“Woah,” Fizzy remarked, her eyes wide. “I guess these things really are as tough as the rumors said.”

The golem couldn’t help but be taken aback by the aftermath of Azzyth’s head exploding into a burst of blinding flame mere seconds ago. Puddles of steaming blood, bits of ripped scales, shards of shattered bone, and chunks of charred flesh now littered the area, transforming the already devastated terrain into a nightmarish display of viscera. The dragon’s dislodged skull had settled roughly in the middle of that gargantuan mess after it had been propelled about ten meters across the ground. A great deal of fleshy bits still clung to it and most of the horns had broken off, but the room-sized lump of bone in the middle had remained completely intact with nary a dent in it. Azzyth’s last defiant breath may have ended her life in spectacular fashion, but it would appear it still hadn’t been enough to crack an adult dragon’s head open.

Fizzy warily approached the skull. She at first tried to avoid stepping in any of the filth and gore, but it quickly became apparent that was as futile as trying to walk in the rain without getting wet.

“You in there, Boxxy?” she called out nervously.

“… Yeah,” the abomination replied after a brief pause. “I’m here.”

The shapeshifter then oozed out of the skull’s eye socket.

“Boxxy! You’re alive!”

Caring nothing for the monster’s injuries or the cleanliness of her mithril frame, Fizzy practically leapt at it to give it the biggest hug she was capable of. However, in all the excitement she had forgotten to lower her power output and ended up mildly electrocuting the shapeshifter.

“Ack!” Boxxy recoiled away as best it could. “Watch it!”

“Oh, crap! Sorry!” the Paladin backed away, her relieved smile rapidly turning into a concerned expression. “Are you alright?”

“Does it look like I’m alright?!” the monster snapped at her.

The short answer to that was ‘no.’ The nature of the creature usually made it difficult to tell its condition at a glance, but the hulking mound of flesh was obviously unwell. It had lost about half of its volume and its movements were slow and sloppy. It rolled around like a bladder stuffed with gravy, struggling to reshape its mass into something more coherent than a lump of meat with eyes and teeth. Realizing that her partner hadn’t made it through that self-destruct unscathed, Fizzy quickly started casting Holy Light after Holy Light on it.

“Ghrrrm,” Boxxy gurgled. “Thanks. That’s a bit better, but you can stop now.”

“You sure? You still look terrible. Sound like it, too.”

“I’m just… tired.”

Though technically true, Boxxy’s words were also a massive understatement. The shapeshifter performed magnificently during that final stand-off, but continuously dodging those beam volleys had drained it completely. In its obsessed state, the monster hadn’t paid any attention to pacing itself. It was so exhausted that it would have collapsed if its struggle with Azzyth had gone on for even a minute longer. Boxxy felt as if it could pass out there and then, but the monster couldn’t clock out just yet. Its tentacles were still stubbornly gripping the broken shaft of its staff, something they had been doing for the entirety of the fight. Its resentful rage over the item’s destruction had mostly burned out, but cradling the Artifact’s remains ensured that Boxxy’s fury continued to smolder for just a bit longer.

That was intentional, as the shapeshifter still had some pressing unfinished business to attend to.

“Snack!” it yelled out.

Xera’s floating form coalesced out of the surrounding mist and smoke, after which she prostrated herself before the creature.

“I am here, Master,” she calmly stated.

The djinn had never doubted her beloved Boxxy would succeed. Well, that was the front she liked to put forward. In reality she dreaded the thought of losing her master so much that she had done her best to avoid thinking about that eventuality altogether. It was a form of self-delusion she had been actively developing for quite a while, as she preferred to focus on her decadent present than the depressing inevitability of Boxxy’s mortality.

“Strip.”

Xera therefore didn’t even question that order and began wriggling out of her dragonscale armor with giddy enthusiasm.

“Uh, okay?” Fizzy raised an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll go tend to Jen while you do your thing.”

“How is she?” Boxxy inquired.

It had completely lost track of its surroundings during the final phase of that fight, so it genuinely had no idea what the harpy’s state was.

“Alive, at least for now,” the golem reported. “I used a Rejuvenation Potion to plug a gaping hole in her head, but it must have been her third of the day. She’s currently convulsing from potion sickness in that hole over there.”

Some would argue it was irresponsible of Fizzy to leave Jen in such a state, but there was very little the golem could do to help. No magic or elixir would help someone once their potion sickness got that bad. The harpy’s body would have to fight off the residual alchemical toxins by itself before her organs started failing. She would most likely survive due to the plethora of body-strengthening Skills at her disposal, but only time would tell for sure.

“I see. Good work, Fizzy,” Boxxy complimented her. “Your head-gang did well, too. That was an amazing shot back there.”

“Thanks!”

The golem beamed a smile that shone brightly despite the nasty smears on her face, then trotted off to make sure her disciple didn’t choke to death on her own spit.

“All ready for you, Master.”

Meanwhile Xera had finished stripping and was, for lack of a better word, presenting herself before Boxxy.

“Put your legs down and come with me.”

Much to her disappointment, however, it would appear the shapeshifter wasn’t intending on taking her for a ‘victory lap.’ It had her strip because there was a chance the djinn’s gear could get damaged or even destroyed by what it was about to do and Boxxy didn’t want to risk losing any more of its belongings that day. Xera, for her part, knew her master well enough to figure out that part, but she wasn’t quite sure what pressing task it had in mind. That was when she noticed where her master was taking her.

“I see,” her eyes narrowed. “That guy was still alive.”

Boxxy was dragging itself towards the shifting puddle of lava that had once been Zingronath, the Voidcaller. Now that Xera took a moment to think about it, she realized that the demon’s remains hadn’t dissipated in the slightest. The mass of molten rock certainly seemed smaller, but the way it swirled and sloshed around on its own revealed that the demon wasn’t quite dead. Though Zingronath had been soundly defeated, his soul still dwelled somewhere within that blob of magical magma.

Xera grasped that Boxxy wished to deal with the ifrit while he was still incapacitated. Part of it was just the creature being thorough, but it most likely wanted to vent some of its frustrations upon Zingronath. The djinn had already deduced where the demon had come from, so it wasn’t hard to imagine that her malicious master would hold an unreasonable grudge against him. She expected Boxxy wanted to torture the guy for daring to leave the staff that was his prison, even though Zingronath had literally no say in the matter. That was all fine and dandy. In fact, Xera herself was looking forward to it too, and not just because she had experienced Boxxy’s raw, unfiltered hatred through their mind-link.

However, knowing that did little to abate Xera’s frustration. Was there really a reason for her to strip naked? She didn’t mind taking off that stuffy armor, but she disliked how the shapeshifter had gotten her hopes up. With that in mind, the djinn decided to voice her concerns.

“Master?” Xera turned towards Boxxy. “Punish me for my ignorance, but what… what… What are you doing with that?”

Her tone abruptly transitioned from mild annoyance to concerned confusion when she noticed what the abomination was holding. One of its tendrils was currently coiled around the spear called Hornsplitter, one of the cursed Demonbane weapons the monster had used to take down Zingronath. Merely laying eyes on that thing made the djinn’s skin crawl with disgust, but far more troubling was the implication of how, exactly, the monster was handling it. Rather than pointing the thing at the ifrit with lethal intent, Boxxy was instead holding it upright in a way that would suggest it was passing it off… to Xera.

“Hold the spear.”

“M-M-Master?”

She stammered as her trembling arms rose against her will, the familiar unable to disobey her summoner’s command. Boxxy coldly ignored her obvious distress and dropped the cursed weapon into her raising hands. Xera groaned and trembled as the wooden shaft seared her palms, the power within slowly but surely attempting to erode and dismantle her very essence. Her fingers refused to loosen their grip no matter how much she wanted to drop the foul thing.

“Approach the fire demon.”

Fear and apprehension unlike anything she’d known before took hold of the djinn as Boxxy’s intent dawned upon her. She drifted closer to Zingronath, her breathing rapid and uneven. The thing in her hands felt so heavy that it seemed as if it would rip her arms out of her shoulders. She had no such luck, however, and soon found herself hovering directly above her fellow demon. Looking down at the red-hot lava, she could just about make out a pattern that looked like a four-eyed skull. The face shook rapidly from side to side, as if pleading for her to stop.

“Lift the spear up high,” came Boxxy’s next command.

Tears streamed down Xera’s face as her arms hoisted Hornsplitter above her head. True, she had plenty of reasons to hate the infernal asshole, but this was too much. Demons fought one another all the time, but for one to utterly annihilate another’s immortal soul was beyond unthinkable. The very concept of ‘immorticide’ was so foreign that they didn’t even have a word for it… yet.

“Now, strike the ifrit!” the fateful order was given.

With a wail of pain and despair, the djinn thrust the accursed weapon downward. Zingronath attempted to muster whatever strength he had left, but all it amounted to was a few futile gurgles before the spear sank deep into his physical form. A rumbling howl rose from the sentient lava pit. The superheated mass bubbled violently as it began erupting from several places at once, causing liquefied rock to splash all over the place and then vanish into nothingness. However, it was not enough.

“Again!”

Boxxy demanded, and Xera obeyed. She pulled the spear out and then plunged it back into her fellow demon, causing more of his physical form to wither away violently.

“Again!”

A third thrust saw part of the ifrit explode into a shower of green sparks.

“And again!”

When Xera repeated the motion for the fourth time, she realized that each subsequent attack felt… disturbingly easier than the previous. Her own hesitation and unwillingness dulled the blade, prolonging what should have been a quick and clean execution. It was a lesson strangely similar to the one that Boxxy had taught Fizzy years ago, back when it had just started training the then-gnome to be a cold-blooded killer.

“That’s it! Keep going!”

What was giving her pause was the thought that she was about to cross a line that she didn’t even know existed. The prospect of immorticide was absolutely terrifying at first, but Boxxy’s ongoing ‘encouragement’ made Xera feel strangely excited about the whole thing. Even after all this time, her Master continued to find new ways to crush her independence and break her will. Whether knowingly or not, it was forcing her to perform an act that even she didn’t know she hated while putting her own immortal soul at risk, all so it wouldn’t have to get its own tentacles dirty.

“Destroy Zingronath forever! Let him taste oblivion!”

Xera thus sank a bit deeper into the bottomless well known as ‘depravity.’

“Yes! My Master!”

The djinn thrust Hornsplitter into her fellow demon yet again, but this time she put her whole body and soul into the act. The extra strain on her arms caused them to snap off at the elbows, as merely holding the cursed weapon had eroded her conjured flesh and bone. However, it had paid off. Whether because of Xera’s newfound conviction or Zingronath’s already diminished strength, the latter finally gave way.

The ancient ifrit sultan’s wretched soul, born of the purest malice and forged in millenia of destruction and hatred, was ripped to pieces. The psychic energy it held exploded like a volcanic eruption, filling the air with unimaginable heat and a deafening roar while the already abused ground tore itself asunder ever further. This kicked up a violent torrent of air that sent Boxxy tumbling backwards, eliciting a string of curses from the exhausted creature. It picked itself back up and gazed upon the powers it had unleashed with curious awe, eager to see if its idea had borne fruit.

Several seconds later the supernatural phenomenon subsided as abruptly as it had appeared. The spot where Zingronath used to be was now a crater that glowed a dull red, the air around it shimmering from the residual heat. Xera should have been enveloped by the geyser-like outburst and sent hurtling skyward, yet she hovered idly in place as if she had been struck by little more than a light breeze. That said, it was plainly obvious she hadn’t been entirely unaffected by it all.

For starters, her mangled limbs had grown back. Secondly, her long and straight hair that used to be the color of the night sky had transformed into a golden blaze that engulfed her scalp and danced hypnotically in the wind. A less noticeable change was that her usual outfit was adorned with a few extra pieces of fake jewelry, including a set of exotic earrings and a golden gem-studded choker. The most notable difference, at least in Boxxy’s eyes, was to be found in Xera’s crown-like horns. They looked mostly the same, except that they curved over rather than under. Their new shape beared an eerie resemblance to the horns of the demon she had just vanquished.

“How do you feel, Snack?” Boxxy called out to her.

The demoness turned around, curled her arms up as if stretching, put on a smirk that oozed of satisfaction, and spoke in a voice overflowing with confidence.

“I feel phenomenal.”

Xera's New Look, by dmaxcustom

It was the only word that could adequately describe what Xera was experiencing at that point in time. She was overcome with a sensation of absolute certainty, a strange surety that everything would go her way. It was as if reality itself would bend to cater to her every whim if she merely willed it so. Even godhood seemed to be within her reach.

She was then struck by a chest-propelled boulder, which instantly demolished both her face and her delusions of grandeur.

“Grnn… What a waste,” the shapeshifter grumbled. “I was expecting more than just a few sparks.”

Despite her new appearance and inflated sense of self-worth, Snack’s Status hadn’t actually changed. She didn’t have any new Jobs, Skills, Perks, or Spells, her Attributes hadn’t moved by even a single digit, and her species was still listed as a mirage variant of djinn. This was all quite disappointing, to say the least.

Boxxy had three goals in mind when it ordered its familiar to destroy Zingronath. The first was self-preservation. It imagined that letting that guy escape would come back to bite it in the lid almost immediately. After all, the Voidcaller supposedly had the power to materialize from the Beyond at will, meaning he would keep hounding Boxxy until the shapeshifter eventually died. The monster had no way of knowing whether that was actually the case, but the possibility alone was too great a risk to ignore. Not to mention that, even if the ifrit wasn’t able to do that, having a demon like that as an enemy was bound to cause trouble eventually.

The second goal was also self-preservation, but of a different kind. If Boxxy had personally destroyed the demon with that cursed spear, it would have doubtlessly been corrupted by his essence. Admittedly it had learned of a few ways to deal with that since the last time, but it was still not a risk it was planning to take. This meant that someone else had to bear that burden. Meatball was currently deceased, Jen was incapacitated by potion sickness, and Fizzy was too precious to risk demonic corruption. It could have waited a few days for Jen to recover or for Meatball’s Limited Immortality to kick in, but that would have given the demon too much time to regain its strength and slip away.

Boxxy’s last surviving familiar was thus left as the only remaining candidate.

The thought of using one of its demonic minions in such a way had crossed the shapeshifter’s mind before. There was nothing in the summoning contract that forbade the act of immorticide explicitly, but there was no way Demons ‘R’ Us would condone it. They would take issue with it on principle even if the victim wasn’t directly affiliated with them. The Beyond’s bureaucracy would not fail to find some technicality in the contract to punish Boxxy with. For instance, they could easily state that forcing Snack to hold that weapon amounted to the summoner putting their familiar’s soul at risk, however small. It was grounds for immediate contract termination at the least.

However, the only way Demons ‘R’ Us would find out the exact details of the Voidcaller’s demise was if someone told them. The Shattered Isles was beyond the reach and sight of demonic and divine entities alike, so even Bob wouldn’t know what went on in there. That narrowed down the list of possible leaks to Snack herself, and Boxxy felt confident she wouldn’t say anything. It didn’t exactly trust the djinn, but it knew she was so broken that she actively refused to even fathom the idea of being separated from her master.

As the shapeshifter considered all those factors, it had arrived at its third reason for making the demons kill each other. Snack had previously mentioned that she had established some sort of connection with the being within the staff, back when she had stolen some of its power to achieve her Rank Up. Though nothing had come of that link since then, Boxxy wondered if it was still there in some way and, more importantly, if it could be used to its advantage. It knew that the Demonbane curse would infect the user’s soul with the essence of the destroyed demon, but what if that ‘user’ happened to be another demon? More importantly, what if said user was also somehow related to their victim? Wouldn’t that lead to the killer somehow absorbing the loose demonic essence and growing more powerful?

It was an experiment worth pursuing, but, for better or for worse, it hadn’t gone down exactly like Boxxy had hoped. Xera had definitely absorbed some of the scattered psychic energy, but it hadn’t affected her Status in any way. Either that or the power she had absorbed wasn’t something that could be harnessed using a familiar’s conjured body. After all, a contracted demon’s powers and abilities in the material realm were entirely dependant on the amount of mana that was poured into them during the summoning. There was a chance that Snack could develop some new abilities the next time she was summoned, but it would be a while before Boxxy would be able to test that.

From Xera’s perspective, she felt as if she had gained more than just a flaming hairdo and a slightly different outlook on life. As she crawled out from underneath that boulder, she noticed her pulverized face wasn’t actually bleeding. Rather than a black, sticky fluid, her face was instead leaking bits of steam. The djinn was sure this detail held some significance. Admittedly Xera still had no idea what, if anything, her blood actually did, but that was besides the point. The truly important thing was that she felt raunchier than ever. She needed to be ploughed by Boxxy while she was still riding high, and she’d be damned if she didn’t pursue that with every fiber of her being.

“Master!” she chased after the shapeshifter. “I demand that you ravage me until you shatter my spine and puncture my lungs!”

That comment made Boxxy stop in its tracks. It was planning on eating its fill of dragon meat and falling asleep inside Azzyth’s carcass, but something about its familiar’s insolent tone rubbed it the wrong way. It turned around and silently approached the shameless pervert until it was looming over her like a mountain of flesh. That was when it noticed that Snack’s head-flames actually produced heat. This meant they weren’t just some subconscious illusion she was doing just to make herself look ‘hot’ like it had initially assumed, but the shapeshifter was out of fucks to give at that point.

It reached out with a tentacle and coiled it around Xera’s torso, then squeezed down on her as if she was a bath toy. The djinn let out a painful wheeze as her rib cage caved in and all of the air was forced out of her lungs. The monster then slammed her into the ground so that her lower back hit a pointed rock, producing a painful-sounding crack. Afterwards it released its grip, letting the demon flop onto the ground.

“There,” it said coldly. “Spine shattered and lungs punctured.”

“Hnn… T-thank you, Master,” Xera barely squeezed out while squirming with pleasure.

“Now shut up and let me sleep.”

Unfortunately for Boxxy, it seemed as though rest wasn’t on the agenda quite yet. As it turned its attention back towards the delicious and nutritious dragon carcass, it couldn’t help but notice that there was a second sun in the sky.

A decidedly white sun.

With wings.

And a tail.

That seemed to rapidly be getting closer.

Until it landed with yet another thunderous impact, right in front of Boxxy.

“Well, I guess anything other than that would be deviating from the norm,” the shapeshifter idly remarked.

Its subdued reaction might have been caused by the fact that it was exhausted to the point of delirium. Maybe it was because it somewhat expected this. Or perhaps its previous meeting with Hazalag was to blame. Most likely it was a combination of all these factors and more. Whatever the case, Boxxy reacted to the elder diamond dragon’s arrival with the same amount of urgency as a lazy teenager watching a stick drift down a river.

To the beast’s credit, it was every bit as imposing and trouser-soiling as one would expect. It was an absolutely massive creature whose brilliant scales threatened to blind any foolish enough to gaze upon it. It had a decidedly less sinister look about it than its onyx counterpart, with curved flat-ended horns and a long yet thin beard that hinted at millenia of wisdom. Its radiant golden eyes slowly swept over the scenery as they looked from the slain Azzyth to the bizarre creature that reeked of her blood, then back to the aforementioned corpse.

“I see… So my daughter’s foolishness has finally caught up with her.”

The elder spoke with a dry, raspy voice that made him sound like an old man, at least by dragon standards. He took a deep sigh that caused a localized tornado, then turned his head back towards Boxxy.

“What say you in your defense- Wait… What?”

The shapeshifter had completely ignored the pompous lizard and had continued strolling towards its original destination. It was such a brazen disregard of the elder’s authority that the dragon was left almost literally speechless. He even rubbed his eyes with one of his forelimbs, as if to ensure he wasn’t seeing things. For better or for worse he hadn’t noticed Fizzy, who was currently cowering in her hidey hole and doing her best not to accidentally eject her golem core through an exhaust port.

“Insignificant worm! You dare ignore Ygmolt?!” the elder raised his voice in anger.

“Oh, knock it off!” Boxxy snapped back. “Either kill me or shove off, just stop wasting everyone’s time by putting on airs!”

It wasn’t the wisest choice of words, but the shapeshifter was already 110% done for the day. If this Ygmolt character was going to obliterate it, then there was nothing Boxxy could do. It had neither the energy nor the willpower to talk down an elder dragon, especially since it had literally just finished murdering his ‘daughter.’ Well, that and it had a feeling that a certain someone was lurking around the area.

“Hah! Well said, little one!”

Just as Boxxy’s gut instinct told it, a massive black shadow materialized out of thin air. It appeared right next to Ygmolt and threw a limb around his neck as if greeting an old friend. However, looking at the diamond dragon’s face made it clear their relationship was anything but cordial.

“Why are you here, Hazalag?!” the white one growled.

“Just keeping an eye on my investment,” the black one replied.

“This abomination is one of yours?” Ygmolt pointed a claw at Boxxy, only to realize the shapeshifter had already moved on. “Wait, where did it go?”

“Focus on what’s important,” Hazalag tightened his grip on the other’s neck. “You know what will happen if you dare lay a claw on one of mine, yes?”

“Do not threaten me, whelp!” the diamond dragon forced him off. “I was an elder since before you were an egg!”

“And look where that got you. Your brood’s grown weaker and more pathetic with each dwindling generation,” the onyx dragon sneered. “Face it, it’s time for a change in leadership.”

“I’ll die before I step down!”

“Is that a promise?!”

Ygmolt’s scales lit up and the air around him seemed to tremble as he gathered his inconceivably immense power. Hazalag didn’t back down and did the same, causing a heavy black smog to ooze from his whole body. Just the clash of their auras threatened to rip the entire island in two, right down the middle.

“I will not be talked down to by an upstart whelp!” the white one roared.

“Go on, then. Declare war on me,” the black dragon rumbled. “Let’s see if you fare any better than Erkernos.”

The mention of that name seemed to rattle Ygmolt, as he immediately dimmed his scales and took a step back.

“Fine. I’ll let your pet have its prize… This time.”

He then spread his wings and took off with all the finesse and grace of an exploding mountain.

“Hrm. Coward,” Hazalag snorted dismissively.

Though the elder onyx dragon put on a good show, it had all been a bluff. In actuality he was in no shape to have an all-out war against that old fossil. Even though the elder emerald dragon called Erkernos had been a relatively easy kill, Hazalag needed a lot more than a twenty-three-year power-nap to fully recover from their encounter. He really should have been hibernating, but Boxxy’s nightmare-inducing potential had been too rare of a find to pass up.

Speaking of which, it was high time for the onyx dragon to collect on his aforementioned ‘investment.’ He stomped over to Azzyth’s carcass, which was currently being eaten from the inside-out with fanatical gusto. Hazalag found it rather humorous how Ygmolt failed to notice the shapeshifter slink off to feast on his dead daughter. It just went to show that the old fossil truly was slipping in his advanced age. The black dragon was somewhat interested to see just how much of that relatively gargantuan body the shapeshifter could devour, but not tremendously so. After all, Boxxy wasn’t the only one that had sleep to catch up on.

“How is it?” he asked in a calm tone. “The flavor of an adult dragon?”

“Spicy,” Boxxy yelled out from inside. “Stringy and kinda dry, but spicy.”

It was nowhere near as maddeningly tasty as dragon gravy or dryad nectar, but it was every bit as nourishing. The fresh blood especially seemed to inject some much-needed energy into the shapeshifter, making it a lot more sociable than it had been when Ygmolt showed up. Boxxy still wanted to sleep for a week, but it figured it shouldn’t keep its sponsor waiting too long. It burst out of the dead dragon’s ribcage, having regained much of its lost biomass. It climbed up onto the highest point of the carcass so it could be a bit closer to Hazalag’s snout.

Only then did it realize that in all the commotion, it hadn’t even checked on the progress of its Quest.

Harvest Despair for Hazalag

Cause pain, inflict suffering, administer sorrow, diminish hope, and crush dreams.

Perform poorly, and you shall be eradicated.

Perform adequately, and you shall be released.

Perform splendidly, and you shall be rewarded.

Progress: 319.73 / 100

“… Huh,” it said blankly. “I guess I did pretty good, right?” it asked the dragon.

“I would certainly hope so after all the racket you made over here.”

“Right. So, uh, how does this work? Do I describe everything in great detail or are you going to do a thing?”

Hazalag responded by wordlessly raising his front left leg and reaching out with a massive claw, just like when it first gave Boxxy its Quest. The words ‘should have known’ passed through the abomination’s mind as its sponsor squished it against the slain dragon’s scales. Boxxy then felt something being drawn out of its body. It took on the appearance of wisps of black smoke that crawled up the elder’s claw and disappeared somewhere beneath his scales.

“Ahhh…” Hazalag smiled as he pulled back. “What a curious cornucopia of suffering you have acquired.”

An adult dragon driven to suicide. An ancient demon released, only to find oblivion at the hands of one of its own. The second demon’s mental breakdown was quite notable as well. There was also some lesser amalgamation of suffering from enlightened being tortured, but that wasn’t all that interesting. The final and most delectable lump of despair had been Boxxy’s own anguish at the loss of its treasure. It was a pure and undiluted burst of grief that Hazalag had never truly experienced before. That particular sensation alone would most likely grant him pleasing dreams throughout the remainder of his century-long hibernation.

“So, I get a big reward, right?” Boxxy spoke up.

“Indeed. A feast such as this is worthy of a prize most grand. Tell me, what it is you wish, little box of torture-treats?”

“Uh… What are my options?”

“Whatever you desire… so long as it piques my interest.”

“Then can you do something about this?” the abomination held up the remains of its staff. “Like, reforge it or something?”

It wasn’t even sure what, if anything, the elder dragon could do to restore the Artifact, especially since it had gone out of its way to destroy the demon that dwelled within it. However, it felt as if it was worth a shot. As for Hazalag, he recognized the item as the source of that refreshing grief, so he decided to actually entertain the shapeshifter’s query. He normally would have just given it something of similar value from his hoard, but this was an opportunity to make something truly special.

“Very well, little box,” he declared grandly. “This will require some of your blood.”

“Alright. Take as much as you need,” the shapeshifter agreed.

“Your consent is not required.”

“Oh… My bad.”

Hazalag reached out and pointed at the adamantite shaft with one of his claws, causing the thing to leap out of Boxxy’s grasp. It flew around like an arrow and stabbed into the abomination’s mass with its jagged end, slathering it in the shapeshifter’s viscous yellow blood. A minute gesture saw the bloodied staff drift up to Hazalag’s eye level. Then the dragon brought that same claw up to his face and, with a sharp and sudden motion, peeled off several relatively small scales from his cheek. Still dripping with a few globs of crimson blood, the glass-like light-consuming sheets drifted over and wrapped themselves around the broken shaft. Hazalag then spent several long, terrifying seconds drawing in air, then exhaled a waterfall-like stream of black smoke that crackled with red lightning. The thundercloud-like breath completely enveloped both sets of bloodied items, fusing them all together through a process that would drive any artisan insane if they were to learn its secrets.

Boxxy, for its part, waited as patiently as it could for the dragon to do his thing. After about ten minutes of shadow-breath-forging, it was presented with a brand new item. It had the Voidcaller’s shaft, as evidenced by the two red gems embedded in the bottom. The precious stones had regained their former inner glow, a clear sign that magic coursed through them once more. The other end of the shaft sported a skull yet again, though this one was clearly that of a dragon. Boxxy couldn’t help but notice the uncanny resemblance it bore to Hazalag’s titanic mug, but it wasn’t complaining. After all, the staff head was made out of the same glass-like material as the onyx dragon’s scales. Though not shiny in the literal sense, the unique light-absorbing texture really tickled the shapeshifter’s fancy.

On second thought, calling this thing a staff didn’t feel right. Sure, it had all the same elements of one, but the shaft was far too short. It was far more accurate to classify it as a wand, one that was just the right size for an abomination’s tentacle to coil around it. Granted, the shapeshifter could grab onto anything, but this particular item had a handle just wide enough for Boxxy to grasp without having to slim down its limbs. Indeed, as the monster reached out and grasped the floating wand, it couldn’t help but feel as if everything was back as it should have been.

“I like it!”

It declared its approval loudly while swinging the wand around and feeling its satisfying heft. It could totally see itself bashing some skulls in with that thing. More importantly, it felt a distinct connection to it. The wand was bound to Boxxy and Boxxy alone. It was a reassuring and comforting sensation that nobody would ever take its new toy away from it. That wasn’t just an empty boast, but an observable fact. The abomination had successfully obtained and bonded with its first Phantasmal item, the treasure eagerly revealing its properties through this new connection.

Dark Elder’s Boon

A shattered relic that has been reforged by Hazalag, the elder onyx dragon of the Shattered Isles. Suffused with the mighty wyrm’s blood and bound to Boxxy T. Morningwood, it grants its wielder a tiny fraction of Hazalag’s power.

Type: Wand

Quality: Phantasmal

Offensive Ability: A

Defensive Ability: C

Durability: AAA

Magic Amplification: 50% Dark, 50% Mind, 40% Fire, 25% All

Enchantments: Soulbound, Master Channeling, Master Intelligence, Master Mental Fortitude, Greater Magic Resistance

Ignition Ability: Eldritch Barrage, Dark Domain

Dark Elder's Boon, by dmaxcustom

The shapeshifter’s proud proclamation of, ‘I like it!’ had been an egregious understatement. That thing was at least twice as powerful as Voidcaller had been in every aspect. This was true even when it came to their active abilities. Though it was impossible to directly compare them to one another given the unique nature of these things, having two of them was indisputably better than having just the one. Boxxy wasn’t even aware that such a thing was possible, but it saw no reason to question facts that were right in front of it.

Eldritch Barrage was a straightforward ability. Pointing the Boon at a direction and pulling a mental trigger produced a volley of destructive black beams, the number of which was directly proportional to the MP provided for the attack. Whether intentional or not, it seemed like a mockery of Azzyth’s desperate last stand. Of course, it wasn’t anywhere near as devastating or accurate as the adult dragon’s beam volleys, but it was quite potent nonetheless. It was the sort of thing that could easily riddle an entire platoon of rank-and-file soldiers with holes from up to a hundred meters away.

Dark Domain, on the other hand, was decidedly not an offensive ability. When Boxxy tested it, the creature found itself enveloped by the same black smog that Hazalag used to mask his presence. Its MLG seemed to stop functioning altogether, and its sight was impaired by an odd haze that seemed to drain all the color from its surroundings. It took a few tentative steps in that state and noted that it didn’t seem to leave any signs of its passage behind. There were no tracks in the soil and no rustling of air as the mound of flesh walked around the ravaged battlefield. It was definitely not intangible, though. The shapeshifter could grab onto and bump into things, though it seemed incapable of inflicting any amount of force on them.

“B-Boxxy? Where did you go?”

While the abomination was playing around with its new toy, it heard Fizzy call out to it. Though the sound of her voice was muffled and distorted as if there were several walls between them, it was without a doubt hers. It looked around to find her, but had difficulty doing so. This was partly because it was concentrating on maintaining the magical veil, but also because it just failed to spot her entirely. It hurriedly followed the oddly distant sound of her increasingly worried tone until it finally found her, at which point it realized why tracking her down had been so difficult.

The shapeshifter had been looking for Fizzy’s mithril frame, which had a dazzling radiance to it no matter how much blood, grime, and dirt it was covered in. Every motion of hers, no matter how slight, produced a visual spectacle that Boxxy couldn’t get enough of. However, such beauty did not exist within the colorless Dark Domain. Instead of her usual self, Fizzy appeared as a dull, gray, and lifeless pile of moving rocks that blended in almost perfectly with the dull, gray, and lifeless piles of unmoving rocks around her. Overcome by a mixture of dread, panic, and disgust, Boxxy’s focus on maintaining the Dark Domain instantly fell apart.

From the golem’s perspective, she had no idea what was going on. She had, at first, been wary of Ygmolt and hid herself away behind cover. Not that it would’ve saved her if the elder dragon decided to disintegrate everything in front of him, but it made her feel better about the whole situation. She had also uttered a quiet yet fervent prayer, beseeching the flows of chaos to grant the shapeshifter enough good luck to see it survive that encounter. When she next peeked over the small cliff she was behind, she saw Boxxy having a chat with its new benefactor. Overcome with relief, Fizzy slumped back down and offered a prayer of thanks instead.

She was fully aware that her words fell on deaf ears since the gods’ influence did not extend onto the Shattered Isles, but the act of prayer made her feel better about the whole situation.

Fizzy remained in the rocky trench with Jen even after Hazalag had left. The Monk had started vomiting and foaming at the mouth, so the golem had to make sure she didn’t choke on her own meatbag juices. Fizzy could hear Boxxy having fun with whatever prize it had obtained from the dragon and didn’t feel like interrupting the moment. She then got jealous that the shapeshifter might’ve found something shinier than her and climbed out into the open anyway, only to find absolutely no trace of Boxxy. The only movement she saw were Jen’s spasms and Xera still crawling on the ground with a look of bliss on her face. So, she started calling out to the shapeshifter, hoping that it was just hiding somewhere.

“Boxxy?! Boxxy where are- WAAH!”

The monster she’d been looking for had just appeared in front of her, startling her something awful.

“By Dave’s lobster pantaloons!” she shouted at it. “What was that about!?”

The golem would’ve nagged at Boxxy more, but the creature immediately enveloped her in a tapestry of tongue-tentacles. They carefully and thoroughly cleaned every last nook and cranny of her soiled frame while secreting an oily fluid via the monster’s Liquid Mimicry. That shut Fizzy right up, though not for the obvious reason. The attention was nice, yes, but the golem could tell that Boxxy wasn’t giving her a shine-job just to placate her. She knew the shapeshifter found polishing her mithril frame to be soothing, even therapeutic, and its frantic and uncoordinated movements betrayed that it was upset about something.

For all its devastating power, malicious schemes, and violent impulses, Boxxy was still quite childish deep down.

“… There, there,” Fizzy patted a random fleshy appendage. “It’s alright.”

Once both the golem and the shapeshifter had settled down, they had a good chuckle about the whole Dark Domain thing. Fizzy sympathized with Boxxy’s moment of panic, as she imagined she’d react the same way should her magnificent countenance lose its luster. She was also glad that the shapeshifter had obtained an immensely powerful item out of the whole ordeal. It meant that all of this effort hadn’t been for naught, though Fizzy wished she had personally gotten something out of it as well.

Then the golem remembered that taking down that dragon had advanced her Paladin and War Golem Jobs by three Levels each, giving her new Skill options. She excused herself and immediately got busy with weighing them. From War Golem she immediately picked Assimilation, an ability that fish-lady golem had told her about. With it she could incorporate mithril parts and components into her construction. She could not only easily make repairs should she lose a limb again, but could also potentially upgrade herself. The Paladin Skill would require some more thought, as she had been given a choice of several auras. These abilities allowed her to either bolster her allies or hamper her enemies by her mere presence alone, an idea that immensely appealed to the golem’s narcissistic nature.

Boxxy then went to inspect Jen’s condition while Fizzy weighed her options. The shiny Paladin might have been the group’s designated healer, but the shapeshifter was the closest thing they had to an actual doctor. The abomination’s immense practical knowledge of anatomy alone was enough to put any enlightened physician to shame. It had spent three years poking, prodding, and ripping apart all kinds of bodies, so it knew what potential long-term ramifications each injury could have.

The shapeshifter gave Jen’s body a thorough examination with its MLG. Admittedly it wasn’t all that familiar with harpy biology, but Jen was a unique case. She wasn’t born a monster but had been transformed into one, so much of her was still human. As such, the shapeshifter was able to make conclusions regarding her condition with ease. It was certain the Monk would suffer some permanent complications, though not as a result of the potion sickness. The last Rejuvenation Potion had plugged the gaping hole in her mostly human brain with similar-yet-distinct harpy tissue. Most people wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference, but from Boxxy’s perspective it was like looking at a mahogany chest that had been patched up with plywood. It was still functional, but only barely so.

The good news was that the damage was localized in Jen’s right hemisphere, which was supposedly responsible for things like creativity, intuition, and insight. This would most likely hamper the Monk’s already stunted social skills and potentially alter her likes and dislikes. A shift in personality wasn’t entirely welcome, but at least the logical and analytical part of her mind was unaffected. Her judgement, communication, and fighting capabilities would remain intact, which was all that Boxxy cared about.

Having concluded that it could continue to use Jen in the future, the shapeshifter trudged off towards the still-twitching corpse of Azzyth. It considered immediately going off to claim the dragon’s hoard for its own, but the plunder would sadly have to wait. The rush of getting that Phantasmal item was starting to wear off, reminding the abomination of just how exhausted it was. It was far too risky for Boxxy to attempt to claim a dragon’s lair in its condition. Even with Azzyth no longer there to defend it, her home was still protected by magical traps and the remnants of her brood.

Boxxy decided that the best course of action was to gorge itself on the dead dragon’s invigorating insides until it fell asleep inside her carcass. It was the tastiest place to rest, though hardly the safest. It wasn’t difficult to imagine that some stray dragons or a curious group of adventurers had noticed the epic battle from afar and were drawn to investigate the disturbance, much like the diamond elder had been. With Jen and Meatball out of commission for a few days, it would fall to Fizzy and Snack to keep watch and wake Boxxy should any threats make themselves known. The shapeshifter would then either repel the intruders and go back to sleep, or escape under the cover of Dark Domain with the others safely tucked away in its Storage.

However, while the shapeshifter, the golem, and the demon were rightful to be wary of monsters and enlightened, they had unfortunately forgotten about a certain hazard unique to the Shattered Isles.

The weather.