The lines had just dominated the dragon! The mind, powerful for its species, but weakened after so many years of fighting someone as powerful as me. I must admit it was tiring. I worked beyond death, with the magic of hundreds who fell after I returned to life. But finally, the chains of black magic were taking possession of its entire body, its bones. Its soul would be a matter of hours. But I did not expect that interfering dwarf so soon.
That was incredible. The dwarf had arrived here, defeating all my subjects, Morgana's, the corpses it had taken me so long to create—the ones that had kept him isolated from any thinking species that might reach him. But I knew the dwarf would be difficult. Since that Dark Lord arrived, I suspected it. But I was prepared for him. Now that I controlled the deadliest body on this continent, I saw him exchange two or three blows with the claw. He came well-equipped, but dragon scales were not enough against a dragon's resistance. The impacts were still great. One of the surfaces engraved with my runes chipped a little. If I had two or three years, I could break enough to free one of the Black Dragon's fingers from my control—if I were not watching this, if I had not made plans.
When he got up to strike again, the groans were heard. The look on his face when he turned was great—his dear companions, allies from the cave, were dead and controlled by me. I saw them rush in as he entered—elders, weak women, or children, it did not matter. They killed some of the enemies I sent, but unarmed, they had no chance. Then it was a matter of using some mutants to quickly bring the bodies while I distracted him with the subjects I had at hand in that place. They arrived half an hour after he arrived. He was a fool.
Yet if I remembered what I had seen of these supposed "heroes," they would not hesitate if this was what allowed them to achieve success. So I had something more. The screams, the pleas of everyone—the last breaths of his entire city—that would leave him with nowhere to return. The dragons I left attacking the other dwarves would eliminate his warriors and anyone who joined him. That made his attack diminish a little. I did not think I would need this last thing, but it was worth saving all the death voices, all the spirits. So, obeying my will, they appeared—two elderly dwarves, killed by their brothers. But being buried far from the city, I could send for the bodies to have an army in the mountain. I knew it was them. Now they were telling him it was his fault. As their bodies attacked him, their voices told him he was guilty. It was amusing, but he kept blocking their blows. At the same time, I saw fury, hatred, but I saw no danger. Yet even when he did not block, his armor took all the blows he did not. It was time to move a claw, dear slave. I did not care about your complaints—I endured you a thousand years in my head; I could endure your whispers a little longer. The claw moved fluidly. It was heavy, had no muscles as such, but still, it grasped the true prize—his last egg. That same claw that protected it was going to kill the one who came to try to set things right.
A nail the size of a house fell carelessly toward Chapatrueno's skull. That dwarf would be a good addition to my ranks. But a blow from his hammer deflected the finger... strange, certainly. At that moment, he turned to look into my slave's eyes. His eyes were black, his aura strange. He said something. Translating it, I understood why he was so dangerous. I would have to eliminate him as soon as possible. His words were in his language, but I understood them perfectly:
"I am sure it is my fault. The hatred is not for me; it is not for death. Hatred is my strength, and I will make sure you know it. There is no honor in this—it is only vengeance."