Yaman dropped to his knees, the stone floor burning beneath him, his palms trembling as he pressed them into the molten rock. The suffocating heat clawed at his lungs, and yet none of it compared to the crushing despair inside him. His father's magical power above the volcano was fading, dwindling like the last flicker of a dying flame. Fernando was on the brink of death. There was no time left for pride, anger, or hesitation.
"Please…" Yaman's voice cracked as he bent his head lower, his forehead searing red against the blistering ground. Tears fell, only to evaporate the instant they touched the stone. His voice rose, desperate and raw. "Please, Gehinom, save my father. I will do anything you ask—anything, even if it costs me my life!"
From the shadows of the cavern, the colossal magma dragon shifted on his throne. His scales, black streaked with molten red, gleamed like rivers of lava. His eyes glowed with the heat of the earth's core, ancient and merciless.
Then, the cavern shook with his laughter. It was not joy, nor pity—it was contempt. The ceiling rumbled, cracks splintered, and fountains of lava spurted upward as though mocking Yaman's plea.
"What will you do for me, insect?" Gehinom's voice was thunder, molten and heavy. He leaned forward, the molten breath from his nostrils making the rocks sweat. "You are nothing. An insect crawling in the dust. You cannot even save your father, and you dare grovel before me?"
Yaman pressed his forehead harder into the stone, the skin burning raw. His small body trembled, but his voice did not falter. "Please…" His entire being was consumed in that single word, his desperation painted in fire and ash.
Then—he dared to lift his head. His blurred vision cleared, and his breath caught. There, stretching across Gehinom's massive stomach, was a scar unlike any wound Yaman had ever seen. Deep, jagged, and ancient—it looked like death itself had carved its claws into the dragon's body. And behind him, on the blackened throne of obsidian, a red lacrima glowed faintly, pulsing like a failing heartbeat.
Yaman's mind raced. A scar so lethal… scales that looked old, worn… and a lacrima glowing dimly as though feeding a dwindling flame. His lips trembled. "Is… is he dying?"
Gehinom's eyes widened for the briefest of moments, before narrowing into a sneer.
"Admit it," the dragon hissed, molten smoke rising from his fangs. "You are more observant than most humans."
Then his voice deepened, rumbling with the weight of centuries. "Yes. Yes, I am dying. My days are numbered. This cursed scar festers with every breath. I will not continue living this damned life. And I regret nothing. Nothing! Except one thing."
The dragon's claw touched the scar across his face, his molten eyes narrowing with venom. "That I did not crush that bastard Acnologia with my own claws."
The cavern trembled with his rage. He threw back his head and roared, the sound like an exploding volcano, a memory of ancient battles echoing in his cry.
Yaman's eyes widened, his breath caught in awe and horror. He could feel the weight of grief, the burden of centuries pressing down on the dragon's words.
"So…" Yaman whispered, trembling. "The grudge between dragons—it wasn't just hatred for each other. It wasn't for humans…"
But before he could finish, Gehinom's aura exploded outward, a tidal wave of pressure that crushed the cavern itself. Rocks shattered, rivers of magma surged. Yaman's small body bent under the weight of that killing intent, sweat streaming down his face as he gasped for air.
The magma dragon's voice shook the world.
"Because, boy, Acnologia is human."
Yaman froze, eyes wide. "What? A human can't kill a dragon… that's impossible!"
Gehinom snarled, the molten rivers glowing brighter as his fury rose. "Yes—it is impossible. Unless…" His voice dropped into a growl. "…unless he wields Dragon Slayer Magic."
The words cut through Yaman's soul. Dragon Slayer Magic? Could such a thing exist? He muttered the name, his voice trembling.
"Yes!" Gehinom's roar cracked the cavern walls. "And it is all because of that damned woman—Irene Belserion! She invented this accursed magic! But I do not blame her. No… I blame those traitorous fools, those weak-hearted dragons who handed humans the very weapons of our destruction!"
His hatred burst like fire. The volcano shook violently, pillars of molten flame rising around his throne.
"What does it mean to 'coexist' with such vile, base creatures? To teach them our power? To let them bite into our very souls? Humans carry treachery in their blood. They are rot and betrayal made flesh!"
The cavern grew darker as his memories bled through.
And then—Yaman saw it.
A battlefield. The sky was black with ash, the ground drenched in blood. Dragons lay broken and dead, their once-proud bodies littering the earth. Fire and steel carved their corpses.
A younger Gehinom stood in the center of the carnage, majestic and furious, his scales unscarred, his body radiating arrogance and pride. Before him stood five dragons: Metalicana. Skiadrum. Weisslogia. Grandeeney. Their eyes bore grief, not malice.
"Why?!" Gehinom's roar split the sky, molten fire burning in his maw. His wings spread wide, blotting out the light. "Why do you still trust them? Look at this scene! Look at our brothers and sisters slaughtered in the mud! Do you still speak of coexistence with humans while their corpses rot before us?!"
His voice broke into a furious roar that shattered the mountains. "Tell me, Metalicana! Tell me, Skiadrum! Weisslogia! Grandeeney! Have dragon souls become so cheap to you?!"
Then his eyes burned with betrayal as he turned. "And you… Igneel."
From the smoke, a red dragon emerged. Majestic flames cloaked his body, his eyes filled with sorrow.
"Gehinom, my friend… my brother," Igneel said, his voice heavy but calm. "Not all humans are evil. Just as among dragons there are the wicked and the noble, so too among humans. You cannot judge all by the sins of the few."
"Brother?" Gehinom's roar was a dagger of fury. His voice cracked the earth. "Do not call me brother! You have betrayed me, Igneel. I heard it myself—you took a human child. You gave him our sacred power. You raised him as though he were kin. Do dragon souls mean nothing to you? Have you thrown them away for filth?!"
Igneel's silence was his answer.
Gehinom's rage erupted. He beat his wings, the sky melting with fire. "Then you are dead to me. All of you! May your trust in these worms be the end of you!"
He turned, roaring into the heavens, and took to the sky. His wings carried him far from his brethren, his fury burning hotter than any magma.
For days he flew, until he found an island drenched in fire—an island of volcanoes. There, he looked down and saw humans smiling, laughing, celebrating in their cities below. The sight boiled his blood.
He remembered the corpses of dragons strewn across battlefields. He remembered the humans wielding Dragon Slayer magic, their hands stained with dragon blood.
And he roared—the roar of the magma dragon. A roar of hatred.
His flames swallowed the island. Humans screamed as they burned, their joy turned to ash. When silence finally came, the corpses of men and women lay scattered across scorched earth.
There, within the greatest volcano of the island, Gehinom carved his throne from fire and stone. He built his lair in the heart of the Dragon Volcano, vowing never to forgive, never to forget.
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