[Initiation]
— Lisa Wilbourn, Tattletale —
Lisa hated that she’d ended up here.
“There!” She called out, pointing to a tight alleyway. “Our best shot!”
Rachel whistled. Her transformed dogs heeded her wordless command in an instant. Carrying the Undersiders, they ducked into the alley just ahead of an eviscerating stream of flame.
The four of them rode for their lives atop the mounts Rachel had provided. Brian, their leader by default — the only one willing to step up to the role — was trying his best to keep everything together. Alec was panicking just as much as Lisa was; if there was one thing he cared about, it was his own life. And Lisa was desperately trying to give them an escape route, any escape route.
Close behind, a false dragon rampaged. Ancalagon may have put Lung to shame, but for most people, the ABB’s undisputed leader was still an opponent one couldn’t hope to fight.
An escalating foe. Lung grew off his anger, and anything you tried just pissed him off more. Fight, and you were doomed. Run, and you were doomed as well, just prolonging that doom.
There was no winning against the escalating rage dragon.
“Why the fuck are we here?!” Alec demanded. “Just to suffer?! Just to suicide against the rage dragon?!”
“Orders!” Lisa snapped back.
“Doesn’t matter now,” Rachel grunted. “Just try to survive.”
“Keep it together, team. We’ll get out of this,” Brian tried for calm and collected. Considering the rage dragon on their tail, his usual composure fell somewhat short.
They barely knew each other, all of a month as a team under their belt. The ‘Undersiders’ barely existed. Just four capes brought together by a villainous boss, a mysterious one that only Lisa knew in full.
Coil kept them well and comfortable on his payroll, but there were limits to what money alone could buy. He’d had to pull quite a few of the strings he held over them for today’s mission. It was a sign of weakness this early in the team’s life, a sign that something was not going according to his plans.
Lisa knew that, logically. It didn’t help her much at the moment. But if — when — she got out of this, she would use the information to her advantage.
She knew the strings he held over her teammates now.
Her dogs, for Rachel. That much was simple to figure out for someone of Lisa’s intelligence, even before today. Still, if she could offer a better way to take care of the dogs, Rachel would back her to the hilt.
Something about his father, for Alec. That father was powerful and dangerous and sociopathic, but Lisa hadn’t quite cracked his identity. Still, Going back was the absolute last thing in the world Alec wanted. Lisa could use that. If she could keep him safe and comfortable, he’d be… well, a decent enough ally.
His sister, for Brian. Damned hunk with a heart of gold, doing the wrong things for the right reasons. It’d probably be quicker to get Brian onside by befriending his sister. If Aisha liked her, Brian would never stray.
And of course, the gun to her head, for Lisa. That was the biggest obstacle to surmount. Coil wouldn’t let her go easily. He gave no slack to his leash on her. She was dangerous to him, just as dangerous as she was useful.
She needed longer to build proper trust and camaraderie. If she tried for a coup now, she’d be chained even tighter.
But at least, to the team, she was there every day. Not just a boss hiding in the shadows.
It was an advantage she’d been hoping to work with. Then, she’d gotten the call from Coil that he needed them for this… this suicide mission.
Breaking that news to the team hadn’t done any favors for the trust she was trying to build. No one in Brockton Bay wanted to purposefully piss off and draw out Lung. No one with even a hint of sense or survival instinct, that is.
Yet, here they were. Because their mysterious boss ordered it. The Undersiders, fresh to the Bay’s cape scene, were trying to punch way above their weight class.
It started with a purposefully sloppy heist. Coil didn’t care what they did so long as Lung was drawn out of hiding. Their boss needed a rampaging Lung, not whatever loot they managed to snag.
The rage dragon had been lying low since his run-in with Pyrite of the Hoard on her first night out. He’d been beaten handily then. Thrown into the bay, even. A loss like that had the tendency to humble even a fake dragon.
[Was planning some retaliation; scared and enraged; biding his time for a rematch; Lung would’ve emerged eventually. Coil couldn’t wait.]
Her power provided information about Lung’s lack of immediate action after his defeat. It still… struggled with anything concerning the Hoard, anything tied to Ancalagon, but Lung was fair game. Easy to predict, even.
Coil was, too. She should’ve been able to figure out his plan as soon as he partially revealed it to her in his orders. Lisa couldn’t, though.
Far enough along that inference path, her power ran straight off an [IMPOSSIBLE] cliff like a cartoon character, not even realizing it was falling into infinity until it was too late.
[Coil’s plan is time sensitive; his hand is being forced? Lung on the loose invites chaos at large in the city; opportunistic reactions from E88 and defensive reactions from PRT; [NULL][NULL][NULL] reactions from [IMPOSSIBLE]…]
Lisa’s only saving grace was the blissful lack of pain every time her power began to fall.
Rachel’s dogs carried them through the alley and out the other side to an eerily peaceful street. People knew to get out of Lung’s way. He wasn’t the subtle sort of danger.
A moment later, as the dogs dashed down the empty street, the peace was disturbed in dramatic fashion. Lung burst through the alley, carving gashes in the buildings to either side. Fire preceded and followed him, blazes that did their best to eat away at brick and concrete.
He wasn’t fully ramped up, nowhere near the level that had once allowed him to duel Leviathan and survive. But he was still some 10-feet-tall, growing rapidly, and transforming even more rapidly.
Lisa chanced a glance behind them. She regretted it immediately. She saw scales and fire, wicked teeth and claws, and a damn-near palpable aura of pure rage.
God, fuck Coil. He sent them to purposefully piss off that!
“Can’t these things go any faster?!” Alec screamed.
[He peeked, too.]
Lisa almost snorted. No shit, power?
[… Sarcasm unnecessary. Irrational. Lisa is mentally unsound.]
‘Yeah, I just fucking might be!’ Lisa practically screamed back within her mind.
“What’s our endgame, Tattletale?” Brian asked. “Where are we headed?”
Even if it wasn’t nearly enough — even if he was audibly struggling through terror, too — Brian’s composure did help.
Lisa thought quickly, “The tower…! It’s our only chance.”
She didn’t know Coil’s plan, but with the way her power spiraled trying to figure it out, she knew who it was aimed at. That would have to be enough.
Her mind raced through what she’d seen of him, without her power to help with the Thinking. Ancalagon: unpredictable, uninferable, undefinable, [IMPOSSIBLE]. He’d shown benevolence, a heroic bent. He’d shown himself to be powerful beyond comprehension. And he’d shown he was completely unafraid to utterly upend the status quo.
If anyone could pull their asses from Lung’s fire, it was the real Dragon in the city.
It burned slightly to actively play into Coil’s plans, whatever they were, but Lisa would live. That was kinda the whole point. She would live.
She could only hope Ancalagon would throw Coil off his game as much as she expected him to. She knew his power also struggled against the Dragon, at least. Whatever his plan was, it couldn’t go too deep past the point of contact with the [IMPOSSIBLE]. And there, maybe Lisa would find the slack she needed to break Coil’s leash.
“Fight dragon with Dragon! I like it! What could go wrong?!” Alec shouted, throwing Lisa a sarcastic thumbs-up even through his frantic fear.
“Heard, Bitch?” Brian asked.
“Heard,” Rachel growled.
She whistled again. Her dogs barked in reply, the sound coming out deformed in the midst of their transformations. They picked up the pace, pushing past their limits at Rachel’s prompting. They angled toward the tower that now stood visible from anywhere in Brockton Bay.
[3 blocks away. Distance [NULL] past [NULL].]
Lung lunged after them. Rachel’s dogs ducked and weaved through the flying flames. Lisa held on for dear life — dear, dear life… Lung was gaining on them, the length of his strides growing by the second.
[Power escalates slower against fleeing opponents; still escalates. 15-feet; armored scales; fire reaching 1500°F; strength enough to cleave Lisa’s steed in twain; wing-like limbs sprouting from back. Chances against [IMPOSSIBLE]…? Return: [NULL]. More DATA required, always. Lisa made the correct choice.]
‘Gee, thanks,’ Lisa snarked at her power.
They raced around a corner, barely scraping by a whole flaming car Lung had thrown. Then, another corner and down a long street, their goal looming close overhead.
Lisa felt like she could reach out and touch it.
Salvation: so close. They just had to get there. And convince the Dragon to help them… Lisa had no idea if he would. All she could do was hope. Pray for the first time since… that night.
A fireball grazed Rachel and the dog she was riding. The resulting yelp of pain — from both throats — was a gruesome thing. Rachel kept her steed moving, but Lisa could see the pain they were in.
Rachel’s clothes smoldered. Her dog’s transformed flesh burned with sticking embers. Lung leaped. He nearly cut off Alec. Only a last-moment swerve from the dog below him kept that pair moving.
“Just a little farther!” Lisa called out, desperately.
They rounded the last corner, the dogs practically scrambling. Before them, buildings fell away and space opened up, [IMPOSSIBLY]. Hundreds of square meters that shouldn’t be there, with the [IMPOSSIBLE] tower mounted at the center.
Ancalagon sat waiting for them, surrounded by quite a few human-sized figures.
[DWA Union Spokesperson: Danny Hebert, his daughter: Taylor — both preoccupied by [NULL]; Glory Girl, Laserdream, Shielder — also preoccupied by [NULL]; Panacea — aware, alert, and only somewhat anxious about Lung’s presence; Jenevelle, Glory, Belladonna — the [IMPOSSIBLE] Hoard, Ancalagon: [IMPOSSIBLE]… More DATA needed.]
Other than Panacea and the Hoard, everyone present was… in the middle of something. Lisa couldn’t tell what. Her power couldn’t tell what, either.
They were both spaced out and more focused than Lisa had ever seen anyone else. Something about them was changing before her eyes, becoming [IMPOSSIBLE], awakening to the [IMPOSSIBLE].
They’d been touched by Ancalagon. Lisa’s power ‘struggled’ against them just as much as it struggled against Ancalagon’s Hoard, though thankfully not as much as it struggled against the Dragon himself.
[Protocols and purposes usurped; Functions altered; Queries denied/fulfilled/[NULL]; Intruders? Negative; Network secure. Shaper’s Answer: ‘New ownership’…?]
Lisa didn’t think she was supposed to see the last few returns from her power. It was ‘somewhat’ out of sorts, though, and genuinely useful information slipped through, even if Lisa didn’t know how to use it.
Her power was… talking to theirs…?
In that moment, she wanted to drop everything and dig into that reveal. She wouldn’t get the chance, though, with Lung hot on their heels.
She called out to the Dragon, instead, “Help! Please! Sanctuary!”
Ancalagon hummed, and his voice — [not speaking/speaking; [NULL] sounds, heard… deeper…?] — sent her power spiraling anew.
“Sanctuary…?” He left her hanging and hoping for just a moment. “Granted.”
Something washed over Lisa with that permission, something she couldn’t describe or define. Her safety, her health, was his in that moment. He’d claimed it, and he would ensure it.
With Ancalagon watching over her, she was safe, and she knew it in her bones.
The dogs continued to run, flocking toward what should’ve been a beyond-apex predator. They felt the safety, the protection, too. They practically huddled around Ancalagon as Lung slowed his rampage to a pause behind them.
“‘Oo-surp-r,” Lung snarled, the single deformed word all he could manage.
His power escalated more in that moment than it had over the whole chase. It couldn’t assess the [IMPOSSIBLE], Lisa was certain of that. But Lung’s anger alone was enough, incandescent rage that set Lung’s form growing and glowing with flaring flames.
He put on another 5 feet in height and a good ton of mass. All viciously powered growth, erupting in plumes of fire. Yet he still fell far short of the true Dragon before him.
Comparing them, Lisa could see that Lung’s transformed ‘skin’ was more shell than scale. His claws were more crab-like than Draconic. His fanged maw was hinged like a snake’s, not a Dragon’s, and the teeth within were fish-like needles, not Draconic fangs.
“Am I, now?” Ancalagon asked, arching a scaled brow. “And you think your self-proclaimed title gives you the right to name me such?”
“Yu. ’Ns-oolt. ‘Ee,” Lung spat. “’Ns-oolt. E-ery-hing. Yuu w-ll d-eye.”
“You call me an ‘insult’,” Ancalagon began, casual as can be. “You’ve earned that title more than I.”
Unthreatened, Lisa realized. Utterly unthreatened. Ancalagon had already dismissed Lung in every way that mattered. Relief poured into her system at his unshakable, Draconic confidence.
“Let’s say you’re a Dragon,” Ancalagon continued. “You aren’t. But I’ll let you delude yourself a little longer.
“As a Dragon, it’s well within your rights to claim dominion over territory, over men and material, over the world. It is well within your right to rule by fear, flame, and vehement violence. It is well within your right to stand at the peak, the apex.
“Yet, where is your ambition for more than that? Your burning drive to be greater? For a Dragon, the apex is only the beginning that we’re born to. We are dominant by Nature, powerful and important, but you are just… content with the petty games of a single domain.
“Where is your intelligence, your purpose? A mindless dragon is hardly a Dragon worth the name. You stand Greedy, with barely earned Pride, but everything else I’ve seen and heard about you so far has fallen short of truly Draconic aspects of being.
“Your power is purposeless. Your importance is pitifully limited. Your grasping attempts at a Draconic domain of fear barely pass muster. Your Pride? Flimsy. Easily pierced. It costs you more than it earns. Your ambition? You think you’ve won with your powers. You haven’t. Yet now, you don’t even try…
“And your Hoard, Lung…?
“Treasureless.”
That last word rang through the air and deeper still like a sentence from a judge. It was damning. Lisa couldn’t place why; she just knew it was the worst insult Ancalagon could’ve replied with.
It lingered. Lisa caught herself holding her breath. The world, waiting for Lung’s reaction, seemed to hang heavy on everyone’s shoulders.
Lung actually shrank for a moment, as if even his power had been shamed. Ancalagon’s words hit hard and deep, especially with his [IMPOSSIBLE] speech.
“Brutal…” Alec whispered.
Panacea snorted louder, heard by all, “Damn, just kill him, why don’t you?”
“Alas, I cannot,” Ancalagon put on a theatrical sigh.
“Can’t? Or won’t?” Lisa snapped, realizing a moment too late that her mouth had run ahead of common sense.
“Won’t,” Ancalagon answered freely. “My daughter already has dibs.”
As Lisa was processing those ‘dibs’, Lung’s anger flared back to the fore, “Ah’ll K-ll yuu! K-ll yuur braht, ‘oo!”
He shot up again, pure anger fueling the renewed transformation. Ancalagon didn’t even flinch. The reason for that became clear a moment later.
“YeeeeeeeEEEE~HAAAAAAAAAWWW!”
The exclamation began as an almost-whine in Lisa’s ear from high above. It fell quickly — [Powered descent; Beyond terminal velocity] — and dopplered louder and louder as it did. Lisa looked up. Everyone looked up, even Lung.
There was a shortstack-shaped missile descending from the heavens. A young woman shooting downward on gilded wings. She tucked herself into a perfect dive.
She must’ve jumped from the [IMPOSSIBLE] tower, as much as a mile or more up, Lisa realized. And her target was clear. Lung tried to dodge out of the way. The missile pursued mid-fall.
No matter what Lung tried, her power determined, the shooting shortstack would hit her mark.
Lisa, her team, and everyone else there could only watch the meteoric impact.
IIIII
— Pyrite —
“Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! My own Hoard space, finally~!” Pyrite swooned with excitement.
She’d claimed a floor near the top of the tower, remembering her father’s mention of taking the very top floor for himself. With this, even as she took her first independent steps out of the Draconic lair, she wouldn’t be going too far.
Full-blooded Draconic fledglings likely would’ve yearned for more independence. If Pyrite had half-siblings from Dragon mothers, she doubted they would’ve stuck around through the Turning of Ancalagon’s Ages. They would’ve left as soon as they were able, setting out to make their own legends.
Good. That meant less competition for her.
But Pyrite was only half-blooded, born to only half of Draconic Nature. She didn’t have the same yearning that a full-blooded Dragon would for a legend all her own. She felt she was much better off as part of Ancalagon’s Hoard.
So she had no intentions of leaving completely. That was partly the point of her grand plan. When — not if — she was seen as a peer (and eventually, a mate), she’d be able to travel through all the Ages to come at his side.
Still, a Hoard to call her own was an important milestone. Another step toward truly ascendant Draconic Nature.
That path was opened to her through inheritance, but she wasn’t fully born to it from the start. No, she had to fight for every step she took.
She was born half-blooded, Draconic perfection marred by a deadbeat halfling mother. She trained fiercely to emphasize and enhance her Dragon half. And now, she added more to her cultivated Draconic Nature with a Hoard of her own.
The space around her was bare for now. But Pyrite could already imagine it full. Ancalagon had long since taught her that any good Hoard was built on a base of wealth. Gold was the most traditional representation of that wealth, and Pyrite did dream of some, eventually, gilding her Hoard like her title.
Unfortunately, this Age wasn’t the best for minted gold coinage, as Ancalagon used for his Hoard’s base. The paper currency most frequently used in this Age would have to suffice for a start.
She supposed it would look good enough if she stacked enough of it — a forest of green instead of her father’s mountain of gold.
She could even build a fort out of it! A castle of cash, each brick a hundred thousand nuyen!
… Or whatever denomination they used for currency in this Age. She was most used to their last Age, the Sixth World.
Technically, she was born in the Age before, but she barely remembered it. Most of her young, near-century of life had been spent in the magically Matrix-punk Sixth World. The idea of physical currency was novel to her, more novel than gold
The Sixth World had used gold for rituals and the like, and the Great Dragons of the Age were still fond of it. Pyrite had seen plenty of gold.
But cash? No one used cash. And that was what would make it such an interesting foundation for her Hoard!
She would adjust to this new Age! And many more to come at her daddy’s-! Ancalagon’s side! Pyrite shook her head and slapped her cheeks, reminding herself to ‘think like a peer to become a peer’.
She turned her attention back to her currently bare Hoard. This was serious Dragon business…
If pure wealth were the foundation of a good Hoard, then treasures and trophies were the features, the narratives told, the adventures and legends of a Dragon.
Pyrite was sure she would find plenty of opportunities for those in this Age. And if she didn’t, Ancalagon’s dungeon would be there for her to conquer herself — adventures from the Age she was born in, but not present for.
They would fill her Hoard, worth keeping even as copies of Ancalagon’s treasures… But she still wanted evidence of adventures wholly her own first and foremost.
Well, she just had to go out and find them, then.
“You seem excited, whelp,” Calamitas said behind her.
Pyrite nodded, “Not even you could ruin my mood right now.”
“I won’t try,” Calamitas said — for once…
“You won’t?” Pyrite asked, turning around with a blink.
“This is a big step. I’m proud of you,” She praised.
Pyrite just about gaped at her rival.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Calamitas rolled her eyes. “I know what this means to you. Your Hoard begins here, a new era in your Draconic journey. I can see that and give you the praise you deserve.”
“You… can…?” Pyrite asked.
Calamitas snorted, “Careful, whelp. My venerable praise and patience are not infinite.”
“I’m surprised there’s even this much of ‘em.”
“Your lack of faith is insulting. Disturbing, even.”
“Nah, just real. Usually, you’d be poking me until I snapped at you.”
“I do it for your own good, whelp-…” Calamitas trailed off, shaking her head as she changed the subject. “What now?”
“Now, I fill out my new Hoard,” Pyrite shrugged.
“What treasures do you have in mind for that?” Calamitas asked.
Pyrite almost squealed in excitement, “Oh, what do you think I’ll find in this Age~? No magical artifacts, of course…”
“Unless the Dragon has sped up his introduction of magic rather a lot,” Calamitas confirmed. “And even then, the artifacts of this Age will be beginner’s work for a while still.”
“There are those ‘Tinker’ things,” Pyrite pointed out. “Tech worth collecting?”
“Perhaps,” Calamitas allowed. “I think you’re better off seeking trophies, though.”
“Hmm,” Pyrite hummed in thought.
They didn’t get much farther in their speculation. A call from Jenevelle reached out to Pyrite through the Hoard’s network. She perked up in interest immediately.
“Oh, that’s perfect~!” She exclaimed.
“Indeed,” Calamitas allowed. “And you did call ‘dibs’, whelp. Go on, now. Take the false dragon’s head and mount it as the first trophy of your Hoard.”
Excitement overtook her at that, Pyrite rushing to the edge of the tower. A window on her Hoard’s floor overlooked the city below. Draconic vision spied the rampage drawing closer and closer.
It was a thing of fiery destruction and a damned foe that didn’t even know it.
She could track the route he’d taken through the surrounding neighborhoods. Buildings were gouged, carved away at. Fires raged in his wake. He chased tiny figures that kept just barely out of his reach. They were leading him straight to the tower, straight to Pyrite.
Lung, the pretender, the false dragon… Her rematch had arrived. Her chance for a worthy first trophy. He looked much more impressive and threatening than when she’d last saw him. Pyrite saw his power in full effect for the first time.
It was a slight shame that it hadn’t reacted well to her in their first meeting. But better this way, perhaps. If she’d gone through and fought him to the death that night, she wouldn’t have had a Hoard to mount his head in.
Now, she did. Everything was ready — waiting, even. Below, she saw Ancalagon patiently staying his hand, leaving the pretender to her alone.
She stood on the sill of the window that looked out from her Hoard’s floor, waiting for the perfect cue. She readied herself to claim the first trophy of her Hoard.
The Age Pyrite was born to had left its mark on her, even if she could barely remember it — a mark of classes and paths.
She was born with a talent for sorcery, her ascendant ancestor so close at hand. She’d then honed that Draconic bloodline sorcery further with a monk’s discipline. A sorcerous base and a monk’s dao; Pyrite walked both paths as one.
Other monks who walked the Way of the Ascendant Dragon struggled to secure such enlightenment. They found themselves lacking, for they could only emulate in the end.
The Ascendant Dragon’s way came more naturally to Pyrite due to her heritage, though she still had to work to harmonize her dao with Draconic Nature and utilize its magicks.
She flared her ki, and Wings Unfurled.
At her back, gilded phantom limbs sprang into being. The gleaming wings stretched wide, perfectly ready and willing to allow her the flight her half-blooded heritage had denied her.
Pyrite shored up her other half’s un-Draconic weakness with hard work and enlightenment.
The wings represented a victory on her path to the truly Draconic, leveled and hard-earned from the dao.
They’d come second. Breath of the Dragon, a magic feat borrowing upon established and emulated Nature, had come first.
She breathed. In and out.
That Breath would never come to match her father’s. Ancalagon breathed starstuff and moonsilver. Pyrite’s Draconic way was limited to elemental magicks. Just spirit-fire, emulating Draconic heat. It was still a deadly and dangerous feat, just… lacking.
Then, the third feat on her path: Aspect of the Wyrm. She mounted her own half-Draconic Nature onto her un-Draconic half. She drew herself as close to a Dragon’s spirit as she could, her ki ascendant.
The emulating Draconic flames of her first feat and her sorcerous heritage grew fiercer — more real — with that mounting. And her fourth feat took another step, the last: Ascending her Aspect.
For puny mortal monks on the same path, that ascension would’ve allowed for relatively pitiful boons — augmented Draconic breath, or Draconic senses, or Draconic fury. Yet Pyrite possessed all those boons already.
And so, her ascension granted her the ability to mount half a Draconic mantle, instead, through enlightenment that settled her Nature more firmly into her being. She’d chosen a mantle of gravity — conceptual weight to everything she did that drew upon her father’s mantle of the Moon for inspiration.
On the windowsill, waiting eagerly, Pyrite breathed as a Dragon. Her Wings Unfurled as one. She resonated with the Aspect of the Wyrm, and that resonating Aspect Ascended, a mimicking mantle all her own.
Today, with her Hoard at her back, truly Draconic Nature had never been closer.
More than a mile below, her pretending prey stopped before her father. Ancalagon took him to task. Pyrite could practically hear the sentence he passed. That was her cue. She pitched herself over the edge.
Falling, falling — wind rushing against her skin and scales. Flying as a Dragon should…
Pyrite pumped her ki, the blood of her soul. Her unfurled wings responded in kind. A great heave sent her flying downward even faster.
As she dove, she heard the last of Ancalagon’s sentence for Lung, “Treasureless.”
The insult made her giddy. What a terrible thing to say to another Dragon…! Thankfully, Lung wasn’t. It was the perfect thing to say to a pretender.
She whooped. She drew back her fist in the dive. Her pretending prey glanced upward at her. He tried to dodge. There would be no escape.
With the crash of a Dragon coming down to earth, Pyrite slammed into the transformed pretender.
False draconic flesh was brutalized, blown apart as she blasted through it. Lung’s scream of pain was lost beneath the crash. He’d served as a suitable ‘flesh-brake’, though. Pyrite landed without issue, spinning through the shower of transformed viscera.
She rounded on her prey. Nearly half of Lung was missing when she set eyes on him again. An arm and the left half of his chest where his heart should’ve been. Yet Lung didn’t fall dead.
Fire flared across his brutalized body. Power poured in from afar, his Shard. It sparked impressively potent regeneration. The false flesh that Pyrite had blasted away reformed from seemingly nothing, returning even hardier.
His power recognized her as a threat now. Even if it struggled against her, the damage was impossible to deny. And he had prior experience now, a defeat already under his belt.
He would face her with all he had.
Pyrite grinned a bloodthirsty grin, already drenched in burning blood.
“C’mon, then!” She shouted. “Give me a proper fight, pretender!”
Lung raged. Any words he might’ve spoken were incoherent. The ability to speak had been stolen by his fury and transformation.
His jaw was hinged more like insectile mandibles than a Draconic maw. His claws pinched as much as they cleaved. His attempts at good and proper scales were more like a shell. Pyrite could see raw muscle through the cracks.
Every inch of his frame sparked flames that turned the surrounding air into a boiling mirage.
Pyrite answered back with flames of her own, Draconic breath from her soul that surpassed anything Lung’s power could muster. She roared. The fires of her breath shot forth like liquid, a high-pressure stream.
True Draconic Breath was not a purely physical phenomenon. It was conceptual and spiritual, formed of undefinable Nature.
Fire smothered fire. Lung flinched as he was burned through his transformation. He flailed. Massive claws, as large as Pyrite, swept out to smash her. Pyrite caught them and stopped them in their tracks.
She held Lung by his claws. He struggled fiercely. Her grip was secure, her strength superior. She snarled, the sound echoing over the commotion of the fight.
“Pathetic…”
Without being struck, Lung flinched again. Her Draconic Aspect, mounted and ascendant, was too much for his puny mortal soul. She suppressed him by sheer strength of Nature.
Then, with her grip on his claw, she fell into a death roll that threw his larger form over her in a complete arc. She never let go, slamming him into the ground on the other side. Her mantle of gravity kept her grounded, despite the massive weight difference.
She stood before Lung could. Only to drop into another death roll and throw him back the way he’d come. Lung slammed into the ground once more.
He never got the chance to recover. She slammed him again, and again, and again. The damage was healed away, fuel for further transformation, but Pyrite didn’t care. It was her Draconic Aura that would do the real fighting, and strike the real death blow.
A pretender. A false dragon. A man who claimed the title unduly. Now, he met an inheritor. A potential true Dragon. A fledgling who worked for every Draconic inch.
Against such earnest Nature, every ounce of his lackluster mortal soul was exposed.
Lung was laid bare and found wanting. He was torn away piece by piece. He was crushed by the heavy weight of true Draconic Aura.
‘This is a Dragon?!’ Pyrite asked Creation, demanding primordial trial by magic.
‘No…’ Creation answered, passing final judgment. ‘It is not worth that Nature.’
And so, the pretender’s claim died; Creation had ruled it false — unworthy and unfounded — and so it was. Pyrite broke the fake over her Draconic knee. More than in the physical battle, she beat him to death through a contest of Nature, her own emerging supreme, while his… simply disintegrated.
Abruptly, his power ceased to function. His transformation slipped away like mist from his physical form. Excessive mass crumbled. He shrank. His own lingering fires began to burn him. His regeneration failed him more and more.
Neither Lung nor his Shard could react to prevent it; they could do nothing, for mysterious Magicks of Nature deemed them unfit to even pretend.
“[IMPOSSIBLE]…! [IMPOSSIBLE]!” Lung’s Shard spoke through him.
Yet… it didn’t seem to be helping. If it could transform and regenerate him so thoroughly as a false dragon, surely it could’ve chosen another form. The power didn’t. It left its host to die, more focused on drawing DATA from his [IMPOSSIBLE] final moments.
Lung’s soul and mind were overwhelmed, ruthlessly crushed by Pyrite’s sheer Draconic presence. His body was battered without any more hope of regeneration. She slammed him one last time. He was already long gone before his body even drew its last breath, dying a pretender’s death.
He was rendered a husk. Not even that…
A Natureless soul that’d dared try to claim what wasn’t his to claim. He’d succeeded, somewhat, for a time. But Pyrite had called Creation to cast ultimate judgment upon his stolen Nature. And now, he’d paid the ultimate price.
His spirit was thoroughly crushed, unable to stand up to Nature’s judgment that deemed his claim so false. His power had abandoned him in pursuit of its alien purpose.
Pyrite set Lung’s body down almost gently. He had not been a worthy foe, certainly not a likable one, but she was not graceless in her victory.
She didn’t bow her head. She didn’t honor the pretender. But she would at least preserve his memory. To some degree, he would live on as the first trophy of her Hoard.
His mask was what she took. It was a fanciful, stylized, egotistical thing, metal shaped into the face of a snarling Dragon. A pretender’s mask, to be certain, but that was why Pyrite would treasure it.
She paid no mind to the man beneath. Lung was who she wanted to conquer and claim, not whoever he’d once been. With a brief fiery breath, she cremated his corpse.
It’d been staring skyward with lifeless, spiritless eyes, the face almost shockingly intact and frozen in Creation-sentenced, Natureless damnation.
There was nothing wrong with trying to change or claim new Natures. Natures were never fully defined by definition — coming and going and changing and growing. Trying to claim he was a dragon wasn’t where Lung had gone so wrong.
He went wrong in the earnestness, the truth of being. Truly Draconic Nature could be claimed by any, but it required inexhaustible commitment and unshakable will; it required one to live as a Dragon.
Lung didn’t live his proclaimed Nature. Worse, he hadn’t truly believed it when he declared it for all the world to hear. A hypocrite, a poser, a pretender; He was playing ‘dragon’… as a bit. A mere role to act. And that was what doomed him to be Pyrite’s first trophy in the eyes of Nature.
Wind swept around her. Of the pretender, only ash and the mask she’d claimed remained. Pyrite turned to her father, victory in hand. The somber moment passed. Excitement reigned.
“Dad-! Ancalagon! Look! My first trophy!”
The puny mortals around Ancalagon were staring — huh, like, really, really staring… what was that about? — at her, but Pyrite had no eyes for them. She only cared for her father’s approval, the first step toward being recognized as a true peer.
She paused and frowned as she realized something, “… Still wasn’t much of a fight.”
“There are more interesting foes in this Age; I’m sure you’ll find battles worthy of your full attention,” Ancalagon chuckled. “Lung was powerful, true, but blunt. Almost insipidly blunt. Perhaps you would find yourself better challenged against more finely honed foes, Pyrite?”
“Your fighting prowess is proven, Princess,” Jenevelle nodded at Ancalagon’s side. “But you are young yet.”
Pyrite’s frown deepened, “What’s that supposed to mean-…?”
“It means start using your brains, whelp, not just your unseemly brawn,” Calamitas said, joining the conversation as she exited the tower.
Pyrite’s eyes narrowed. Her timing was perfect… Too perfect… And the way she floated onto the scene without a care in the world? Her damned rival was trying to steal her thunder!
Pyrite, of course, responded to the attempt as only a mature Dragon princess starting her Hoard could… She stuck her tongue out at Calamitas, “Neh!”
“Dragons are best served with wit and wisdom to match our power and importance; they are not essential aspects to our Nature, but certainly underrated ones. Intelligent Dragons can do so, so much more.” Unfortunately, Ancalagon agreed with her rival.
“… Fine,” Pyrite pouted. “I’ll start think-fighting instead of just fist-fighting. Now, praise me for my Hoard’s first trophy!”
She punctuated her absolutely-not-bratty demand with a stomp that sent the puny mortals taking synchronized steps back. Fearful things, they were. She wondered why.
Ancalagon just laughed, “Yes, well done, Pyrite. Well won. A trophy to start your Hoard, and a properly meaningful and ironic one at that. The false head of a false dragon; let it firm your commitment to being the opposite.”
Pyrite nodded, seriously, “I’m going to be a true Dragon. I’ve only just begun.”
“Holy shit…” One of the puny mortals at Ancalagon’s side muttered. “Lung’s dead.”
That mortal was one of the newcomers, a tall, well-built man in leathers and a full-coverage, skull-mask helmet. ‘Skull-man’, Pyrite dubbed him in an instant. It was a fitting name for this Age’s cape games. She would hear no other.
“Like, dead-dead,” Another of the mortals — Pyrite dubbed this one ‘Noble-boy’ — agreed. “Deserved. Good riddance. Eat shit, bozo.”
“Mmm,” The third mortal hummed, the sound a rumble in her strangely (for this Age) mask-less throat. Pyrite dubbed her ‘Big-bitch’. “Lung was strong. She was stronger.”
Pyrite preened at that, “You have good eyes, Big-bitch!”
The last mortal was trying to put on a strong, uncaring face. Pyrite dubbed her ‘Smirky-fox’, “You might be strong, but can you handle the fallout?”
Pyrite knew her type. Smirky-fox thought herself so smart, so in control; she had to. If she didn’t, her whole world would fall apart around her.
“Fallout?” Pyrite scoffed. “From the pretender’s death? The only fallout worth mentioning is another step on my ascension to my rightful Draconic mantle.”
“That’s…” Smirky-fox stared. She insisted, “No, the ABB! Lung was the only thing holding them together. With him dead, the ABB will split into a dozen new gangs! Yakuza, Triad, Jo-Pok, and everything else, every asian street kid who thinks themselves big enough to lead a movement! It’ll be chaos!”
“And the ABB, for all their evil, do hold back another evil,” Skull-man said. “I won’t say either is worse than the other; both are objectively, equally evil. Personally, I prefer the ABB. They won’t lynch me, at least… Just sell my sister into sexual slavery… Fuck. Yeah, good riddance, either way.”
“Still, E88 won’t let this opportunity pass them by. The landscape of the city is going to change,” Smirky-fox nodded. A moment later, she glanced at Ancalagon. “Well… change further.”
“Puny mortal concerns,” Pyrite waved. “Sounds to me like we just have to even the playing field.”
“That…” Smirky-fox hesitated. “Could work. Kaiser is a similar unifying force to Lung. Cut off the heads from both sides, and let whatever else grow in its place? It’ll be new… strange… and almost impossible to predict… But there might be a bit of balance in that, not just Empire pushing, ABB holding the line, and everyone else caught in between.”
“More competition for my dungeon’s opening,” Ancalagon nodded in approval. “I’ll admit I wasn’t looking forward to entertaining only two main groups on the villainous side of things. More variety would be welcome; it would keep conflicts within the dungeon interesting.”
“The PRT won’t thank you for this, Sire, from what you’ve told me of your meeting with them,” Jenevelle pointed out. “Didn’t Director Piggot specifically state that she wished to avoid an open gang war in her city?”
“Yes, I’ll have to apologize for this, to a degree,” Ancalagon allowed. “But this is an opportunity, just as much as it’s a potential concern.”
Smirky-fox seemed to realize something with his statement, “… It won’t be a gang war. It’ll be a gang fracturing…”
“Honestly?” The mousy puny mortal closest to Ancalagon snorted. Pyrite didn’t dub her anything; Ancalagon had shown some level of fondness for her already. Pyrite would at least use her name.
Amy continued, “The Bay might be better served by that fracturing. So long as the nazis don’t come to dominate everything, that is. But decapitate them like the ABB, and that organizational breakdown across the board would keep things… manageable.”
“Mmm,” Ancalagon hummed and thought for a moment. He nodded, deciding something, “A suitable task to keep us occupied until the dungeon is ready to open its depths. It will simply be part of setting the stage properly.”
“Pyrite,” He continued. “The false dragon’s false hoard will need handling. You will take responsibility for your first trophy.”
“On it~!” Pyrite chimed, flashing a thumbs-up.
“I will help, if you wish,” Ancalagon said. “Lung’s poor excuse for a Hoard does… offend me.”
Pyrite practically vibrated with excitement, “Daddy-daughter bonding~!”
“And the Empire, Ancalagon?” Amy asked, subtle bloodthirst in her voice.
“I’m sure they’ll give us a good casus belli soon. Someone who declares himself ‘Emperor’ won’t be able to resist overreaching. And when they do, they will find themselves shattering,” Ancalagon shrugged. “A matter for tomorrow. I believe this will be a busy week.”
“Should I rally the Hoard for war, Sire?” Jenevelle asked.
Ancalagon shook his head, “Clean-up, more accurately. We won’t venture forth to conquer, just… to stir things up.”
“Was this his plan all along…?” Smirky-fox muttered, the question caught by Pyrite’s Draconic senses.
“Tats?” Skull-man asked quietly. “Talk to me. What’s our best course of action here?”
“I… I don’t know,” Smirky-fox admitted with a noticeable wince. It sounded like that hurt.
She turned to Ancalagon with hints of desperation in her posture, “What about us? What about our… sanctuary? Does that offer still stand?”
“The immediate danger you got yourselves into has passed,” Ancalagon said freely but not unkindly. “We’d have to come to another arrangement if your group wished to stick around.”
Smirky-fox’s reply was instant, “Name your price.”
“Oi!” Noble-boy exclaimed.
“Tats,” Skull-man hissed.
“Mn,” Big-bitch just nodded. “Work for the strongest. Predators, but… protectors, too. I’m in.”
Ancalagon turned to his Hoard, “Do any of you wish for a small group of local minions to call your own?”
“They could work for the Corps at cost,” Jenevelle considered. “Untested… But potentially useful.”
“I might enjoy a few more test subjects~…” Belladonna grinned, freakish and wicked.
Glory shrugged, “I’m sure I could find a use for a crew… They have the look of good shadowrunners to them.”
“Nay,” Calamitas instantly denied. “Perhaps the whelp will have some use for them.”
“First trophy…” Pyrite muttered to herself. “First living treasures…?”
She looked them over. She… wasn’t terribly impressed. If she took them on, they’d need a lot of work. But Ancalagon’s dungeon would allow them to grow, maybe even into something worthwhile. A local adventuring party that she didn’t have to put together, just send out to work on her behalf…?
“Not as living treasures,” Pyrite shook her head. “But minions, maybe. We’ll see. I’ll be testing you, puny mortals!”
“We kinda have a boss already-…” Skull-man began.
Smirky-fox cut him off, “We’ll take it.”
From the way his skull-mask helmet looked at her, there’d be something more to talk about there. Whatever. It was none of Pyrite’s concern. They’d become useful minions, or they wouldn’t. That was as far as she cared.
“Ready yourself, Pyrite,” Ancalagon warned. “Dealing with the false hoard of the ABB will be a test of wit and wisdom, not pure might. It will be a good chance to prove yourself capable of both. I don’t mind aiding you, but in the end, it was your trophy that started this all.”
Pyrite nodded, determined. She would show Ancalagon that she could be wise and witty. Any peer of his couldn’t be mindless.
With their next course set, Pyrite was eager to get started. First, however, the puny mortals kept safe behind Ancalagon finally began to stir.
She recognized spiritual awakenings when she saw them. A Phoenix, Tortoise, Goddess, Spider, and Oak; only the beginning. Ancalagon was set on bringing magic to this Age.
They came back to themselves simultaneously. They looked around and saw that new faces had arrived while they were focused inward.
The blonde princess bonded to the Phoenix blinked, “Huh… So what’d we miss?”
IIIII
[AN: We see my plan to keep things interesting and Worm-like through all the change at the end of this chapter — a grand shattering of the Bay’s gangs. Smaller gangs than the ABB and E88 but more of them, with lines being drawn between the existing villains. It’s a sort of… balance in chaos. And it’ll make dungeon conflict properly interesting with that much more competition.
Of course, to even the cape scale, there will have to be a bunch of new triggers on the fracturing ABB side of things. There will also be openings for new players of a different kind. Ancalagon is offering another path to power, after all, and it isn’t just limited to parahumans.
I’m thinking expy-OC characters for that. Just have to keep in mind Worm’s general ‘world-vibe’. Any expy I use, I want them to… fit into the world on their own merits, ya know? I’m open to suggestions there if you can justify them to me :]