Last Lord of the Fey (Progression Fantasy)

That earned a look of confusion from the creature who flew above Tristan on mighty wings.

The Realm Protector of The Witchwood gained height and began sending down purple-tinged, razor-sharp leaves. Tristan hid behind his cloak, feeling all of them ping off of the hardened and reinforced scales. But, he was not idly sitting there. He tensed his legs. "The very weapons you rend and tear are mine to use. The very plates that protect you shall protect me as well. I will glide on these mighty wings. With this tail, I shall crush my foes. Your mighty strength will flow through me and lift me to heights never thought possible." He jumped up, and pointed his toes down. "The skies unfold before me!"

His crucible churned and drained to a third of its maximum capacity as he activated Scales of our Foe focusing on his skin, Aspect of the dragon-claws, tail, muscles, Wing Glide, and Dragon Leap. He went rocketing up into the sky, his cloak protecting him from the barrage.

SLAM. He impacted the underside of the sinuous Realm Protector, exploding through her wooden covering, into her hide, and partially embedding himself into her flesh. He lashed out with his dagger, stabbing deep as he muscles writhed and tried to crush him. She ended up squeezing him out of the wound, and he began to float down. To his delight, the tail seemed to help him gain maneuverability in the air, and he quickly moved to her side despite only being able to glide.

"You dare!" she screamed out.

Tristan did not reply, as the hunt-urge was pulsating through his body. Instead, he activated Frost Flurry twice in rapid succession, sending a scattershot of shards through each of the Realm Protector's wings – cutting holes and causing her to drop altitude. He rolled his shoulders back and descended after her from on high, aiming for where he assumed the weak spot was between the place where both wing joints met.

His assumption was correct, as she quickly turned over so that her underbelly he had slammed into was facing him. Her mouth opened, and a sickly purple energy blasted out in a stream. Tristan had to tilt and divert course from the falling creature to dodge the attack. But, her neck whipped around and the blaze swept over his body. He could feel something build up in his chest, and tried to suck in breath, but couldn't. He couldn't speak at all. It felt like he was suffocating.

For a moment, fear flickered through his mind. But that was quickly overridden by the sheer hatred he felt in the moment for the dragon before him. The serpent that dared stand up to him, the lord of the whole Fey Realm. I'm above this fucking Realm Protector. He turned with a quick movement of his shoulders, angled his feet, and activated the artificed version of Dragon's Leap. He shot forth like a bolt of lightning, and cut down with his sword. The elongated blade cut a bloody gash along her body, and he circled around using the propulsion from the spell to do another pass at her still-falling body.

She managed to flare out her wings enough to not slam into the ground and turn into paste, but Tristan still heard crunching noises. Immediately, he went into a dive-bomb, landing on her weak spot and taking the whole impact on his legs. With a single, mighty thrust, he stabbed down into where he assumed her heart was. The tension around his chest vanished, and he could breathe once more as her body went limp. He willed his helmet to recede and began drinking her blood. The thick, tingling ichor crawled its way down his throat; as if he had swallowed ants while still alive. Yet he kept going, gorging himself until he was bursting. Then, pulling back, he put his clawed hands into the gesture for his family's bloodline only spell.

"Mighty beast which now lies slain, I take from you what you can no longer use and is mine by right of conquest." His silver essence surged forward, completely covering her body as screams and shouts of panic came from the tree line. He ignored them, and as the essence receded, he felt the incredible nausea overtake him once more. He wanted to throw up, but couldn't. It felt horrible; his stomach churning, his mind swimming, and his balance completely thrown off. Yet he pushed through the sensations until the churning stopped.

Resistance to hexes, I assume. And now I should be able to use that spell type. That will be a major help in the Demon Realm. He stood up, still appearing half-draconic with ephemeral, essence-formed constructs of wings and tail, and got off of the dragon. He aimed his sword at the group in the tree line and shouted in Dragon's Tongue. "I am Lord Tristan Winterbloom. Kneel!"

The residents of The Witchwood did so without hesitation, and Tristan felt a smug satisfaction wash over him. "Your leaders. Come forward to speak. Now!" he sheathed his blades and let his spells fade; all except for his armor's artificed ones, and Good Luck.

A group of four approached on foot and stopped a hundred feet away. "We are The Coven, and speak for the people."

"Your Realm Protector lies slain. When that happens, a new one must be chosen, or your home will become a Lost Realm. Do you have one who can take up the mantle?"

They looked between themselves and shook their heads.

Tristan had been thinking about what he would do once he won. Excising the Realm was an option, of course. But he did not want an entire civilization to die out. That would be unforgivable, and he felt in his heart of hearts that his mother would disapprove of such a choice – even if it was brought upon them by their Realm Protector. The decisions of one person with power should not dictate an entire heritage's or species' destruction.

"Then I offer you a choice. I will graft your realm onto mine, and let you live in this space; unchanged, as an enclave. You will be bound by essence to my will and follow my decrees. But otherwise, you shall govern yourselves. If you decide to join with the rest of the Fey Realm as a proper resident, then you will be given a seat at my Court." He held up his hand. "The other option is we take you prisoner, transport you to the Mortal Realm, and you build yourselves a new life there." He looked up, and saw the blood-red skies begin to shift toward black. "I do not know how long it takes for a realm to become lost . . . but confer with your people quickly."

The Coven quickly ran back to the tree line, and Tristan heard them conversing in their language in panicked, pitched voices. Onyx came over to him. "That was a mighty battle."

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Tristan grinned. "I just slew an arch dragon." He looked at the corpse on the ground. "I did what grandfather did before me." For the first time in his life, Tristan felt immense, swelling pride in his chest. The type of pride that comes from reaching a pinnacle of supremacy in a craft. His was slaying dragons, and the ease with which he ended the encounter told him all he needed to know about future dragon threats. They would be easily dealt with.

"Why was it so easy for you?" Onyx asked.

"Dragons are creatures of habit. They are the apex predator of every realm, though not always a Realm Protector – often enough that's true." I should've considered that as a possibility when we first learned of this realm's existence. "They stick to habits in everything in their life. After all, why would an apex predator change tactics? They do know that being attacked from above is dangerous, as normally the weak spot is located between the wing muscles, buried deep. Except, apparently, water dragons, who have their hearts behind the brains." I need to keep in mind that not all dragons have the same placement of their heart. "A small dragon, my size, would not dare fight one this size. My size gave me my advantage."

Onyx nodded. "Ah. Right. Because only a being of similar size would dare challenge them."

"Correct." Tristan glanced sideways as The Coven returned, and all of them dropped to their knees only twenty feet away. "You decided then?"

"We throw ourselves upon your mercy, Lord Winterbloom of the Fey Realm. We elect the option of being an enclave."

"Excellent. Rise, then." They stood up, and he spoke. "Tell your people to return to their homes. I will ask that one of you remains with me. An honored guest."

Onyx spoke in Elvish. "A hostage. Yes?"

"Correct," Tristan replied in Elvish, before swapping back to Dragon's Tongue. "Choose who is coming with me as cultural ambassador." That title will make it go down better. Less bitter of a pill to swallow.

The Coven talked among themselves, and then one stepped forward. Definitely feminine, judging from her voice. Taller than Tristan by a head. Her pitch-black skin was covered with purple, glowing tattoos, and her canid teeth were filed down to give her a more refined appearance. The same deep, red hair as the rest spread wildly from her head, framing her face. "I will be your ambassador for culture. My name is Rel'nasha."

Tristan mounted Onyx and held a hand out to her. "Join me, then." He looked up to the onlookers, and the three other Coven members. "The rest of you, remain here. Once the realm is grafted, I will ensure it remains separate, save for that fortified entrance. I will return for your essence-bound oaths of fealty."

Rel'nasha looked back to her fellows, who all had tears in their eyes as if they would never see each other again. They spoke a few words, and then she took his hand and Tristan hoisted her up in front of him.

"Do not be sad," he said to the other Coven members as they turned to depart. "You will be allowed to cycle out your cultural ambassador. This is only a temporary goodbye. I am not a monster, I assure you. She will be treated with respect." And, hopefully, when we cycle out ambassadors, they will share word of the riches of the Fey Realm, and convince their fellows to join us. Adding to the realm, with a whole new species or heritage.

His words brought some looks of relief, and he clicked his tongue. "Come on, Onyx." Riding back to the fortification, he was let through, and immediately he looked up to the space above the rift, where the huge spriggan remained, blocking out the sky. The Matriarch was there, peering down.

She spoke in Elvish. "Lord Tristan, you captured one and took out their Realm Protector?"

"Graft the realm," Tristan ordered in the same language. "But do not collapse that part of the realm. Treat it like an addition. Like an outhouse with a raised platform leading to it. They will be an enclave. We will discuss in council." He looked to Krik, who watched patiently. "We will keep this space fortified. No one into or out of The Witchwood without my explicit permission. Those who try are to be rebuffed. If they use force, respond in kind."

"Your will, forest father."

Tristan looked around but kept addressing Krik. "Keep enough of a force here to hold up to a prolonged siege. However, once the realm is grafted—" The world began to shake around them, and the Daylight Dell surged with sunlight as the crimson receded. All the seeping crimson around the rift faded away, and a permanent, semi-transparent, semi-opaque prismatic tunnel led from the top of the fortress down into The Witchwood.

Zeltana's voice surged to the forefront of Tristan's mind, as he was subconsciously both-direction spinning his crucible. Very interesting play. You did not conquer, but instead incorporated. And the idea to slowly convert them to being yours is ingenious. Still retaining my conquering ways, but in a benevolent way.

Tristan looked at Rel'nasha and swapped to Dragon's Tongue. "Your people are safe, in The Witchwood. I won't even rename the region. But you are now a part of the Fey Realm. However much you wish to integrate, that is your wish." He helped her down from Onyx's back, and swapped to Elvish. "Bertram, take an escort and see her safely back to the Queen's Wood. Set her up in lodging. And Felicity? Go fly and get some fairy dragons to keep a constant watch on her. She is a guest, but until I bind her species or heritage to my will, they are to be monitored." The Matriarch flew down and landed. Rel'nasha lost her composure and began to hyperventilate. Tristan swapped to Dragon's Tongue. "This is our Realm Protector."

The Matriarch spoke. "Lord Tristan?"

"She is the cultural ambassador of her people." He looked at Rel'nasha. "What are you called? Your heritage or species?"

She spoke, and her voice was soft, filled with a bit of fear, but also a sense of optimism. "We are the Witchkin. We are a heritage. Species exist within The Witchwood, such as the Sap Blooms you slaughtered."

The Matriarch spoke. "What happened to the species that were in this part of the realm you grafted?"

"We slew them," she replied. "Thousands of years ago."

Tristan felt a pang of sorrow, and Zeltana echoed the feeling as the emotion came through her words. And another one of my creations is gone. We must remake them. But, perhaps, in a different location. Still somewhere out of the way, to give them their space.

"You have males of your heritage?" Tristan asked.

"They are the homemakers and child-rearers, back at The Cauldron. The women fight and perform witchcraft."

"Hexes," Tristan said, and she nodded. "What other spell types are you capable of as a heritage?"

"Poison elementalism, flora, fauna, alteration, imbuement, shadow elementalism."

They are a full heritage, fully grafted into the realm. Just like Elves. I would even argue they are like a dark reflection of us. In either event, their joining the realm has lowered the ambient essence to around eighty percent. But, their realm being grafted has resulted in several benefits. Most notably, the ambient essence increased so we have about eighty-five percent left. Plenty for the Elves when they return.

That reminded Tristan. "What feature did we obtain when you grafted The Witchwood?" He directed his question to The Matriarch.

"The ability to communicate with animals."

"Neat," Tristan replied. He addressed Rel'nasha. "You will be taken to quarters, given food if you desire, food and drink. I will have you at the Fey Court to discuss relations." He looked past her to a fairy dragon. "Go and tell Thallia that we also need an envoy group to be sent here, to then go into the enclave to speak directly with the remaining Witchkin. Ensure that their military escort is tripled in size."

People began to disperse to their tasks, and Tristan let out a hefty sigh of relief. "Now, where to put the new Daylight Dell . . ."