Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods

Every breath Maël took caused a ripple on the glass walls, like a whisper bouncing through each reflection.

Somewhere behind one of those false walls, the real Lyraen was trapped. He couldn't feel her presence, only guess she was still there.

And as he stood still, the elf pounded against a mirror with both fists, her mouth moving silently, her eyes burning with fury, anger, and frustration. There was a little bit of fear in them. But not for herself. For him.

Then, the mirror ahead of him shimmered.

A ripple slid down the glass like oil, and from it stepped the demon Flaga, still wearing Lyraen's body like it belonged to her.

She moved gracefully, hips swaying slightly, arms loose and confident. Even her footsteps felt like an invitation.

"Still so calm," she said, smiling. "You must care for her deeply. Not even flinching… what strength. What a waste."

Maël didn't answer.

Flaga circled him slowly, her voice soft and low, close to his ear.

"Well," she whispered, "let me reward that patience with a warning. Strike the wrong mirror, and who knows what might happen to your dear friend? Wouldn't want her lost forever, would we?"

He remained still.

She only smiled wider.

"Of course," she added, walking ahead of him now, her hips rolling with every step, "there are other ways. Other paths."

She turned and leaned closer, too close, her eyes shining a pale blue.

"I could let her go freely, but in exchange," she purred, "you will stay. Pledge yourself. The Crimson Bloom always has room for those with... divine potential."

Still no reaction.

Just the smallest curve at the corner of Maël's mouth.

"Thanks for the warning," he said quietly.

That made her pause.

"Oh?"

"Now I know I don't need to test the mirrors. If you wanted to kill her, you would have already done it.."

Flaga blinked once. Her smile froze, just slightly.

He wasn't guessing. He knew.

She tilted her head and smiled.

"Sharp. I like that."

Her smile slowly peeled back as her body melted like candlewax. What stepped forward was still feminine, stunning even, but no longer human.

Her skin glowed a light purple, smooth and shiny like polished stone. Her hair floated gently, like cloth underwater.

Thin, living cloth wrapped around her body, holding tight and changing shape with each breath.

Curved horns grew from the sides of her head.

"Mmm, it's a shame," she cooed. "You're cute when you're cold. And I do like cold boys."

Maël gave her a side glance.

"Honestly, I'm kind of disappointed. One of my dreams was to meet a succubus so I wouldn't die a virgin."

Flaga blinked, then laughed, delighted. She stepped closer, slow and languid, fingers brushing over her collarbone before sliding lower.

"Dreams do come true, Hero. All you have to do is say the word." Her hands massaged her chest suggestively.

Maël raised an eyebrow, then looked around. "Some shows are better without an audience," he muttered, clearly referring to Lyraen, still watching from behind the glass.

"Oh, don't let their opinions hold you back," Flaga whispered, circling him again. "The truth isn't in the world outside. It's here."

She tapped her chest. And as she spoke, her form began to twist again.

"People always try to pretend it's not important, but carnal desire... it's essential for life. They shame it, silence it, call it weakness. But without it, there is no species. No legacy. No future."

As she spoke, her body reshaped itself with a sensual ripple, taking on a leaner, more athletic build.

Her hips tightened, chest flattened slightly, and her legs stretched longer with defined curves.

Her hair flared out in a deeper red hue.

Her face settled into a sharp glare.

Airi's glare.

The figure before him now held Airi's shape. Her expression, her grin. Even the stance.

Maël froze. So did Lyraen in the glass.

Flaga looked down at herself, amused.

"Ahh... so this is the one now? Your taste changes by the second. What a recipe for a playboy."

Maël narrowed his eyes. Then let out a short, dry laugh.

"So that's how it works. You copy people based on one's preferences... I hope you didn't use me to take the granny's appearance."

"You flatter me," Flaga teased. She slowly ran a hand down her new form, Airi's face, chest, and hips, but with an exaggerated, dangerous curve in every movement and a burning gaze.

He stared at her.

"Thanks for the performance," he said dryly. "Next time, pick a private stage."

Flaga giggled.

"So serious," she said, voice playful. "But you're dangerous, aren't you? Makes me wonder... what would you do if we were alone?" Her eyes half-lidded, her tongue brushing her lip. "I can feel everything the people I copy feel, you know. And I—" she ran a hand down Airi's body, slowly, teasingly, "feel like you should make a move. Fast. Before she completely fell for him."

Maël's expression didn't change.

"I'd rather do it with the canon version. For now, I want to see how she fight."

Flaga chuckled.

"Such a shame. Might be your only chance."

He simply smiled. For a moment, they stared at each other. A quiet stillness between two predators.

Then she stepped forward, stretching her arms.

"Fine. But it won't be as easy as you think. With that little power you have, are you sure you can beat her?"

"Depends," Maël said, then tilted his head. "You took Airi's shape. So you can you her powers too, right? Like the Crimson Bloom. I heard she copied someone so well she passed under divine light."

Flaga's eyes lit up.

"Oh... clever. Very clever... But every body has a purpose."

She stepped closer again, her shape already shifting. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper as her skin darkened.

"I can become anyone tied to your soul. Love has many forms, Hero. Lust only guides the heart to what it already knows."

Her skin darkened to red.

Then her shoulders widened. Muscles hardened. Her frame thickened. Four arms sprouted from her sides, each one scarred, wrapped in gold.

The body grew tall, towering.

Weapons hung from her back. Four swords, all different in shape, each one emanating aura.

A mane of black-red hair spilled over a tall, scar-marked face.

Maël stepped back.

His lips parted. He knew this figure.

His first master.

The previous Sacred Swordsman of the past era.

The one he admired and feared.

"Mahvindra," he whispered.

And Flaga grinned.

"This power lives inside you too. So tell me, my student... what do you want learn today?"