The chill air of Draconic Eclipse Fortress wore an ominous silence as Draegor Nyx stood upon the highest balcony, his eyes scanning the great, moonlit expanse beyond his keep. Remembrances of what had happened that night, Varek's unrestrained power, Zaelith's lethal cunning, Seraphis's tidings of the world beyond his fortress walls, lingered fresh in his mind. And yet, despite all this, there was one thing beyond doubt: he was still unfinished.
The Primordial Tyrant System had given him overwhelming power, but power without mastery was a sword without a handle. He had already proven his dominance within the walls of his fortress, but it was not sufficient. If he was to dominate this world, he needed more than raw power—he needed mastery.
And so, before diving headfirst into the unknown realm, he would focus on what truly counted. Refinement. Precision. Masterful control.
Harnessing the Tyrant's Might
Draegor returned into the center of the fortress, where the air was charged with mana, and the rocks pulsed with repressed energy. This room that had been forgotten, even to the earliest people to live within the fortress, had served as a training room for the old draconic masters. The echoes of their strength still thumped in this place, a perfect place to challenge the limits of his abilities.
When he stepped into the room, the Primordial Tyrant System awoke.
[System Notice: Tyrannical Core Energy detected.]
[Do you want to begin refining your power?]
Draegor extended a clawed hand, dark mana churning on his fingers before settling into intricate runic configurations. "Start."
A fit of power exploded out of the ground, swirling around him in a maelstrom of unchanneled, raw power. It was wild, unchecked—maybe even dangerous, to him. But that was precisely the test he wanted.
The first test would be control.
He focused, asserting his will on the spinning energy. It thrashed and roared with fury, fighting to escape his grip, but Draegor's command had already grown stronger than he was used to in Yggdrasil. He tightened his grip, forcing the energy to take shape. The wild tendrils of mana came together, reassembling into a sphere the diameter of his palm.
[System Notification: Core Condensation—Success.]
[Tyrannical Core Efficiency: 43% → 52%]
Efficiency. That was his true intention. Easy enough to demand crushing power, but something entirely different to use only what was necessary. Even a Tyrant need not waste his strength.
But this was merely the beginning.
The Delicate Balance Between Annihilation and Accuracy
Grasping the concentrated energy, Draegor fixed his attention on the next phase—use.
He raised his hand and, swishing his claws, let out a shard of the focused power at a distant stone pillar. The result was devastating—the entire pillar exploded in a cloud of dust and smelted ruins.
Draegor frowned. Too powerful.
He had to practice at it some more.
With renewed focus, he created another energy sphere, but he restrained it even further this time, coiling it into an almost invisible strand. He reached out again and released the energy at a second pillar.
Shkk!
The stone split in two, a clean cut with no extra destruction.
[System Notification: Energy Refinement—Success.]
[Tyrannical Core Efficiency: 52% → 64%]
Draegor smiled. Improved.
Strength alone was the instrument of brutes. Refinement was the domain of a master.
But there was one final test that he had to undergo.
The Art of Multi-Layered Combat
Draegor's Tyrannical Core granted him a multitude of powers—brute force, element control, and even time-space manipulation. However, he had not blended them smoothly yet. When engaging in combat, time was crucial. A king like him could not afford to lose even a part of an action.
Take a deep breath in, and he unleashed three abilities at once.
Shadow Rift Step first.
His form bulged, vanishing into thin air before reappearing on the other side of the room. Space distorted from the sudden displacement.
Second, Abyssal Flame Rend.
Black fire erupted from his palm, churning into the shape of a sword. This fire did not burn—it annihilated.
Third, Temporal Acceleration.
Time had stood still for an instant, long enough for him to feel the motion of particles of air around him. Liquid smooth, he sliced through the last sparks of energy in the air, burning off excess power before it could lead to unnecessary destruction.
The test had succeeded.
Draegor drew in a slow breath. He could feel it now. The harmony of power and control. The balance between his powers.
The Primordial Tyrant System bore testimony to his progress.
[System Notice: Combat Refinement—Successful.]
[Tyrannical Core Efficiency: 64% → 78%]
He clasped his clawed fist tighter, satisfaction seeping deep into his core. That was what he needed. Not simply uncontrolled strength, but complete and pure mastery of every aspect of his being.
Only when his power left him untroubled would he be worthy of being called a Tyrant.
The World Moves While the Tyrant Sleeps
As Draegor left the training room, he heard a voice that was all too familiar to him.
"My Lord."
Seraphis had returned. The Queen of Wraiths sat at his feet, her ghostly form twitching with frail life.
"I have tidings from the scouts."
Draegor raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
Seraphis's voice was still even, but there was something strange beneath it. "There are whispers of a great power to the south of us. A being unlike yourself."
For a second, Draegor remained silent. Then his lips curled into a sneer.
"Interesting."
He had been looking forward to seeing empires, rulers, and factions vying for domination. But another Tyrant-level creature? That was not something he had been hoping for.
Seraphis continued, "Our scouts report that this individual commands an army, much like our own. But their armies seem to be… waiting."
Draegor's scarlet eyes glinted. "Waiting for what?"
Seraphis hesitated. "For something—or someone—to resist them."
A slow, deep chuckle escaped Draegor's throat. He had spent his time honing his control, honing his skills to perfection. But now, it appeared the world itself was ready to test his work.
He walked away, looking out into the boundless night.
"Very well," he said quietly. "Let us see who is worthy to stand before the Tyrant King."
A storm was brewing.
And Draegor Nyx would be the one to decide who would rise and who would fall.