Magma Dragon's Heir

55th of Season of Fire, 56th year of the 32nd imperial era

Raptors' howls washed over Newt's body, shaking his bones. He tried to fight his irrational terror, but the fearsome shriek made his legs shaky, barely able to support his weight.

Calm down. It's just a child's fear. Your skin is impervious to saurian claws, but even if they can somehow pierce it, at most they will leave harmless scratches.

Newt could logically explain everything, but his skin still crawled when the first man-sized saurian entered his cave. The monster stared at Newt, its eyes identical to Magmin's, but three times larger. The stare-down lasted a heartbeat before Newt faltered, and the raptor charged towards him with a vicious cry.

Newt clenched his fist and lashed out, smashing towards his enemy with a lava fist. The raptor slashed with its wicked claws, and Newt's granite skin and flesh offered no resistance as the claw cleaved his arm off.

Newt's stump flashed with pain, and the raptor pounced.

Newt screamed as he awoke, holding his neck.

"Son-of-a-raptor," he cursed and tried to make sense of what had happened.

My flesh was as tough as granite. There's no way a common raptor could scratch me. He took an embarrassingly long moment to realize the monsters from his nightmares were not common raptors. For starters, they were bigger than he was.

Newt tried to recall the exact event which left him traumatized. The memory was easy enough to conjure, but he could not recall what he was thinking, other than fearing the saurians would rip him to shreds.

That's probably it. I believed they could rip me to shreds, and now my heart demons can rip me to shreds, regardless of how tough my skin is.

Newt scratched the back of his head in frustration. He would have to defeat the pack of raptors without letting them land a blow, which was impossible. Raptors were pack animals. They would surround Newt and tear him to shreds.

I could hide in a narrow tunnel, like I did just now. Then I could fight them one by one.

But even then, he would have to defeat the murderous monster from his nightmares before it landed a single blow.

I need a weapon.

The Salamandra family traditionally used a pair of custom longer than standard long swords, called salamandra's fangs, and Newt had spent four years training with them before his uncle threw him into the mines. He was nowhere near Plowson's level, but he believed his skill should prove sufficient for fighting a mindless beast in a narrow corridor.

Newt closed his eyes and entered his realm once more. He was back in the black calcified forest, and immediately headed downhill, afraid tunnels might damage his precious pines. Nobody shouted warnings at him, raptors did not find him, and Newt had no idea when and how his uncle would appear, but he had a feeling the traitor would stab him in the back.

Newt reached the edge of the forest, and some fifty yards outside, it started forming a cavern. He walked down the narrow, ten-yard-long shaft, and entered a wider chamber beneath. Inside, Newt transformed a piece of granite into a sword, but the balance was horrible, as was the idea.

He wasted minutes making adjustments before giving up. Finally, after giving it some more thought, he conjured a spear instead. Several minutes passed in balancing the spear and tweaking it to his body before he had a passable weapon.

Since it was only a matter of time before the raptors found him, Newt started practicing thrusts and slashes to get adjusted to the extraordinarily heavy weapon. Ten minutes into his training, Newt found a problem.

I don't grow tired, and I will have to practice with weapons in the real world if I want to regain my proficiency.

Newt's proficiency in the real world mattered little for heart demon extermination. Realistic use of realistic weapons, while vital, was nowhere nearly as important as getting rid of the obstacles which hampered the shaping of his realm and Newt's advancement. Worse, they were objects of fear made manifest by his imagination. They might not even respond properly to real weapons.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

After assuring himself he wasn't wasting time, Newt kept practicing. Finally, hours later, Newt stopped slashing and piercing empty air, focusing on his arts.

His father had demonstrated hurling a bolt of flame with a punch when he first started teaching Newt, but the man was in the third realm's higher layers, the reach of his magic nearly seven feet away from his body. Newt had a long way to go before reaching that level, but he started with what he could do, projecting his abilities nearly an inch away from his skin.

If only I had an enchanted weapon. Weapons capable of conducting mana and amplifying their wielders were expensive, and the family had some locked away in their vault, deep underground.

The howls interrupted Newt's daydreaming. He believed himself ready for the monstrous hounds, that he would not be as affected, but his legs proved him wrong. He hurried towards the narrow tunnel and met the raptors half way through the shaft.

The lead beast was just as fearsome as the last time. It tried to slash at Newt, but the corridor was too narrow, and the slash turned out more like a smallarm squirming with its diminutive arms. Newt had no such problems. He thrust the spear, and the granite weapon pierced the monster's skull, hitting the brain and snuffing out its life.

That is when Newt faced another problem. The tunnel was cramped, with hardly enough room for the raptor to squeeze in, and the monster's corpse got stuck as it slumped towards the ground, sealing the passage.

Newt stared at the unexpected development, then willed the tunnel to widen, so that the body could fall down and free the passage. The granite disobeyed. The wall remained the same, the dead raptor still stuck between them.

Newt frowned and kept focusing on his intention to widen the passage, but even as minutes passed, there was no change. The raptors beyond the body growled and barked, but did not touch their deceased pack mate.

Newt retreated into the cavern and fashioned a long granite hook, with which he dragged the raptor's body towards himself. Finally, the beast's carcass fell to the ground, and another raptor emerged from behind it. The monster jumped, and Newt dropped the hook. He reached for his spear, but talons stabbed the back of his head, and he awoke with a scream.

He bit his lip and calmed his breathing.

Not as good as I hoped, but it wasn't bad either. If I repeat this five more times, I will kill the raptors. But there's room for improvement. I should try to kill at least two or three at a time.

Newt tried again, this time with a slightly wider corridor, and got two raptors before the third one slashed him with its claws. He used the same strategy and eliminated another two before preparing for the encounter with the final raptor.

He was in yet another cave of his making when he heard the familiar howls. He frowned and listened carefully.

There's more than one. Did I count wrong? Were there more than six? Newt recalled his first encounter with the raptors, and he was positive he saw six bipedal predators sprinting to dismember him. He picked up his spear and entered the tunnel, almost reaching the entrance before the raptors arrived.

Newt killed the first at the entrance, the second two yards away. This time he pulled out his spear immediately after striking, mindful of his mistake last time, which cost him his weapon. Newt killed the third raptor, then the fourth, but he was forced to step into the cavern he had made to practice while waiting.

A raptor followed him, then another. The fifth and the sixth. There were no more, but the monsters flanked Newt and ripped him to shreds.

Damn! Newt didn't scream as he awoke, already getting used to getting shredded. I was close, but that doesn't matter. I figured out how they work, and how to counter them.

Newt closed his eyes and reappeared within his realm. He was inside the woods, and ran downhill, when a familiar voice shouted, "Watch out, m'lord!"

Newt turned, watching in horror as the ridiculous wooden training sword crawled towards his face. His first reflex was to curse, the second to cover himself in Granite Crust, but the leather struck him square in the nose. He toppled over, the back of his head struck the forest floor, and Newt awoke again.

"Damn it!" he bellowed, shaking with rage.

He was about to close his eyes and try again when the voice of reason told him to stop.

I need to rest. I will sleep a couple hours, go up and grab another meal. Rested and sated, I will be in a better state of mind than I am now.

Newt closed his eyes and counted as he breathed. One, two, in, three, four, out. One, two, in, three, four, out. He kept a steady rhythm until sleep took him. Hours passed before he opened his eyes again. He drowsily fumbled for his pickaxe, and went towards the exit once he found it.

Newt took his meat and bread without a word and headed back down. After eating his fill, he closed his eyes and reappeared in his realm, somewhere in the unsculpted layers.

No reason to rush. He dug a tunnel thirty yards deep, with vertical slots housing spare spears every two yards in case his broke or got stuck in a body. After finishing his trap, Newt jogged outside to spread his scent some more before returning into the tunnel, and waiting, five feet away from the entrance.

The excited, bloodthirsty howls came after a brief wait. Newt was ready, and they were not. One after another, he impaled the monstrous raptors. The phobic battle had become a chore, but after killing the sixth and final beast, their bodies dissolved, disappearing forever from Newt's realm.

He stared at the empty room and dropped his spear. The granite shaft snapped and cluttered on the ground as Newt looked up, laughing.

He had defeated his first heart demon.