Forged By The Apocalypse - A LitRPG With Draconic Potential

When I had first created the inner world, I had been a clumsy architect, and had burst my core in a way I still didn’t understand. The experience had been painful, terrifying, frustrating and most of all, pointless. My inexperience caused me to rip a hole in my core through which a level’s worth of experience had drained. I shuddered to remember that foolishness now as I looked upon the volcano with which I had plugged up that hole.

Fortunately, the experience had not been completely detrimental. I did not doubt that luck had more than a fair hand in my survival to this point, but the rumbling mountain before me had not formed entirely by accident either. The steps which brought me closer to the huge spout of molten rock came with a resonant thrumming from deeper in the world’s core. In the fiery pools of mana, burning so hot it became magma, the massive shadow of the Dragon flickered with recognition.

I moved forward, though it felt strange. My inner world was real, it had a physicality to it while I was here. Though the space was magical and ever changing, the path I walked through the world always felt familiar. I knew the path I walked, it was the one I always used when here. The sky above me was the same, controlled Tempests and two thirds empty still. The sensation of existing within a lucid dream was hard to ignore. Knowing where I wanted to go, I closed my eyes and took a step forward with intent.

While I had control here, I knew that without acceptance from the Dao, I could have randomly wandered the world for eternity. Time wasn’t as relevant within this place, and space even less so. I still had much to learn about the intensely powerful magic within myself, and I knew it was time to get some answers. So, it seemed, did my longest term partner in this chaos. I stood now before a decadent cavern, intrigued and impressed by the artistry on show.

The rock of the Dragon’s home was covered with intricate carvings. Once I was close enough, I could see these were representations of moments I recognised. The timeline of my magical life was chiselled into the bedrock of my very soul and laid out before me. Though I knew what was being presented, there was far too much depth and artistry for me to properly appreciate or convey the beauty on show.

With each experience since binding with the Aspect, the Dragon itself had taken its own lessons and understandings from them. First, the inception of our bond, my broken body lying beneath a gargantuan shadow, the grey rock of the wall shorn deep to reveal onyx crystal below. That shadow, the power of the Dragon, became one with myself, turning the broken body pitch black and fixing its wounds before settling its power as a crown.

The Dragon had bound to my Mental attribute, so its placement as a crown made double the amount of sense. Mental, The stat which mostly governed my magical ability, but had a noticeable effect on my psyche also. Having a high Mental attribute didn’t actually make me smarter or insert intelligence into my mind, but there was a clarity to my thoughts and much less randomness or unimportant thought happening. When I focused on something, I didn’t run out of steam or get distracted anymore. I supposed there might be more information received when the System imparted knowledge, but that would be difficult to quantify.

Did the Dragon influence what information the System gave to me in some way? Interesting thought, but again, impossible to check. I cast away such thoughts easily. I wasn’t in the business of doubting my own soul, even if it intimidated and confused me sometimes. Instead, I continued to trace the biography of my magic within my core. From binding to the Aspect to meeting Naea soon after, a glittering crystal which appeared with my silhouette in the carvings, to my eventual challenges in the Trial towers.

I tilted my head, confused for a moment about what I was seeing before my face reddened. “Oh right yeah, that time I went off the deep end.” Upon finding the dead body of Jason, Harry’s brother and the magnet which eventually created The Ascent, I had torn through the dungeon like a dervish. Even as shame filled me, I didn’t avert my eyes. My own view of that time was coloured by both the loss and fear I was feeling and running from, but also the unnecessary harm it had caused Naea.

The Dragon didn’t care much about those things. Instead, it showed me finding a setback and immediately attempting to change things. I did not wallow, I realised, I attacked the world which had taken from me. It wasn’t my life I had seen on the floor, but it easily could have been. There was a respect and pride shown in the carved walls that action was the choice of the Dragon’s wielder.

The battles against the increasingly powerful enemies were shown lavish attention as I entered the cave mouth. The large entrance opened wider, revealing a deep cave, hundreds of metres across and tall. “Is this your entry foyer?” I asked aloud, teasing my own magic. “Thanks for being humble enough for the both of us, buddy.” Each notable enemy was depicted, given a level of esteem here which I had not considered personally. They were the whetstones upon which the gleaming blade of our power and the Dragon had nothing but respect for them.

In a set of reliefs, my battles with the Broodmother, Master Thorn, The Golem Prince and the Firehawk were shown. Each was gorgeous, the still images able to convey both momentum and somehow impart a fragment of the thrill in those moments. The vile Shub-Naggorath with her broken Dao made me shiver. It was shown as salty crystals in the wall, grey and white against the darker rock, a wrongness even in the art of it.

Impressive as the huge place was, the Dragon wasn’t here. There were dozens of tunnels snaking deeper into the mountain, eventually those paths would dip their toes in the magma-mana at my core. Only one way would lead to the heart of the Dragon’s power, the others could wind on and on forever, trapping me. Except, it was impossible for me to get lost at this point.

The rumbling growl from the core of the world increased from all directions, not a threat but a greeting as I walked from what was essentially the trophy chamber into the throne room. If the massive space prior, its massive walls ready for a tapestry of power, magic and battle, was the stage of our prestige, then the throne room was the opposite. I nodded in appreciation at the scenes the Dragon chose to respect the most.

I had built, within the Dao of Tempests, a throne once I recognised it did not lack importance within my magical system. The Dragon had no issues with this because a dragon doesn’t require a throne. A dragon’s seat of power was the world itself, the area it chose to exist within without destroying. The whole planet which was my magic was the Dragon’s throne. So, I wasn’t too surprised at the small and sombre room at the very centre of its existence.

Though the shapes and symbols on the walls were far from photorealistic representations, I could more easily understand the chaotic scrawlings in this place than any other. Each doubt, fear, failure or worry I felt was gouged into the wall, a frantic and terrified clawing which somehow managed to be cohesive at the same time. I wanted to look away, flinching at the damage I knew I had inflicted on my followers. Chromatic spikes were jutting from places, the pain of being unable to stop Steel. Its hooks were inside me, even here.

“Nice to finally put a face to a voice,” I said, turning around. Its approach had been silent, I supposed because it hadn’t actually needed to move to appear. The Dragon was all around me, after all. Now that it had placed itself physically, the unsure reality of the world locked into place. I looked down, surprised to see my own hands and body. I normally floated around as an idea, here. The physicality of the central chamber of the Dragon settled so we could have a conversation.

Inclining its head to me, The Dragon gestured behind me. I turned, finding a pair of comfortable looking arm chairs. The seats would have looked normal in a Victorian lounge room, perhaps, but were slightly incongruous with the magically sculpted stone all around. “I’m a bad influence,” I shook my head, knowing this was ultimately my fault. My irreverence for the magic around me had rubbed off on the very magic within me. Still, I flopped into the chair. I was right, it was comfortable.

“I agree, actually,” The Dragon replied. There’s a common response to hearing your own voice in a recording, and I received the most potent version of this abhorrence at that moment. Speaking in my voice, the Dragon also wore my face and body. The whole thing would have made me dreadfully uncomfortable if we were in the real world. My largest issue was how the Dragon’s somehow sounded much nicer to the ears than my own voice did. In recordings, it was the other way around. This was much worse. “You’re quite chaotic, Grant.”

There were a few subtle differences between us, once I realised the voice wasn’t identical. My eyes were a mix of blue and brown, split down the middle. I had always disliked the look, but in my draconic mirror’ face, they seemed so natural. The slitted pupils might have something to do with that. There was the suggestion of golden scales at the corner of its eyes, too. Its teeth were slightly sharp and its jaw was stronger than mine, both in appearance and likely in strength.

“Chaos sort of found me first, I’d argue.”

“You would argue,” the Dragon agreed with a nod, “that’s one of your many virtuous points.”

Rejecting the impulse to preen in front of my own bloody soul, I scoffed. “Not bad, Dragon man. You know why I’m here, right?” It almost felt silly to ask, but I was grateful to receive a nod to my question.

“You’re scared,” The Dragon accused. I couldn’t deny it. Not here, of all places. This time it was my turn to nod. Leaning towards me in its chair, chin resting on its palm and elbow on the arm closest to me, the Dragon tilted its head slightly. “Have you decided what it is you’re scared of, yet?”

I blinked, searching for a snappy answer to that question. When no quick retort was forthcoming, I was forced to sit with the question for a moment too long and instead of joking, my thoughts became genuine. The wording was intentional because as far as the Dragon was concerned, I could choose what to be afraid of. I could feel the Dragon’s disdain for my quandary even now.

Sensing that I didn’t have a ready answer, my draconic mirror continued. “I admit, I don’t agree with your actions most of the time. Oh, I understand them, but with each step upon the Path you become less bound by the life you once lived. You are no longer human, even. Yet you twist yourself into a tangled knot simply trying to keep these fools from killing themselves.” The Dragon spoke matter of factly, though I was still somewhat reeling from the fact we were conversing at all. “Even now, we are shackled in a cage made of nothing more than paper. We could walk out of this penitentiary without noticing the barriers meant to stop us, yet you treat them like they are unbreakable. Why?”

I rubbed my chin, surprised to find a decent amount of stubble. Between getting blasted with flames, magical healing and increase in longevity from Fortitude, I hadn’t been growing much facial hair at all. Despite all the chaos, the death and then the eventual leadership position I found myself in, I was still young. Less so now, than when this all began, I realised. Physically, mentally, spiritually… I was different.

Did that mean I was no longer human?

Did being a human even matter?

I smiled, because the answer to both of those questions was no. Asking and answering those questions gave me a certainty I had not had before. “The bars are symbolic, but the ritual is important. Humanity probably exists in more places than just Earth, but the humanity inside of myself is there to stay. I won’t become a tyrant, even if it might be easier, because I don’t want to. I’ll fight you if I have to, I’ll fight the whole System itself, but I’m not here to dominate.”

A flash of lightning appeared in my mind. “We are human, both of us. A human dragon, with all the confusion and greatness inherent in that idea.” There was a begrudging look on the Dragon’s face as they nodded in agreement. “Strength through personal might and the power of others who come to our side. Strength enough to bring down the Storm Dragon, for a start.”

I grinned at the Dao Avatar of the Dragon as it replicated the expression back at me, though significantly toothier. It chuckled, and I joined it, and soon the entirety of my inner world was rocking back and forth with laughter. It was a ridiculous goal, made for no reason other than the Storm Dragon set itself against me and showed itself as a benchmark. That was enough. Eventually, the rumbling calmed and the Dragon gave me a serious look. “So,” it asked, “is now the time to use our personal might?”

“No,” I shook my head. “I think the strength of others is where we’ll find our escape.”