176. Demon Food (III) (Patreon)

The egg was big as a man, splotches of onyx staining its rust-red shell, glowing like a dark moon. Thick tufts of qi steamed off it, wreathing it in a soft halo. In that moment it was the most gorgeous thing Dorian had ever seen.

He felt a tug of Bloodline so strong he lost it. He was so far gone he let himself be rushed away.

What happened next was unconscious. He flopped at it, clambered over its top, bashed at the shell with his head once, twice, all desperate animal instinct, felt it give—

Then a short fall into a dense, warm liquid. It rushed into his nostrils, into his open mouth, hugging every inch of his skin. He felt then like a dried sponge soaked in fresh spring water. He was fading, nearly nothing, every organ failing, his last shred of will quivering a tiny candle-flame in an icy wind.

And then—warmth. And then—light. Glorious, rapturous light!

He gasped. His eyes snapped open. It was said that the albumen of legendary beasts was among the most nutritious liquids in the world. There was no doubting it now. Every failing inch of him was suddenly tender, motes of light seeping into torn skin and ruptured organs, and where it touched there was new flesh and muscle and sinew. But this was no ordinary regeneration.

These parts were human parts, true. But they had a special toughness to them. The flesh was seamless. The muscles brimmed with untold powers.

Human parts, of Torchdragon make. His dragonform had already begun.

His head, so bogged down he could hardly think a straight thought seconds before, was soaked in a gentle glow. The heavy darkness melted away.

[Bloodline Density] 90% -> 92%

A new influx of qi rushed into his parch core atop a stream of egg-qi. At last sweet relief washed over him. He was safe. He was godsdamned alive! Right then he could’ve whooped. Or laughed. Or cried, for that matter.

[Bloodline Density] 92% -> 94%

For a while he let himself bask in it, in his aliveness, letting his battered brain rest along his battered body. He didn’t know how long he floated there, eyes shut.

[Bloodline Density] 94% -> 96%

[Bloodline Density] 96% -> 98%

[Bloodline Density] 98% -> 100%

There it was. He had no more Devil’s Promise—that elixir was long lost, along with his Interspatial Ring. This body could make no more use of the rest of this egg’s Bloodline. Humans could only store so much Bloodline Essence. About as much as a baby Torchdragon.

Which was only the base Form of the Torchdragon.

Once a Torchdragon evolved to its First Form, that all changed. It transformed to something much bigger, orders of magnitude stronger. The Dweller had been a Torchdragon of the First Form. Even severely wounded, its cultivation slashed—even with Dorian’s absurd qi stores—it’d still given him a hell of a fight. Its Bloodline stores were Heaven-and-Earth from its baby form.

And that was to say nothing of the Second Form…

The ones Dorian had once hunted as a Godking—those millennia-old Empyreans—must’ve evolved to a Fourth or Fifth Form! Those magnificent beasts were big as mountain ranges. Their Blood could’ve filled a lake.

The nice thing about being a Torchdragon was that they could make their own Blood Essence. Indeed it’d increase naturally as they grew in age and size! And as they accumulated more Essence they naturally evolved Forms. It was something a mere human transplant like him could never have.

Unless, of course, he became one of them.

He turned his sights to the innermost core of the egg. Floating there, a shining sphere of swirling gold no bigger than his fist, was a treasure that ranked among the most valuable in all the Multiverse. A Torchdragon’s Embryonic Essence. The true key to powers of a Multiversal apex predator.

He swam toward it, transfixed. Given time this would’ve become a Torchdragon. It would’ve slurped up the albumen about it, emerged as an infant of limitless potential.

And now that potential was his.

He slurped it up—scalding hot in his mouth—then swallowed. He licked his lips.

It felt like a sun was setting down his throat.

It drifted slowly down, settling in a scalding lump in his stomach.

And then it started to decompose, its golden strands pulling apart, dissolving into him.

[Embryonic Essence: Torchdragon] 0% -> 2%

So it began.

When it ended he would not be a Torchdragon. One could not change one’s base as easily as that. But he would not be a human either. He would be a human, dragonformed—a dragonoid. Not quite either human or dragon, sharing the strengths and weaknesses of both.

There was a burning at his tail end, a hardening of new tissue. He couldn’t crane his neck behind him to see, but he knew what it was. The stub of a new tail.

On his chest faint black outlines could be seen, like the sketch of a scaly chestplate on his skin taking hold. A Torchdragon’s monstrous strength. A Torchdragon’s immense durability, so hard even his Javelin couldn’t scratch its scales. Its vitality, its lifespan, its regeneration—all would soon be his. Even perhaps its special lung capacities—its powers of breathing fire and smog…?

He could only hope.

Some things he wouldn’t inherit. For instance he would never store as much Torchdragon blood as a true Torchdragon. His dragonoid form would be a good deal bigger than his human, he suspected! But nothing like the massive heights Torchdragons would reach.

But as a dragonoid he’d retain some human advantages too! Like the human affinities for Spirit Weaponry. Or humanity’s broad range of Martial Techniques. In domains of craft —such as Alchemy, Artificing, weaving, arts—humans were unparalleled.

Needless to say he was very pleased with this arrangement.

[Embryonic Essence: Torchdragon] 2% -> 4%

He lay back, gestating, and let the work of rebirth envelop him. Now at last he could rest. Now at last he could think…

***

Think on what had landed him here. The last half-day felt like a half-century. He was still struggling to get his arm’s around it.

It was all some kind of vast cosmic joke. Usually there were few things he enjoyed more. Except when he was the butt of it. He was struggling to find any humor in it.

Houyi, fallen. His estate, cut off. His bodies torn from him. The cosmic order, sundered. And his run—shattered. Like that.

There was some foreign hotness in his chest, rising to his head. He floated there, struggling to place it.

Ah. Yes.

He was fucking furious.

All I wanted to do was to be left alone! He could’ve spat in Fate’s face then. To do my runs! I bothered no-one. I stuck to my sandbox realms. A little privacy! That’s all I ever wanted! Not like you Multiverse-conquering, empire-building, nation-dominating lunatics bent on picking fights.

Yet all the Multiverse did was insist on bothering him.

Because apparently being left alone was simply too big an ask.

I tried to stay out of it. I really did. Fate had come to him once before the run had even begun! He’d turned the man down. Then he and Jez kept popping up like weeds. And all the while he’d tried to stay out of it. Tried, tried, tried—and now he was here. In a godsdamned egg. Hounded across the godly realms.

I fucking tried!

Oh—and that Jez. That smug pretentious little shit. That watery smile came to Dorian’s mind now. What he would give to wipe the look off his face! It was like every last thing about him was designed to drive Dorian mad. That fake-soft smile. That fake-soft voice. His fake-apologies as he laid havoc to whole realms, while he cut off Dorian from his very life—“oh, did I just do that? Oops.” In that instant Dorian wished more than anything to strangle him.

All I ever wanted was to be left alone!

Hopelessly naive, now that he thought on it more. All Jez was bent on doing was to stick his face into other people’s business. To make everyone and everything subject to his will. All while pretending he was somehow the better man! Imagine that!

The liquid around Dorian was starting to boil. He realized he was giving off a steaming red qi; fiery laws flaked off his skin.

He wasn’t sure how his pompous ass of a brother fucked it up. Whatever the case it had always been Houyi cleaning up his messes, all these millennia. He supposed he could find it in him to repay the favor. Just this once he would finish what his brother started.

His arms had grown out the bones, new muscles budding along them. His skeleton fist clenched.

For now he would rest. He would heal.

Later, though?

He smirked. There was no amusement in it. Congratulations! You got what you wanted! You’ve succeeded in pissing me off.

Jez might be ripping through the Multiverse fast. Faster than anyone thought possible, so fast it seemed insane. So fast that if no-one acted now, and faster, this Multiverse was his for the taking!

Luckily when it came to quickly gathering power there was not a soul in this Multiverse that was Dorian’s equal.

Alright, you little shit. Let’s race.

***

The hours passed. His body started to take shape. His tail grew out, thick cords of dense dragon-muscle and scales black as a starless sky. Scales coated his thighs, his forearms, his chest, his cheekbones, an armor of sorts that put an impenetrable barrier between the world and his vital points. If the Dweller set fire upon him now his it’d simply wash off. Even his new skin, lustrous and seamless—inhumanly smooth—would stand up to it.

And he was still growing. If he was about six human foot-spans tall he’d grown to over seven now. Still he was climbing. Still new parts were forming. The stubs of horns on his head. Hooked claws on his feet, fitted with Javelin-like points, sharp enough to find purchase on nearly any surface.

[Embryonic Essence: Torchdragon] 62% -> 65%

It kept ticking up, a slow and lovely drip of new power, inching toward his completed dragonform…

Then there was his qi, and his Laws.

[Star Realm: Dwarf] 2% -> 5%

[Darkness Law Saturation] 2% -> 10%

[Darkness Law Grade] Very Low

[Fire Planet: Meteor] 2%-> 5%

[Fire Law Saturation] 1% -> 9 %

[Fire Law Grade] Very Low

The influx of qi was spread across his celestial bodies, bolstering both his Darkness Star and his Fire Planet. Both were ever-so-slightly larger, shined ever-so-slightly brighter.

He would need to work on these, of course! Those Law saturations and grades in particular would need upgrades. They would unlock a new world of powers—and open the door to true godhood…

All in due time. Soon.

There was no update in his Bloodline Essence density. It was to be expected. He was already at 100%! Only half-breeds, watered-down species, or greedy little humans hoping to gain a Torchdragon’s powers would track density.

True Torchdragons were all at 100%. And now he would pretty much be one. He could retire this metric. For true Torchdragons, the way they measured Bloodline progression was not how pure it was—but rather how much they had. For only through increasing their bloodline quantity would they evolve to higher Forms.

Dorian called up the System in his head. A new way of tracking was in order. He could use a standard Multiversal metric, but… eh. Less Intuitive. Let’s set a new metric—Bloodline Quantity, and have my baseline be… 1.0! The amount of Blood of a my dragonoid’s Base Form.

[Bloodline Quantity] 0.72 -> 0.86

Soon these would be the three metrics that would track the base of his power. His qi, his Laws, his blood. All merely in the single digits for now. But not for long.

He had some work to do.