Leon’s soul realm was in turmoil.  The normally stagnant air had been whipped up into a furious tempest, and lightning rained from the Mists of Chaos to strike the distant mountain peaks, shattering stone and sending Leon’s stored magic power into swirling chaos.

Nestor watched as much as he could from the ruby, but most of his attention was on Leon himself.  The storm in Leon’s soul realm was hardly less interesting than what was happening to Leon’s physical body.

The young man’s form was bending and twisting in painful ways, growing and being sculpted by the arcane energies of the enchantment array into something inhuman, yet familiar.  It was easy for Nestor to see what Leon was becoming after a short time—his form largely resembled a bird, though there were many elements there that were even stranger than what he might’ve expected had he known this was going to happen.

Leon and the demon had rarely been overcautious with their words around Nestor; he knew that Leon possessed some other Ancestor in addition to the Thunderbird, but even after some pointed questioning, Leon never gave Nestor any concrete information.  It became undeniable to Nestor when he saw the red-orange light following the Primal God’s attack on Leon’s soul realm, but even then, he’d never been able to see what had produced it through the cover of the trees that the Primal God had thrown him into.

He still didn’t quite know what else Leon was descended from, and while he was grudgingly coming around to the idea that it just didn’t matter since it wasn’t around in Leon’s soul realm and he didn’t seem to be using his second Ancestor’s power, he could clearly see that the dormant power in Leon’s blood was coming out in this transformation.

For a while, Nestor tried to get through to Leon, but he stopped after Leon didn’t respond multiple times.  He could do nothing more than watch Leon’s transformation with morbid fascination.  It had long been canon within the Thunderbird Clan that such transformations, while possible for a few other Inherited Bloodlines, were completely impossible for theirs.

And here he was bearing witness to the falsehood that that belief turned out to be.  He was worried what effect it might be having upon Leon’s mind, but there was nothing he could do about that.

As the transformation began to slow, the Thunderbird came tearing out of the Mists, the storm that raged within Leon’s soul realm parting around her as if it refused to sully her with its power.  She swiftly descended upon Leon’s throne platform and shifted into her human form as she alighted upon the ground.

“What’s going on?!” Nestor couldn’t help but shout out, but the Thunderbird seemed to ignore him as she approached the throne, where Leon’s magic body now limply lay—as it always did when his mind was in his physical body rather than in his soul realm.

She took a gentle seat upon the arm of the simple black chair—the armrest was thin and looked uncomfortable, but her bronze features didn’t even twitch as she turned in Leon’s direction.  She took ahold of Leon’s magic body and pulled him over to her, until his head rested upon her thigh, and she in turn laid her hand upon the side of his head.  Only then did she respond to Nestor.

“He discovered something that I’d not thought possible,” she said, and Nestor could see that the transformation stopped.  Not because the Thunderbird was here, though, but instead because it seemed to have finished; Leon now lay upon the black stone floor of that cavern, wings spread, his avian body now enormous and covered in black feathers and black scales.  “He’ll need some help,” she continued, and Nestor felt the flow of magic around Leon’s throne subtly change.  The Thunderbird wasn’t doing anything particularly magically intense, but she was still doing something.

“Is…  Is any of this of concern?” Nestor asked nervously after a few silent moments.

“The storm?” the Thunderbird asked as she cast her gaze around at Leon’s soul realm.  “Yes.  It’s growing his soul realm at a dangerous pace.  If left unchecked, it could damage the connection between here and his physical body that would take years, possibly even decades to heal.  But his body and mind are more fragile than his soul realm right now after that transformation.  It’ll take some doing, especially since this is something I’ve only just confirmed is possible, but I think I can stabilize him.”

“Just confirmed?” Nestor asked, seeking clarification.  However, the Thunderbird ignored him and continued with whatever she was doing with Leon.

Nestor had no idea what that was, but after some waiting, he watched as Leon’s avian body began to twitch, and the Thunderbird said, “He’s in a new form, and unfortunately, we can’t wait for him to learn how to move on his own.”

“That’s what you’re doing?” Nestor inquired.  “Teaching him how to move like you do?”

“Among other things,” the Thunderbird said.

Nestor detected some iron in her voice, and he wisely went quiet.  Much like usual, there was simply nothing he could do.  He could only watch as Leon, in his new avian form, wake up, struggle to get upright, and then launch himself into the air as if he’d been doing it all his life.  He flew a few circles around the enchantment array, and then in a terrible show of power, silver-blue lightning erupted from his feathers in a manner identical to the Thunderbird, and tore the entire cavern to pieces.  The enchantment array was annihilated, and as the cavern began to collapse upon itself, Leon wordlessly began to fly up the shaft toward the ceiling, miles above him, lightning pouring out of his body all the while.

---

Xaphan stood upon the island at the center of the storm.  The wind whipped around him, stretching the fires that covered his body for dozens of feet.  The rain poured down upon him, but all that water had little to no effect upon those very same fires.  He didn’t pay any attention at all to the storm, for as fierce as it was, he was beyond caring about weather.

Rather, he was far more concerned with how the ground beneath him never once ceased to shake after the storm pulled in and surrounded the remains of the eighth island.  With his magic senses, he could see the outlying islets breaking and crumbling under the power of the storm and these earthquakes and falling into the sea.  After several hours, nearly all of the islets had vanished beneath the waves; even the great crater walls surrounding this lake were growing unstable and were about to crumble as well.

Nowhere could he see the cause of all that destruction; the horned serpent that had emerged from the remains of the boxy structure was somewhere under the waves outside of the fracturing crater walls, but he knew not where.  If worse came to worst, he knew he could always fly away.  Enough of his powers had returned to him that he was capable of flying for at least a few hundred miles at a time, but he didn’t immediately do so.

And the reason was simple: Leon had yet to show himself.  Their contract was still active, and unless it dissolved and Xaphan knew that the young human was dead, he wasn’t going to leave until Leon had shown himself.

The demon felt like kicking the human’s ass for losing like that and making them both look bad; Xaphan had defeated his opponent, but Leon had fallen to his.  He couldn’t help but click his tongue at such a result, but he also felt no small amount of shame at the same time.  He’d promised to help Leon win, and to protect him against threats he couldn’t face.  He’d certainly done that in killing that angel, but that Leon had still fallen anyway just meant that Xaphan hadn’t done his job well enough.

He’d let his partner down, and now he didn’t know where Leon was or what was going on with him.  Xaphan couldn’t leave until he knew Leon was all right.

Of course, this wasn’t because he actually cared about the boy, he just found Leon’s soul realm a convenient place to recover and to learn a few things from the powerful beings that occasionally visited.  No, that would be silly, and beneath an exalted Lord of Flame like himself.  Or so he told himself.

And so, he stared out at the turbulent lake as it was shaken by both whatever was shaking the island’s remnants and by the storm, all while the storm raged around him.  He couldn’t jump into the ocean to find and contend with that serpent—such would be asking for death—but he felt utterly useless just standing there.  He just didn’t know what else he might be able to do until the serpent showed itself again.

Again, he contemplated leaping down the abyssal pit that the serpent had jumped out of, but he detected spatial magics many miles down, and he knew that jumping down there would be a terrible idea.  Anything strong enough to construct and control such enchantments was not a being that he could take on right now; especially not if they could summon angels, as well.

However, as he hurriedly glanced over his shoulder at the pit, he realized that there was a building charge coming from deep within it; magic power was gathering, indicating that the spatial enchantments were about to activate…

Xaphan spun around and called upon his magic, letting his demonic power feed the flames that covered him.  Whatever was coming, if it were hostile, would regret challenging him, for he was a Lord of Flame, and there was no enemy he could not defeat.  Eventually.  With enough time and preparation.

Suddenly, a titanic aura burst from the pit, one that equaled, if not surpassed, his own, and lightning began to strike all around the edges of the pit, shattering the edge and sending tons of rock and rubble falling into the abyss.  He took a few steps closer and assumed a defensive stance, his fires burning with a ferocity that was worthy of his demonic heritage, and readied himself for whatever came out of that pit.

After a moment, though, what came out of the pit surprised him so much that he almost froze up—a thin bolt of silver-blue lightning came rocketing up from the depths of the pit and vanished into the swirling storm clouds above.  So powerful was this bolt of lightning that just about every drop of rain within and above the pit was flash-boiled.

‘Leon!’ Xaphan thought, and another bolt erupted from the pit as dozens more bolts of golden lightning struck the edges of the pit, preventing Xaphan from getting close.

But then, he saw something emerge from the depths of the pit and come barreling up toward the surface, something alien and utterly foreign to him.

It was a giant bird of prey, perhaps four times as tall as Leon was, and with a wingspan wider than the width of a Legion dreadnought.  It looked rather like a crow, with feathers as black as the midnight sky, though its eyes burned a furious red-orange and its talons were as black as his obsidian skin.  Its head from shoulders to beak was covered not in feathers, but in sparkling black scales, while its golden beak sparkled not from its color, but from the silver-blue lightning that danced across it.  From its feathers, meanwhile, came countless tiny licks of fire, each one as black as the feathers they were birthed from.

Xaphan’s eyes went wide, immediately recognizing this creature as some twisted form of Leon.  Others might think it a stretch, but he knew of Leon’s dual heritage, and he saw both in this creature as it came flying up the pit like a bat out of the hells.

It didn’t slow as it burst out of the pit.  It didn’t so much as blink as the golden lightning that fell at the edges of the pit began to strike it instead, and even seemed to revel in each strike.

‘Definitely Leon,’ Xaphan thought to himself as he took a few tentative steps forward.  Even with all of this, what surprised him most was the aura that poured from the creature that Leon had somehow become—it was eighth-tier, without a doubt, and encroaching upon the ninth.  And it even seemed to be growing even stronger with every bolt of lightning that struck its body.

With rapidly growing panic coursing through his body, Xaphan focused his mind and his magic and attempted to reach out to Leon through his mental communication technique.  However, his greetings were answered with nothing but silence, the bird not even slowing down or turning its head as it rocketed up into the clouds.

But Xaphan wasn’t going to be left behind at this point.  Now that he knew where Leon was, he was going to follow—he could figure out how and why this happened later, and if it could be reversed.  What was far more important was ensuring that Leon, in whatever mental state he was in, didn’t vanish into the storm.

He leaped into the air and used his fire magic to propel him even further, on a course to follow Leon wherever he went in this form.  Soon, he, too, rocketed into the clouds.

---

The situation for the Legion at the remains of the eighth island hadn’t improved in the hours since the appearance of the gargantuan horned serpent.  No survivors had been located of the ships that had been lost, and there was significant disagreement among what remained of the Legion leadership as to what they should do without Sigebert or Leon.  Most seemed to want to leave and come back with reinforcements from the remaining two fleets.

Gaius did his best to dissuade them, but all he managed to get them to agree on was to wait one more day.  Apart from that, he couldn’t think of anything good in their situation, other than the fact that the swirling storm that had utterly engulfed the island’s remnants hadn’t spread since its earlier expansion from merely covering the walls of the caldera.  This spared them from the storm that had wracked their fleet since their arrival, as this one had largely concentrated around the island, but it also acted as a great shield preventing anyone or anything from re-entering the area of the eighth island.

Even if they could get access to the island, though, Gaius didn’t know what they would be able to do.  That serpent had already shown itself more than capable of utterly wrecking their fleet even without the use of its magic, just relying upon the power of its body alone.  Not even with Naiad could they seemingly hope to stand much of a chance.

As he stared off at the distant storm, Gaius wondered how they could win.  Without Leon, without Sigebert, without Sigebert’s flagship…  It pained him to admit, but he couldn’t see a way out of this without first retreating and acquiring the assistance of the other fleets, but that would mean leaving Leon and any other potential survivors to die, for it would take many days before they could return, and who knew what that serpent would do in the meantime.

Within the swirling clouds and rain of the storm, Gaius could see the occasional lightning strike.  He didn’t put much thought into it, lightning was hardly uncommon within severe storms.  But he started to pay attention when it began to grow more intense and frequent, and his heart plummeted, fearing it to be a sign that the storm was about to grow bigger and more severe.

But then, almost like being in the perfect place to see a spider’s thread when the light hits it right, he saw a thin line of bright silver-blue within the storm.  He blinked, and it was gone.

But then it happened again, and he was paying enough attention to identify it as silver-blue lightning.

Without another thought, Gaius turned around and began running down the deck.  He had to find Naiad and the fleet’s remaining leadership.

Leon was alive in that storm, and he was still fighting.

---

Ever since it had woken, the Black Eagle had been terrified.  It held an awful memory of agony within its bones, and it knew not why.  All it knew was that it had somehow found itself deep beneath the earth.  It tried to rise, but its limbs felt wrong and didn’t move the way the Eagle wanted them to.

It didn’t spend too much time thinking about why that was, it was too consumed by the primal terror of waking at the bottom of an abyssal pit, surrounded by darkness and strange magic, and not knowing why it was there.  It flailed about, trying and failing to control its own limbs in an attempt to escape however it was able.

After several minutes, its body calmed somewhat as a soothing sensation entered its mind.  It was still terrified, but as its mind was filled with new instincts and muscle memory, it suddenly knew exactly how to move its limbs properly.

There were no thoughts to ponder its situation; there were no real thoughts of any kind in its head.  It simply acted upon instinct, and that instinct demanded a return to the open sky.  With a great beat of its wings, it had risen into the air and broken the pit with lightning and thunder, and with a few more, it had soared up the shaft.

Miles were risen in mere moments, and soon enough, it had flown straight out of the mouth of the pit, lightning streaming behind it, collapsing the pit as it departed.  Any magic power the Eagle spent during its rise was immediately returned to it as it entered the storm.  The lightning that struck its body filled it with delightful magic, and the wind and the rain and the clouds were its natural home.  Its primal terror vanished as the Eagle itself vanished into the clouds.

It was vaguely aware of some fiery being attempting to follow it.  Its predatory impulses demanded that it turn and confront this impertinent being, but there was a small part of the Eagle that felt this thing was familiar, and even friendly.  It refrained from attacking, but the Eagle paid no more attention to the fiery being, and instead focused on figuring out where it was.

It vaguely remembered that it had an enemy around here, some reason for why it had risen, but it took a long moment before it realized what that enemy was.

Far below, on the other side of the storm clouds, it caught a glimpse of deep, sea-green scales, and the white flash of an enormous ivory horn as one of the small handful of islets below cracked and crumbled into the seas.

This was its enemy.  This creature of the sea.  The magic it possessed was inundating the sky—it had called the storm!

Fury lanced through the Eagle’s mind.  Serpents were creatures of the sea and the dirt.  They had no business in the heavens, where the Eagle made its home—where the Eagle was Lord.

The Eagle unleashed a terrible screech, and the world resonated with its power.  The rain that swirled around this section of the sea halted and the wind slowed.  The clouds that had descended and shrouded this region began to rise as the Eagle seized back its rightful domain.

But a moment later, the enemy showed itself without its watery cloak; the Great Horned Serpent erupted from the waves, its aura staggering, its horn glowing, its emerald eyes narrowed in fury.  It roared at the heavens, and the storm returned.  The rain began pouring, the wind began howling, and the clouds again descended.

Without missing a beat, the Eagle flapped its wings, and a bolt of silver-blue lightning gathered in a nearby cloud and less than a second later, accompanied by an ear-splitting clap of thunder, struck the Great Horned Serpent.  The serpent shrieked in pain as scales were torn from its hide, and the light that illuminated its horn dimmed just a little bit.

But then, with a great wave of magic, millions of drops of rain halted in the air, and then were hurled back up at the Eagle like needles.

The Eagle shrieked again, though, and the rain was merely absorbed back into the lowest cloud layer.  However, the serpent had taken this opportunity to sink back beneath the waves, where the Eagle’s lightning could not easily chase it, and where the Eagle’s senses could not easily track it.

The few islets within this great storm had been shaking when the Eagle had emerged from the pit, and they began to shake even more, being consumed by the waves after only a few more seconds.

The Eagle largely felt nothing but contempt; this was a paltry show, and it did not scare the Eagle.  However, on the last island to break and fall—which happened to be where the pit had been located before the Eagle destroyed it—buried within the stone rubble, the Eagle’s eyes caught the flash of a blade as it sparked with lightning.  A moment later, that sword passed beneath waves.

It was a simple weapon, and surely no match for the Eagle’s razor-sharp talons… but the sight of the blade as it fell into the sea filled the Eagle with righteous fury and indignation, to pile onto the wrath it felt for its domain being trampled upon.

Far beneath it, the seas began to twist and turn, and then a depression formed within the spiraling storm.  This depression rapidly grew and grew, until the Eagle was staring down a maelstrom several miles wide.

Swimming around the outer edge of the maelstrom were a few flashes of ivory-white—the eponymous horn of the Great Horned Serpent.  The creature’s body was enormous, nearly a mile long and thicker than the Eagle’s own huge wingspan by several times.

But that didn’t deter the Eagle in the slightest.  With one more shriek, the Eagle declared its furious intent to the serpent, and it dove toward the maelstrom.

For daring to encroach upon its territory, and for the loss of that blade, the Eagle would obliterate that serpent.  It would rain lightning down upon it until nothing remained but ash.  This lowly creature would learn its place, and then it would serve as warning to all others who might challenge the Eagle’s authority.

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