The magic-infused waters of the Well shone the turquoise of a deep and vibrant lagoon. The glow of the Well played on the flowing robe of the crone, which was fabricked with the blue of kelp forest water. Mint-green embroidery drew rings for her sleeves.
The old albino dragoness paused for a breath, shivered for a few moments, then turned toward the pair of dragons. Her gnarled alder walking staff jabbed the bank, and she rested her palms on the staff's spiral head, her talons curled from overgrowth.
Before her stood Sini and Draugo, both dragons black-scaled. The main distinguishers between them were Sini's purple belly scales and eyes, and Draugo's ruby eyes. Each of them stood double her height. Her hunched, cowled frame stood eye-level at their chests. They matched one another in size.
Though they were both proud dragons, their heads were hung, for the crone filled the vined, open-roofed cave with a forlorn aura, a heavy burden.
Her voice, reedy and ashen, was to the dragons no louder than a whimper:
"This is not a cavern I had hoped to ever divulge. Nor are these waters I had hoped to ever see drunk. But, to be sure, the cavern was born to be seen and the Well to nourish; and these are times of ire and entropy."
She mustered enough energy to raise a hand—pointed with one aged claw at the aura of the Well. There, where she did, the glow condensed into an opaque wall. She gyred her hand ritualistically, painting this wall like a canvas, her claws curling open and closed in magicking spasms.
Here began a spell that darkened the cave. On the canvas appeared a moving picture of magic. It swirled into being, wrought by the Power given her by the old gods who slumbered in the limbo between Scaleback and the Underscales.
"Why have you been summoned here? Because an imp-demon has escaped the Underscales: a parasitic hellion, whose hunger for dragons and their powers would outlast dragonkind itself. What you're about to be shown are events that have already happened and events yet to happen. It will take just a few seconds for your minds to absorb these pictures—praise the Fifths, for we have little time."
*
1.
Underlings and lordlings—all manners of hellions, squashed and trampled beneath his colossal purple foot-paws.
A ruby, an amethyst and an emerald: These are the priceless stones that the imp-demon had crossed the Underscales to steal. He had used them to absorb the power of countless hordes and infamous monstrosities. He had grown to this world ender's size—had been endowed with boundless bulk, might and demonic abilities.
However, he couldn't keep any of the power because he sought freedom. He triggered one of those abilities, sacrificing everything he had absorbed to teleport to the Surface World.
Smoke peeled up from his blackened crater. It smelled of burned birch. Not that he recognized the odor of the tree—only the smell of the incinerated. He raised his purple palms to his face. Regarded his ugly, scythe-like claws and skeletal arms. He scrunched his purple-skinned and skull-like face, resignedly revolted.
No longer a hulking, leviathan imp-demon, he stood only a couple feet tall, hardly taller than a fawn. His arms and the ankles of his goat-like legs could make a crab seem thick-limbed. At least he had his horns (but, blast—by the feel of them, each had been shortened to the length of a hand). And still he had his gargoyle wings. Both were taller than him, rounded at the crests and resembling longbows. And still he had on his forehead the black circlet studded with the ruby—though, much plainer it was than it had been in his prior form. And still he had the black loincloth with the cloth girdle and the emerald-gilded buckle; and a short, black cloak clasped with the amethyst, its collar gilded and vampiric. The raggedy thing drooped to his lower back.
He wandered from the crater, sniffing at boughs, grass-stalks and boulders. He leered his surroundings with his blazing orange eyes as he went, as though every damned thing in sight meant to swindle him of dragonkind, which was rightfully his. As much as he sought a reason to loathe his environment for its strangeness, the features of his face softened with each twitch of his nose. The world smelled fresh and floral, pleasant. His twin-fireball gaze scrunched into devious crescents. No, nothing here would swindle him. This was a place where thieves and liars were as water in the Scales. A place of cottony complacency.
How easy would it be to make this world his bitch.
But first, the race of myth known as dragonkind would know him as Master.
He wandered. Did so until he spied—a few stone-throws off—a furred traveller crossing an arced, wooden bridge. He snorted. Inadequate race. At least he now knew where to wait for travellers. And waiting was his safest bet, so long as he was still vermin-sized. He crawled under the bridge, hooked his claws in to hang.
For many a turn of moon and sun he hung there, immobile as a shroom, sniffing travellers who crossed the bridge. His nostrils rejected dozens and dozens.
Surely, a dragon should have used this trade road by now. And no, they couldn't be merely a myth because a dragon had once swept him down with the winds of a smoldering flight. Charred boughs of Underscale trees had cracked and fallen, cleaved off by tattered wings. He remembered the smells of fire, cavern, musk and metal.
He remembered not only the dragon's power, but the freedom its wings gave. And he would have those things for himself.
Countless days had passed when the smell he'd been waiting for passed overhead, tingling his spade tail. He forced it still, so that he wouldn't slap the bridge and alert the dragon. The thuds of feet crossed the boards. Damonous peeked out from beneath the guardrail and saw the strapping blue body of scales. An anthro warrior dragon, with a sword sheathed in a pouched, loinclothed girdle. Biceps each thicker than the imp-demon's chest. Forearms alone as thick as liter kegs of ale. Those creamy under scales ... that bushy mane of ocean blue; and a tail tipped with a great quill of fur, the same color ... and handsome foot-paws, whose claws were callused atop their lengths ...
Damonous wanted it all.
He would transform—become a dragon. Begin his conquest of Scaleback by absorbing this choice traveller.
The dragon's tail brushed the guardrail and passed over him. Damonous' wings unfolded. He skittered out onto the bridge, crept in intermittent bursts toward his prey. He hopped onto an end post, crouched, then leaped and latched onto the dragon's back, in lieu of a backpack. Fangs sank through hide like underarmor and into the broad muscle cords of the neck.
While he could absorb his prey's essence through any form of physical contact, sucking it out was the method he relished the most. Would be, at least until he became the same size. That was when the true meal would begin.
The deep-voiced scream and the jerk of muscles caused the imp-demon's claws to slip from the dragon's beefy pecs for a moment, but his fangs stayed hooked in, so he hung, bright orange eyes blazing with sultry pleasure. Such succulent blood flowing through those veins—such vigorous muscles. Such a powerful spirit!
Already he could feel the transfer of size, traits and energy. His shoulders jerked, and their near-absence of muscle became a limber rogue's muscles. His shoulders bulged bigger, back bulged bigger, limbs filled out. With a tingle, his tail swished in convulsions, swelling with bulbous ripples of mass from a spinal thinness to a ropy thickness.
Gleeful hissing. Suckling. Sucking. Glutting ...
Bereft of control, the warrior dragon floundered off the road. He backpedalled, blathered, fretted with his hands sweeping over the throbbing shape on his back: that of the imp-demon swelling, his bones snapping and contorting, muscles groaning their vile thanks. The dragon's claws dug into the dome of what he thought was its head—felt it growing bigger. Hair coursed out of it, burgeoned in a wild flow between his fingers. Thick, coarse, savage hair so eerily like that of his own mane.
Cold chills coursed through the dragon's lateral muscles and spine, spearing down to the tip of his tail. He tripped on a tangle of roots and slammed against the bole of a tree. The thing on his back took the brunt of the fall, but it rumbled beneath him with cruel pleasure as though numb to pain. The warrior moaned weakly, reached for his sword.
A gruesome sucking noise preceded crippling chills and muscle spasms. His grip jerked open. Weakness numbed his hand. He rolled onto his back, huffing not with the fatigue of rigor, but the fatigue of an uncanny malaise. His forearms shrivelled from the thickness of liter kegs to the thickness of mugs. Hazel eyes wavered in focus. Resplendent blue scales dulled and whitened, turned somewhat powdery in shade. His hide sucked inward. Horribly warm pulses swelled the fangs in his neck and heated the breath beating on him. Robustness filled the demon on his back. Its chest rumbled deeper, stronger. Why did the warrior have—of all curses—a boner in his loincloth? Twitching, the smushed member soaked his loincloth and soiled the ground with a drip of thick pre.
Atop him, the dragon-sucking thing's hisses evolved into growls that made the warrior whine, too weak to move his arms. He felt like a sheep beneath an overgrown wolf. It bucked against the small of his back. Humped him with its own growing loincloth erection.
With the bloodcurdling harrumphs of sinew being pulled taut, Damonous' formerly short and gaunt face elongated. Again. Again. The demon snorted a heated breath from an increasingly draconic snout and flapped his wings feistily, though they stayed the same size, while the rest of him grew to a size between dwarvish and average.
After humping into his downed prey a few times and smearing the dragon with his progressively viscid and draconic pre, Damonous matched the size of the warrior. The warrior had been taller than average for an anthro dragon: seven-foot-two. He would now seem short, even compared with other races when standing. So would Damonous—he still would. But that would be amended, right after he took a moment to admire the progress of his transformation.
He rose and raised his palms to his face—but unlike when he first arrived on Scaleback, the sight of them did not make him cringe. He laughed with the voice of a warrior dragon, burly and slightly metallic. No longer was he an imp-demon, but a dragon-demon resembling his prey. The brawn of a seasoned foot soldier issued him intoxicating strength. The nuggety muscles looked almost as broad as what the warrior had before the ambush. Almost just wouldn't do.
He pulled the warrior dragon to his feet facing him.
"See how you've nourished me, dragon? What belonged to you belongs to me now. You're nothing but food for a demon. Fuel."
The warrior tried to jerk free. Two unbreakable grips cuffed his shoulders. A malnourished street rat would have better odds trying to overpower a lauded soldier. He tried raking his claws into the dragon-demon's ribs to bleed, but the scales on those sides of heaving muscles—of raw power—had become tougher than mail.
A soft, mocking snigger exploded into a muscle-rippling boom of laughter. The reduced warrior knew shame and horror he had never known before.
Damonous yawned wide. Shiny, wet jowl flesh rippled. His cheeks gyred and waggled for a full couple of seconds. His tongue had barely curled under the warrior's chin. And then, with a snake-like snap of his neck, he swallowed the dragon warrior's head whole.
Suckled of all his strength, the warrior blanched as the purple lookalike pursed its lips around his traps and pulled him through a digestive tract slimy and abysmal, worse than the conditions of any dungeon he'd ever spelunked. Large paws fondled his ass, and the esophagus muscled him down, his bulk padding out the beast's neck and pectorals. The dragon-demon's ballooning breast muscles groaned like cords ready to snap, straining—but succeeding—to compress the warrior's own chest during his descent.
The warrior fell to the ranks of chyme and rank, scaletight flesh. Soon, Damonous took the balls and claws of his feet with a single slurp. Another sent the tail floundering down the messy maw after it featherdusted the demon-dragon's snout.
"Hurrrf." Damonous slammed his back against a tree: groped and hefted his stomach, whose six-pack of abs had become a giant, crudely-defined marble. "All parts of you are my spoils of victory, prey. Know my name, Damonous. Know that I'm the one who'll digest every last morsel of your race. Their mythical shapes and powers will become mine. And then this world Scaleback will have a new, global overlord ... BHUAAAARRRP!"
Shapes of the squirming warrior melded with one another, like coalescing flows of lava. His blade dribbled in its sheath, regressing to the molten state it was in when first forged. Imitating the regression, his body compounded into more of a pathetic ball every time the stomach sucked in.
From digesting and absorbing the warrior, Damonous grew in just a few minutes larger than most biped dragons grow in their entire life. He grit his teeth. "Ooof ... a-aah, fuck, yeah ..." Limb muscles spasmed with an orgasmic onrush of swelling, his body mumbling deeper with every pulse. "That's right, worthless dragon ... upgrade me, UPGRADE ME! ... ROOOAAAR!" He came hard and creamed himself. The inside of his loincloth, his groin, the insides of his thighs and his navel all oozed with more dragonseed than the average biped dragon can pump out in a week.
Every attribute of worth his prey had to offer was absorbed. What had previously been mere holes for hearing out of were hewed into elegant, leaf-like points: ears curving on the inside like cups. Raw definition cut his quads, which beefed up reflexively. His six-pack sucked in, then flexed back out as a full-fledged eight-pack. Out of his head ploughed a second pair of horns: amethyst-scaled and downward-curving like his own, but segmented like the warrior's. This segmentation spread to the original pair like a contagion while he finished sprouting a bushy mane, the mane like his prey's, but black as ink. It crept down his back to between his underarms. Fur of the same black rode his fat, muscly tail down from the base to the tip, where it plumed and flowed like the mane of a proud stallion.
Draconic magic enlarged his circlet, cloak and loincloth to match his new proportions. Pikes shot up from his once-simple ruby circlet—and a second tier of pikes above those, fashioning a crown fit for a tyrant.
His hellish metabolism eradicated the last of his belly bulge. Only the deep, curvy cuts of a washboard abdomen survived. A secondary color washed over the scales of his chest and the underside of his tail. As if inspired by the ventral scales of his prey, it was a light and powdery color: a chalky magenta with the subtlest tones of marble blue edging his abs and pecs.
From the size of a little white-tailed deer, he had grown to about eight feet tall. A hunky, upright demon-dragon. No longer was the purple of his main scales washed-out, but worthy of coloring a gemstone. His wings—which had sunk inward to the small of his back—hadn't grown with him. They now looked relatively pathetic in size, the wing-fingers no longer than his regular fingers, so his cloak which had grown now covered them. Most people wouldn't even stand eye-level with his pecs anymore. He couldn't wait until they were forced to stare up at the drenched loincloth bulge of his dragonly package.
"Nnnngh ... That's more like it!" He flexed toward his abs. His pecs tensed, posturing as though ready to erupt. He relaxed and kissed one of the musclebound biceps, each of them plenty thicker than his snout. "Part of a superior being forever, vermin! You and your extended family are destined to be my meals and musculature ... bwahah!"
The hunt resumed. He moved on.
Moved through the birch forestry, since he could no longer play the role of a fungus and bide his time waiting for prey beneath a bridge. No, he would march and conquer.
Dragon musk melded with the moist air of a misty valley. He discovered a cave, in which a dragon like the one he'd seen in the Underscales was curled on his belly. No, not an anthro dragon—a quadruped. Probably as tall as a two-storey tavern. Spined antelope horns curved over a sinewy throat of deep forest-emerald, and the throat doubled either horn in length.
Stirring at the demon-dragon's approach, the quadruped glowered at the intruder, then spread wings that outspanned those of a half-dozen gryphons. It rose, and then—thoom, thoom—advanced on him. Its maw gaped open and gullet glowed jade. Finally, Damonous thought with thrill and arousal: a chance to break in his new body ...
He charged forward. Seeing the draconic throat reel (the way a hellhound's does before it belches a glob of magma), he thought, Now or never. He vaulted upward. High upward. The space beneath his feet doubled his height at the crown of the jump, thanks to the warrior's contribution to his calves and quadriceps. He landed in a crouch on the snout. Before he could absorb any of the dragon's attributes, it gave a snap of its neck.
He tumbled over his own ass on the cavern floor, frustration curdling. Its maw swept toward him then eructed an encompassing blast of dragon breath the color of sour apples. Not fire breath, no. Wherever it touched the floor, moss and mushrooms bloomed, and the ground fractured open. Up from the depths of the scars writhed sentient, thorny plant tendrils.
Damonous flexed a tail twice as long as he was. It pogoed him onto his callused feet, but not before the ground around him broke into a dragon scale pattern. An octopulet of tendrils as thick as his calves shot up, flailing hostiley. Two looped around his wrists, two around his ankles. Snarling, he elbowed and kneed at the air, trying to snap the tendrils, but he looked like a novice swimmer wallowing to the seafloor.
Floundering and cursing, he found the other four vines lashing out. One lassoed around his buff upper chest, another the abdominally broad base of his tail, and the others continued in a standby tantrum. The forest-emerald ceased its gout of nature breath and strode to him.
It lowered its head and bared its teeth just a bicep-length from his face. "You little beast. What did you hope to gain, rushing at me like that?"
At the power of its voice, the demon-dragon's heart galloped. The voice rumbled, rang, resonated. It ruled the cavern. Damonous smiled, unsheathing a pair of fangs. Now he knew words which could move the earth. Words he envied a tad too much for the quadruped's own good.
"I hoped to gain exactly what you've just given me ..."
Because his tail was bound at the base, enough was free for him to lash it forward like a scorpion's. Instead of jabbing, it wrapped—constricted the dragon's snout. It wrenched the snout to the level of his loins, burying the scaled nostrils in the soaked, musky fabric tented by his cock bulge.
"Nggh ... Now, you will surrender everything!"
His double contact with his prey loaded him with mass. Shooting up like a stoked flame, he erupted in size from eight feet tall. He doubled his height. The sinewy groans of his expanding elite pecs and deltoids drowned out the whimpers of tendril flesh being torn. Bursting with more size, his chest sheared free, and so did his evolving limbs. Out of the stringy mess of tendrils—which now flopped flaccidly at his feet, twitching and dying—he grew and grew.
Unlike the demon-dragon, the quadruped had failed to break free. Draconic muscle and energy was steadily sapped. Scragglier and scragglier, the emerald wasted away with every shrink ... but Damonous only became beefier, muskier, dragonlier! The ensnaring tail throbbed like an excited member, bulging with the reaped mass and energy. Tail muscles flexed hard, conducting the bulges from its tip to its ravenously girth-amassing base. But the tail wasn't the only part of Damonous devouring the essence of the forest-emerald. His crotch-bulge swelled with abandon, that hunky dragoncock hulking up and tenting hugely in the fabric!
Such a succulent infusion of strength and size!
For the quadruped, being drained of mass and energy induced a slimy, whoring sensation. Already, the beast had unwillingly relinquished heaps of size: an amount of mass it had accrued from a century of maturation. Damonous now stood about 19 feet tall, almost the same height the forest-emerald now stood from talon to temple.
The hybrid's debauched roar flooded the lair. He clutched the bases of the dragon's horns—piledrived its pleadingly snorting snout into the burgeoning bulge of his erection, smothering that subordinate dragon with the drenched cloth of his size-swallowing package.
"Hmmmh! Give me more, you pest—you vermin ... Gaaaaaahh!"
It beat its wings boisterously, which at first broke his balance with a fumble of footwork. But then, with another growth spurt he swelled ludicrously huge. His new weight buttressed him so much, the quadruped's wingbeats felt breezily weak against his megabeast chest. The shuffling stomps of his feet started sounding as heavy as the dragon's used to be. "Ghhhhugh ... gaar! GOOAAAWR!!" His lungs groaned, expanding massively in growth, his ribcage crunching and burgeoning larger to compensate, his pectorals heaving with strain. His exhales plunged deeper in tone, sounding like the rolling of cavernous boulders. His weightier breaths and overall evolution intoxicated him—spurred him to squeeze even tighter: to milk his prey of even more.
Both of his pecs burgeoned ruthlessly, projecting a whole snout-length ahead of his nose. More and more they projected, like icebergs in emergence, spreading his torso wider ... A gladiator's breastplate would now seem laughably thin, what with how thick his chest and abdomen had barreled out to be. His pecs, his abs and his navel belly curve swelled into four firm knolls of taut musculature.
His prodigal body build could be described as ... supervillainous.
Grunting savagely, he humped the dragon's size out of its head until he convulsively hit another climax, cannonading his loincloth with yet another swampy load. "Hn-NNGHH!!" Too much of that degenerate chowder deluged the cloth for it all to be absorbed. Cataracts of raunchy seed pooled around him. His cock bulge, see-through from saturation, blasted the forest-emerald's face, the demon-befouled dragon gagging on that thick alphamale cum, its own derelict scent drowning beneath Damonous' dominant demon musk.
Once done exploding all over the subordinate, Damonous let go. With the groan of a humiliated beta, it wiped off as much of his tar-thick cum from its muzzle as it could with a wing-claw. It saw the demon dragon looming over it, having demoted it in size ...
Having outgrown it.
Its head was now chest-high. It stared straight at his tremendous pecs, in the cleft of which a fat bush of musky, luscious black chest-fur had flourished.
"Damn the Others," Damonous groaned, wrenching on the drenched bulge of his meat already semi-flaccid again. "My cock has gotten THICK!" Stones stirred down from the ceiling at the boom of the demon-dragon's deep, booming elder-voice. It lorded through the cave, like the forest-emerald's former voice. Oh, how that once-thin-and-impish voice had matured ...
The quadruped's head fans flattened.
"Can't even c-curl my hand around it anymore," Damonous went on. "As for my pecs ..." He squeezed on one nipple, heaving a white-hot breath. He flexed each cannonball pectoral one after the other and let out a heavy harrumph. "Getting pumped up by you feels f-fucking LEGENDARY!
"GRRRRRR-AAR~!!"
An elemental dragon's size, traits and energy ... how delicious ... Better tasting than any demon of the Scales! He thirsted for more. SO much more! The drained dragon gaped up at everything the hulking mutant had plundered from it.
With a frail hiss it slid away. "What have you done? This is a perversion of nature ... Have you no concern for the ire of the Clan? Of the elder dragons?! You freakish, anathemic pest! There are Powers far greater than mine. A-and they shall learn you. You shall pay the tuition!"
Its metallic voice sounded lighter: grand still, but juvenile compared with what it once was. Compared with his massive, lair-shaking voice.
Damonous smiled fiendishly. "What's this about who? Powers, greater than mine?! How EXCITING. More power for me to sponge from your pathetic kin and pump into my PECS. Slow the feast, whelp; I'm not even done draining YOU!" He took a stomp forward, laughing tyrannically. "Look at you. YOU'RE ONE TO BE CALLING ME A PEST!
"BWAAAH-HAHAH~!"
The shorter dragon found itself wheezing from its floundering sinewy neck in the chokehold of a mutating grasp.
"YES ... YES ... YESSSSS!!"
Damonous' moans banked into even deeper tones, soon as guttural as tremors that fissure the earth, his lust as hot as a gout of hellfire. A pathetic whining sound escaped the dragon's constricted air pipe as his captor continued to grow—to exceed him in size and strength. Soon, the green stood no taller than a horse. The roles of stature reversed further as new musculature spasmed and quaked out of his increasingly thick-scaled form, conquering more and more of his physique as a warlord conquers territory. Muscle and mass he drank up with a prime thirst. The host's sinewy limbs, chest, glutes and neck all dwindled to the gains of the hellion, who mutated more, more, MORE, into a monster of perversely prophetic size.
Damonous dangled the dragon over a relatively cavernous maw. The feeble reptile thrashed and flailed from the grip around his nape, but his struggles seemed to be but mere entertainment for the draconic demon, such as the abused pet of a sadist. He snapped up the dragon in his jaws and slurped in his tail. The bulge of his esophagus swooped beneath the bulk of his pectorals, no more equipped to object to being eaten than a fish descending the gullet of a hungry stork.
Puffing out in size from the packed-away vermin, his belly churned out a sickly bog noise, before arose a cacophony of cruder borborygmi: sounds like demons escaping fissured earth from some hellscape. Metabolic explosions melted away what remained of the insignificant whelp. His draconic traits receded upon an increasingly gooey and amalgamous shape, resurfacing on the demon-dragon with the macabre sounds of cracking, burrowing and jackknifing.
Lathered with bodily ichor, A third pair of horns drilled free with a crunchy SPLAT, each horn branching from the back of one side of his lower jaw just below the respective hinge. Jerkily his original quartet jolted higher on his head, adjusting their position to make way for this third pair: glorious additions to his skull crown that he stroked, groaning debasedly.
Several of his other draconic attributes elongated, too: the leaf-shaped ears flanking his new horns; his evolvingly lush and barbarous mane; the barbs along his spine and tail; his claws and teeth. Thick thorns surged out from his elbows and shoulders. All the rewards of digestion exacerbated his draconic ferocity and scent.
GloOooRrmp! The last notable traits dissolved from the dragon. His belly had shrunk to a size that couldn't even make a bulge. He gasped a gout of nature breath. Arcs of nature magic coursed over his musculature as it twitched and shuddered. His swollen cock didn't need him to stroke it—overtaxed with stimulation from the morphing, it blew without any contact from his paws whatsoever, and hard. Sludgy cum mortared the inside of his loincloth. His orgasm was so forceful it had kickback, and drove him back against a wall, where he huffed and puffed with gleeful abandon.
Sweat streamed down his mighty scaled form, and aches of pleasure took the place of the waning inferno in his chest and loins, as his nuts finished emptying their lust, a great puddle of seed streaming between his legs, the tarry skin of spunk hissing and stewing.
The cave seemed to have shrunk. He could stand on the tips of his talons and touch the furrowed, vaulted ceiling now if he chose.
If this was what one dragon could grant him, imagine how powerful he would be after rendering the entire species extinct, added to his glorious arms and pecs and array of attributes?
Now taller than two storeys, he paced about the cave, breaking in his enhanced form. The dull, resonant THUDs of his footsteps carried for well over an earshot out of the cave. A cave that now belonged to him.
He landed a few punches in the walls, easily spiderwebbing them with cracks and sending tremors through the earth, from which the place was threatened to be imploded from the inside-out. He spun, and landed a hammer blow of his tail—which had grown thicker even than his eight-pack stomach. This started an avalanche of rock. Dirt smogged out of the toothy entrance as the rockslide swept over his feet, covering several dozen square feet of the floor. He jogged outside, coughing into one of his elbows.
The massive, third-stage dragon-demon turned toward the cave door and tested out his new breath weapon, belching out a wave of rich green breath, procuring an ensemble of throbbing, writhing vines which sprouted up and curled outwards, engulfing the entire threshold in a pulsating wall dotted with growing flowers and shrooms. He smirked. Of course, there were plenty of other targets he would have more fun entangling—wherever they were.
