art by   sevenscalesdragon
我一直很喜欢这张但是欠这张稿子一篇文欠了三年了.jpg终于还上了，下面是故事
腐败湖的水面泛着猩红的光泽，空气中弥漫着浓重的腐臭。那名褪色者——一名身披残破银色盔甲的战士，手持巨剑，腰间挂着黄金律法圣印记——缓缓踏过这片被诅咒的土地。他的脚步在淤泥中沉重地回响，每一步都溅起猩红的水花，映在银色盔甲上，染出一片诡异的暗红。他的目标是大回廊，那座传说中封印着旧日神祇的石门。
大回廊前的地面上，腐败眷属的残肢散落一地。那些畸形的怪物，带着猩红腐败的触须和扭曲的肢体，早已被他手中的巨剑砍得七零八落。最后一隻腐败眷属在痛苦的嘶吼中倒下，褪色者举起圣印记，低声念诵祷告。金色的火焰从他手中迸发而出，将那只怪物的躯体彻底焚烧殆尽，化作一团灰烬，随风散去。
他喘息着，目光转向那扇巨大的石门。石门表面刻满了古老的符文，散发着微弱的金光，在腐败湖猩红的映衬下显得苍白而虚幻。他收起巨剑，双手按在石门上，用尽全力推开。伴随着低沉的轰鸣，石门缓缓移开，露出一片幽深的黑暗。
然而，预想中的场景并未出现。没有旧日神祇的咆哮，没有毁天灭地的力量。黑暗中，一只巨大的龙后爪赫然显现。那爪子足有数人之高，表面覆盖的鳞片被猩红腐败侵蚀得斑驳不堪，像是被截断的残肢，悬浮在半空中，散发着令人窒息的压迫感。
褪色者还未反应过来，龙爪猛地抬起，然后以雷霆之势踩下。他试图举起巨剑格挡，但巨剑被那股力量瞬间击飞，深深插入腐败湖的淤泥中，剑刃没入猩红水面，只剩剑柄孤零零地露出。银色盔甲发出刺耳的扭曲声，他的身体被狠狠压进地面，骨骼和肌肉在剧痛中发出不堪重负的呻吟。
一股诡异的力量从龙爪渗透进他的体内。他的皮肤开始发烫，银色盔甲的接缝处传来撕裂的声响，但盔甲并未完全脱落，而是被撑得变形，边缘卷曲，露出下方逐渐浮现的蓝色鳞片。他的双臂猛地膨胀，肌肉和骨骼在不可思议的力量下重塑，蓝色鳞片从手腕开始生长，迅速蔓延至全身，腹部则呈现出淡蓝色的柔和色泽。他的手指变得修长，指甲化为金色的尖爪，在腐败湖昏暗的光线下透出一抹红光。他的头部传来撕裂般的痛楚，两只金色的角从额头破皮而出，向后弯曲，带着龙族的威严。
他的腿部也在变化，膝盖变得更加粗壮有力，脚掌宽大而沉稳，脚趾间长出金色的爪子，深深陷入淤泥之中。他的脸部拉长，牙齿变得尖锐，瞳孔收缩成一条细长的竖线，闪烁着冰冷的蓝光。他的意识在剧痛中模糊，却又异常清晰——他能感受到体内涌动的龙之血脉，那是一种古老而强大的力量，仿佛在重塑他的存在。
龙爪缓缓收回，悬浮在空中，似乎在审视自己的杰作。那名褪色者摇晃着站起身，低头看向自己的身体。银色盔甲已被撑得破烂不堪，紧紧嵌在鳞片之上，像是被猩红湖水浸染的残骸。他伸出金色的爪子，撕开残余的盔甲碎片，将它们丢进腐败湖中。盔甲沉入水面，激起一阵猩红的水花，很快被淤泥吞没，而他赤裸地站在原地，蓝色鳞片覆盖全身，腹部淡蓝色在昏暗中显得幽冷，金色的爪子和角在猩红湖水的映照下透出一种肃杀的气息。
他捡起被打落的巨剑，剑身虽有裂痕，却依然沉重。他试着挥动几下，发现自己的力量远超从前，血量与耐力仿佛被注入了无尽的活力。他低头看向脚边的猩红淤泥，那曾让他痛苦不堪的腐败如今却无法伤他分毫——他的鳞片比银色盔甲更加坚固，仿佛天生为抵御这诅咒而生。
他沉默了一会儿，目光扫过腐败湖的尽头，又转向那扇敞开的石门。那一刻，他明白了，这不是诅咒，而是神的赐福。从此，交界地少了一名褪色者，多了一名蓝色龙人。他握紧巨剑，立下誓言：他将带着这份力量，穿越交界地的每一寸土地，将这份神的赐福传遍世界的每一个角落，让所有生灵见证这新生与力量。

Translate by deepseek

The waters of the Lake of Rot shimmered with a crimson glow, and the air was thick with the stench of decay. The Tarnished—a warrior clad in tattered silver armor, wielding a greatsword and bearing the Golden Order's sacred seal at his waist—trudged slowly across the cursed land. His footsteps echoed heavily through the mire, each step splashing scarlet water that stained his silver armor with an eerie, dark red hue. His destination was the Grand Cloister, the legendary stone gate said to seal away an ancient god.

Before the Grand Cloister, the ground was littered with the remains of the Kindred of Rot. These grotesque creatures, with their crimson rot-infested tendrils and twisted limbs, had already been hacked to pieces by his greatsword. As the last of the Kindred fell with a agonized roar, the Tarnished raised his sacred seal and murmured an incantation. Golden flames erupted from his hand, consuming the creature's body and reducing it to ash, which scattered into the wind.

Breathing heavily, he turned his gaze to the massive stone gate. Its surface was carved with ancient runes that emitted a faint golden light, pale and ethereal against the crimson glow of the Lake of Rot. He sheathed his greatsword and pressed both hands against the gate, pushing with all his might. With a low rumble, the gate slowly creaked open, revealing a deep, impenetrable darkness.

But the scene he expected did not appear. There was no roar of an ancient god, no cataclysmic force. Instead, in the darkness, a massive dragon's hind claw loomed into view. The claw was several times the height of a man, its scales marred by crimson rot, like a severed limb suspended in midair, exuding an oppressive, suffocating presence.

Before the Tarnished could react, the claw suddenly lifted and slammed down with thunderous force. He tried to raise his greatsword to block, but the weapon was instantly knocked from his grasp, embedding itself deep into the mire of the Lake of Rot, only the hilt visible above the scarlet water. His silver armor screeched as it twisted, and his body was crushed into the ground, his bones and muscles groaning under the unbearable pressure.

A strange power seeped from the dragon's claw into his body. His skin began to burn, and the seams of his silver armor tore apart. Yet the armor did not fall away completely; instead, it warped and buckled, its edges curling to reveal blue scales emerging beneath. His arms swelled, muscles and bones reshaping under an incomprehensible force. Blue scales spread rapidly from his wrists, covering his entire body, while his abdomen took on a softer, pale blue hue. His fingers elongated, nails transforming into golden claws that gleamed coldly in the dim light of the Lake of Rot. His head throbbed with searing pain as two golden horns burst from his forehead, curving backward with draconic majesty.

His legs also changed, his knees growing thicker and more powerful, his feet broadening and stabilizing, golden claws sprouting between his toes, digging deep into the mire. His face elongated, teeth sharpening, and his pupils narrowed into vertical slits, glowing with an icy blue light. His consciousness blurred in the agony, yet remained strangely clear—he could feel the dragon's blood coursing through his veins, an ancient and immense power reshaping his very being.

The dragon's claw slowly retracted, hovering in the air as if inspecting its handiwork. The Tarnished staggered to his feet and looked down at his body. The silver armor was now a shattered ruin, clinging tightly to his scaled form like a relic stained by the scarlet waters. He reached out with his golden claws, tearing away the remnants of the armor and casting them into the Lake of Rot. The pieces sank into the water, sending up crimson ripples before being swallowed by the mire. Now fully exposed, he stood there, his body covered in blue scales, the pale blue of his abdomen glowing faintly in the gloom, his golden claws and horns radiating a solemn, deadly aura under the crimson light.

He retrieved his fallen greatsword. Though the blade was cracked, it still felt heavy in his grasp. He swung it a few times, finding his strength far surpassed what it had been before, his vitality and stamina seemingly infused with boundless energy. He looked down at the scarlet mire beneath his feet, the rot that had once tormented him now unable to harm him—his scales were more resilient than the silver armor, as if born to resist this curse.

For a moment, he stood in silence, his gaze sweeping across the expanse of the Lake of Rot before returning to the open stone gate. In that moment, he understood—this was not a curse, but a divine blessing. From this day forward, the Lands Between would lose a Tarnished, but gain a blue dragon-man. Gripping his greatsword, he made a vow: with this newfound power, he would traverse every inch of the Lands Between, spreading this divine blessing to every corner of the world, so that all living beings might witness this rebirth and strength.