The savanna stretches wide beneath the pale shimmer of the moon. The air is thick with remnants of ash blowing across the smoldering battlefield. Mike stands in the ruins of what was once Parakou's outskirts, his scales faintly aglow with veins of red light that pulse to the rhythm of his heart. The ground beneath him hums, molten earth cooling beneath his claws.
He exhales slowly. The breath comes out as heat and smoke, bending the grass for several yards ahead.
He can feel the difference. The way his body responds now. Every muscle feels dense, charged. His veins carry more than blood; they hum with the essence of all the beings he's consumed.
"You feel it, don't you?" Bahamut's voice slithers through his skull, smooth and proud.
"You are ascending. What you devour becomes you. Each god's fragment of essence, it changes the shape of your being."
Mike flexes his clawed hand, watching the scales shimmer with hues of red and black. "I'm… bigger," he mutters. He looks down at his shadow, stretching across the grass. "When I landed here, I was half this size. Why would I grow this much?"
"Your form adapts," Bahamut purrs. "The power you consumed from previous battles culminated in an explosive growth, the more the boundaries of flesh and spirit bend. You grow closer to what I once was."
Mike's lips twitch in something close to a grin. "And what I'm becoming."
The dragon within hums in approval.
He takes a step forward, the ground cracking faintly beneath his weight. His eyes sweep the horizon, no lights, no gunfire, only the whispering song of the night insects.
He rolls his shoulders, stretching his wings once more before drawing them inward. "I wonder…" he murmurs, half to himself, "how much stronger I am between forms."
Bahamut's presence stirs, interested.
"You mean… the difference between the dragon and human?"
"Yeah," Mike says, glancing at his hands again. "When I fought the Seven, the dragon form had the raw power, but… it was difficult due to the massive size. The human form has control. Precision. What happens if I try to combine the two?"
For a moment, Bahamut says nothing.
"You must find your own path."
Mike smirks. "Hmm."
He closes his eyes. The savanna wind brushes against his face, warm and soft, carrying the scent of dry grass and distant water. He breathes deep and lets the power coil through him, down to his bones.
And then the world shifts.
Every nerve in his body flares as his form fluctuates, muscle compressing, scales folding inward and then outward again. For an instant, his body flickers between human and dragon, his silhouette blurring at the edges, until the transformation stops.
He opens his eyes.
He stands on two legs, his form still draconic, but compact, eight, maybe ten feet tall, powerful and lean. His claws flex easily, his tail whips lightly behind him, and his wings hang like tattered shadows against the moonlight. He feels complete, both in size and draconic brutality forged into a single shape.
"Perfect," he murmurs.
"You are learning," Bahamut rumbles, pleased. "Control. Refinement. With time, you will command every piece of what you are."
Mike nods once. "Then let's see what I can—"
The rest of his sentence vanishes in a blur of motion.
Something slams into him from the side with massive force. The impact sends him hurtling through the air, tearing through dry branches before he crashes into the trunk of a massive savanna tree. The impact splits it in half, sending shards of bark and dust exploding outward.
Mike growls, shoving the splintered remains off him, eyes scanning the darkness. His wings flare wide, embers spilling from his mouth as he snarls, "Show yourself!"
The air fills with silence. Then a whisper of movement. A blur.
Mike pivots just in time to block a blow aimed for his head. Claws screech against claws, sparks bursting between them. The force drives him backward through the dirt, his heels carving furrows into the earth.
"Fast," he mutters.
"Watcher," Bahamut warns.
The shape steps into the moonlight, tall, slender, six black wings unfurling behind him. His eyes glow silver, his face calm, sharp, unreadable.
"I wondered how far you'd come," the being says softly. His voice carries a strange melody, beautiful, inhuman. "The devourer's heir."
Mike growls. "It never fucking stops.."
The winged figure smiles faintly. "I am Veyra'el, Keeper of the Eighth Light. And I watched your battle with the Seven."
Bahamut growls inside Mike's mind, voice dripping with disdain. "The Judicator. He is not the leader but he is stronger than anything you've fought hatchling. Show what you've gained."
Mike's eyes narrow. "You were following me."
Veyra'el tilts his head, his wings curling like smoke. "Observing. You intrigue me. You take no side and consume all." His eyes flash brighter. "Show me your worth dragon."
Mike cracks his neck. "Fuck y—."
Veyra'el moves before the sentence ends.
A blur of black feathers and white flame. Mike barely catches the strike, claws locking against an arm wreathed in light. The air around them ripples from the sheer force. The ground cracks under their feet.
Then Veyra'el vanishes, reappearing behind him with a powerful kick. Mike is launched forward again, crashing through another tree. He rolls, digging his claws into the soil, forcing himself upright.
Mike grins, blood running down his chin.
He lunges.
The two collide midair, each impact cracks the night open with loud booms of thunder.
Mike drives his knee into the Watcher's ribs, sending him tumbling back. Veyra'el lands effortlessly, a smirk curving his lips. "Better. You've learned to focus your strength. That smaller form suits you."
Mike laughs, a deep, savage sound that echoes across the plains. "Yeah, I'm starting to like it too."
He charges again, fire erupting from his jaws. Veyra'el dives through the blaze, his wings shielding him in an aura of silver light. The flames scatter harmlessly, and he retaliates with a spear of condensed radiance that tears through the sky like lightning.
Mike catches it with the force driving him to one knee. His claws smoke. He grits his teeth and pushes back, twisting, shattering the weapon with a snarl.
Then he laughs again. Loud. Wild. Joyful.
"Good," Bahamut whispers, voice vibrating through his bones. "Feel it. Keep growing."
Mike steps forward through the settling dust, his grin sharp, his eyes glowing like molten gold. "Come on. Don't tell me that's all a Watcher's got."
Veyra'el's expression finally shifts, a faint flicker of something like amusement. His wings unfold to their full span, black and glimmering like oil under moonlight.
"Then let us test that power of yours, dragon."
The two vanish into motion again, streaks of light and flame colliding over the savanna. Trees ignite. The ground shatters. Each clash sends shockwaves racing through the night. Through it all, Mike laughs, louder each time, feeling the rhythm of his body, the perfect balance of destruction and control.
Far above them, beyond the clouds, something stirs, watching, waiting, as the echo of battle lights up the African night.