Thirty years—thirty whole years!
From the very first day he arrived in this world, Asterion had a dream of flight. He yearned to soar through the heavens using his own strength, relying solely on his physical body.
To that end, he had spent decades treating the Valstrax as the ultimate goal to surpass. Through continuous evolution, he had reshaped his body for flight, even discarding the native heat-dissipation methods of the Glavenus to risk adopting an entirely new system.
For a time, he had even been trapped in a logical paradox: he couldn't master the Valstrax's unique method of flight without first preying upon one, yet without that flight, he couldn't even find them, let alone catch them or prevent them from escaping during a life-or-death struggle.
But now, the paradox was over. Everything had come to an end.
Even though he had to inhale massive amounts of air constantly, and every passing second drained a staggering amount of bio-energy, Asterion remained stable in the sky. He didn't lose an inch of altitude; in fact, he could move forward or backward at will. This was fundamentally different from his previous glides or his "cannonball" ballistic trajectories.
This was flight. True flight.
Before he could savor the sensation further, Asterion spotted the Xeno'jiiva crawling out from the shattered energy crystals. The poor little creature raised its head in a daze, looking out at a world it had never known. The sunlight was a bizarre novelty it had never seen, as were the winds brushing against its skin.
But the battle was far from over. There was no room for pity in Asterion's eyes. He could not allow a dragon with such immense potential—one that now harbored a grudge against him—to live. If this Xeno'jiiva escaped, a "Forbidden Species" might very well come knocking on his door one day seeking revenge.
Besides, Asterion was curious.
Retracting the bladed scales that had popped out of his sword-tail to ensure its most solid form, Asterion adjusted his posture in mid-air. His eight wing-bones pivoted in unison, fine-tuning their angles.
He was curious—could the Xeno'jiiva's resilient skin withstand a strike delivered from the heavens?
Sizzle, sizzle—SHIIII!!!
White flames, more brilliant than ever before, erupted from the tips of his wing-bones. The eight bones suddenly snapped from pointing downward to pointing toward the sky. In an instant, Asterion became like a meteorite falling from deep space, his entire draconic form plummeting toward the earth!
The Dive! The Fall!
Accompanied by a piercing, ear-splitting shriek, a white streak was carved into the sky. A blazing white meteor slammed toward the Xeno'jiiva!
Asterion's own massive weight, the acceleration of the fall, and the thrust generated by the full output of his flame organs converged into a single vector of overwhelming power, driving him straight into the Xeno'jiiva!
A flash of light—and it was over!
Heaven and Earth — Cleave in Two — Spirit Helm Breaker!!!
No different from a true falling star, it took only the blink of an eye to travel from Asterion's altitude to the ground—BOOM!!!
"ROOOOAAAAARRRR!!!!"
Unable to even react, the Xeno'jiiva could only feel a tidal wave of agony surging through its body. It shrieked in pain, gripped by the terror of its life-force spraying outward.
Its massive right wing had been completely severed. The broken bones and wing membrane slid limply to the ground. Near the mid-section of its chest, the dragon had been hacked open; a massive gash divided its flesh, and even its central spine had been cleaved in two.
Ethereal blue fluids and blood geysered from the cross-section of the wound, revealing the pulsating internal organs of the Xeno'jiiva. At the bottom of this massive crater, a silver-gray, mirror-like sword-tail was slowly being withdrawn from the earth.
Asterion... his head was currently spinning.
He had been rattled by the impact.
Perhaps it was a stroke of inspiration? Or maybe just an instinctual feeling that it was the right move? Regardless, as he transformed into a white meteor falling for a single second, Asterion had instinctively rotated his body 180 degrees just before hitting the ground.
It was similar to the aerial somersault of a Rathian, but Asterion achieved his rotation by rapidly shifting the wing-bones to change the angle of thrust. Under the immense pressure of his flame output, he had spun violently at the last microsecond, extending his massive, razor-sharp sword-tail toward the Xeno'jiiva instead of slamming into it head-first like a Valstrax.
The strike was exceptionally brutal, carving a gargantuan wound into the Xeno'jiiva's frame with unmatched power and speed. However, in the following heartbeat, Asterion's head had still slammed hard into the ground, leaving only his tail embedded in the earth beneath the enemy's body.
Though he hadn't used his skull to ram the Xeno'jiiva, hitting solid rock didn't feel much better. Asterion's mind went blank for several seconds before he finally realized where he was and what he needed to do next.
The good news was that the power of the strike lived up to his expectations. He wondered if the true "Forbidden Species" could withstand a sword technique delivered from the sky... though he still needed more practice and adaptation to fully master it.
"Hooo-wuuuuu..."
The Xeno'jiiva's cries were growing faint. Naturally, it didn't want to die. Whether from its innate pride as an apex being or the primal biological urge to survive, it clung to life. But—
The Xeno'jiiva was dead.
There were no more twists, no sudden reversals. With its spine severed mid-torso, even a dying struggle was impossible.
As a seasoned Elder Dragon hunter, once the cobwebs cleared from his head, Asterion immediately raised his blade and lopped off the two glowing horns atop the Xeno'jiiva's head. Like most Elder Dragons, these horns were vital organs used to channel and control "Elder Dragon Energy."
Having lost those horns, the Xeno'jiiva clearly lost the ability to manipulate the energy both inside and outside its body... though it had been struggling to control it anyway.
Asterion moved swiftly. The Xeno'jiiva lost consciousness completely, spared from further agony.
Watching the massive, translucent dragon corpse finally lie still on the ground, Asterion let out a long, heavy sigh of relief.
He had won.
Even though the spectacle of the battle was intense—shaking the very foundations of the earth as if the world were ending—and the process was fraught with danger, Asterion's own assessment was that it had been a simple fight.
It hadn't even provided as much pressure as that unknown Elder Dragon (the Inagami) had years ago. Back then, Asterion had been hit by sleep gas and fell into a deep slumber; if the Bazelgeuse brothers hadn't helped buy him time, the Inagami would have likely ended him right then and there.
"Simple." That was the word Asterion used to describe this encounter. Despite a few hiccups, it had gone almost exactly as he had envisioned.
It was just a typical fight where one dragon kills the offspring of another. Sound familiar? This kind of struggle plays out across the New World every single day.
The only difference was that this time, the victim was the hatchling of a Safi'jiiva—a juvenile with the potential to become the King of Elder Dragons.
But it was dead nonetheless. No miracle occurred. No Safi'jiiva rushed in to save the day, and no mysterious Elder Dragon or freak accident intervened. Asterion savored the sense of accomplishment—this confirmed that the rule he had always believed in was the absolute truth.
In this cruel natural world, there is only one rule: survival.
To live is to be "right." To fail and be devoured is to be "wrong." Those who are weeded out are not special; they receive no preferential treatment. Even Elder Dragons, even the Forbidden Species—these existences that transcend the normal ecosystem—are ultimately insignificant to Nature itself.
If something vanishes, a replacement will emerge. Nothing is so important that it is indispensable... or rather, the only ones who think something is "indispensable" are the living beings within the system.
As for now, the Xeno'jiiva was his rations. It was the ladder to his next stage of existence.
I am the one who is important.
Asterion leaned down and tore into the skin of the Xeno'jiiva's chest. The skin, already tough, seemed to grow even harder after death. It wouldn't be long before it petrified into a near-impenetrable shell or scales that would ring like metal when struck.
Even in death, the corpse remained semi-transparent, emitting a constant, eerie blue glow from the inside out. This was the Xeno'jiiva's stored bio-energy naturally dissipating back into the environment and the Leylines following the death of its host.
Time was short, and the task was heavy. Asterion had to devour as much of this behemoth as possible before its energy returned to the earth. Just as he always had, he wouldn't even let the dragon blood spilled on the ground go to waste.
He would start with the internal organs.
Asterion's forebody was quickly stained the same ethereal color as the blue Elder Dragon blood. Ignoring even the Kulve Taroth who had crawled out from underground, he buried the front half of his body into the Xeno'jiiva's chest cavity and began a "storm-like" intake.
His primary target was the internal heat organ located in the upper chest. Yes, both Xeno'jiiva and Safi'jiiva could manipulate a unique elemental energy distinct from the five main elements. But in Asterion's eyes, the most important prize was the organ responsible for this energy's circulation.
During the fight, despite having just been born, the Xeno'jiiva's chest had glowed with a distinct crimson hue compared to the rest of its body. It needed to constantly absorb bio-energy to grow until that internal heat organ matured. Once it reached that stage, it would be known as a Safi'jiiva.
A Safi'jiiva could masterfully manipulate and absorb Leyline energy, with its matured internal heat organ acting as a "perpetual motion" energy circulation system. The name "perpetual motion" alone explained its significance.
A Safi'jiiva with a mature organ would no longer need to desperately seek out energy-rich Leyline areas to survive like its juvenile form. It would possess nearly infinite energy. Theoretically, once the organ matured, a Safi'jiiva would never need to hunt again, as its body could self-generate enough energy for all its activities and combat.
This was the ability Asterion craved most from the Xeno'jiiva's corpse. Especially after experiencing the sensation of flight, his thirst for energy had become insatiable.
Yes, Asterion could now fly freely at extreme speeds and hover at will. But even during that short flight, he had realized a problem was plaguing him: a lack of energy.
Even with his own Dragon Gem, Asterion could feel his internal bio-energy concentrations dropping at a visible rate during flight as it was pumped into his flame organs to provide thrust.
The consumption was massive—so massive it terrified him. He felt as though a prolonged flight might literally drain him into a dried-up draconic husk.
In this context, the Xeno'jiiva's internal heat organ was the dream component. If he could acquire it and help it mature, he would not only have near-infinite energy—never again worrying about the cost of flight—but he would also reach a realm he had long yearned for.
He would no longer need to force himself to adapt to an environment or migrate because of changes in the climate. Instead, he could naturally reshape the environment around him to suit his own survival!
Without a doubt, that was the true Proof of an Elder Dragon!!
By comparison, the pale blue elemental energy of the Xeno'jiiva was just a bonus. (Of course, Asterion didn't think the energy was bad; he even planned to try mastering it after devouring the corpse, perhaps using it to replace the fire element to evolve his flame organs.)
But between the two, the internal heat organ was what he needed most. It was the organ that would grant him a qualitative transformation.
"Growl, growl?" (What are you standing there for? Come and eat!)
Between mouthfuls of the Xeno'jiiva's organs, Asterion took a moment to pull his head out and urge the Kulve Taroth standing nearby. If he had accepted a dragon as one of his own, he was never stingy with sharing food.
Besides, the Kulve Taroth wouldn't eat much anyway. This "wealthy lady" usually fed on minerals and ores, only occasionally snacking on other things—a generalist omnivore Elder Dragon, but not a heavy eater.
"Roar-roar, hmph." (Look at you... you just eat. I'm not going to fight you for it. I don't need that kind of energy anyway.)
Having no intention of joining Asterion in "rooting through the trough," the Kulve Taroth couldn't help but retort.
To be fair, in the eyes of the Kulve Taroth, Asterion's current state of frenzied gorging was a bit... unrefined. He looked like someone who hadn't eaten in eight hundred years.
As an Elder Dragon who valued beauty and elegance, she would never participate in something so ungraceful.
It was understandable. She didn't possess Asterion's unique ability to evolve by devouring enemies, and thus, she couldn't comprehend his current obsession with the Xeno'jiiva's organs.
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