Dravik was a Stage 5 mage, a summoner by nature. His magic revolved around calling beasts from other dimensions.
He could choose the stage of the creature he wanted to summon—but not the kind. The rest was random.
Every mage spent years trying to beat the limits of their affinity, and Dravik was no different.
As a summoner, his ability came with a hard rule: he could only summon beasts weaker than himself. Nothing equal, nothing higher. The reason was simple—his power wasn't just summoning, it was control.
The moment the summoned beast's strength matched or exceeded his own, control snapped like a rope under strain.
Still, mages had their tricks. Even when magic said no, enchanted spells sometimes found a way to say maybe. With enough knowledge and risk, they could twist the rules—just not without consequences.
Once, Dravik had the rare chance to see what a Stage 6 creature looked like. Thankfully, it wasn't in battle—it was during a visit to what was basically a zoo for paragon beasts.
That was where he saw it: a massive frog, the size of a carriage. Its hide was a muddy brown laced with patches of deep green, and three long spikes jutted from its back, each shimmering faintly with the same hue.
It was the strongest creature he'd ever seen.
The frog's wide arms spread out, muscles flexing beneath its damp skin. Each breath made its throat swell like a balloon, and its mouth stretched wider before it released a deep, rumbling croak that echoed across the lake.
From an old concrete bridge that stretched over the water, Dravik watched with a few other visitors who'd come to see the creature.
The bridge was sealed behind a glowing energy barrier — safety measures to keep visitors from falling in, or the beast from leaping out.
'I don't like the idea of having a frog for a pet,' Dravik thought, eyes narrowing. 'But this one… this one will do.'
His lips curled slightly.
'Once I use it to overthrow Varkov, I'll kill it and find something better.'
A faint shimmer slipped out of Dravik's grimoire — unseen by anyone else. The phantom-like object glided through the air and sank into the frog's body.
The creature, which had been sitting still with its eyes closed, suddenly snapped them open. Its pupils locked on Dravik.
Then its tongue shot forward like a whip.
Bang!
It slammed against the energy barrier, sparks of light bursting out as the shield wavered under the impact.
Sirens blared instantly. Guards poured in, shouting orders and ushering everyone toward the exit.
Dravik followed the crowd, moving calmly.
A grin stretched across his face — wide, knowing, and satisfied.
---
Now, watching the frog crawl out of the small portal he'd created, Dravik couldn't help but remember how he'd gotten that beast in the first place.
The black hole on the ground twisted and groaned, still too tight for the frog's massive body. The creature forced its way through, its slimy skin scraping against the glowing edges as it squeezed out inch by inch.
"Asshole!" Gwen yelled. Her voice echoed through the rubble.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she shouted again, glaring at Dravik like he was already a corpse.
"Killing you," Dravik snapped back. His eyes burned with fury.
"I wasn't supposed to use this on you, but you left me no choice! I want you dead more than anyone else!"
Gwen just sighed. The sound carried a strange calm, like she'd already seen how this would end.
The frog finally tore free from the shrinking portal and landed with a heavy thud. It looked just as Dravik remembered it — green spikes along its back, dark patches of moss-like skin, eyes glowing like twin lanterns.
Dravik's right hand stayed stretched out, palm glowing faintly as he pointed at Gwen.
"Kill that thing! Kill her!" he roared.
But the frog didn't move toward Gwen. Its massive head turned slowly… and its gaze fixed on Dravik instead.
For a brief second, their eyes met. Dravik's face went pale.
He didn't need someone to tell him what that meant.
'No… no, it's not listening—'
He spun around, ready to run. But before he could take a step, the frog's tongue shot out with a thunderous snap.
It pierced straight through his back, punching out his chest in one brutal strike.
Dravik froze. His breath hitched once—then nothing.
The frog dragged Dravik's body closer, its slimy tongue still wrapped around him like a rope. With one heavy gulp, it began pulling him into its mouth, bones cracking as it swallowed him whole.
Gwen watched in silence. She didn't flinch. She didn't even blink. Instead, she let out a long, quiet sigh.
'What an idiot,' she thought.
'What made him think he could control a stage six beast when he's barely a stage five paragon mage?'
She had already guessed how Dravik managed to summon that creature. Summoners like him were bound by strict rules — they couldn't summon beasts that matched or surpassed their own stage. That kind of control just wasn't possible.
But Dravik… he'd clearly learned one of the tricks veteran summoners use to bend the rules.
It's called marking.
By marking a beast, a summoner creates a magical bond, letting them summon that creature later — even if it's stronger than they are. But marking came with its own set of limitations.
For one, a summoner could only mark a beast that was one stage higher, never two. Anything beyond that, and the magic simply wouldn't hold.
And even when a summoner did manage to mark a creature above their stage, they couldn't control it. Not really. The link allowed the summon, but not the obedience.
Dravik clearly hadn't understood that part.
He'd marked a stage six beast… and then brought it here, thinking it would obey him. Instead, it killed him the moment it arrived.
Now, the frog continued devouring what was left of him, chewing noisily, its throat bulging with each swallow. A low, wet croak echoed across the field — deep, hungry, and final.
Gwen decided it was time to act. She swung her whip, electricity crackling along its length like a living thing.
The strike hit the frog square on the mouth, a thunderous snap echoing through the air. Sparks exploded on impact, and the beast roared, spitting out the half-digested remains of Dravik.
What hit the ground barely resembled a man anymore. Bones gleamed through the sticky fluids clinging to them, and thin trails of smoke rose from the corpse, as though something inside was still burning.
The frog's gaze shifted. Its huge, wet eyes locked on Gwen, and the air around it trembled. Rage burned in its stare—pure, animal fury.
'Alright, frog… I knew you'd come for me next,' Gwen thought, a cold smile tugging at her lips.
'Let's just get this over with. At least I'll walk away with a stage six beast crystal when this is done.'
She surged forward, whip ready, sparks dancing across her weapon as she met the monster head-on.
---
Meanwhile, elsewhere on the battlefield, Tamsin was still locked in combat with Lucius.
Out of everyone, his fight looked like the one least likely to end soon.
Not only was Lucius a stage seven Paragon warrior, but despite all of Tamsin's effort, he hadn't managed to land a single hit that truly mattered.
Lucius stood there, perfectly calm, sword in hand, his expression unreadable.
"I can tell you're about to try something," Lucius said, voice steady and almost bored. "Go on then. I'll wait."
Tamsin clenched his jaw. His teeth ground together, the sound sharp under the roaring flames and chaos of battle. He felt insulted—but he didn't let his anger show.
'Uncle Stan always said it… underestimating your opponent can be the death of you,' he thought, steadying his breath.
With his sword in hand, Tamsin already knew what had to be done.
'This will hurt and burn through a lot of my qi... but so what?' he thought, jaw tightening.
The transformation began again — this time, not to him, but to the swords. The metal at the base of each handle twisted, sharp edges jutting out like fangs.
With a deep breath, Tamsin hurled both swords over his shoulders, driving the blades backward. The edges stabbed into his back, slicing skin, drawing blood. The pain tore through him — real, biting — yet he didn't flinch.
Lucius watched from afar, his brow furrowed. It looked insane — until Tamsin released his grip.
The blades stayed there, lodged deep. Then, something wild happened.
The swords began to change, their metal melting into something alive. Feathers sprouted from the hilts, spreading fast, and in seconds, two massive wings unfurled from Tamsin's back — one blazing with fire, the other rimmed with frost.
Heat and cold clashed in the air, yet neither side wavered. Fire didn't melt the ice. Ice didn't kill the flame. They coexisted — violently, beautifully.
But Tamsin wasn't done. Not even close.
All around him, ghostly projections of his body began to appear — one, then two, then dozens. He was using the Astral Projection technique, but not the normal kind. Each clone radiated burning heat, each one alive with the the wings.
[All astral projection created has 10 percent of the host strength and can deliver solid attacks]
All the astral projections carried about ten percent of Tamsin's real strength. Not much — but enough to leave bruises and make noise.
'Those hits won't do a thing to a Stage 7 Paragon warrior,' Tamsin thought, eyes narrowing. 'But... I know exactly how to use them.'
He shot a glance at Lucius. That was all it took. Lucius straightened, every muscle tensing, sensing the fight was coming.
Tamsin's wings flexed once — a single, powerful flap — and he vanished.
Lucius's eyes widened. The air cracked where Tamsin had stood, but he was gone.
Then—boom.
Something slammed into Lucius's back. Tamsin. The impact lifted him clean off the ground, driving the breath out of him.
Before Lucius could recover, Tamsin was already on him, fists raining down like meteors.
"Let's see if you'll keep that smug face now!" Tamsin roared, his knuckles crashing again and again into Lucius's face midair.