Boss fight

Ventrick towered over the small man who had come before him, each with a sword in hand, breathing hard and covered in sweat and blood. The man had come seeking Ventrick's throne and power, thirsting for money and power, and had found it just out of reach. Ventrick, after all, was an old and powerful king, and had defended his title more times than his attacker had taken breath.

The king's sword raised into the air, his eyes never straying from those of the man who had come to take his life. Without words, he thanked the man for giving him a challenge, and prayed he would have safe passage into the next life that remained out of his reach. The sword came down fast and hard, blood splattering on the floor and walls, and the body collapsed, head split in two, and the one arm raised to protect himself rolling away into the corner.

With a flick of his wrist, Ventrick discarded the blood from his blade, specially designed to easily cleanse itself of the blood of his enemies. He had defended his life one too many times, with each coming more quickly than the last, and his sword had been rusted and worn by blood far too quickly for him to care for carefully cleaning and maintaining the steel. That was when he had commissioned the blade with sleek bloodletting lines to drain the blood to its tip to be quickly swiped away.

He took a seat, catching his breath, and staring at the torn and maimed body of the man who had been his opponents only moments before. So many men had come to send him to the grave, and so many had found themselves there in his stead. Ventrick was long since tired of life, and yet the curse that had been placed on him long ago by the power of the flames prevented him from dying so easily. He would only be sent on by the blade of another, and he would never allow himself to be killed without a fight.

That was some three thousand years prior.

But Ventrick would find himself faced with a new opponent. It was only a matter of minutes before his last battle before another arrived. But as Ventrick raised from his seat and gazed down at his opponent, he was struck by a certain similarity. A red dragon tattoo over the left eye, eyebrow gone in its stead, and vivid blue eyes that glowed with determination.

Ventrick's eyes glanced at the discarded body of his previous opponent. The two were unquestionably the same person.

"So you've returned," he mused under his breath, lifting his sword into position. "It should seem that you have also some curse that keeps you going. Let us see which will be permitted to move on."