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Eyes opened to an ever-spanning void, one Tiki had become accustomed to on the rare visits she had with Naga. Throughout the centuries, as nations rose and fell, this same eternal blue void, starlights dancing up from the plane around her remained stagnant.
Were she able, a sigh would have left her. Instead she searched for Naga, finally managing to catch sight of her distant form. She wore pink and white fabrics, her emerald hair flowing behind her just as Tiki’s would were it not for the tie holding it together. Though as she looked behind her, she realized the hair tie hadn’t come with her.
Now, as rarely as were the case, they truly looked as mother and daughter.
She turned around once again, moving closer to Naga without walking, as was possible in whatever realm she dwelled within. As Tiki approached, Naga seemed to awaken, though in this realm whether it were actual rest or her usual state was always within question.
“Daughter.” She eyed Tiki, scanning her form. “What brings you to me?”
“Grima has fallen,” she said, a question burning her tongue as a flame, though still unasked. “Sealed for another thousand years, as the First Exalt did before.”
“I see.” She turned to Tiki’s side. “And the Vessel lives?”
Tiki’s hand almost clenched, her temper suppressed for the moment at her use of names, or lack thereof. “Yes, Robin seems to be fine, if depreciative of what he could have done.”
She nodded, the lax motion barely noticeable. “Good. It is a shame Grima could not be felled, but it was their choice, and one made well enough.”
Naga looked down, now with their eyes locked as she asked, “You come not to tell me of the realm, have you?”
Tiki took a single breath. “What did you do?” she asked.
“To the fell dragon?”
“Of course to the fell dragon!” Tiki loudly said, quieting herself as she continued, “A being of your power such as Grima does not simply stumble into a volcano, waiting to be struck down by the Exalt. What did you do to weaken him?”
It was a question many had asked. The story had seemed far too convenient. Nothing aside from an entire legion of elite Risen, their weapons and armor found adrift at sea, proved a battle against it even took place. And with no party claiming themselves responsible, that could only leave one being capable of stopping the dragon, or at least finding the power to weaken him so.
Tiki stared at Naga, eyes pleading for an answer, only for her to look off to the side, most likely with another vision of the mortal realm.
“My only act was a summoning, though perhaps the being himself climbed into our existence by his own power.” She turned back to Tiki. “You may meet him, or you may not. I know not where he is now, only that he was the one who did as you saw.”
Tiki processed what had been said—as she always did whenever Naga spoke. “You claim you summoned a champion, one capable of easily besting not only an entire legion of elite Risen, but the fell dragon as well. Robin even suspects the missing Deadlord may have been there as well.”
Naga looked at her for another moment before chuckling. “Did I not just say that I may have not summoned him at all? I merely presented him with a choice, one which he accepted with pride. Or, no, it was humor which drove him, if I remember.”
Tiki blinked, hoping for anything else to answer her questions. When it became clear those were lacking, she turned back. “I will return to the humans again,” she stated, turning around and moving back.
“Of course, my daughter,” Naga said. “And be warned, this champion may not be content with only the fell dragon’s demise. Such a thing was but an aside for him, after all.”
Tiki thought to respond, but only chose to keep the new knowledge to herself as she left Naga’s realm, wondering exactly who this champion may have been as she awoke.
Silence reigned over the skies as the figure stood, his vessel’s cloak billowing behind him as he stood against the only sound around him. Whipping winds, gales surging over the dragon’s true form of darkened scale, cursed wing, and all-consuming maw.
This was what it was for. The noise of humanity, lowly as they may be, was an annoyance, an irritation that Naga had no business perpetuating. The many thousands beneath his draconic form though, whatever pathetic wails they made mattered little this high above the world.
Yes, they were beneath. A passing thought, an ant, all far below whatever the great dragon was capable of. They were no threat, no dilemma, no cause for debate. A simple pest in need of extermination before their rot could spread further.
This was his purpose, this was why. The Exalts, humanity, Naga, nothing aside from himself should stand in this world. Not a whisper rang out against him in the skies above, it was only a matter of time before the grounds beneath him were silenced as well.
Victory was certain, the mortal tools of Naga stood no possibility of victory beneath his great might. Their screams would be the dying call of the pathetic existence of—
*pop*
A noise? No matter. Their screams would be the dying call of the pathetic existence that was humanity. Not even the winds would bother his—
*pop*
He opened his eyes, twin red orbs scanning over his draconic form. Yet all they found was the same legion of Risen he kept still at bay, unmoving as the corpses they were formed from. Clearly not the source of the noise.
A rasped, grating voice—his own—interrupted the howling winds, “What could it—”
*pop*
His head snapped to the right, identifying whatever creature dared challenge the fell dragon’s silence.
The figure—a human, it seemed—clung to the dragon’s scales. Some form of strange, circular, crimson gauntlets attached the man to his larger form, and an equally abnormal, cobalt helmet held onto his head, one with indents over its top in an even darker shade. The man’s purple shirt, the only fair color presented on his person, was itself covered partially by two crossed, thin, black straps, holding a light-blue backpack to him.
Before the figure could even pose the question to himself, the strange climber lifted himself up again, creating a popping noise as the strange gauntlets he wore detached from the scales, only to stick once more, slightly higher than before.
Was the human... climbing him? The figure let out a laugh, mirthless and cold. “Human, what is it you think you are doing?”
The man leaned back, clearly taking time to consider whatever threat they would—
“Oh you know, I’m just going to the drug store, taking a turn on—what the fuck does it look like, I’m climbing your dragon!”
The figure let out another amused chuckle. “I see that, yes. And, why exactly are you climbing me?”
“The fuck do ya mean ‘you’ I’m climbin’ your dragon!”
“You…” The figure trailed off, an amused huff emerging from its lips. “Do you not know who I am? What I am? What it is you—”
The man climbed again, the pop breaking their concentration. “Excuse you, if you could stop for a moment—”
Again, another pop broke his sentence. “Will you stop for—”
Another pop interrupted him once again, but this time the man stopped as well, saying, “Oh, shit. I didn’t think it looked like I gave a fuck, sorry—wait, no. I’m Suction Cup Man, I don’t care.”
“And you also climb the fell dragon, Grima, and I its—”
“Wait, ‘fell’ dragon?” This ‘Suction Cup Man’ asked. “That supposed to be scary or somethin’?”
Grima’s eye twitched. “If you could stop interrupting me then I could go into detail of how fearful your mortal self should be of—”
“Cause what? Did you fall a lot? That how you got your name?”
Grima clenched his fists. “If you continue to interrupt me then I can simply give you a demonstration—”
“Oho look at me!” he taunted, waving his hands around. “I’m the fell dragon, can’t climb for shit, so scary I’ll shit myself when I look in the—”
“Enough!” Grima roared. “Who was it that brought you here? The Exalts? Naga? Are you the best they can offer to me as challenge?”
“You’re scared of ‘egg salts’? What are you, chicken?” he said with a face-wide grin.
“... I am done with your games.” Grima turned to his legion of Risen. “Tear him apart, now.”
The Risen, unmoving until now, drew their weapons as one. While the usual grunt or even chieftain of Risen was competent fodder for whatever town or city, even army they were attacking, these were different. Formed personally by Grima himself, this legion was perhaps representative of the greatest strength a ‘generic’ Risen could achieve, just below Deadlords in both martial prowess and skill.
As one, the horde charged. Barreling atop the dragon’s back, the great mass of skill, steel, and flesh charged the man, ready to tear him apart at their master’s bidding. And even the great dragon under them shook by the weight of their charge.
And then they ran off the edge, pushing each other off and completely missing him as he stuck to the dragon’s side.
“...”
Suction Cup Man coughed. “Were they supposed to hit me?”
“No,” Grima lied, letting out a sigh. “Why are you here, mortal?”
“Why the fuck do you think, I’m climbing your dragon,” he stated, moving again. “And you can’t stop me, no one stops Suction Cup Man!”
Grima chuckled. “Truly? You think yourself immune to anything I am capable of?”
“Ya just sent like, a hundred of those zombies off of this thing’s back and it didn’t do shit.”
“Fine then, you must think I am without weapon,” Grima taunted.
“Unless you’ve got a gun in that dumbass coat, yep.”
Grima’s smile grew wide, raising his hand behind him. “Then you’ve never heard of a Deadlord, have you.”
Suction Cup Man gasped. “Oh no! A Deadlord! I have—wait, nope, nevermind. I just dropped my last shit to give. Fuck you. You can’t stop me. I’m Suction Cup Man. Look at me go!”
“Yes yes, before I kill you though—”
“You can’t kill me, I’m Suction Cup Man!”
“—Before I kill you, do know I would’ve let you live, if only you took my request to leave when I first demanded it of you.”
Suction Cup Man paused. “I was gonna tell you to suck a dick, but I didn’t think you’d just go and do it to yourself in front of me. I’m thinkin’ of a real good song just for you, and I’m sure you’re gonna like it! So far I’ve only got—” He pulled out a guitar from what seemed like nowhere. “Ehem…”
He strummed it once. “Go suck a dick.” He shrugged, putting the guitar into his backpack… somehow. “I’ll think of more later.”
Grima turned around, towards the back of his dragon’s neck. “Simia, kill this human, as painfully as possible.”
The Deadlord rushed out from behind Grima at a blistering speed. Many would assume the Fell Dragon’s form alone would dissuade any threats to its vessel. With the legion of elite Risen as well, most would assume that would be enough. Especially when he planned to gain reinforcements with the remainder of his cult when he arrived at Origin Peak.
Grima, however, was not most.
The Deadlords could often be called the daggers of the fell dragon. Swift, lethal, and unbending in the defense of their target. Their abilities exceeded the very best mankind could offer, and were limited only in their capacity to attack the dragons of ages gone by. Though despite this limitation, they were precise, and often sent on their own offenses, missions to propel Grima’s will, daggers cast to strike down those who would prevent his inevitable rise.
Though of course, only a fool would fail to keep a dagger on their person at all times.
“Oh, shitfuck!” Suction Cup Man whelped, as he deserved to. Simia crossed the dragon’s back in less than the blink of an eye. Her blade was raised to her chest, ready to plunge it through her opponent’s heart before they could even react. Even with the Deadlords’ physical capabilities already beyond that of even the best of humanity, Simia herself was within her own league when it came to speed, only dwarfed by Porcus, and slightly at that.
She skidded to a stop, sending herself off of the dragon’s back. Suction Cup Man let out a mocking laugh, but the expression froze once he glanced at the sheer determination in Simia’s gaze. Her sword held still to her front, aimed directly at his heart through his back.
Yes, the ant would be nothing more than a stain upon Grima’s scales, a glory deserved by far greater, but a fate with which Grima felt charitable enough to grant the simpleton.
And then, a clink sounded out from the dragon’s side, Grima’s jaw dropping in shock as Simia’s blade—one of the sharpest in existence, held to this state by the deepest of fell magics—bounced off of the man’s back, not even piercing the backpack. Even from where he was, Grima could see Simia’s eyes widen as she fell off of the dragon’s back towards her certain demise.
Suction Cup Man glanced down beneath himself for a moment, before turning back up to Grima in the most infuriatingly smug grin he’d ever seen. “Lemme guess, that one of your ‘fell’ goons?”
“You may consider your next words very carefully, worm,” Grima stated, rage laced in his voice as fell magic gathered within his hand.
“Cause everything you’ve tried to kill me with is really living up to the name!” His grin somehow widened, at least, before that infernal popping sound echoed out again. “Anyways, I’mma get back to climbing, next time you send something at me, why don’t you try shoving it up your a—”
A darkened spike, black as the night sky Grima wished for, pierced out from within the fell dragon’s mighty hide. While not lethal to Suction Cup Man, somehow, it still cast him off of Grima’s back to meet Simia’s own fate.
“Oh it is fucking on!” he screamed from the side, growing more distant as he did so. “You can’t kill me bitch! I’m Suction Cup Man…”
Grima waited a moment, the winds around him howling as he let out a frustrated sigh. Then, greeted by that same, comforting silence as before, he smiled. “While far more inconvenient than expected, perhaps he can display whatever climbing skill he had within hell.”
He shook his head. “I suppose I must search for more Risen to rise, that welp certainly left a greater mark than he ever deserved—”
*pop*
Grima’s eyes snapped to the accursed noise, to his left now, only to find the human somehow grasping his side. The same infernal grin on his face as Grima roared.
“By what magic do you return, mortal! I saw you cast from my side as the flee you are. How dare you return! How can you retur—”
“Wait wait wait!” Suction Cup Man asked, giving Grima pause. “You said ‘flea?’”
Another moment, a thousand storms of thought begging the dragon to simply end this cretin once and for all, yet curiosity burned brighter. “Y-yes? Do you truly fear such a title?”
“Wouldn’t that mean you’re a dog? Since fleas stick on those, and you just called me a flea?” he asked mockingly.
“I will end not only you,” Grima stated, it would be fact soon enough regardless. “I will end you, your family, whomever you value, treasure, care for. I will send not only them, but all of your pathetic race to my maw. You will be nothing, erased from my mind, and thus all that matters once my age dawns. You will know fear, death, and true suffering all at once.”
He raised his hand behind him, bidding his draconic form to his will once more. “But first, know that your suffering will redefine what hell itself will know of as pain and fear, thus that hell will redefine itself to your own fate!”
“Oh yeah, hell! Satan’s kinda annoyed at you for filling that place with your weird cult dudes or whatever, so he gave me a lift here.”
The comment gave Grima pause. “You’ve been to hell?”
“Ain’t the first time, probably ain’t the last. You should go sometime!”
“No no, I’ll create one for you, and trust me.” Grima’s voice dropped, a cacophony of rasped voices echoing out. “It will be far worse than whatever you managed to crawl out of, worm.”
He snorted. “Oh, so now you’re… dirt?” He gazed up. “Are you, moving that head?”
Grima laughed, a wretched, deep laugh as his dragon form’s mouth tore itself open, turning towards Suction Cup Man. “I will do far more than simply ‘move my head.’”
“Oh… that’s what ya meant by climbing you—oh shit!”
A great crash bellowed out as Grima’s draconic mouth fell upon the climber. Winds of its movement gusting past Grima but a moment after. And with that, finally, Suction Cup Man was no more. The dragon returned to its course, no longer caring for the mortal presence that its body now lacked.
None had ever been consumed by Grima and survived. He was thorough with the task of feeding, and though the climber would certainly be a foul presence, his soul would be utilized to further Grima’s power. Perhaps for some purpose befitting of the whelp. Though nothing could truly compare to such a pitiful thing, perhaps there was some literal ant Grima would need to slay. That would certainly be fitting.
Absentmindedly, amidst the winds still flowing around him, Grima wondered where within his essence the climber’s soul would end up. He’d never tried controlling such a thing, but perhaps within his foot would be fitting. With this thought and a grin, Grima searched himself within the many thousands of souls, mortal or draconic, for wherever that pitiful creature went.
Only to find no trace of it.
He hummed. “Perhaps such a thing is not possible. After all, such an inconsequential worm as a human could never stand out among my essence—”
*pop*
Grima paused, eyes shooting wide with… was this… fear? He snapped around, gazing upon the back of his great neck as he witnessed a sight indescribably enraging.
Suction Cup Man, standing atop the crown of his head, pushed himself off of his side and bellowing. His grating, infernal voice enflaming the great, raging anger within.
“You know, when you think about it, a mouth is just a big people hole.” How dare he compare the maw of Grima to that of a human! Grima called his magic, a purple orb forming in his hand as Suction Cup Man continued, “And unlike you, I have a bit of experience with holes!”
“PERISH MORTAL!” The magic flew, raging and challenging the world’s winds themselves as Suction Cup Man simply ducked under it.
He laughed. “Is that really the best you can do? I’d tell you to get closer, but that’d mean climbin’. And, well, your name ain’t the ‘fell’ dragon for nothin’, isn’t that what you said?”
“You will burn in the fires I create for eternity and long after! You will know only this torment for the rest of time as—”
Suction Cup Man hummed. “Oh really? And how are ya gonna do that from down there?”
He commanded his head to drop, as far as it could go, before violently whipping it back and forth. Yet even with this, Suction Cup Man barely moved, holding firm to the dragon’s head as he laughed at Grima.
The shaking stopped, and Suction Cup Man looked at Grima inquisitively, asking, “Say, I’ve never really been at the top of something before when I climbed it… Does that mean I own it?”
“YOU DO NOT OWN ME!” Grima roared, sending another blast of fell magic at the man, who carelessly dodged it once again.
“No no no! I own your dragon!” He nodded to himself. “Yep! CEO of your dragon. Look at me go!”
“YOU—” He paused. “What is a ‘CEO?’”
“‘Currently, Entirely, Owning’ I think. Don’t matter.” He shot his hands in the air. “I’m CEO of your dragon now!”
“NO! You are not ‘CEO’ of my dragon!” Grima roared. “It is me, my dragon! I’m CEO of my dragon!”
“That’s not what CEO means dipshit. I don’t know what it means, but it ain’t that,” he said with a shrug.
“You will pay for this!!!”
Suction Cup Man brought his hand up to his chin, stroking it slowly. “Now, why would I need to pay for anything on my dragon?”
Grima roared once more before an idea struck through him. He’d done such a thing once before, and the consolidation of his power would be an inconvenience to his conquest of the world. But for this moment, that mattered far less than proving to this sub-mortal imbecile exactly what he was dealing with.
While he’d traveled back in time, obviously, transporting his draconic form was both troubling and near impossible given its immense size. As well, the power needed to traverse time itself was also enormous. However, as Grima was always capable of, a stroke of genius came upon him. He could convert his draconic form, born of magic, into the power needed to traverse time.
Now, however, that power could simply be used once again to summon his form back. Consolidating his current form into himself would take no more time than a minute, one he could spend mocking the final moments of this insufferable climber.
“You insignificant cretin, I will be plagued by your presence upon my body—”
“My dragon, you mean.”
“—MY, body, no longer. Your claimed possession of my being is nothing but a claim, unprovable other than your so-called height above me!”
Suction Cup Man looked down at him. “You got a problem being down there or somethin’?”
“I have a problem with your existence!”
“Yeah, well, I have a problem with fuck you!”
His rage surged. “Fuck you!”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck, you!” He was ready now. “You wished for my proof that this dragon was mine, correct?” he asked, eyes glaring up at the mortal once more with venom in his eyes. He raised his hand above him, gathering the dragon’s magic into a single point to be absorbed.
“Uh, no? I just said fuck you? When did I even ask anything like that you dumbfuck?”
He was ignored. “Then let this display be your proof!”
Grima’s fist closed. The rest of the dragon’s fell power converging on that point. Up until now, the winds had been consistently flowing over the dragon’s back as it flew through the darkened clouds. Now, however, they were forced towards that singular point due to the sheer power of the fell magic’s movement.
Suction Cup Man stumbled, jostled by the dragon’s shuddering as it began to fade away. His eyes shot wide as Grima returned a shark-toothed grin. For the first time since Suction Cup Man had first been sent to hell, his suction cups failed to suck.
The dragon vanished into thin air, leaving only Suction Cup Man and Grima falling through the clouded skies.
“What the fuck did you even do!” Suction Cup Man yelled, starting to spin through the air as he fell.
Grima grinned maniacally at him. “Can your feeble mind not comprehend this? It was my dragon, my form. Evidently, I can unsummon it whenever I please.”
“You mean you took away your dragon, killing yourself whenever you hit the ground, just because I said it was mine?!”
“Oh, I will not die. My Deadlords will retrieve me once I stop falling.” He chuckled. “Of course, I cannot say the same for yourself.”
In response to this, Suction Cup Man blankly stared at Grima. His smirk was replaced with shock as Suction Cup Man tugged on some kind of thin strand of cloth. After this, his backpack exploded open, unfolding into a massive tarp connected by thin ropes to his body.
Also, he raised both of his middle fingers, for whatever reason, yelling some abominable speech about himself not dying, as he drifted into some cloud of smoke.
“Wait,” Grima started. “Why would there be smoke here?”
He followed the smoke’s path, seeing the top of a darkened, ash-covered volcano below him. As the winds of his fall continued to scream past his ears, the pit of lava below him growing ever closer as he tried in vain to resummon the great dragon—a process that would take hours, but attempted nonetheless—only one thought came to Grima.
“I see I’ve made it to Origin Peak.”
Silence did not reign around Grima when he awoke. The distant pain of earth’s inner heat still clinging to the desperate, still surviving scraps of his enchanted cloak as he slowly crawled. Where? He neither knew nor cared, but it was further from that damning heat.
And further still from that cretin, ‘Suction Cup Man’. He would swear vengeance upon whatever remained of him once he was found. A few Deadlords would certainly be capable of holding him down as Grima thought of whatever ways to enact revenge. Perhaps the newly empowered Exalts could seal him away? Or he could even dabble in Naga’s magic for a change, seal him away for eons. It would be a fitting, if uninspired, end to the so-called ‘unkillable climber.’
Distantly, Grima listened, unaccustomed to the lack of howling winds around him. Instead, he heard voices? Humans, then. Most likely willing to accept himself within them until he could raise the dragon again. After which they would quite easily be consumed. Whatever deception would be needed to forget this incident.
Then, in the back of his mind, one of the voices tugged at something. It was a familiar voice, one that invoked fondness of some kind. Yet still human. It shouldn’t be possible.
Slowly, Grima tried to push himself up, gasping at air and hoping his eyes had regained their sight now that he was free of the volcano’s hellish pit. Dragonskin was a great boon for all creatures with it, and his own was stronger than most at that.
“Make sure to scan the area!” he heard himself, no, this was something else. He hadn’t opened his mouth to say such a thing. “We don’t want any other surprises coming our—wait, why are you walking towards him. Chrom, stop!”
Grima froze, trying as hard as he could to blink his sight back to life. Slowly, darkened light filled his eyes as he slowly looked up, a blue figure bending down towards him, yet in no way looking as if they’d offer their service.
“There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know,” the voice said, false care in his voice.
Those words, now yanking at the back of his—no, his vessel’s mind, forced Grima up. As he heard his future vessel groan behind the figure, he hastily tried pooling whatever magic he could into an attack. The new, vaster pools of mana worked against Grima though, as he attempted to sort through the new power into a single attack, as if picking out a single grain of sand among a desert.
“Die, fell dragon.” The Exalt stated. A tearing pain sheered through scale, skin, and his small attempt to protect himself.
Grima’s eye’s opened, only to see a mildly irritated mirror of himself—his vessel, who should have been rightfully his—and the damned Exalt of this time. Numerous soldiers also surrounded Grima, scanning the volcano’s perimeter for something.
Most likely his remaining Risen. Though it would be a futile quest.
The strike was effective. Already weakened by both his fall and the volcano’s heat, he stood no chance of resisting the blow, the familiar sword now deep in his chest. And as he heard the Exalt and his vessel bickering about something or other, he gazed up, noticing some blue cloth drifting away from the volcano in the airs above, what was once his domain.
“Damn… you… Suction Cup Man,” Grima managed out, before feeling the last of his power sealed once more.