The bladed limbs on his back—and one of his arms—caught most of the force from my claw swipe. He was dangerous… just not me-level dangerous. Even so, I still managed to rip through two of those fancy blades. Without wasting a beat, I slipped into the Shadow Dimension and reappeared on a chunk of rubble about ten meters off. He didn't chase. I could feel the fear rolling off him like heat from a forge. Still, no harm in playing it safe. Keeping control of this fight was the real prize.

"Hmm… not terrible. You actually parried that." I flashed a grin, casual, like he'd scraped a passing grade on a surprise test.

Again, our presences clashed—red core to red core. He was already adapted to his strength. I was still learning the ropes of mine. I dropped low, crouched like a proper beast, my hind legs coiling under me, rear raised, my tail, wings, and tentacles twitching upward like antennae picking up static. My grin widened across my draconic snout.

I wished my clones would wrap things up and jump in before their timer ran out. But no dice. I could feel through the wind—both were busy absolutely devouring the attackers. Brutally. Excessively.

A bone-deep flinch echoed through me from their… enthusiasm. It felt like taking my own darkest impulses, cranking them to obscene levels, and mainlining them into copies of myself. They were me… and profoundly not me. Familiar. Alien.

I hadn't forgotten the skill description. They followed my logic only 50% of the time. The other half was free rein.

So far, they'd been helpful, with homicidal enthusiasm. Hunting stragglers, ensuring no escapees. None had tapped spells or mana yet, but honestly? Neither had I needed to. Raw stats sufficed. Against yellow cores finesse was wasted effort. Their blows skittered off my hide, while my claws—now passively edged with Quantum mana—sheared through them and their flimsy defenses like damp parchment.

Calling them weak was… charitable.

I remembered the details: Quantum Attunement's passive boost made my raw attacks cut deeper. The active effect, though? That one was… delicate.

Technically, I could drop a field and ban all mana usage within it. But that came with baggage. This area wasn't empty—I could sense people holed up in nearby houses, scared stiff.

This was the lower district, after all. The Iron Pact wouldn't bother rushing in. Gang fights were a daily nuisance here. As long as you didn't get too loud or flashy, no one cared.

And flashy? Yeah… that was the one catch.

If someone broke the rule I laid down in the zone—say, using mana—they'd get struck by a bolt of weird, violet lightning within a 35-meter radius.

So banning mana use? Not the best idea. Could nuke a few innocent bystanders. Worse, even if I went with a "no attacking me" rule, I wasn't sure if it would check for intent or actual action. Not that I could test it here. That violet lightning wasn't exactly subtle.

And if anyone watching matched it with the lightning from earlier in the sky…

Yeah. That'd be the start of a very annoying avalanche.

Safer to keep that ace tucked away—for now.

I crouched down lower, like a cat stretching—if cats were eleven feet tall and built like dragons. My eyes stayed locked on him as I ran through my options.

He'd embraced the monstrous aesthetic himself now. Definitely shapeshifting. His form mirrored my half-dragon state, but traded scales and menace for… botany. Bark-textured hide, vines threading his limbs like living sutures, a ridiculous crown of violently blooming flowers perched atop his skull. Five greatsword-sized bladed limbs erupted from his back, rooted in explosions of petals. Even his legs were bladed extensions. He flowed over rubble like it was ice, swift, liquid, agile. Catching him off-guard once felt lucky; repeating it would require serious effort.

A glance confirmed Vyra, Viper, and his beast clinging to the sidelines—intact. They vibrated with the urge to intervene but possessed the survival instinct to stay put. Good. Extra variables were the last thing this equation needed.

Then I looked inward. Into my core.

[Quantum Attunement]

I triggered it—and instantly felt the mana rip away. A clean 100 mana gone in a blink, sinking into my limbs, my wings, my claws, my teeth. My body lit up in deep violet light, arcs of it crawling along my limbs, stardust swirling darker in my pupils as I prepared to pounce.

I phased forward.

The ground split beneath my clawed feet as I vanished, reappearing in front of him in under a second with a wide leftward slash aimed at his torso. But he was ready this time. His bladed legs scissored, twisting his body just enough to avoid a direct hit. My claw only raked across one of the flower-wrapped blades jutting from his back instead of cutting through his core.

And then it kicked in—that odd pressure building at the back of my head. The moment my strike landed, even deflected, Quantum Attunement's second effect triggered.

[Waveform Strike: After each hit, allows user to teleport to a random location within 10 meters.]

I had the option to resist it and keep up the attack. But with a bladed limb suddenly flying straight for my face, I grinned and let it take over.

My body blinked out in a burst of violet static and reappeared mid-air, six meters behind him. His strike hit nothing.

His eyes snapped wide as he spun, realizing the attack had completely whiffed. I landed calmly, letting it look like I planned the whole thing.

Truth was, I had zero control over where I'd teleport. The effect picked a random point within the radius.

But with senses like mine? I could… improvise.

Still, a low itch persisted. If I could just drop the field… this botanical butcher would already be mulch. Like those skyborne elves. A one-sided pruning.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

But no. Fighting shackled like this was perversely… satisfying. A live stress-test of my limits, without leaning on the most utterly busted tool in the box.

Thibault's expression curdled, then hardened like week-old sap. He really didn't like the trajectory of this dance.

His back erupted again—the shattered blades I'd shredded had already regrown. Five mana-forged limbs thrust from blooming articulation points, thrumming with viridian nature mana.

A sharp flick sent three blade-spears hurtling towards me.

Hoh. Instinct screamed don't take one facially.

I kicked off the rubble the instant they launched. Two spears pulverized my previous position. Thought I'd dodged the third—

—until it curved mid-air and gave chase.

Okay. Points for creativity.

Still, panic remained off the menu. I phased right through its vengeful point. It passed harmlessly, like a ghost through smoke.

Nature mana, huh? Unless he whipped out something Light-aligned, his arsenal was fundamentally… incompatible. Little could land a clean hit.

The lopsided nature was crystal clear.

I saw it bloom in his eyes—the dawning realization. The problem wasn't his offense; it was his utter inability to stop me.

Another spear. Easy phase-dodge.

I landed low on his left flank, stance wide, tail lashing for counterbalance like a living rudder.

I tilted my draconic head, scales catching the dim light. "Tch. Honestly? Expected more firepower. Feels like sparring with a noob, even with one claw metaphorically tied."

I laced the words with just enough venom to sting. Goal: burrow under that botanical skin.

Bullseye.

Thibault slammed a bladed foot down. Instantly, vines burst from the earth in a vicious semicircle around me, tipped with jagged edges and slick with iridescent, glowing sap. They coiled inward like angry serpents and lashed out, blindingly fast.

This could have been problematic…

…if I weren't functionally intangible on demand.

A heartbeat before impact, I dashed outward, phasing clean through the lashing vines. The vines whipped through empty air, furious and futile.

I gave him zero recovery time. His eyes widened—panic blooming—as I was already on him, utterly unfazed.

More colossal, sap-oozing vines erupted just as I closed in—but I slammed both claws down in a brutal cross-rip, tearing through them with sheer, contemptuous force. Glowing sap exploded outward, sizzling faintly where it splattered my hide. Some even splashed into my open maw.

Forgot to close it mid-rampage. Couldn't help the tongue lolling out in predatory glee.

Tasted… surprisingly good. Like liquid spite.

Which meant it was spite. Poison.

OOOH YISS.

This time, I deliberately drank deep—slurping a greedy mouthful of the glowing goo. Divine. And I felt it—mana surging back into my core like a welcome tide.

Free mana happy hour? Wasn't about to decline that invitation.

Thibault saw it all. Wide-eyed. Horrified. Then he bolted, bladed legs shrieking against the rubble. Fast.

But I was faster.

I closed the gap like shadow given form and slashed deep into his retreating back. The blow carved meat, dragging a raw scream from his throat.

Again, I felt the nudge—Quantum Attunement asking to blink. I let it.

I reappeared three meters to his left. A blade tore through where I'd been a blink ago.

Too. Damn. Slow.

I lunged again—shredded his bladed arm. He screamed. I blinked—seven meters behind. Another lunge—tore through one of his legs.

It didn't matter. He couldn't predict where I'd show up next.

I was everywhere. Teleport. Strike. Teleport. Strike. A staccato rhythm of violence.

My air sense mapped the entire killing floor—every landing zone instantly calculated. Zero wasted momentum.

Every angle exploited. Every motion surgical.

Honestly? This ability alone was terrifyingly efficient. Sure, the exit point was random—but with senses like mine? It became irrelevant. I weaponized the chaos. Made it lethal.

Piece by piece, I carved him down. Let the agony compound.

I avoided the heart, the neck. Needed him breathing.

Didn't mean I couldn't… savor.

Just a little. A chef's prerogative.

He was regenerating, bless his stubborn biology. That only fueled me. Wanted to find his breaking point.

He even lobbed those floral grenades. Tasted… earthy. Boosted my mana reserves again—definitely poisonous.

Poor bastard. His entire arsenal was actively beneficial to me.

Honestly, I started to feel a little bad.

Not ideal practice dummy material when your tools heal your opponent.

Eventually, his regeneration choked. He collapsed—a ruin of torn flesh and bladed limbs, breathing in ragged, wet gasps.

His form reverted—just a broken Drakkari sprawled in the rubble. Limbs mangled, blood bubbling at his lips.

He squirmed for a second… then went still. Out cold.

My clones were gone too. The street had gone silent. Most of the other Drakkari were missing—probably devoured. Should've been weird, considering I was technically one of them.

But hey. My hands were clean.

And besides… they had that rot-smell on them. I bet they tasted amazing. Was I tempted? Maybe.

But I've got this built-in aversion to eating things that form complex sentences. Call it… restraint. My clones had no such compunction. Even that elf I devoured earlier—it was instinct. Something deep told me to do it.

Otherwise…? I'd rather stick to things incapable of existential pleading.

For now, I just dragged Thibault's half-mangled body back to where Vyra, Viper, and his salamander were waiting. There was someone else standing with them—a familiar face.

The rakari boy Lysska helped. Also the one Alice had shown a bit of interest in.

They all winced as I approached. Except Vyra. She stared, eyes wide with something akin to rapture—like she'd just witnessed divinity manifest.

"THOSE FINAL ATTACKS YOU DID WERE SO COOOOL!!"

Yeah, the rapid-fire teleport-spam and precision dismemberment from geometrically improbable angles probably did look visually arresting from the cheap seats.

Still, I glanced away.

Fear? Easy currency.

Praise? Ugh. Awkward collateral. Harder to deflect.

So I pivoted.

My gaze swept the shattered remains of Lysska's former 'office.' Rubble. Memories. Useless now.

"So… assuming you've squirreled away more bolt-holes," I jerked a thumb towards Thibault's twitching, sap-and-blood-smeared form, "I've got fresh interrogation fodder. But first, he needs rudimentary patching. Enough to form coherent sentences."

Viper finally scraped together enough courage to nod, mounting his salamander. Vyra and Zorak scrambled up right after.

Zorak's presence pinged my curiosity. But judging by Vyra hovering near him like a protective shadow, maybe she'd played guardian angel. Details for later.

For now, I picked through the wreckage. There. My clothes. Ugh, my favorite dress… torn but structurally sound. Knew I shouldn't have worn it today. I shifted back to human form, slipped the fabric on (still clinging stubbornly to dignity), and slid into my heels.

Those were enchanted, so still pristine and immaculate.

My potions, however… casualties of war. That explosion had reduced nearly all to glittering, useless shards and viscous puddles.

A fresh vein of irritation pulsed in my temple.

I threw a look at Thibault's barely-conscious heap that could curdle milk.

He'd earned every unpleasantness awaiting him.

Moments later, I hauled him up like a sack of regret and clambered onto the salamander. He was red core—a little enthusiastic disassembly wouldn't kill him. Yet.

The salamander rippled, its camouflage cloak snapping into place as it bounded across the rooftops. All five of us rode—one passenger leaking vital fluids generously onto the scales. We blurred into the cityscape.

Faint streaks of stubborn pink dye still marred the salamander's hide. Thibault's goons had drenched it earlier, sabotaging its stealth. Viper had scrubbed most off. Enough to make us ghosts in the twilight.

In the distance, shadows sliced through the dark night sky—sword-riders.

The Iron Pact. Fashionably late like usual. At least the main event was over.

Just a cloaked salamander ferrying five souls across the rooftops. One bleeding, one awestruck, one simmering, one stoic, one… Zorak.

Peaceful. Relatively.

I exhaled, long and slow. For the love of Thalador's immaculate beard… please. No more surprises today.

Maybe it was paranoia whispering.

But I swore I heard Fate, somewhere between the realms, cackling like a jackal with a fresh bone.

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