(Verando's POV) 

The battered castle whispers into the wind as the oncoming storm rattles the falling walls. Aged, barely surviving curtains block out what used to be massive, sky-high windows of painted glass. Now, they were large holes exposed to the elements. The castle had long since been abandoned, most likely when Romania had fallen. 

At one point, Helen had discussed coming here to learn the histories of our travels together but it would seem time had run cruelly through the lands in a few short years. With a heavy sigh, Verando rubbed at his temple with his paw, shaking out his coat as he slowly stood from where the portal had deposited him.

 The only memory he could recall of his arrival was Gabriel telling him that he was sorry.

In the darkness, his night vision aided him in the dim halls, if it weren't so paramount that he returned to my side he might have been amused by how closely the dark corridors resembled the frightening movies we watched together.

 Frightening for me, at least. 

Moving carefully in wolven form through the halls, Gabriel had not been kind enough to give him clothes but he had the right mind on where to get some. His skull still ached, unsure of how long he'd been unconscious, it was unendingly frustrating to have no sense of time. Long enough for the mice to get curious and hope for his demise just out of reach. While he wasn't above eating vermin, his hunger had not quite gotten to that point yet. 

Peering out one of the windows as he passed, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, the tree tops doused with gray slush from a nightly snowfall. The city of Dezna was completely engulfed by a black forest.

Nose to the ground, he tracked his way to the old room where we had spent a good deal of our time together. Those first awkward exchanges now seemed foreign in the dark, damp room. The scents had long since gone cold but the memory of where his tracks would lie remained etched into his skull. 

So often he had come here, without my knowledge, just to bathe in the presence of something that had piqued his curiosity with such intensity. 

His thoughts drifted off as he stood in the familiar room, ears laid back. The mildew lay heavy in the air over the tattered remains of furniture long since devoured by the moisture emitting from the forest. 

By the looks of the ropes and multiple plaques on the walls, there was not much left of the display that had at one point been a museum. Verando's nose twitches, scenting the familiar smell of the burning atmosphere. He tracks the scent to the aged wardrobe, using his paws to pull it down, the crash echoes through vacant halls as he follows the scent to the hidden compartment protected by magic and a concealing spell. 

With careful movements so as not to damage the goods, he pries the wood from the side of the dense wardrobe to reveal the sets of clothes nearly four hundred years in slumber and storage. A healer robe, a simple outfit that I had stowed away when I had thought I'd lost him, my axe, and a sword.

 He hadn't been in this room since his death had been assumed, it was increasingly eerie to be here now. It felt as if he was invading someone else's life. 

Quickly shifting, he slips into the set of leggings and boots, now feeling awkward and scratchy compared to the smooth jeans and cargo pants he was accustomed to. The leggings hang with some spare room from his hips leading him to curse the muscle loss of modern living. There simply weren't enough hours in the day and he didn't eat nearly enough protein to support the form that had stretched these clothes to their limits. 

"Bloody domestication." 

Tightening the belt down, he pulls on the white oversized long-sleeve and vest. Taking a glance in the cracked mirror, with his cut hair and groomed stubble, it was almost as if the warlord of old glared back at him in disgust. 

"Shut up. We couldn't be feral forever. We were slaves, be grateful. Three square meals a day and not a plow in sight, no more damned horses, you're welcome."   

Taking my healer's robes, he folds them carefully and pushes the wardrobe back into a standing position though awkward with its tumble. He places the clothes in the bottom drawer, knowing I might want them back, and stoops to gather the sword. The weight, well balanced for a slightly larger man, felt awkward on his wrist as he took a practice swing.

The dictator in the mirror rolls his eyes, ashamed. 

"Well, look who's alive and who's dead, yeah? Find someone else to haunt." Verando retorts to the image as he longs for a sheath but my preparedness had ended at a weapon and some clothes. 

"Mind the dragon." A voice murmurs in the back of his mind.

Dragon? 

Taking a slow inhale, he must have been louder than he anticipated for the rolling scent of sulfur threatened to gag him. "Of course, there's a dragon. Where else would Gabriel keep his pet." 

If there was a dragon here, that would mean that they were correct in thinking that Fergus would be here as well. Running a hand through his hair, he blows out a rough exhale and moves to examine the chains that held up the guard rails. 

At first glance, they weren't much to be impressed by but in his limited knowledge of dragons, their mouths were their weakest point in their ability to open their jaws. Closed mouths meant no fire, no fire would make it easier to chop off heads. Snapping the chains from the metal posts, he considered breaking the posts off to use as projectiles but doubted their ability to pierce dragon hide. 

"You think you can take on a dragon?" The voice echoes. 

Irritated, he scowls at the mirror but the dictator version of himself is gone. "At least I've gone mad." 

Gathering the chains in careful loops around his arm, he startles at the man standing before him. 

Thick, long black hair hanging past his shoulders and period-style clothes, if the size of him alone weren't frightening enough it was the startling blue eyes that made the picture and his thick black beard. 

His body was torn, his chest a gaping, bleeding hole where his heart should be. "Don't even remember your father?"

With a sarcastic laugh, Verando rolls his eyes and departs the room. "Think I'll take my chances with the dragon."

"You are such a spoiled brat." The man scowls through his teeth, following after him much like a whisp. "Your damned mum is running a muck in this place and it's me who has to come to save your ass again."

"Good to know hell has a delivery service." Pressing his back against the wall, the silver-haired man listens around the corner before opting to move on into the depths of the castle. The table's last known location was in Darrius's secret chamber but in pieces. Surely, that seemed the best place to start.

Kavanza narrows his eyes. "You know I don't know what that means." It's enough to make the younger man snicker. "You are domesticated. It's a shame to your breeding, look at you, you look like a pup with that lack of size. You were glorious when you defeated me."

Shaking his head at the babbling, he trails his hand down the wall, tracking his fingers in the ridges of the stones to look for the opening to the hidden room. The task could have been made much simpler if not for the pestering specter floating just a breath away. "Was it behind a statue..." He ponders, careful not to drag the edge of the sword on the ground. 

"Giving the Alpha position to your granddaughter, a woman, instead of your son. Legardo was the obvious choice, though, you did finally manage to settle the Spanish whore-"

His temper sparks, and his body begins to shake as he wheels around on his heels to meet the grin of his sire. "Do not speak of Marisol, lest I rip your heart out again."

Kavanza clicks his tongue, "There it is. Good to know it's still in there. How's my handy work doing? Can I see it?"

Rolling his eyes in disgust, Verando spots the marble sculpture and rushes to it to take a slow inhale. It had not been moved in centuries, the dust settled in a fine layer on its crevices, it would seem that it was unlikely that the table still resided in these depths. Scrubbing his hair once more, he begins to slowly pace to encourage any sort of thought through the pestering of his father's voice. 

A constant string of belittling disappointments made to distract him. 

Kavanza was the embodiment of greed, it should come as no surprise that he wants to end the world if he can't live in it. Finally, when he feels on the brink of bursting, the slew of insults stops. "Would you like my help?"

"I'd like for you to stop speaking for a single moment. For the gods, I forgot how long-winded you are. Be mindful that you betrayed us and sold out your kind."

Kavanza can only shrug, amused, mirroring the look of frustration with the arrogance but amusement in the defiance. "So much like your mum. So stubborn and so, very, sensitive."

Swinging the sword through the flame of the spirit did nothing but soothe a hair of his anger. While it merely made the man shimmer, it felt good to pretend to slice him. Yet, the thought of potentially spending his final days here with his father's embodiment did not settle well with him. 

"God, where is this damn dragon!" Verando snaps, if he could not find the dragon then the dragon could be brought to him. "Anything is better than another moment with this torment." 

"Another suicide mission?" Kavanza sighs. 

Resting the sword and chain against the wall, he places his hands carefully on the marble statue and shoves, shocked by the weight of the solid marble as it threatens to hardly budge. If he could manage to topple it, the crash should attract the beast.

With a scoff, the dark-haired man crosses his arms over his chest. "Pathetic. I shouldn't expect anything more from a man lover. Not laying with a woman has made you weak. You're a regular housewife now, cleaning, cooking, a practical wench."

It was a ploy, the dark magic was playing against him because it knew he was close to the unicorn but he'd be lying if he didn't say it was working. Anger had always been a difficulty of his, to control it and funnel it into some sort of use felt near impossible next to an assault so personal from someone he loathed. 

Out of practice with the amount of rage coursing through his body, something about the clothes and the setting, having the sword so close to him, brought back a feral side that had been crushed down ever since he had agreed to change his destructive ways. 

Verando wanted to be good, he had tried desperately to fight against his nature and practice the art of being someone that a person could love. But here, under the overbearing eyes of the man who helped to ruin him, he couldn't prevent the growing black rage.

 "Will you be quiet?!" He thunders as he shoves the statue and the marble groans as it rocks back and forth. Once more, he shoves it and with a near whistle, the statue smashes to the floor. 

Marble chunks fly as the pedestal and artwork fracture and shatter. The floor trembles and the walls begin to shake. Cursing under his breath, he grabs the sword and chain as the floor begins to give way. "Probably shouldn't have done that." Kavanza muses. 

There were two options, run deeper into the castle and hope the walls hold or run out and potentially lose the unicorn in the rubble forever. Hearing the distant bellow of the dragon in the depths, the decision seemed to be made for him. Spying a hole in the floor going to the lower levels, it only made sense that the unicorn wouldn't be high up for another dragon could easily take advantage. 

On a whim, he takes a deep breath before slipping down the hole and toppling the ten feet or so to the slick floor beneath. The castle groans as rocks begin to shift and tumble from the ceiling, relying on his night vision he runs through the slick tunnel on aged boots that offer little purchase. Behind him, the tunnel erupts into a cave that blows plumes of smoke at his back coupled with rubble. 

"What're the chances you're going to need a revealing spell to get out of here? It's a magical castle, after all." The voice returns. 

The cave-in seems to follow him with every turn. Smoke and sulpher heavy in the air, it was hard to tell what was a dragon on the hunt and what was the castle giving way to a major structure being damaged. Taking the point of his sword, he presses it to the wall, dragging it to make a high-pitched screeching sound. 

Kavanza covers his ears. "What in the name of the gods are you doing?!"

"Calling in a dragon to dig me out." This wouldn't do. Even if the unicorn was down here, his father was probably right. A magical cavern would offer him little passageway.

The creature above belts out an ear-splitting roar as the claws match the screeching of the sword. The risk was high that it could simply put its nose down the hole and blow fire but that also allowed for an opportunity to seal one of its mouths. The underside of the castle was a maze, a labyrinth designed to allow the royal family safe passage, it could go on forever or stop in mere feet. Whatever the case, he would soon be buried alive if he didn't do something. 

Flames cascade down the tumbling walls from behind as the creature attempts to pinpoint his location. The only option seemed to be to stop running. The sound of the blade almost appeared to be distracting the creature, instead of drawing it to him, he would have to appeal to its other senses. 

"Let's give it something it can't resist. How often do you think he feeds that thing?" Taking his sword he carefully draws it across his forearm to open the steady trickle of blood. 

"You're insane!" Kavanza spits. "I didn't come from purgatory to watch you kill yourself. You can't kill a damned dragon, Verando!"

It seemed to be the tone for their relationship, his attempts, and his father's constant dismissal of his abilities. "Didn't you say the same thing when I faced you? Seems you lost that bet as well. You used your greed to hurt people, to covet your harlots and your children, to gain power, I suppose. I used mine to learn to kill things like you. I am a legend, you are a forgotten myth. So before you lecture me, once more, on the things I'm incapable of, perhaps you should remember who carved that hole in your bloody chest."

As the creature shoves its nose through the ceiling of the tunnel, Verando fashions a noose with the chain and loops it over the pointed nose. On a snake-headed dragon, this would never have worked but thankfully Gabriel had a more traditional multiheaded beast. Wrapping the chain one time around his wrist, he allows the startled beast to extract him from the tunnel and then using the momentum, swings up and over onto its neck to plunge the tip of the blade through its skull. 

The other three heads shriek with rage, he narrowly escapes their fire as he torques the head down to use the underside of the neck to protect his body as the head falls to the ground. Enraged at burning one of their own necks, the dragon swings its body, smacking against the walls as it attempts to rid itself of the pesky lycan. 

Withdrawing the blade, he takes the opportunity to plunge it between the junctions of the necks, spraying down his sleeve with thick red blood. In blind fury, the dragon snaps at him, unwilling to burn itself again but lacking the flexibility to reach him with all its heads. One's jaws snap on his shirt, threatening to pull him away as it tears the material. 

Its fangs skirt his skin, causing him to flinch at the sizzling breath and blazing hot teeth. He focused on Victor's tales of fighting dragons, keeping close their bodies, and aiming for the sensitive arteries between the necks. With the broad sword, it was a long shot but it might be capable of reaching the heart if he could plunge it deep enough. Gripping the hilt, the dragon yanks him backward and he pulls against the enraged beast. 

With a twist, he slips from its grasp as the shirt shreds and the blade plunges back into the hole it had carved. The beast shrieks, throwing itself backward as blood seeps from its central mouth. The free head grips his torso, threatening to crush him if not for his hold on its tongue, forcing it to the side and risking it biting it off should it succeed in his demise. The second head lifts, licking its lips as it arches over the top of him. 

The last thing he had imagined was being eaten alive by a dragon though he supposed he would be quite dead once it succeeded in biting him in half. Preparing for the inevitable, he takes a deep breath in the stillness. It was their best shot, he should be happy they made it this far. 

Many would not have survived, and of course, many would not have furthered deeper into the castle in search of said dragon. In the faint breeze, the brief scent of equine reaches his nose and it serves as a quiet confirmation that he had at least been correct on the location of the unicorn. 

Meeting the blazing eyes of the beast as it prepares for the final bite, a blade passes through its neck and removes its head with a single pass. 

As the head flops to the floor with a splatter of blood, the remaining head swings in offense, casting him aside to slam against the wall with the full force of the enraged beast. As blackness engulfs his vision, the dragon slithers towards the man.