In the next heartbeat, the Magma Wyrm, wreathed in blood-red flames, lunged outward. Most prominent was the massive bloody hole in its torso, through which its internal organs were clearly visible.
Yet, it proved to be a true "damage sponge." Despite the blood spraying from its body due to the bloodflame and the Cursed Blood eating into its vitals, it let out a thunderous draconic roar and charged madly at Mohg and Eboral.
Eboral didn't flinch. She met the beast head-on, and the two began a savage melee.
For a time, the cavern was a chaotic blur of bloodflame dragon breath and molten magma. The grappling of these two titans shook the earth, continuously shattering the ground and walls.
Mohg glanced at the encroaching lava flowing through the broken floor, then flared his wings. He blurred, reappearing on the side where the Magma Wyrm's vision was blocked. His Sacred Spear remained lodged deep within the Wyrm's eye socket, unmoving.
Eboral instantly grasped Mohg's intent. With a sudden burst of power, her muscles bulged. Caught off guard, the heavily wounded Magma Wyrm was pinned to the ground by Eboral's sheer weight.
Mohg reached out and gripped the shaft of the Sacred Spear. In an instant, the power of Cursed Blood surged through the weapon and into the Wyrm's skull.
The massive beast stiffened under the excruciating pain. It didn't even scream; instead, it began to struggle with a desperate, primal frenzy. The explosive force was so great that even Eboral couldn't maintain her hold; she was tossed aside by the thrashing monster.
Caught unawares, Mohg was carried into the air, still clutching the spear as the Magma Wyrm swung its head violently toward the ground.
CRASH!
Simultaneously, the Magma Wyrm began swinging its Scalesword in a blind, erratic arc. Eboral, unable to dodge in time, let out a pained cry as a deep gash was carved across her chest. However, very little blood escaped the wound; the intense heat of the blade had instantly cauterized the strike.
"Persistent bastard..."
Mohg frowned and muttered under his breath. He immediately burned a portion of his accumulated spiritual energy and the small amount of Great Rune power he had recovered.
The Magma Wyrm, attempting to repeat its previous thrashing, suddenly froze. Its violent movements failed to dislodge Mohg; instead, the resistance tugged at the wound in its eye socket, eliciting a shrill, agonizing wail.
Mohg showed no mercy. Seizing the opening, he suddenly let go of the spear and twisted his torso. His frame seemed to expand for a split second as he slammed a palm wreathed in bloodflame against the base of the spear with staggering force.
THUD!
A sickening sound of puncturing flesh followed. The Mohgwyn Sacred Spear turned into a streak of crimson light, driving straight through the beast's head and embedding itself into the rocky wall behind. It dragged a spray of blood and brain matter out with it.
The Magma Wyrm's scream cut off abruptly. Its colossal body shuddered once before crashing heavily to the floor, its muscles twitching in involuntary, post-mortem spasms.
Mohg exhaled a long breath. He felt a pang of regret as he looked at the depleted spiritual and Great Rune energy within him, then waved his hand to recall the Sacred Spear.
He'd had no choice. The Magma Wyrm was incredibly tanky and its raw strength was nothing to scoff at. If he hadn't used that burst of power to end it quickly, the battle would have dragged on for quite some time. Still, the materials harvested from such a beast would surely compensate for the loss, especially since he had only exerted himself for a single moment.
Noticing the lava beginning to pool around their feet, Mohg signaled Eboral to drag the corpse back toward the tunnel entrance.
Eboral didn't object. This was her primary job, after all. Fighting... that was just a stressful side gig she'd been forced into!
Mohg walked over to the Magma Wyrm's Scalesword and picked it up. The massive blade was covered in hard scales and tufts of hair-like filaments, its appearance mirroring the Wyrm's own jaw. Its weight was so immense that lifting it would be a challenge for anyone not specialized in physical strength. For Mohg, however, it was manageable. Though heavier than his spear, it felt substantial and right in his grip.
As he channeled spiritual energy into the Scalesword, the weapon resonated with his power and shrunk significantly to match his size. Even so, its weight remained unchanged. Mohg could feel the searing heat radiating from within the steel. It was a fine weapon—just not the right fit for him. He decided he would use it as a reward for a future subordinate.
With a thought, he stowed it away in his personal blood pool alongside his Sacred Spear, Lygess's Spear-Sword, and the Death's Ritual Spear. It was becoming quite the small collection.
He walked into the tunnel where Eboral was already looking down at the Wyrm's corpse, her head tilted in curiosity as she examined its anatomy.
"Alright, if you want to study it, wait until we've hauled it out of here," Mohg said, patting Eboral's tail to get her attention.
Eboral flicked her tail, curling it back toward herself, and gave a obedient nod.
As for this Magma Wyrm... every last scrap of value would be squeezed from it. Its blood would be harvested as an offering, and its corpse would be paraded into Fort Gael as a deterrent to any local riff-raff. Every scale and bone would be put to use; that was the only way to truly show respect to such a powerful foe.
As for the meat... well, Mohg wasn't going to eat it. He'd see if his subordinates had any interest.
Maybe I should ask Lansseax? he thought. She's lived so many years; she's bound to know a few things about dragon-kin cuisine.
"A-choo! Hmm? Who's gossiping about me behind my back?"
Lansseax, currently in her dragon-kin form, was lounging on a smooth, sun-warmed rock, idly flicking her tail. She sat up abruptly, looking around with a suspicious glint in her eyes, and muttered to herself.
The reason Mohg wouldn't touch the meat himself was simple: it felt wrong.
While the flesh was technically dragon meat now, the creature had once been human. Besides, eating the Wyrm offered him no practical benefits, so there was no reason to force himself.
However, certain organs had to be preserved—especially the heart. It was the "Dragon Communion Essence" of a Hero-class warrior who had hunted wyverns and partaken in the ritual until he became the beast himself. It contained the Wyrm's breath ability and the power to significantly bolster one's physique.
In this reality, the Ritual of Dragon Communion didn't just grant incantations as it did in the game; it fundamentally strengthened the practitioner's body so it could withstand the strain of draconic power. If real dragon blood was added to the mix, the effects were even more potent.
Before long, Mohg used his blood pool to transport the corpse back to the Dynasty's central reservoir for draining. He even made a quick detour back to the lava lake to retrieve the two severed wings he'd left behind.
Standing at the entrance of the tunnel, Mohg nodded in satisfaction. As for the legendary weapon that was supposed to be here in the game... he found no trace of Moonveil. He concluded that it either still resided in Sellia or hadn't been forged yet. With a hint of regret, he turned to leave.
When Mohg and Eboral returned to Fort Gael, Kazim immediately came forward with a report.
They had discovered tracks belonging to scouts from the Storm Dynasty and other Caelid factions in the vicinity. There were even traces of sorcerous activity.
Mohg wasn't surprised. As an outside force, it was only natural for the locals to be wary and inquisitive. Being unsurprised, however, didn't mean he was unconcerned.
Instead of hunting the spies, Mohg decided to use them as messengers. Since he had a fresh Magma Wyrm corpse on his hands, he decided he would display it here once the blood was drained. It would save him the trouble of advertising his power; the spies would do the work for him.
After handling the logistics, Mohg ordered Kazim to organize the cleanup and mining operations for the tunnel. He then took a walk to inspect the Misbegotten and miners who had been living at the fort.
Fort Gael was divided into several sectors and served as the administrative hub for the surrounding lands. In essence, it was the lord's castle, and the nearby villages were his fiefdoms. Now that Mohg held the fort, he effectively held those villages as well.
The interior was split into residential, training, and logistical areas. Beyond those was an unspoken fourth sector: the slums. These were inhabited by Caelid folk who had paid their Runes to enter the fort but had nothing left to their name. They were relegated to the filthiest outskirts of the walls.
Alongside them were the Misbegotten and miners who had been treated as slaves. Mohg's goal was to see them personally.
He had already tasked Kazim with managing the people in the slums.
When he arrived at the slave pens, he found that Kazim and his men hadn't released them yet. They weren't sure what Mohg wanted to do with them, and since these slaves had never received any education or training, releasing them all at once might cause chaos similar to letting wild beasts loose in the fort.
As Mohg entered, a stir went through the Misbegotten. The air filled with the cacophony of clanking chains and low, guttural growls.
Mohg frowned at the noise. Just then, a voice—deeper and more resonant than the others—called out.
He saw a tall Misbegotten, covered in scars, bound by heavy iron chains inside a reinforced cage. Mohg immediately recognized the breed.
It had a mane of red hair and a matching shock of hair on its head. A black tail swished behind it, with a smaller grey tail just above. It had bestial limbs and a face that was human-like yet terrifyingly distorted, along with the small vestigial wings on its hips used for jumping.
Without a doubt, this was the strongest of the breed: a Leonine Misbegotten.
The creature was staring at him with an intense, piercing gaze. Mohg was certain this one possessed intelligence. He looked the beast straight in the eyes.
"Do you speak the common tongue of the Lands Between?"
The Leonine Misbegotten hesitated for a long moment before opening its maw.
"I do... Dragon-kin. The aura about you... is strange."
Mohg shook his head. "I am no Dragon-kin. I am a being like you."
"Impossible," the Leonine Misbegotten countered instantly. In its experience, no Misbegotten could look like Mohg. The nobles had tried similar experiments—pairing human women with Misbegotten—but the offspring were always clearly Misbegotten. That rule had never changed.
Seeing the creature's disbelief, Mohg shifted into his true form.
The dense aura of the Aspects of the Crucible radiated from him. His massive stature and the wild, chaotic growth of his Omen horns left the Leonine Misbegotten stunned. The creature's pupils dilated and trembled.
"...My King."
In its world, a being with this aura was the undeniable King of the Misbegotten.
The surrounding Misbegotten followed suit, dropping to their knees in worship. However, Mohg noticed one other outlier—a Scaled Misbegotten. Its eyes flickered with a sharp, calculating intelligence, seemingly unawed by the display of power.
"You two are special."
Mohg waved his hand, and the shackles binding the two creatures shattered.
The duo felt the sudden weightlessness of freedom and looked at Mohg in shock. They hadn't expected to be freed so easily.
"Join us. The growth of this Dynasty requires your strength."
Mohg extended his right hand toward the two Misbegotten.
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