Spike's mouth was full of Tiamat's blood, rising until it overflowed, dripping down his throat and choking him. In the haze of pain, his mind wandered back to the very first moments of his consciousness—the chaos he had caused for the servants, for Percieval, the fire he had once unleashed on the statue of the First Dragonborn.
"I… didn't even know the name of our hero… What a fool I was,"
He thought, letting his eyes rest as his senses drowned in crimson. The screams of a hundred siblings, burned to ash, and the dying cries of the Seventh Batch faded into a suffocating haze. The summit had become a graveyard, the hiss of embers carried away by the mountain wind.
As the first swallow of Tiamat's blood hit Spike's stomach, his world fractured. It wasn't just heat—it was a supernova in his veins.
"AAAGGHHH—!"
