Heavenly Saint's stern voice cut through the cavern's gloom like his own legendary blade. "Kid, impossible is just a word lazy folks use. You spent what, a few months with Owen? Forget that. You're staying right here with me. Six months. Intense training. When I'm done with you, you'll make the Pope Mystic's golden boy look like a Sunday school dropout scraping his knees."
"Six months?" Duncei stammered, the cold stone beneath him mirroring the chill in his gut. "But Master, I gave my word to Elf Queen. Her people are missing – her own daughter snatched by god-knows-what filth. I've got three years, max. If I don't find her, she loses her Sylvan heritage forever. Can't I go find them first? I'll come right back, promise!"
"Negative," Skycleave snapped, his silhouette cutting a sharp edge against the dim light filtering into the mountaintop sanctuary. "My time's running thinner than cheap ale at a wake. Hunting lost elves? That's a time-suck with no ETA. Get sharper, the job gets easier. Three years? Six months leaves you over two. Plenty. Deal with it."
"But Master, I…"
"Enough!" Skycleave's hand shot out, empty air crackling. The massive Skycleaver Sword – Owen's blade – tore across the space into his grip. He shoved the unwieldy weapon towards Duncei. "Save the excuses. Show me what my apprentice bothered teaching you. Hit me. Full power."
Duncei took the heavy sword, his knuckles white. "Master, I… I'm kinda slow on the uptake. Tandor't wanna piss you off."
Skycleave floated back three paces, landing silently. "Talk is cheap. Attack. Now."
Duncei leaped down from the ledge. Skycleave's earlier healing touch had erased the bruises from Mystic Mystic Night's magic. Duncei drew a deep breath, focusing inward. A warm, vital energy – his **Vitalis Aura** – surged, bathing the cavern in a soft, pale glow. He raised the Skycleaver, muscles straining under its weight. His target? Skycleave seemed like a goddamn mountain – solid, impenetrable, no weak points. Duncei gritted his teeth, pouring every ounce of his power into the blade, remembering the wild force he'd unleashed against the ocean waves. He roared, driving the weapon down in a savage arc.
*Clang!* An invisible force field – Skycleave's effortlessly maintained Aura Shield – stopped the blade a foot short. Power rippled. Duncei's attack shattered. He flew backward like a ragdoll, crunching into the unforgiving stone wall before sliding into a heap.
Groaning, Duncei staggered up. His Vitalis Aura had cushioned the worst, but his ribs felt like a demolition derby had rolled over them. He picked up the sword, trudging back towards Skycleave, head bowed. Against that mountain's presence, defiance was pointless.
"Not entirely hopeless," Skycleave stated flatly. "Know why your little temper tantrum bounced off?"
Duncei mumbled, "You're… way stronger, Master. What chance do I have?"
"Exactly," Skycleave nodded. "Skill matters, sure. But at the top tier? Raw power wins. Overwhelming force, AOE devastation – no fancy footwork beats that. What you need, kid, is to level up. Drastically. Now, park it on that rock and start circulating that Vitalis."
Duncei obeyed, scrambling onto the ledge and crossing his legs. He reached inward for the familiar flow of the Vitalis Discipline. Instantly, Mystic Mystic Moon's stubborn, beautiful face flashed behind his eyelids. His focus shattered; the aura inside him bucked and roiled like storm-tossed seas.
"Focus! Clear the static!" A surge of intensely potent heat exploded from the crown of Duncei's head, flooding his meridians. The chaotic Vitalis energy instantly settled into its proper pathways. Guided by that immense, calming force, Duncei finally sank into deep meditation.
Behind him, Heavenly Saint channeled his own profound Vitalis into Duncei's core. While Duncei drifted, Skycleave worked meticulously – reshaping pathways, melding his own potent energies with Duncei's nascent liquid Vitalis core. Unknowingly, Duncei was undergoing a power upgrade only legends spoke of.
---
**Time Lapse (Blink)**
Duncei surfaced. Warmth suffused him, every muscle singing. The cavern seemed lighter, details clearer. He probed his inner landscape… and froze. The small pool of liquid Vitalis in his core? Gone. Replaced by a rushing, luminous torrent. It pulsed and flowed, lighting him up from the inside out.
He leaped off the rock – shockingly light, landing without a sound. His senses were dialed to eleven, sharp, hyperaware. A mental fog had lifted. Flickers of half-forgotten images danced at the edge of his memory… something important…
"Awake, boy? That Ambrosia Fruit certainly delivers."
Duncei spun – a fluid, instinctual motion – finding Skycleave perched on a nearby boulder. The Master looked… diminished. Tired. His usual fiery vitality was banked. "Master… You pushed my power level?"
Skycleave gave a weary nod. "Gave you a… transfer. One-tenth of my reservoir. Plus, unlocked the rest of that fruit's juice locked in your meridians. Results exceeded projections. You've broken through the Sixth Barrier of Vitalis Discipline. Knocking on the Seventh's door now."
Alarm spiked in Duncei. "You gave me your power? Can you… get it back?"
Skycleave waved a dismissive hand, but the gesture lacked its usual energy. "Rechargeable. Takes time, though. Years, likely." He brushed it off. One-tenth of Skycleave's power was equal to decades of hard training for normal cultivators. He didn't mention the risk involved – transferring permanent power cores was like high-stakes defusing; one wrong pulse and both detonate.
Duncei just stood there, processing the immensity of the gift. Finally, he choked out, "Master… I can't take this. You… take it back."
Skycleave actually managed a faint, genuine smile. "Can't return spilled energy, kid. You pay me back by grinding hard, not screwing up, and making the Skycleaver name mean something again. This old relic?" He tapped his chest. "My battery life's low. Better putting sparks in a young engine with miles ahead. You've got a good foundation from the fruit, but it's not built for my full load yet. Half a year, you *will* be ready for another ten percent transfer. That? That'll let you walk this world without someone wiping you off their shoe." Skycleave's motivations ran deep – not just Duncei's good soul, but an old debt to Owen, paid forward with power.
A lump in his throat, Duncei dropped to one knee. Three swift knocks of his head against the cold stone echoed softly. "Thank you, Master. Truly."
An unseen current lifted him gently. "Just us rock-dwellers. Save the drama." Skycleave's voice regained some steel. "Sixth Barrier power unlocks new tech. Time for me to unveil… Formshift. Watch close." He floated up, right palm out. Coiled Vitalis shimmered there, coalescing, stretching… Forming a solid shaft of gleaming silver energy – a perfect duplicate of the Skycleaver itself, radiating power.
Duncei gaped. "Master… you know magic too? Silent cast?"
Skycleave grasped the shimmering energy sword. It felt tangible. He drifted near. "Examine it. Energy, yes. But pure Vitalis. Manipulated to a solid state. That's Formshift. My personal OS upgrade." He gestured with the silver blade. It flowed – shield, spear, whip, intricate forms shifting with liquid ease. Duncei watched, captivated. This wasn't magic… this was *better*.
"This cavern's prime real estate. Can't demo the wrecking ball function in here," Skycleave winked, the energy weapon dissolving as he released it. "But remember: Formshift is concentrated power. A direct conduit to your own force. Against mundane steel? Snaps like twigs. Synergizes with your instincts. Master it? Change its form mid-strike, blindside opponents… the potential is ridiculous. Takes serious grinding, though." He fixed Duncei with a stare. "Goal: Manifest a blade the size of the statue downstairs, control it like your own shadow. Then you've got it. Honestly? I peaked around an eight-foot sword. Post-donation, my max is… less." He sighed. "Call it Formshift. It's your path now. Forge it brighter."
Duncei was electrified. This beat any parlor trick he'd seen. "This… this is next-level, Master! Teach me!"
"Master Formshift, kid," Skycleave said, a fierce pride underlying his fatigue, "and you might just eclipse me. Pure destructive focus. Close second only to that damned Reaper's Blade." He paused, recalling the boy's last clash. "Hey. Yesterday. Against Mystic Mystic Night's grand finale. That blue… dragon-shaped energy pulse. The one that *ate* his magic storm. What was that? Felt primal."
Duncei blinked. "Dragon? Dunno… Oh! Kingsblood?" He tugged at the chain around his neck, pulling out the legendary sapphire amulet.
Skycleave's gaze sharpened, feeling the immense potential locked within. "Prime artifact. That the First Pope Mystic's Kingsblood? How'd *you* get it?"
"Cult Leader Pulin gave it to me," Duncei explained, launching into the Dunceheart Clan saga – the prophecy, the kidnapping, the Ambrosia Fruit, all of it. He held nothing back.
Skycleave inhaled sharply when Duncei Dunce 'Chosen One'. "He called you the millennium breaker? Huh… the Duncehearts see deep things." A grim resolve solidified. "Looks like my power bump was the right call, kid. If the prophet's dice rolled true? You're holding the front line when that calendar flips."
Duncei scratched his head. "All this 'millennium curse' stuff… what *is* it?"
Skycleave's gaze grew distant. "Dunno the specifics. But the Sacred Calendar hits Year 1000 in less than a decade. Clock's ticking."
Suddenly, the Kingsblood vibrated violently against Duncei's chest. He jumped. It pulsed… *calling* him. He remembered the object he'd stored within – Elf Queen's parting gift. Instinct took over: "By the Kingsblood's grace, unlock the hidden gate!" Blue light erupted. But what tumbled out wasn't the smooth egg. It was… a creature. Small, black, squirming. Slightly damp.
Skycleave recoiled. "Dunce? Biohazard?"
Duncei stared at the wriggling, nearly foot-long shape on the stone floor. "Master… Elf Queen gave me a dragon egg. Kept it safe in Kingsblood. Felt it wake up… but… the shell's gone? Did it… hatch?"
Both stared at the creature. Thick-bodied, smooth dark hide, stubby legs. But it was the eyes that arrested them – blazing, intelligent, molten gold. Seven knobby bumps ran down its spine, hinting at future spikes. Furled against its sides were small, leathery wings. A faint miasma – something *wrong* – clung to it, yet its golden eyes held a paradoxical, piercing sanctity. It cooed weakly.
Duncei felt a visceral pull towards it – the bond formed upon hatching, reinforced as its first living sight. He knelt, cautiously stroking its head. The creature turned. Golden eyes blinked. It made a happy sound like grinding rocks and launched itself clumsily into his arms. Duncei stumbled back, hugging the surprisingly dense, warm body. It nuzzled his face, rasping tongue surprisingly soft. "Uh… You're the dragon?" he breathed.
The creature nodded vigorously against his chest, purring like gravel in a tumbler.
Holding it, Duncei felt an odd peace. "Master, is this… normal?"
Skycleave stared, utterly transfixed. "In all my centuries… never laid eyes on one. Guess so? Looks… attached." He managed a chuckle as the little creature's wings flapped uselessly while it clung to Duncei.
The newly hatched dragon, heir to a lost throne, felt Duncei's warmth and the chaotic mix of energies that had permeated its incubation – the Kingsblood's potent life, the Reaper Blade's profound evil, Mystic Mystic Night's sacred inferno. It twisted its primal nature into something unique: Holy Evil / Little Evil. It whimpered and rubbed its belly pointedly.
"This thing's peckish," Skycleave noted, amused. "Rations? Got rocks handy?"
Duncei recalled Kingsblood's contents. He activated it again. A clatter: preserved rations, the darkmetal Skyrend Bow, five brilliant mana crystals, eleven polished silver spheres, spare tunics, and the infamous moldy bun from the Phantom Woods.
Holy Evil / Little Evil's eyes locked onto the crystals. Ignoring everything else, it snapped two fist-sized gems into its surprisingly wide maw. *Crunch.*
"Holy…" Skycleave breathed. "Dragons chow on raw ore?" While he gawked, Holy Evil / Little Evil sniffed the Skyrend Bow. *Chomp!* Metallic screech. Holy Evil / Little Evil yelped, scrambling back, shaking its head violently. Tiny teeth marks marred the darkmetal.
Skycleave snatched up the bow, impressed. "This… this is pure voidsteel!" He tested the string – impossibly heavy for most – and drew it smoothly to full draw. Silver energy condensed into an arrow. He released. *THOOOM!* The energy shaft punched through the mountain wall, vanishing into the sky, leaving a beam of sunlight. "Not exactly discreet."
Holy Evil / Little Evil, distracted from its bruised jaw, sniffed the air. It spotted the silver spheres. Duncei snatched back three before the rest vanished down the hatch. The rations followed in gulps. Holy Evil / Little Evil sighed, casting a hopeful eye at Duncei and the remaining black mana crystal Duncei had saved for Gorith.
"You eat more than me!" Duncei groaned, clutching the precious crystal. "Gonna bankrupt me!"
Holy Evil / Little Evil pointed a claw at the black gem and whined dramatically.
Skycleave barked a laugh. "Rations aplenty up here, kid. Rocks? Not so much. 'Sides," he winked at Holy Evil / Little Evil, "maybe it'll keep you too fat to fly? Got a name? Tandor't tell me 'Soot' or 'Ash.' Kid?"
Duncei shrugged helplessly. "Naming things? Not my jam."
Holy Evil / Little Evil shook its entire body at 'Soot.'
"Black scales with a gold stare…" Skycleave mused, eyeing the creature's dual aura. "Got that wrong-side energy… but those peepers scream divine birthright. 'Holy Evil / Little Evil.' Fits the paradox." Holy Evil / Little Evil chirruped happily, nudging Skycleave's leg with a surprisingly warm head. "Works. Fat Boss 'X' is cool too."
Duncei grinned. "Holy Evil / Little Evil! X! My friend." The creature destined to shake the world nestled against him with a rumble that vibrated Duncei's chest. It yawned, a terrifying little display of nascent teeth, and promptly curled into a ball at Duncei's feet, fast asleep, tiny snores whistling.
Skycleave sighed, amused. "Well… go rouse your WatanaXiwen. Tell him we need supplies. Industrial amounts. This walking stomach won't feed itself when it wakes. Then get your ass back here. Formshift training starts now."
Duncei nodded, heading out… Oblivious to the metamorphosis beginning.
---
**Timeskip: One Week of Weird**
Holy Evil / Little Evil slept. For a solid seven days. It didn't stir. Duncei checked its breathing – deep and steady. By Day 3, the changes were visible. Holy Evil / Little Evil had grown noticeably, especially its wings – firmer, less embryonic, gaining real span. The smooth hide grew textured – tiny, hardened dark nodules. The spine bumps swelled, promising future spines. Holy Evil / Little Evil was processing the immense energy from the four premium mana crystals, evolving in its sleep.
Meanwhile, Duncei lived in the training groove. Half his day: Deep cycling Vitalis to integrate the ludicrous power boost. The other half? Grinding **Formshift**.
Heavenly Saint's innovation was brutal. Manipulating expelled Vitalis *outside* the body? Controlling its shape? Willing it back in? It demanded insane concentration and raw energy control. Sixth Barrier level power? Barely the minimum wage ticket.
Duncei's first attempt was a disaster scene. He poured energy out, barely cohering a melon-sized blob of liquid silver light. Tried to shape it… flinched mentally… *BOOM!* The blast cratered three feet into solid stone and flung him ragged yards back, saved only by the guardian band on his finger. Worse? He'd blown nearly his whole Vitalis tank. Refill took two days of solid meditating. After that, Skycleave banished Formshift practice to the mountainside. Didn't need his home wrecked.
By Day 5, Duncei cracked a core principle. *Rule #1: Never gamble more than half your core power.* The rest? Keep it leashed *inside*, holding the connection. He managed a small, condensed sphere – solid silver, humming with contained force. Control was achievable. He pushed… compressed… felt the sphere flatten into a disk. Change! Real change! Inside the cavern, unseen, Skycleave watched the light show from the entrance, a satisfied smile ghosting his lips. Self-taught lessons stuck harder.
In a distant citadel glittering with sacred light, Mystic Mystic Night and Mystic Mystic Moon reported the mountain encounter to the Pope Mystic. Plans were quietly laid.
Duncei Dunce and Holy Evil / Little Evil slumbered, unaware. The mountain shaped one. The dragon grew. The clock towards Sacred Year 1000 ticked inexorably. The stage was set.