Headed by a Snake



Tycondrius opened his eyes. 

After so many trials endured against odds ever-nearing the impossible... he yet lived. 

Too often, as of recent, the desire for that constant to remain as such had been... tentative. 

Yet, there was always one more task to accomplish before meeting his probable violent and extravagant demise...

--one more quest to see to fruition. 

Only then would he be satisfied. 

...or that was the erroneous logic he chose to follow, anyroad. 

Tycon broke the surface of the water, gazing upon the vastness of the night ocean and her gentle waves. 

He closed his eyes, then in turn, began closing off his other, extraneous senses. And finally, with his mind clear, he made an inquiry to his System. 

« System: How far are we to Port Town Jad? »

⟬ System response: 37.2 malms to the coast. ⟭ 

It was a practical boon, one useful for any profession that required keeping complex magical formulae to memory or performing tedious, but functionally simple calculations. 

And, from the tiny lights on the distant horizon... Tycon's System determined he was two bells away, at most. 

To be more precise, those two bells would be filled with moderate physical exertion. 

Tycon wasn't looking forward to it. 

It wouldn't be so terrible if the journey wasn't fraught with danger. 

--though, as certain as the fates were cruel, danger would be actively seeking him out with great prejudice. 

It wouldn't be so terrible if the Sea God was watching over him. 

--though that fellow wasn't particularly reliable when it came to things outside of his immediate purview. 

Ugh.

Seven hells...

And so, Tycon began the journey...

Swimming...

...his great displeasure revealed only by the cursing in his mind. 

Before Tycon left City-State Whitehearth, he had established a ⌈Travel Gate⌋ in one of its municipal buildings. 

If it was working properly, he would have been there. 

Dry. Warm. Fed. 

...He would have liked that very much. 

However, the ⌈Travel Gate⌋ was sealed on the opposite side. 

Logically-- hopefully... Whitehearth was in a state of emergency. 

One of the Oracles stationed at Hero's Hearth had foreseen that the city would come under attack. 

--a direct assault. 

--a tyrannical maneuver, ordered by a Commander certain of their abilities. 

...It was a foolish and haphazard endeavor, suicide for any Realmborne leader leading Realmborne forces.

Unfortunately, the enemy was not of their Realm.

In theory, the enemy didn't even f*cking exist. 

Tycon abruptly changed direction, crashing into the waves and diving deep below. 

'Danger' had come for him-- its form, loathsome and hideous. 

A long neck and an aquadynamic silhouette, its wings tucked close to its body. A pale horn on its snout, two horns on its crown, swept back. 

Tycon's evasive movement kept him safe from the creature's jagged and misshapen teeth. 

He twisted his own serpentine body, whipping his tail forward. 

The creature raised its scaled arms, blocking the strike with impunity. It raised its rear legs, clawing at him like the beast it was. 

Tycon ignored it, surging forth, extending his jaws, and sinking his fangs into the creature's belly. 

Unfortunately, the form he was using was not one he was practiced with.

But at the very least, as a Sea Serpent, he didn't have to worry about his arms or legs. 

Taking confidence in the notion, Tycon tried to wrap his body around the lizard. 

The bastard responded by beating at him with reckless abandon-- with its arms and legs. 

It hurt, of course. And as Tycon's head was struck, he was left dazed. 

There was blood in the water all around him. Some might have been his, but he had faith that more was not. 

He renewed the strength in his jaws, biting down harder-- his teeth secure in its resilient flesh. He crept his tail around the lizard, and once it was in place, began to whip the creature's sides and back. 

Tycon's opponent was larger than he'd initially estimated. 

Winged Lizards grew in size and strength as they aged. Locked into close-combat as he was, he came to realize his opponent was the most powerful he'd faced yet... a mature beast, upwards of 400 years old. 

Yet, it would die, all the same. 

The lizard jammed a desperate claw into Tycon's mouth, a painful act that resulted in the breaking and dislodging of several teeth. 

It was rather unpleasant to willfully take injury, but the choice was tactically sound. 

With the lizard's focus elsewhere, Tycon successfully wrapped his body around its wings and torso. 

And he gazed into its eyes. 

⟬ ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ⟭

« Activate. A slow and painful death to the enemies of Invictus. »

The climax of the fight was over. And he was the victor. 

⟬ Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ⟭

⟬ ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋. Ocular ability. Target takes damage from an illusory poison, affecting both target's mind and body. If successful, target becomes distracted and may go into anaphylactic shock. ⟭

The poison took hold of the lizard. Its movement grew noticeably sluggish, then suddenly its chest began to convulse. It began to cough violently. It moved its body erratically in its agony. 

Its organs were being ravaged by both Tycon's Ocular Skill and his steadily strengthening crush-grip. 

But, still, the unsightly monster refused to die. 

« System, cancel Sea Serpent Form. »

⟬ Sea Serpent Form Cancelled. Returning to Human Form. ⟭

As soon as his hands were returned to him, Tycon thrust his left into one of the lizard's open wounds, securing his grip on a broken scale. Drawing the short sword on his hip, he plunged it into the gaping hole. 

The act was too quick for the lizard to respond. Or perhaps it was stunned or too wracked by pain. 

Whatever it was, Tycon twisted and turned the blade into the creature's flesh. 

The nature of its newest wound would greatly hamper its regenerative abilities, if it had any. 

However, the purpose of Tycon's cruelty was not a tactical one. 

He derived joy from inflicting suffering. 

It was unprofessional of him... but as it had already been done, he brushed away the tinge of guilt in his psyche. 

Activating a Weapon Skill, Tycon drove his blade deeper through the creature's flesh and into its heart. 

⟬ ⌈Wyrmbreaker⌋ Weapon ability: A sharpened triangle of radiant mana gathers at the tip of the weapon, for use in penetrating heavy armor, scales, thick fur or flesh. ⟭ 

⊰ What... ⊱ 

⊰ Manner... ⊱ 

⊰ Of Creature... ⊱ 

⊰ -- Are You? ⊱ 

Pathetic. 

They had joined in a life-or-death battle without even the courtesy of an introduction. And yet, in his opponent's final moments, they dared to ask a question. 

But alas...

Tycon was a professional. 

He looked up. He met the dying lizard's gaze. 

And he mouthed the words:

'My name is Tycondrius of Charm: Dragonslayer.'

Before the lizard could process the notion, Tycon activated his strongest Physical Skill, ⌈Adamant Rend.⌋

The channeled burst of chaotic mana in the lizard's insides made a gory mess out of its vital organs. 

...and it allowed him to retrieve his weapon from the macabre work of art with satisfying ease. 

Though the process left him slightly fatigued, he was pleased with his work. 

Tycon swam upward, breaking the surface and taking a well-deserved breath of air. 

He was a man of many titles...

Leader of Sol Invictus. 

Ivory Prince of Charm. 

Only son of the Medusa Queen. 

...Amateur Sea Serpent. 

Commander. 

But no title was of more importance to the battles ahead than that which he openly declared.

Dragonslayer. 

Dragons... did not exist. 

--not as the people of the Realm liked to think, anyroad. 

There was... but one. 

The brainless lizard that attacked him was no dragon. It was but a pale imitation of the original. 

The Dragon God. 

That was Tycon's goal... to kill a divine being, thrice-ancient since the known Realm was in its infancy. 

--to... slay it, as it were. 

It was a monumental, nigh-impossible task.

And he was absolutely clueless as to how he would accomplish it. 

But, according to intelligence reports, both magical and mundane, the chance to do so was quickly approaching. 

« System, re-activate Sea Serpent Form. »

Tycon had many problems. 

And in preparation to deal with them, he had amassed a respectable amount of resources. 

He would need them-- and, of course, he would use them. 

In all likelihood, there were many more lizards to kill besides the errant beast he encountered at random. 

Though, some bells prior, he suffered a loss... one that stemmed from an emotional decision. 

Tycon made the choice to dismiss a quartet of his strongest allies. 

The Hero of the Realm had the ability to aid him. 

Properly coordinating with his companions allowed the Hero Party to face enemies well above their individual Metal-Ranks. 

Yet Tycon sent that Hero and his companions away. 

...and he did not regret doing so. 

The probability of defeating the Tyrant God... was infinitesimal. 

A Hero-- a sentient selected by the Fates to adopt the Hero Class was not limited to championing their Realm. 

There were a hundred thousand Realms, all across the cosmos. 

Their Home Realm was forfeit. 

Those young heroes were best put to work elsewhere, saving sentients they could actually save. 

In theory, Tycon could have chosen to accompany them. 

At the time, he hadn't even considered it. 

...Perhaps because of a promise he made to a dead girl.

'--to live as if tomorrow were certain.'

...But that *really* wasn't a good reason. 

If anything, the most accurate reason was because he was stupid. 

However... he didn't believe he was as foolish as the pale silhouette rapidly approaching him, just under the water's surface.