The beach remained as always—with its sunsets, the waves, and a beauty... that only the stupid understand! The rocks gave way to a repetitive attack from an element that stole everything valuable from them, leaving only pieces bound to the salt—crystals where the imposing stones stored resources to be exploited. That was only one of the things that made this place unbearable. It was worth a few thousand years, but today it had nothing to offer.
When they came for me, it was an exciting situation. Tired of the plots and weaknesses of my people—except for that lava I always loved—I agreed to travel with the elves. Anyone would know they were strong; I had stopped a few invasions of my nation, but at that time we were languishing, so I could not imagine a better way to have fun.
At first, it was worth it—enormous battles, they always coming with truly imaginative magics, all destructive. Those were days of glory and blood. We promised not to hurt each other to the death, but they tried—certainly they did. When their magic ran out, they tried poisons, sharp and exquisite weapons, ambushes. I stopped using my armor, my shield, and finally my hammer. Old or not, I was the most powerful dwarf anyone had ever known. I thought I would even be strong enough to get bored again—until he arrived.
A human—a weak, simple, feeble creature. He had some magic, but nothing like what I wielded. Even the weakened elves were better than that wretch. Yet they modified him—like many of the creatures I fought for distraction. From the front, you saw nothing on him, except that hatred his masters did not understand. But inside, the mixtures of different sources of magic turned him into a true tornado of possibilities. Without me asking, I offered to train him. The first day, I think I went a little too far, and he spent three months on a mat with fractured spine and ribs. One of the scientists told me I had to consider the creature's age when I said how disappointed I was. Then he told me: he was eleven years old—a minuscule speck of age. But he survived, compared to the bodies that died when I lost control of my strength... he showed promise.
The next ten years, I was happy. I trained him as much as one can train a being that is ephemeral in comparison. When he reached fifteen, I could see that someday I would have to really fight him. I knew he hid much of what he could do—withheld movements, magics without pronunciation. Perhaps the elves would have a more horrible use for him if he proved as powerful as I imagined. Yet even so, they took him from me. It was a truly boring period.
I had already begun to consider spending my last days in refuge, with nothing to do except observe this stupid landscape and consider whether to let my body yield to age. It was like kings—we perished if there was no battle's roar. But one night, with my beer—how many years did it take those slaves to perfect it?—an enormous wave of magic hit us. I could feel it filling those weak bodies that were not fun to face. That day, magic returned to the elves.
Hundreds challenged me; they all wanted a chance to make up for so many defeats. I still laughed. I told them I agreed, but it would be on a stage prepared for that purpose. So I returned to the continent, chose a small area—a few kilometers as far from the isle as possible, a few stone walls. Behind that protection, I polished my weapons and defenses again—a complete set of brown dragon scales, dead before I left the mountains. When they were the greatest threats, they were not so powerful alone, but facing them certainly kept me distracted. I just did not confront the BLACK—so horrible was his aura when he passed near me that I stayed away. Not for myself, but back then, my people mattered to me. Whoever faced that beast had to be completely sure they would lose at least half the mountain. But in short, I did not think much those days. I had even considered taking out the complete set—the armor no one knows about—but they were not worth it. With effort, I remembered that they had not been able to defeat the dwarf king at his power's zenith. I think no matter how much they say, they could not face me one-on-one in my maximum equipment. So I kept the best armor.
Everyone took the bait. I received invitations from barons, counts, elite soldiers, assassins—good years spent. They all had to make a promise not to reveal how they had fared in battle. They swore on scrolls, but I knew they would betray me as soon as they turned their backs. That was why I eliminated them with a single attack—one blow, one magic, one push, resisting their arcane magics that, according to them, had been forbidden due to the magic consumption they represented... then they stopped coming.
Getting bored, I received an invitation from the Blood Elves' king. Usually, we did not meet because we both hated the fact that we had not hurt each other. He could be a formidable opponent, but he never accepted an invitation for a good battle where we left muscles and bones on the floor. He never accepted; he was powerful but greedy with his power, substituting with brain the magic he did not want to waste. I understood—I did not lose magic like that. All of it was recirculated. Each attack used the changes it generated to take advantage of the magic emanating from me. But I would never teach them that—not to them, not to the human, not to other dwarves. It was a power only I developed. But well, let's see what the elf wanted.
The beach was tinged with a non-total darkness—not with the stars and sea creatures, which always gave it the finish of a lurking beast with multiple eyes. I thought about what that king said: Obsidian has died! The dragon everyone feared and that I kept for when my people no longer mattered, when I would go to die killing. The most intense thing was that it had been a dwarf who eliminated him... Someone from my people who could face the Great Black! The king offered me to go, visit that peculiar dwarf. He sweetened it, saying it would be very important to meet another dwarf of such power, share experiences. But he knew that did not interest me—he knew my desires, and he had just told me that if I wanted, I could go. The ship he arranged for me was a shitty overload of decorations, but it would serve.
I abandoned this isle for my battle, my retirement—not only against a dwarf; there were at least two equally dangerous forces changing the continent. I was sorry for those who benefited from these changes, but they were my prey. Little human, I would leave you for last. The warrior—the powerful Deathbringer—was whom I would visit. If he managed to amuse me enough, I might even finish what I set out to do and kill all the elves and mages... that would keep me distracted for a couple of decades at least, then eternal rest.