Prologue

            There is not much time.  She is coming.  You make your way toward a dead planet, an ashen grey in colour through and through.  You make this planet your asylum; she will probably not sense you here, you think.  But you quickly realise your folly.  She can sense you here, of course.  She can sense you anywhere.  The malice that surges through her veins more abundantly than her own blue blood will let her sense you anywhere.  You are not safe here, you are not safe anywhere in the universe.  You were a fool to think otherwise, even for just a moment.  You must fight her, regardless of the fate that will entail for you.

With a beat of your mighty wings, you fly back into space, the barren planet’s nearly insubstantial atmosphere putting very little strain against your powerful body.  You can see her, a sullen blue star in the distance, gradually growing brighter as she approaches.  No time to look: you beat your wings again, sending you sailing at speeds no other creature could reach.  Your magnificent white wings, soiled by spots of pale blue blood, are flapped a few more times with all the strength you can muster.  You have reached your terminal velocity by now, shooting through empty space at the speed of light.

            But she is faster.  You feel the space behind you shrinking as she blasts forward at superluminal speeds, catching you forcefully by the hand as she passes.  You are at her command now, and she whips you forward.  You shoot ahead of her, and she beats her wings again, zipping toward you and lashing at your face with her wicked claws.  You grit your teeth as you feel your own cool blood trickle down your face, but you cannot let the pain be a distraction.  You have felt pain, you can tolerate pain.  Hesitance means death.  You must fight.

            You roar and catch her wrist, grinning as the confidence drains from her face.  You twist her wrist to the side, hearing the satisfying crack of bone, and then slam your knee into her side.  Another crack.  Her body may be fortified as well as any, but nothing can withstand the pure rage of a daemon.

            Her pain quickly turns to rage, and her eyes grow bright red.  She lifts her meaty hand and it becomes coated in a silver flame.  She slams it down on your head, and your skull cracks.  You can feel the pain, but it is easy to ignore.  Unbridled rage pulses through you with every beat of your heart.

            She lifts her arm again to strike you, but you catch it this time.  Her face becomes knotted in discomfort, and the flame on her wrist blazes harder.  Your entire hand is burnt away, crumbling into ash that floats away with the solar breeze.  You bellow in anguish, and then sink your huge teeth into her long, muscular neck.  Blue blood sprays from the wound, but she does not react.  Instead, she takes you by the neck with her remaining arm.  Without hesitance, she splits your head right from your neck, and throws you down in disgust.  All that keeps you conscious is raw power from the Silver Quasar, but even that will not be able to keep you alive for long.  You remain conscious just long enough to see her tear the eggs from your distant body, and then fly away into space.