crimson crystal pulsed faintly, catching the dancing light.

Seraphina's steps never faltered. Her heels clicked on broken stone as if she were gliding through a ballroom, not the smoking ruins of Obidos's gate. Her sapphire eyes glowed unnaturally bright, feeding off the collective pounding of human hearts around her. So much warm blood. So many fragile souls ripe for the taking. But she restrained the hunger that twitched at her fangs, instead letting a soft, beguiling smile curl her lips.

Without so much as a glance at Abeloth's fangs above her, Seraphina stepped directly into the beast's shadow. To the stunned crowd, it looked as if this monstrous dragon bowed to her. She turned, her silhouette framed by Abeloth's steaming scales, then lifted her hands gracefully.

With impossible ease, her body lifted from the ground—levitating until she hovered level with Abeloth's enormous snout. Her red dress rippled in the updraft of his breath as she cast her cold, mesmerising gaze down at the sea of quivering humans.

"People of Obidos," Seraphina's voice rang out—silken, yet carrying to every corner of the stone streets. She didn't shout—she didn't need to. Her words seemed to slide directly into every ear, slipping past the thunder of pounding hearts.

"Your former lord has lost the war," she declared, each syllable gilded with supernatural weight that froze lungs mid-breath.

Gasps echoed. Faces drained of colour. Merchants, miners, mercenaries—all caught between disbelief and the fear of uncertainty regarding the future.

"House Cinder is no more. Obidos and the castle that looms over it now belong to His Lordship—The Dragon Master, Ali." Seraphina's voice rose at the final words, and as if on cue, Abeloth's massive head tilted back—

ROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR

The world shook. Windows rattled. Loose tiles slid from rooftops. Children screamed and clung to their mothers. Old men fell to their knees clutching prayer beads that would do nothing to stop what loomed above them.

"The Ali of the south… he's real—"

"He was just a rumor—"

"He joined the war? He won the war?"

Seraphina floated higher, her eyes sweeping over the mob like a queen studying ants. "Under Lord Ali's command," she continued, her voice sharpening into something cold, "no one will leave Obidos. The gates will remain sealed until His Lordship says otherwise. Any attempt to flee will be met with death."

Gasps turned to whimpers. Traders exchanged desperate looks. Adventurers near the guild clenched their weapons but didn't move.

"To every knight and guard of Obidos—" Seraphina's voice lashed the night air like a whip. "Lay down your weapons and surrender to your new lord. Swear fealty, and you will live to see your families another day."

She raised one pale hand—and Abeloth moved as if responding to a silent command. He inhaled once, deeply, his vast ribs swelling—then released a second torrent of searing dragonfire into the night sky. The flames danced high over Obidos, a wordless promise of what disobedience would bring.

Seraphina lowered her hand and let her smile widen—revealing the faintest glint of her fangs in the firelight.

"There is no third option," she whispered sweetly to the trembling city below.

"To all commoners—return to your homes and remain there until further notice. The mines are closed until Lord Ali decrees otherwise. Every miner will be provided with food and coin to compensate for this time. Any who disobey or show loyalty to the old regime will be executed on the spot."

Seraphina's final words cut through the night air like a cold blade. She began to descend, her crimson dress flowing around her like liquid flame as her feet touched the broken stones beneath Abeloth's shadow.

From within the uneasy hush, a voice rose—a voice so thin it was almost lost to the rustling wind and the distant crackle of Abeloth's simmering breath.

"Is… is it true? You would feed my family?"

A man stepped forward. Dirt clung to every seam of his threadbare clothes. His sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of years of unbroken labor and hunger. In one trembling hand he held the wrist of his eldest boy, ribs poking through a tattered shirt. Behind him, his wife stood clutching two younger children close to her skirts. The crowd shifted, dozens turning to stare, but no one else moved.

Desperation lent him courage that a lifetime of fear had crushed.

Seraphina tilted her head, her inhumanly bright eyes resting on the miner and his pitiful family. She snapped her fingers with a crisp, effortless flick—and the startled silence shifted to a low, collective gasp.

All heads turned at once, drawn by the heavy rumble of wooden wheels clattering over the cobbled road. Out of the shadows beyond the demolished gate rolled line after line of horse-drawn carriages. Lanterns swung from their sides, casting golden pools of light over tarpaulin-covered piles. As the first carts halted behind Seraphina and Abeloth, the coverings fell away—revealing mounds of freshly butchered beast meat, crates of dried goods, burlap sacks of grains and flour.

A gasp rose through the air—sharp, disbelieving. For a moment even the ever-hungry children simply stared, wide-eyed, at more food than they'd seen in a year.

Abeloth shifted to the side, allowing the people an unimpeded view of their salvation—his massive wings folding back like walls of living iron as steam rolled off his scaled hide.

Seraphina's voice rang out clear and soft—every syllable cutting through the stunned silence like sweet poison.

"As you can see, these carriages are filled to the brim with food. This bounty will be distributed to every one of you tonight. This—" she gestured at the mountains of meat, the overflowing grain, "—is but a glimpse of the future your new lord, Ali, brings to Obidos. Never again shall you sleep hungry while you serve him faithfully."

Her words spread like wildfire—lighting the spark of desperate hope in eyes dulled by poverty and cruelty. The miner who'd dared speak first turned to his wife with shaking hands, gripping her shoulders.

Then Seraphina's tone shifted—silk turning to steel. She raised one pale hand and snapped her fingers once more.

KA-THOOM—KA-THOOM—KA-THOOM—KA-THOOM—KA-THOOM!

Five violent blasts ripped through the empty air before her in a perfect line, cracks of searing light that vanished just as fast as they flared. The ground beneath the detonations smouldered, leaving glowing scars on the stone road. Screams broke out, children buried their faces in their mothers' skirts.

Seraphina lowered her hand and let her eyes sweep across the crowd—cold, pitiless, and bright with ancient hunger barely restrained.

"Let this be a warning," she said softly, her voice somehow clearer than the echoes of the blasts. "Any who dares steal from Lord Ali's bounty, any who dares hinder its distribution or defy my orders—there is no corner of Obidos where you can hide. There will be no mercy."

She flicked her wrist with a regal dismissiveness, waving them away like insects scattered from a flame. "Go. Return to your homes and wait. Your new life begins tonight."

The miner who had spoken—clutching his children's thin hands—was the first to turn and run. A flood followed behind him as fear and hunger drove the people back through the broken streets, doors banging shut as windows slammed and bolts were thrown.

From the two remaining gates at the far ends of Obidos, muffled booms echoed faintly—more explosions, more reminders that no path remained open but surrender.

Seraphina watched them disappear, the corner of her lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. Abeloth's fiery eyes glowed at her side, the dragon's rumbling growl rolling through the cold night like a distant promise of ruin for any fool who might still dream of defiance.

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