When Rok had woken up, two days prior, he had been expecting something of a good day. The Mapper had, unsurprisingly, been successful, and had delivered to him an incredibly thorough outline of the Reef Dungeon’s- unsettlingly named Aby- layout, composition, capabilities, and general risks. This had been phenomenal news to the reptilian behemoth; despite not much enjoying most of the bright, young, and eager Guildsmen, or their older, much more slimy and opportunistic contemporaries, it still upset him to watch them come out in droves to be maimed or killed. A guide would help cut down on losses fairly well, the foolish would know how far to push themselves and the smart would know not to bother with the multiple-day long lines just for the privilege of dealing with the exciting and creative ways that abhorrent hole in the ocean floor could kill them.

When Rok had woken up, a single day prior, he was in a rather conflicted mood. No doubt he was upset, having started the previous day with the excitement of a confoundingly executed coup that was shut down in truly ludicrous fashion, by a Titled who declared himself friends with Rok. That would have left him remarkably upset, but he managed to end the day with the greatest achievement of his life to-date, dealing with multiple hours of an elaborate suicide attempt that burned him in every possible way. Waking up as an S rank should have been incredible, but the self-inflicted property damage and lingering worries about what that group was up to put a damper on his celebration.

When he had woken up, that very morning, it was with no small amount of trepidation about what might be to come, but also some hope. He’d confirmed the worst with his friend, the unthinkably powerful Mapper, that another S ranker had been hired and dispatched alongside the group of lackeys. Worse yet, she was due to arrive any day, should have already arrived no later than a day after the nuisances. His dungeon had been harassed and harangued, possibly even turned rogue, and Rok had no idea how to deal with this. He was prepared to dive himself and shatter the core, if need be, but he truly did not want to do that; the Mapper’s overwhelming positivity had rubbed off on him and he hoped for the best, and Rok would much rather ban all dives for a two-day period to make sure the poor core had time to calm down after the experience.

But the news wasn’t all bad, that S ranker on her way was someone he’d dealt with before, someone who also recently ascended, thankfully. According to Mapper, she’d probably been uplifted, the cost of doing so cheaper than hiring an established S ranker who was willing to antagonize both the Atlantean and Adventurer’s Guilds. He was feeling, maybe not confident, but not hopeless about the prospect of a fight if it escalated to that point. He’d taken the night before to acquaint himself with his brand-new body; it felt both intimately familiar and deeply alien to him and although the latter feeling was wearing off quickly, he needed to be more proactive.

He’d been expecting to spend much of his day dealing with protests, and worrying that someone might stir things up past that point, but while the crowds lived up to his predictions, they remained relatively tame. He very much hadn’t been prepared for his soft-spoken, mild-mannered receptionist to so angrily interrogate him, as soon as he made it to his office, but of all the surprises he could have gotten, that ranked among the most welcome. If he took a moment to appreciate the siren’s voice, then it’d be hard to imagine a better way to spend that day, at least when he considered the many other ways the day could have gone.

He allowed himself to be busied with their conversation, idly writing up a few more documents to send to the Guilds, nearby kingdoms, a particularly aggressive island nation, and a few sovereign individuals he would be much less austere with, had they been there in person or he’d been lacking the support of the Guilds. Dozens of people were flatly denied from meeting with him, making appeals, or otherwise interrupting, but a few of the other staff in the Halls took some time to ask their own questions, though none were nearly so insatiable as Kelly. Before he really knew it, the day had begun ending, and so was Kelly’s perseverance.

The sun had just begun setting, the swirling black of the night sky taking over once again. The night was only barely illuminated by a pastel green so faint as to be simply a dim grey, and that was overwhelmed by the sheer onslaught of light and color that poured out from the reef, just offshore. Despite the glare, Kelly finally started showing signs of flagging; at her level of strength, being truly tired would need a concentrated effort and more than a few sleepless nights, so he was very firm in his insistence that the Siren not only get some rest, but take the next day or two off and calm down. He was hoping that whatever happened wouldn’t involve her, or any of his staff, but for that to happen he’d need a persuasive argument or a powerful assault, and he only felt confident in one of those.

He watched Kelly leave the office, followed by most of the other staff, then stayed to make sure that the few people who’d manage the monolithic presence of the Guildshall overnight were all present and aware of what they might need to put up with, and that they were fully authorized to flatly decline any requests, demands, jobs, or inquiries about the dungeon, and he headed towards his own home with a much happier night crew behind him. He was ready to spend the night in much the same way as he had the one before: acquainting himself with his new body.

Despite feeling so comfortable in his own flesh- he’d had a tail for all of a day but it was no more unnatural than any other limb- he was decidedly not used to it, and a number of slightly broken doors, crushed furniture, and general messes were proof enough that his reflexes may still be there, but the world was suddenly so much weaker to them all. This was entirely discounting his new atavistic form, which was further empowered by the Aspect of the Shifter. That was, literally and figuratively and everything in between, a completely different beast, and the first time he tried out the other shape he’d been overwhelmed, and the swath of missing mangroves and demolished coastline around his hut would likely take years to recover without intervention.

He idly flexed a hand in front of him as he stepped off the hastily paved road and onto the winding sand path that led to his home. With just the mildest hint of will, his flesh rippled, and the hand was replaced by a comically oversized alligator foot, which he immediately changed back into a scaled but definitively humanoid hand. There was still webbing between his fingers, something he didn’t bother removing for the moment, but as he walked various parts of him went through similar scenes.

The practical use of partial shifting was still limited; Rok was well aware that crocodilians were large and bulky and unwieldy, proportioned entirely differently than a human and hardly a fraction as graceful- an impressive feat considering how clunky the humanoid form already was. They were a creature built for launching a frighteningly powerful mouth at things and little else, but Rok was certain that he would be able to pick up some new tricks and was trying to figure out what those might be.

He froze in his tracks a short distance from his home, feeling something stand out from the garbled riot of ambient mana. The aura was strong, and even if the mana making it up was thin and spread out, coming from a good distance offshore, Rok knew immediately who it belonged to. At S rank, the way he perceived the world was different, and he could taste the sickly metal tang of this magic, could feel the dense and malleable weight of gold and practically see the sterile sheen of pure and untarnished silver.

Rok’s own mana had already been tightly reined in, one of the first things he wanted to relearn was controlling his aureole, since the mana that leaked out of him was apparently intensely unnerving to most and terror-inducing in a few select bloodlines. His finesse wasn’t perfect, it hadn’t been close to that even before his ascension, but he could walk through a town without children running off screaming and less hardened adults cowering before him. Feeling the probing senses of another S rank was an unusual sensation. It felt like a challenge, like an insult, and like a display of cowardice, and he pushed down the urge to use his own to swat it away, instead further reigning in any wisps of mana that came off him, to the point where he’d seem mortal at a glance.

Apparently, all Petra spared him was a glance, since there was no sign of any change, she hadn’t pulled back her own probing wave nor did she seem to lock onto him. It remained a subtle, tentative inspection that he had no doubt would go undetected by anyone other than him, but he was enough. Slowly and deliberately, he turned himself around, walking towards the western shore slowly and methodically and doing his best to seem invisible, an impossible task for him but he certainly managed more subtlety than the gilded girl approaching the island. He moved through the mangal towards the beach, letting the plants cover him while he waded and tore through the roots, leaving surprisingly little destruction in his wake.

Eventually, the sparse mangroves gave way to open sea, and he felt truly in his element now, thanks in part to the Aspect of Water his ascension granted him. The ocean eagerly embraced him, and he was swallowed up by the gentle water meters offshore, ducking beneath the waves before it was deep enough for him to stand submerged. He cut through the water silently, using the tail his new bloodline inexplicably gave him to full effect as he glided towards the Goldwing.

He refrained from using his own aura, still, letting the only sign of his existence be the silhouette he casted against the radiant coral beneath him, but following another’s was not as easy as he’d expected, when they were using so much mana over such a large area. Something changed before he could reach her, or even detect her with any of his more mundane senses. Whether she caught wind of him or overheard something she didn’t like on the island, he was unsure, but all of a sudden her presence was completely drawn back, the sickeningly gaudy mana crashing inwards so swiftly that his surroundings sparkled as it passed.

He didn’t know what set her off, but he knew all that mana was rushing to a point, and he now knew where that point was, but not where it was moving. His measured pace sped up swiftly, and he started truly racing to where all that power went. He was fast, faster than he’d ever been- at least in a humanoid shape- but this newfound speed was still too slow to catch up with her where he’d last sensed her, and while he was loathe to give away an advantage, he needed to know where she was going.

Once more, a tide of power rippled outwards near Sleepy Gills, and this time it was much more blatant. Where Petra’s aureole was clean, heavy, and overbearingly glossy, Rok’s felt like a swamp surging outwards, the air felt stagnant and the waters still, and everything seemed just a bit darker, a hair more claustrophobic, and more than a few residents woke up feeling maligned. The sensation passed swiftly, though, since Rok quickly found the interloper sprinting across the waves at full tilt, headed south rather than continuing east.

Rok grimaced, she was heading for Aby and had no doubt felt Rok’s own probe, if her speed increasing was any indication. The chase had begun, and both Rok and Petra knew their roles. The gargantuan reptilian hadn’t yet switched over into a more beastly form, still hoping for a resolution that didn’t require going that far, and he was far more at home in the water than she anyway, since he was rapidly closing the distance.

Still, she was no slouch, and her pace was absolutely breakneck, far outstripping what any vessel could manage. Every step sent her rocketing forward meters at a time and left behind a solid rock of platinum or gold that was immediately plunged to the seafloor from the force. Where her passage was loud and boisterous, Rok cut through the water like a spear, and the ocean itself seemed to help push him forward ever faster. He would catch up soon, but she would reach the entrance to the dungeon soon; already Rok could see small ships, throngs of people congregating around them, and even the outpost anchored near the entrance. His sight was better than most, but they were still too close for comfort, and Rok loathed the idea of chasing the infuriating lizard through the dungeon. He refused to let her in at all.

Finally, he was near enough to Petra that he felt confident in breaking the surface of the ocean, and his swim turned into a powerful freestyle as he made for her. The crowd had noticed them, by now, but they had wisely decided not to get involved, and most immediately dispersed in any direction but theirs to get away from the slightly absurd and severely frightening chase. Petra leapt onto the floating entrance hall, as though the wooden structure would somehow prevent Rok from reaching her and looked around wild-eyed for something to stall him. Rok didn’t know why she was so persistent, but he had a feeling it was due to an Oath, and while he was unsure what sort of nasty could make an S ranker so frantic, he was intent on finding out.

In a smooth, unbroken motion, Rok pulled himself up onto the wooden barge; or rather, he tried to, but instead his hand smacked onto the lip of the structure and the wood splintered immediately. It took him hardly a moment to try again, though, and this time he was launched onto the surface, finding his footing from there. Petra was holding an elf close to her, one sinister hand clutching the poor woman’s skull, claws digging into flesh and hopefully not bone. She was understandably on the verge of tears, suddenly finding herself the centerpiece in a conflict she didn’t even know was happening moments earlier, and Rok found himself growling at the impudence of using a hostage.

Petra, likewise, was practically snarling at Rok, but she failed to hide her trepidation, having to crane her neck painfully just to meet Rok’s gaze. She held her ground, though, and no words were spoken for a long moment, but the elven woman’s whimpering and the frantic scrambling and splashing of Guildsmen rushing to leave ensured that moment was not silent. Rok held off on taking a step forward for fear of Petra crushing the elf’s skull to pulp, but he knew the stalemate wouldn’t last long; that both he and the dragonkin were already drawing in the considerable ambient mana to reinforce their own bodies was proof something was about to happen.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Petra spat, “the Mapper was supposed to leave, you were supposed to be overwhelmed.” He could see the dragonkin’s knuckles trembling as she spoke, probably making a concentrated effort not to squeeze and give up her only leverage. “How did you even ascend? You’ve been stuck for fifty years; couldn’t you just wait three more days!”

Petra’s face was twisted into a snarl and Rok couldn’t help but pity her, for whatever she’d be facing in the aftermath. Still, the consequences of her actions were her own to face, and he was hoping she wouldn’t make things too difficult. He started inching his way forward, at a respectable pace for anyone else, and spoke slowly and firmly as he did so.

“Petra, you need to put her down. We both know that if she’s hurt,” the elf couldn’t suppress a shudder at the thought, “then I’m not your only worry anymore. The Guilds aren’t going to be happy you’re here, but I can still argue for leniency. But if you kill her, you’ll have Enforcers, maybe even Adjudicators after you. I’m sure you’re under Oath, but we can find some way out…”

He was speaking gently, making sure she knew the consequences of what she was doing, but the longer he spoke the more agitated she grew, to the point where she started stomping a foot onto the floor. Rok thought it was just petulance at first, but then the enchanted wood started creaking, then crunching as she put more force into it. Eventually, the wood gave way once more, and a hole opened up on the floor. Petra looked at the elf in her hand, grunted in annoyance, then threw her to the side, sending her tumbling over the solid surface of the barge, impacting a table hard, and coming to rest just beside the water with an arm dangling limply into it.

Rok couldn’t spare the time to assess her condition, though, as Petra had leapt through the hole she’d stomped into the floor and did something to make herself plummet downwards. Rok dove into the water after her, and despite her rocketing downwards she didn’t make it more than ten or so meters before Rok caught up and his arm shot out. She was falling feet-first, so Petra was subject to the same experience she’d put someone in just moments ago, when Rok’s webbed hand wrapped around her head.

He yanked upwards, grimacing as a sword was drawn and found its way into his arm, but holding tight as he tossed her back to the surface. She didn’t make much noise, instead rapidly bleeding off speed before she started drifting back down, but with Rok beneath her making a break for the dungeon entrance didn’t seem to be on the table. Apparently, she was smart enough to realize a fight underwater was a losing prospect, as she kicked back to the surface of the water. Rok was upset that ascension rendered her immune to the Burn, the threat of a magically crippling ailment would make the fight so much easier, but her acknowledging that she had no advantage underwater was still satisfying.

Petra stood expectantly on the surface of the water, waiting for either an opportunity or Rok to indulge in some silly game, but the crocodilian would allow her neither now she’d made it into a fight. He sliced through the water, grabbing her by a leg and once more swinging her bodily. She was lifted for a brief moment then had herself smacked into the water’s surface as Rok moved to grapple her.

It was surprisingly difficult; the girl was less than half his size but dense enough to weigh twice what he did, and the awkwardness meant it was like wrestling a particularly hyper child without the same strength advantage he should have gotten. All the while, the golden dragonkin was stabbing out with that no doubt enchanted sword, and the thing had a nasty effect of shredding anything that should merely have been sliced. His manaflesh was more than up to the task of healing tattered muscle and pitted bone, but it was painful and left him crippled for the brief moments the wounds lasted.

As the struggle continued, Rok steadily gave up on subduing her without grievous harm, and gradually forced the fight further from the dungeon and towards the island, far away as that might be. Red and gold blood were both tinting the waters, as Rok used his own nails, or even teeth to give back to Petra some of the abuse he was dealing with, but despite his best attempts the woman could not be disarmed; the sword was bound and would just be summoned back any time he tried. He’d even literally disarmed her at one point, managing to get her in a good armlock, and then pulling back until the metallic limb came free. It took less than a minute for the arm to be back in pristine condition, and he was happy to have put a dent in her supply of mana even if she was still going strong.

Despite his troubles, though, the fight was still shockingly one-sided. Petra could not fight underwater; she was clumsy and- compared to how she moved on the surface- slow, with all of her not-inconsiderable skill focused on keeping close enough to the behemoth that he couldn’t quite fight effectively and lashing out desperately whenever she could. Whatever gamble she had made was not paying off, and Rok would keep it that way.

For the third time in their brawl, Rok’s thumb found purchase in Petra’s eye, dispatching the freshly healed organ once again in a viscerally painful display, but once again he found his hand reduced to ribbons right after. His injury healed faster, and he was able to grab Petra once again. This time, she couldn’t struggle free before claw punched through scale and anchored her in place. His fingers pushed through the meat of her shoulders and left them dislocated, and then he shook her violently as he brought her down to his eye level- they were upside down at that point- and started shouting.

“Enough, Vol’s sake just cut it out you overpolished lizard!” Petra looked back, almost feral, and the state of both their bodies was no help. Clothes long since destroyed, both she and Rok were covered in still-fading scars, and Petra had gone bald on one side after Rok scalped her. Plumage was growing back, but it would take time for her to not look like a madwoman, and a lot more than just time for her to not be one. Rok was about to continue talking now that he finally had a chance to do so, but Petra apparently had one more trick.

She took a deep breath in, which was phenomenally stupid, Rok felt, considering they were both underwater and she didn’t need to breathe, but she managed to fight back a coughing fit long enough for Rok to realize what she was planning on doing. The edges of her scales lightened from a regal gold all the way to a pale silver, and light started leaking out between the gaps. Her abdomen was practically blazing, and bubbles and steam started forming on her, streaming upwards past their legs. Rok barely had time to curse to himself and clamp a hand over her face, wrenching her upwards and away from him, before a stream of mercuric fire bored a hole in his hand and the ocean bottom above them, flash-boiling the water around its cone.

He had to throw the girl away from him, sending her smashing into the seafloor, but the damage had been done and much of his right forearm was charred. The hole the fire cut through was still glowing with what looked like silver embers, and it was taking far too long to heal. Some sort of poison, he realized, but it wasn’t spreading and was being fought back, so he would grit his teeth and bear it. Petra, meanwhile, had extricated herself from the crater she’d left and decided that racing off once more was a better choice than starting the fight again, but Rok had well and truly had enough by then.

The golden dragonkin, still racked with pain from a lungful of mana-charged water superheating into steam and causing those very lungs to burst, did not make it far before she found herself frozen in dread for a moment. She turned around and found herself staring at a shape too large to even make out from its position less than a meter away. Rok didn’t think he could reliably end a fight non-lethally if he had changed into his new shape, but he was hoping that fear could be a gateway to resolution.

No longer was he a seven-meter long monster made crocodile; his new body was over twelve meters from tip to tail, with teeth longer than Petra’s forearm jutting out from his alligator skull. He had no control over his aureole in this state, and mana washed off him like a hateful tide, stilling the reef around them. Once more the waters felt stagnant and soupy, but this time there was no subtle menace hiding just out of sight; it was painfully clear what that menace was coming from.

Rok growled again, but this time the water itself quivered in response and Petra felt the deep basso rumble in her bones. She backed up just a step so that she could actually see the man’s eyes, and seeing a gaze both angry and resolute, she sighed. That swiftly devolved into a coughing fit, as air that wasn’t there was forced out of lungs that were still perforated and lightly seared.

She tried not to breathe back in, knowing more water would only make the problem worse, but that was a losing battle and very quickly she was doubled over, heaving painful and useless breaths trying to get herself under control. Eventually, she managed it, and her chest had time to heal back to a mostly pristine state. She caught Rok’s gaze once more and mouthed two simple words.

“I yield.”