Everybody Loves Large Chests - Chapter 313

You are afflicted by Resurrection Sickness. All Attribute effectiveness -50%.

The creature formally known as Meatball awoke to an all-too-familiar pair of notifications, its body lying face-down in some foul-smelling mud. As per usual, it took a few disorienting minutes for its soul, mind, and body to readjust being made whole again. The last thing it remembered was seeing its creator and master vanish in a puff of smoke, followed by unimaginable pain as the Ether Storm scrambled its flesh. Meatball had the profound experience of witnessing most of its lower body turning into soap bubbles before blacking out. It was nothing short of a miracle that there was enough of the former man left for Limited Immortality to kick in.

“Master,” it groaned. “Find.”

With consciousness now firmly in its grasp, the creature’s first thought was to return to its owner. However, it found itself struggling to crawl. This puzzled Meatball immensely. Resurrection Sickness or not, it should have had enough power in its arms to fling itself forward at considerable speed. Yet here it was, barely dragging itself across the ground as if pulling along a wagon full of steel ingots. Meatball’s befuddlement grew further, as it was quite certain its missing body parts would have made it lighter, not heavier.

The warped knight glanced over its shoulder and confirmed that its lower half was indeed gone. What it hadn’t counted on was that the rest of its body had been fused to a dragon’s corpse. More specifically, the body of the youngling that Boxxy had caught and corrupted so it could serve as Fizzy’s furnace. The Ether Storm had not been kind to the beast in the slightest, having turned several limbs and a few chunks of its torso into either glass, wood, stone, or a gelatinous green goo. Meatball’s upper body was glued to the top of the unfortunate creature’s scalp, causing it to stick out like a man-shaped horn.

“Baggage,” it gargled. “Remove.”

The corrupted figure pressed its palms against the dead dragon’s forehead and tried to push itself off with all of its might. Unfortunately, it soon became apparent that it wasn’t simply glued to the carcass. The two mutated bodies had unified so completely that it seemed as if the flying lizard had been born with Meatball sticking out of its scalp. This setback did not dissuade the creature as it kept trying to pull itself free. It would have attempted to amputate the dragon-tumor, but it did not have a blade on hand to do that with.

Meatball’s innards screamed with pain as it poured every ounce of effort it could muster into pushing its upper half out of its predicament. After going at it for a few moments, something gave way, another thing snapped, and a third thing ripped. The razor-sharp pain of being torn asunder spread up the creature’s spine and, much to its shock, down the dragon’s neck. Before Meatball could fully process the implications of that odd sensation, it found itself being thrashed around while a garbled high-pitched cry filled its ears.

It became clear that the juvenile dragon was not, in fact, dead.

“Settle! Settle!” Meatball demanded.

“Argh! Pain! Strange!” the dragon roared with fury.

“Calm! Storm! Accident!” its other ‘half’ continued yelling.

“Accident?! Storm?!”

“Accident. Storm.”

The twisted mass of scales and teeth started to settle down somewhat now that the situation had been explained to it. On the surface it seemed as though the two of them were simply throwing single words around, but each syllable was loaded with subliminal meaning that only Boxxy’s creations understood. The verbal part conveyed only a quarter of what was actually being said. Even that would sound like a bunch of guttural gibberish to any mind that hadn’t been touched by an eldritch abomination’s particular brand of madness.

“Master? Where?” the dragon asked impatiently.

“Gone.”

“Alive?!”

“Alive.”

Meatball could sense Boxxy’s presence, though extremely faint and impossibly far away. It was most definitely there, however, which told the mass of mutated muscle that its creator had already left the Shattered Isles.

“Rrrrgh!” the beast finally calmed. “Master. Find.”

“Find,” the other agreed. “Stand?”

“Crippled.”

“Fly?”

“Same.”

“Crawl?”

“Won’t.”

“Why?”

“Painful. Slow. Risky. Stupid.”

The dragon was right, but Meatball wasn’t giving up just yet.

“Plan?” the former knight demanded.

“Regenerate.”

“Hours?”

“Days.”

“… Crap.”

This was distressing news to say the least. Meatball had died roughly four days before the Dragon Festival was supposed to conclude. Coming back to life had already taken three of those, which meant the conjoined duo had less than thirty-or-so hours to escape the Shattered Isles. Considering the enormous distance and the short deadline, the pair might have made it out if the dragon flew at top speed and avoided any confrontations. Unfortunately, in its current state, there was absolutely no way to drag its mass over the border in time.

Meatball considered pursuing its original intent and splitting away from the dragon. That seemed to be its only shot at reuniting with Boxxy, but the endeavor was not without significant risk. Trekking across the Shattered Isles while alone, legless, and suffering from Resurrection Sickness was no different from suicide. Even then Meatball did not feel confident it was fast enough to make it that far. It also did not like the idea of leaving its corrupted cohort behind.

“Problem?” the dragon asked.

“Festival,” the ex-knight replied.

“Master?”

“Left.”

“Hrmm…”

Thus the dragon understood the dilemma. However, as a creature native to the Shattered Isles, it saw things slightly different.

“Next?” it suggested.

“Oh! Next!” Meatball exclaimed.

It seemed obvious in retrospect. Both of them wanted to reunite with Boxxy, but neither of them could do so before the current Festival drew to a close and the Isles were cut off from the rest of the world. Therefore, all they had to do was tough it out until the next one rolled around twenty one years later. Hardly an ideal solution, but a more preferable alternative to getting themselves killed trying to meet an impossible deadline.

With the long-term plan decided on, Meatball considered its current predicament. It did not take long for it to realize the full extent of its merger with the corrupted dragon. Though their minds and souls remained independent from one another, both were bound to the same vessel. As a result, they shared the same Status. However, it was neither the dragon’s nor Meatball’s, but something that could only be described as a crime against nature.

The Ether Storm had somehow combined parts of both creatures’ Jobs, Skills, Perks, and Attributes into one hot mess of a Status. Meatball was disturbed to see that over half of its abilities were nowhere to be found while the dragon’s were completely intact. The former had also lost a significant chunk of its Attributes, though from the latter’s perspective they had more than quadrupled. It would appear that the dragon was considered the host body while part of Meatball’s abilities were layered on top of it in a manner similar to Boxxy’s Malefic Union. This was made clear by the Status itself, which listed the amalgamation’s species as ‘Dragon (Corrupted)’ and its name as ‘Puff,’ the nickname Fizzy had given the youngling.

Over the next few days, the pair could do little while Puff grew back its lost limbs. The Dragon Festival drew to a close, its finale punctuated by a drastic shift in the sky. Terrania’s sun and moons were replaced with a breathtaking tapestry of stars. The twinkling lights above were easily ten times what they should have been. There was no sun there, no day or night – just the eternal twilight caused by the exceptional radiance of this part of the cosmos. Like a snow-globe, the Shattered Isles would drift through space in a bubble of magic until the next Dragon Festival shook things up.

Meatball and Puff didn’t have time to stargaze, however. While the dragon continued to regenerate its limbs, the two of them worked hard on getting acclimated to their new situation. It wasn’t difficult for them to reach an understanding. Since Puff made up the majority of their conjoined being, it was only natural to leave the physical exertions to it. Meanwhile Meatball would draw upon centuries of adventuring and combat experience to direct the abominable beast’s fury in an optimal and efficient manner. The former knight would have preferred to get a piece of the action as well, but its arms were too short to reach anything from its position atop the dragon’s head. The most it could do was use a bow to attack from afar, but its Ranger Job wasn’t nearly well developed enough for that to make any noticeable impact.

Over the coming weeks it became apparent that there was absolutely no need for Meatball to assist in combat even if it were able to. With the immense Attribute boost it had gotten from the merging, Puff was able to easily outmatch any youngling who dared to challenge it through sheer strength. It felt powerful enough to take on an adult, but Meatball was quick to point out that it took a lot more than numbers on a Status to do that. Adult dragons had to be bested several times in a row to truly defeat them, and Puff lacked the strategic flexibility necessary to make that happen. It needed to Rank Up into an adult itself and then challenge the others as their peer, otherwise it stood very little chance of victory.

To that end, the conjoined duo attacked what was left of Azzyth’s spawn and claimed the slain broodmother’s lair and hoard as their own. The rest of the brood resisted at first, but they quickly learned to fear and respect Puff’s unnatural might. They recognized that the warped whelp shared (mostly) the same blood as them, allowing it to assert control over the entire generation. Except that Meatball was the one actually in charge. Puff didn’t have the mental aptitude to lead even before Boxxy scrambled its brains, but Not-Therian was another story altogether. It still had the knowledge and force of personality to boss others around, though the language barrier made things difficult. Between Meatball’s gurgles and the other wyrmlings’ screeches, it was a miracle they managed to get anything done. Thankfully violence was a language all parties were extremely fluent in, so they managed to get by.

Once things got rolling, they picked up speed fast. Within the year, Meatball and Puff had transformed Azzyth’s chaotic brood into a war machine. A noisy, sputtering contraption kludged together from spare parts, but a war machine nonetheless. They hunted in groups, utilized teamwork, made patrols, and even put together some fortifications and traps. All of this was necessary because they had to protect their territory, both from other diamond dragon broods and invaders from neighboring islands.

The pair in charge took part in much of the fighting, of course. It was important to show their competition that Azzyth’s bloodline was under new management. It took two more years after the first for the other dragons to get the message through their thick skulls, but eventually the skirmishes died down. The competing youngling broods had to concede that they were incapable of forcing Meatball and Puff out of their lair. The pair had also gained notoriety among their peers as ‘The Half-Again Dragon.’ An odd title to be sure, but it was befitting of such an odd entity.

Perhaps the biggest reason behind the pair’s success was their shared Skills. Puff could draw upon the former knight’s close-combat oriented abilities, but the opposite was also true. Though it took many months of trial and error, Meatball eventually learned to draw out the full power of the dragon’s breath weapon. This allowed Puff to focus on using its own jaws to bite, rip, and tear while its head-partner focused on charging a devastating blast. The downside was that most of the humanoid horn’s face, neck, and lungs were obliterated every time it did a full-power blast. They grew back thanks to the host body’s regenerative powers, but that took far too long for the attack to be used more than once per fight.

At the beginning of the sixth year of the Festival’s off-season, The Half-Again Dragon launched an operation against the cold-attuned silver dragons from the neighboring Isle of Winter. Meatball had heard that an adult over there had just been grievously wounded, which left their territory and hoard vulnerable. However, rather than a frontal assault, the cunning creature utilized the diamond dragons’ innate power over illusions to execute a heist. Its victim was completely unprepared for the subterfuge and trickery that the veteran employed, allowing Puff’s brood to escape with enough treasure to buy a small nation.

Naturally, the conjoined duo weren’t doing all of that just to pass the time. Their efforts served two very important purposes. The first was amassing treasure to present to Boxxy upon their reunion. The second and more pressing reason was to ensure they would survive long enough to do so, which meant achieving a Rank Up. This, in turn, required that Puff asserted its dominance over others while also building a hoard of its own. These activities, more than just senseless killing, was how the Dragon Job gained Levels. That quirk was also the reason why only a few adults would emerge from a thousand younglings, and fewer still would ascend to elder status.

After all, there was only room for one at the top.

In any event, that heist had been the last big push Puff needed to further its own ‘career.’ It achieved adulthood almost immediately afterwards, solidifying its position and practically guaranteeing its survival. However, that would only last so long as it maintained its status. A young adult was the perfect target for more senior wyrms to further their own climb towards elderhood, and the Half-Again Dragon had to be ready for their schemes. The issue was that the duo’s forces had significantly dwindled in number over the years, and there was only one way to replenish them.

Puff had to breed.

This presented a number of issues, of course. For starters, even though it had been able to Rank Up, the process had done little for its appearance. Pustules, tendrils, growths, tumors, and deformities were ever-present upon its form, making it physically repulsive to any potential mates. The humanoid part of it had also grown in size, maintaining the general ratio between the two and further decreasing its chances.

Or at least that was what Meatball had mistakenly assumed. As it quickly learned, dragons were attracted to power and wealth far more than physical beauty. Puff had plenty of both, so it had no difficulty finding potential prospects among the Isle of Light’s adult females. After a bit of thinking and a generous amount of badgering from Meatball, it settled on a similarly youthful dragoness called Yera. This one had been chosen for her exceptional vitality and vigor, which would most likely translate to numerous healthy whelps to serve as soldiers.

That said, Yera proved to be quite intelligent as well. She immediately realized that the duo were planning on using her as a baby factory and nothing more, and she didn’t like that. She was, however, willing to make a trade. The dragoness would give them all of the mutated dragonlings they wanted so long as they educated her current offspring the same way they had educated Azzyth’s. Meatball was fine with that, but Puff’s draconic nature refused to yield to another’s terms so easily.

What followed was a two-year period of negotiations and courtship rituals that resulted in Puff and Yera forming a breeding alliance – the closest thing that dragons had to marriage. For better or for worse, their offspring came out as basic diamond dragons. Though Boxxy’s Corrupted Influence plagued the mind and twisted the flesh, it seemed incapable of tainting draconic blood. Or at least, not completely. A lot of the newborns had deformities, a good chunk of which proved fatal. Puff and Yera made up for the numbers lost to birth defects by pumping more of them out.

And so the years rolled by. With Puff’s position, lineage, and hoard secured, all that was left was to ride out the years until the next Festival. The conjoined duo killed the time by indulging in the brutal politics of the Shattered Isles. They mostly consisted of sending younglings to kill one another over trivial matters and pointless territorial disputes. It was quite similar to the Imperial politics that Therian had once partaken in, albeit with far fewer high-class parties and a lot more fire. Drawing upon those memories allowed Meatball to guide Puff and Yera through the senior adults’ machinations with relative ease. They had even secured an alliance with Hazalag, who found the Half-Again Dragon’s existence to be deeply amusing and interesting. After that, it truly seemed inevitable that the pair would survive until the next Festival rolled around.

Unfortunately, the former statesman had made a grave error. It had assumed that time on the Shattered Isles flowed the same as it did on Terrania. One could hardly blame it for thinking as such, as it was a well-known fact that the ceaseless march of time was the one thing that refused to bend before the power of magic. As it turned out, however, a year on Terrania was worth five on the Shattered Isles. This meant that an entire century would have to pass for Meatball and Puff before they had a chance at reuniting with Boxxy.

The humanoid horn took this news quite hard. In truth, it still hadn’t recovered from having its mental link with its creator severed when the previous Dragon Festival ended. The experience had filled Meatball with a profound sense of loss and loneliness unlike any it or Therian had felt before. It simply did not feel ‘whole’ without the abomination’s words rattling around inside its skull. Puff had also been like that at first, but its Rank Up had alleviated the unpleasantness in a huge way.

Meatball hadn’t been so lucky. The constant strain on its twice-shattered psyche had been slowly chipping away at it, dulling its sharp wits and keen intellect. After two decades, the degradation had reached a point where Meatball struggled to form coherent thoughts. Frankly speaking, the fact that it took that long was only because its base had been so exceptional. However, now that it understood the gravity of the situation, the creature began to wallow in doubt and self-pity. This only accelerated its degradation to the point where Meatball had turned into a drooling vegetable by the third decade.

Meanwhile Puff ended up drifting further and further from its former master. At some point it ended up forgetting about Boxxy entirely, allowing to focus solely on doing adult dragon things. It barely even noticed that its bossy horn had gone quiet, as Yera had effectively replaced Meatball. She used the former knight’s methods, philosophies, and strategies against her brood’s enemies. Her mate was little more than a dumb brute without its second head, which made it all that easier to control. Of course, their union couldn’t last. Though dragons often worked together to achieve some common goal, their nature inevitably drove them to compete with one another.

And so, Yera eventually made the mistake of breaking things off with Puff. The twisted creature, in a manner similar to its creator, proclaimed her to be its property and refused to let her leave. When she attempted to do so anyway, Puff attacked her, and she fought back. The confrontation was completely one-sided, of course. Even without Meatball’s guidance, the Half-Again Dragon had too much power to lose against an opponent of equal stature. As it crushed Yera’s skull between its teeth, something clicked inside its brain. Why was it just wallowing in mediocrity, as if somehow content with how far it had gotten? What was stopping it from claiming the elder diamond dragon’s seat? And for that matter, why would it stop there when there was an entire archipelago’s worth of islands to conquer? Last but not least, what kind of weak name was ‘Puff’ anyway?

It was this sequence of events that gave rise to Gromthalas, The Mad Wyrm. It set out on a rampage across the Shattered Isles, challenging and killing any adult it could find. Such a blatant power-grab upset the natural order of things, drawing the attention of more than a few elders. Ultimately it fell to Ygmolt, the elder diamond dragon, to intervene. He had initially allowed its existence since the warped whelp had the potential to make the species stronger as a whole. Ygmolt therefore felt it was his responsibility when ‘Gromthalas’ began systematically culling the competition.

The resulting confrontation between the two ended with the Mad Wyrm being reduced to dust. Even if no adult could stand against it, the gap between it and an elder was insurmountable with Attributes and Skills alone. That said, the upstart had managed to injure Ygmolt before being obliterated. It was not a mortal wound by any means, but it weakened the elder. It was at that point that Hazalag emerged from the Dark Domain and ambushed the old fossil. Ygmolt was normally more powerful, but the elder onyx dragon had too much of a head start in that particular situation.

As the dark elder claimed his adversary’s skull, he couldn’t help but laugh at how well his ploy had played out.

Hazalag had been the one who merged Meatball and Puff into a single being after they were ripped apart by the Ether Storm. He was also responsible for seeding the former’s mind with doubt and despair, hastening its mental degradation. It was Hazalag that subtly manipulated Yera into breaking off the breeding alliance when she had. Finally, and most importantly, he had formed a pact with the twisted creature well in advance. That had given him just cause in front of the other elders to accomplish his one true goal – to kill that old fossil once his twisted creation had softened him up.

And now that Ygmolt was dead, the dark elder could start plotting to take down his next victim.

And then the next.

And then the one after that.

He would not stop until all of the Shattered Isles were drowning in his shadow.