Impact

You awaken in the center of a smoldering crater, surrounded by jagged shards of dragonite. Through the smoke, you see dozens of humanoid silhouettes, of all shapes and sizes. Some of these are your petitioners, those whose wills cut through the noise and touched you enough to grant their deepest desires. The rest must have come from the immediate area, seeking either to kill you, serve you, beg you to grant their wishes in person, or simply to see a once-in-an-era event up close.

Well. You were always happy to put on a good show.

With a thought, you cast the first spell of your life. Your gauntlet hums, and your heart leaps with elation as you feel it respond to your will. A king's will.

The gauntlet's power would allow you to shape your humanoid form however you like, and thanks to it, you don't *need* to maintain all the drawbacks of your appearance. For now, though, you put your full nightmarish visage on display.

Humanoid Form - Terror Form: You appear as a tall purple Scalespawn, bestial in form and manner. You have no lips, leaving your maw of wicked teeth on full display in a permanent rictus, and the blue and white breath leaking from it in a steady trickle is more reminiscent of a rabid animal than the formidable intellect you truly are. Your skin sags from your emaciated body in curtains, and splits at your spine where a sharp ridge of bone tears through. Through that skin, your veins shine with a bright electric purple glow.

You barely even notice the mana consumption. With your legendary magic, you can feed yourself off of yourself and still have enough power to rank among the greatest draconic sorcerers alive. Combined with the gauntlet's boost to your spells' effects and the possibility of feeding yourself off the magic of a companion, there's no telling what you'll be capable of.

For now though, none of that matters. What's important here is what the crowd does when the smoke clears. So you sit, take a meditative posture, and wait.

It takes less than a minute for the screaming to start.

Most turn to flee into the jungle. Some simply collapse where they stand. A few are brave enough to charge you, one in priest's robes shouting "Die in the name of Memnoph, thief!" as he does.

It's funny how brave some people become in numbers. It won't help them here.

You glare at Memnoph's would-be assassin, and for the second time tonight, stars fall. This time though, they are smaller, motes of magic formed above the canopy and precision-guided to your assailants.

Most of them die quickly when the Balefire hits them, exploding into clouds of arcane energy and and showers of gore before they can even register what happened. But you make sure to only destroy the priest's lower leg. He howls in pain as he falls to the ground, frantically trying to pull himself towards you. Points for tenacity, you think, as you stand and advance to meet him.

He stabs you in the foot. You let him, then pull it back and raise it above his head.

"When you meet Memnoph," you say, just loud enough to make sure he hears you over his own shrieks of pain, "tell him that some prices are simply too high."

Those are the last words he hears before you stomp down on his neck, blade still in.

The crater is silent. Of the dozens gathered around the impact site, only 8 remain.