The Stepstones, Throat-Cutting Isle Main Island
Skree—!
High above the blood-soaked soil of Throat-Cutting Isle, a majestic falcon rode the thermal currents of the clearing storm. Its silhouette, sharp and powerful against the brightening sky, cut through the air with a predatory grace that went unnoticed by the desperate men fighting below.
To the falcon, the struggle on the docks was merely the frantic movement of ants. Its piercing, amber eyes observed the clash of steel and the cacophony of screams with a cold, avian indifference. It tucked its wings, plummeting like a feathered arrow toward the jagged silhouette of the Pirate Fortress.
Descending in a perfect, sweeping arc, the bird flared its wings to kill its momentum just as it reached a shattered window. It glided into Jon's bedchamber, settling onto its perch with a quiet rustle of feathers.
The room was damp from the recent gale, the air heavy with the lingering scent of ozone and the coppery tang of distant blood. Jon stood by the jagged opening, his senses still tingling from the residual presence of that thing in the storm—the distorted, bleating entity that had reached out from a twisted dimension to strike him.
He knew now that his interference in the Black Stone prison had altered the very fabric of this world. Magic wasn't a natural byproduct of this earth; it was an infection from the stars, a set of rules being rewritten by the mysterious System anchored within him. The "Black Goat" that had whispered in the storm was but one of many cosmic voyagers, yet even its ancient malice was insufficient to bypass Jon's draconic guardian.
"These pirates are the last of them," Jon murmured, his eyes reflecting the cold light of the morning. "Let us end this once and for all."
Now a Level 10 Dragon Lord, Jon's Skinchanging had reached a terrifying zenith. He no longer merely glimpsed through the eyes of beasts; he shared their very essence. He was a hive of perception, a modern echo of the Valyrian Blood Mages who once peered across the world through candles of dragonglass.
He reached into the void, and a rhomboid crystal—black as obsidian—manifested in his palm.
[Consume 10,000 Blood Magic Energy to summon Giant Poison Spiders?][Yes / No]
Yes.
Eldritch, violet arrays burned into the floorboards. One by one, five monstrous arachnids—each the size of the direwolf Ghost—manifested in the shadows of the room. Jon didn't stop there. He pushed the crystal to its limit, summoning twenty-five more until the chamber was a sea of chattering mandibles and bristling, venomous hair. The excess spiders were forced out into the hallway, their skittering legs clicking like hail on the stone.
Sam, standing guard at the door, nearly collapsed. Had Jon not forcibly upgraded Sam's class level, the man likely would have fainted at the sight of the nightmare fuel spilling out of his master's quarters.
"J-Jon... Lord Jon! What... what are these things?" Sam's teeth rattled like dice in a cup. He looked at the spiders, then at Jon, his face a mask of regret for having chosen "guard duty" over the "bloody battlefield" Frodo had offered.
"These are my solution to the Many-Faced God's pawns," Jon said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Their presence will ensure our brothers in the Chainbreakers don't pay for this victory in unnecessary blood."
Jon stepped forward, mentally linking the spiders to Sam's command. While not as swift as cavalry, the sight of a man riding a Giant Poison Spider was a psychological weapon that had ended entire wars in the legends of the Long Night.
"Go, Sam. Lead them. The pirates have overstayed their welcome in the Stepstones. It is time they pay the iron price for the lives they've stolen."
"Yes, my Lord!" Sam's curiosity began to win its war against his fear. As one of the spiders crouched low like an obedient hound, Sam mounted it. Through a temporary "Magic Stone Permission" granted by the System—a 500-point tactical item—Sam felt the link snap into place.
"M-move out!" Sam shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of terror and exhilaration.
The spiders hissed, their primitive minds ignited by the singular command: Slaughter. They surged down the hallways, a tidal wave of chitin and venom destined for the docks.
Jon watched them go, then turned his attention back to the void. He pulled out his Dragonstone. The System interface flickered to life once more, glowing with an ominous red hue.
[Consume 10,000 Dragon Soul Energy as the price for Dragonstone manifestation?][Yes / No]
Yes.
The stone dissolved into a blinding, crystalline radiance that wrapped around Jon like a cocoon.
"Aaargh—!"
Even after the countless times the System had reshaped his vessel, the agony of his flesh being flayed and rewoven from the inside out was unbearable. His skin bubbled; his bones lengthened and hardened. With a desperate roar, Jon hurled himself out of the shattered window into the abyss below.
The wind roared in his ears as he plummeted. His body expanded in mid-air, shedding the guise of Jory Cassel. Just before he hit the courtyard, a burst of emerald and black flame erupted from his pores.
The Glutton had arrived.
The dragon was a nightmare of Valyrian myth—a beast of coal-black scales and jagged, keratinous spikes. Dark green fire leaked from the corners of its mouth, dripping onto the stone like caustic acid.
Perhaps it was the residual taint of the "Black Goat" in the air, or perhaps it was the nature of the beast itself, but Jon felt an overwhelming, primal hunger. The scent of blood from the harbor below wafted up, making his draconic gut churn with a predatory craving.
"ROAR—!"
The sound shattered the remaining windows of the fortress. Jon beat his massive wings, the downdraft so powerful it collapsed the roof of a nearby watchtower. He banked hard, soaring away from the fortress and toward the rear of the pirate fleet.
The "The Chainbreakers" would see their savior, and the pirates would see their end.
A merciless harvest was about to begin.