Jogid’s heart swelled with pride as Great Master Kaito was announced as the winner of the baking competition. He watched his master graciously accept a golden cupcake-shaped trophy with a serene smile on his face. This was how it should be, with the Great Master receiving the accolades he deserved.
On the other baking station Rosto hunched over, his face draining of color until it was a sickly green. Approaching him, Jogid hesitated before speaking. “Rosto?” he asked. “Are you alright?”
What was happening? This went beyond normal disappointment at losing.
Rosto did not respond. As Jogid wondered whether to call for a healer, Rosto’s body began to shake violently.
And before he could decide, the baker let out a loud scream that made Jogid jump. Startled, the dragon took an uncertain step back, overwhelmed with confusion.
Rosto’s body lost all definition, arms, legs and torso merging into a throbbing, swirling mass that was somehow both liquid and solid at the same time. He grew larger, three times his normal size, then four times, then five, shifting and rolling like a dark storm cloud with cracks of electricity inside.
While his torso continued expanding and contracting as if filled with water, the awful scream deepened into a roar that shook the very air—the smell of doughnuts and velvet cake was no longer there.
Jogid stared in shock as the shadows faded, revealing Rosto’s new appearance. The only way to describe it was like a towering, shifting figure, with a body that flowed like liquid. Made of some dark, gaseous substance, he swirled ominously. His eyes glowed white and piercing, full of ancient power, and his visage, which consisted of a series of malevolent stars, flickered through a myriad of grotesque faces. One moment it was a wide open mouth with too many sharp teeth, another moment it had a single, huge eye, and then it was smooth except for a bunch of squirming tentacles.
This was no illness, Jogid realized. This was Rosto’s true form—the form of a dangerous magical being. Jogid shuddered at the immense power this man wielded—if he could even call him a man.
Meanwhile, Portia raced around the festival grounds, directing villagers to flee until suddenly skidding to a stop between the panicked screams, and squinting at the swirling figure overwhelming the festival. “Vexlerion,” she breathed.
Vexlerion? Jogid repeated in his thoughts. The Reality Weaver? The mythical hell beast himself—one of the most dangerous sorcerers in history. He had not been seen for decades.
Another hell beast in Calmo? And it went unnoticed throughout the entire festival? What should I do?
Rosto—Vexlerion carefully scanned the festival grounds. When the stars on his face fell on Jogid, they dimmed with unmistakable hatred.
“You set me up!” Vexlerion thundered. His voice echoed a second voice, one more demonic than the first. “You and that charlatan Kaito,” he jabbed an accusatory claw towards the Great Master, “planned this charade to humiliate me!” He raised clawed arms as he began chanting in a guttural language. The air crackled with gathering energy.
Portia’s eyes widened. “Run, Jogid!” she yelled. But it was too late.
With a roar, Vexlerion unleashed his spell in a blast that shook the earth. Reality around him warped. Sections of the festival grounds blinked out of existence—in their place stood a desolate purple landscape under a pink sky. Craggy black rocks jutted at odd angles and whirlwinds of sand swirled apocalyptically.
Villagers’ screams continued as the warped dimensions spread, erasing celebration booths. “Don’t get caught in hell beast’s spell!” Portia shouted.
“I’m done with this place!” bellowed Vexlerion. “No more festivals, no more Calmo or Eastscar! I’ll reshape this entire kingdom into one that properly respects me.” He thrust his arms skyward, chanting words that made the air crackle, followed by a shockwave of magic that pulsed outward.
Calmo is…helpless, Jogid thought, while feeling more than a little helpless himself.
Nearly half the villagers warped into horrific monsters—the Eastscar residents. Mayor Tharbomi sprouted curved horns and leathery wings. Others gained claws or extra limbs. They howled mindlessly at the sky.
The Great Master darted in front of him and the others—Zenith, Portia, Angelina—shielding them from the dark magic with a soft hum from his lips. “He must’ve spiked those poor people with cursed cupcakes for ages,” Kaito said. “Building an army of monsters right under our noses.”
“How do we stop him?” Angelina asked.
“I don’t know, but we should do it fast. Who knows what other evil magic he’ll unleash,” Zenith said, looking at Kaito. “And he’ll destroy Calmo.”
“We won’t let him,” declared Kaito, rolling up his sleeves. He turned to the others. “Not even food critics are this salty!”
Then, to Jogid’s shock, his master stepped aside, regarding him as calm as a silver river. “I’ll leave this one to you.”
Jogid stared, terrified. Him? Face a hell beast that just transformed half the villagers into monsters?
Seeing his hesitation, Kaito placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You can do this. If I believe in you, you must believe in yourself.”
Jogid took a deep breath, then nodded. His master’s faith strengthened his nerve. If the Great One believes I am capable, I cannot falter. “I will try, Master.”
“But Jogid, it’ll take all of your strength,” Kaito warned.
“I understand,” said Jogid. He squared his shoulders and marched towards the swirling vortex of Vexlerion’s power. There was a visible threshold where reality ruptured violently on the other side. When he crossed, everything changed
Jogid was alone.
He had been transported. The frantic screams were gone. A different dimension? No. A different reality. The landscape was a galactic-pink sky and two colossal stone purple walls on either side.
Fear pounded in his veins, but he clenched his fists, stood tall, and faced the endless, ceilingless corridor. Unsure whether to go forward or back, he simply walked. It soon became clear he was trapped in a labyrinth.
Strange noises called out to him from around corners. There were things crawling, flying, oozing in this place. A swarm of giant eyeballs with bat wings dove at Jogid. He blasted them to dust with fire, then whirled to see several huge fanged mouths skittering toward him. But he seared them with more flames before they could bite.
He continued down the labyrinth, but made it a point to conserve his mana—he would need to battle the hell beast’s aura.
After what felt like hours battling abominations, the passages emptied into a large chamber. In the center, waiting atop a mountain of bones hovered Vexlerion, grinning madly.
“Well done, little dragon! I see you survived my playthings.”
Jogid stood tall. “Why, Vexlerion? Why attack innocent villagers and warp this land?”
The beast cackled. “Innocent? Those fools saw me as only a monster! I gave them a chance, but they refused my generosity. Scorned my reality-bending delicacies. So I added a touch of corruption each day. Soon their true natures emerged.” His face darkened. He descended from his throne, shadows that looked like long hands moved like tentacles underneath him. “And now I will force their respect...by reshaping everything to my liking!”
He shaped a portion of his being into an arm, and the cavern tremored. Jogid sprang forward.
“Stop!” he shouted. “This madness helps no one! Leave these realms in peace and we can find another way.”
Vexlerion hesitated. For a moment, sadness and longing flickered across his face. But then his expression hardened.
“No. It’s too late now, don’t you see?” His eyes glowed with fervent purpose. “I will reconstruct this land and all its people until I am properly revered!”
The sorcerer swept his arms wide. Reality around them warped further. The chamber’s walls melted away, replaced by…by…nothing. They were on a large piece of rock floating in outer space, surrounded by the pink hues of the galactic expanse.
Violence and fury had consumed this tortured soul. He had to be stopped before both realms were devastated by his reckless powers.
The humble dragonfolk removed his robe, fire enveloped his claws and wings, and he sprang forward, leaving a sonic boom behind. “I cannot allow your madness to continue, Vexlerion. For the sake of both our worlds...stand down! Final warning!”
Vexlerion tilted back his head and laughed. “You? Stop me? Very well, try your best! When you fall, you’ll join my army of beasts. I could craft a magnificent creature with those flaming wings of yours!” He unleashed a barrage of spells. Jogid raised glowing barriers, bracing himself.
The conversion rituals I know are too slow, too predictable, Jogid thought, dodging a spell.
The dragon counterattacked with fiery blast from his palms. But with an almost lazy gesture, Vexlerion chanted a spell beyond Jogid’s comprehension.
I’m outmatched, Jogid realized with a sinking heart. History repeats itself. Do all hell beasts control chaotic IDMs? Vexlerion stood as a titan of arcane power. Jogid’s own mastery, primarily rooted in Earth and Fire IDM, were nothing in comparison. Vexlerion’s spells, a maelstrom of interdimensional mana, defied the traditional laws of conversion efficiency. His tattoos glowed with an eerie light, indicating a high-level mastery—even higher than that of the Krekanox
The air rippled. Suddenly Jogid blinked out of existence, reappearing in pieces across fractured dimensions.
First his left arm vanished, finding himself in a star-filled outer space. Next his right leg disappeared, arriving in a scorched volcanic realm. Soon only his torso and head remained hovering before Vexlerion as other body parts scattered helplessly across reality. It didn’t hurt, and there was no blood, but the sensation was impossible. He could sense his hands, arms, legs, and feet moving, yet they weren’t there—a black void occupied their place.
“We can accept you!” Jogid cried.
“Accept me? I sought admiration, not pity. But no longer shall I be overlooked,” Vexlerion snarled.
It’s over. My tattoo dynamics are off. After everything, all his training, he still lacked power compared to this cosmic entity. The sheer variety of IDM types Vexlerion controlled, and the ease with which he wove them together was unreal. Tears rolled down his cheeks at his failure. In a choked whisper, he called: “Master Kaito...please, help me...”
A resolute snap echoed across dimensions. Between one blink and the next, Kaito manifested, facing down Vexlerion. With a snap of his fingers, The draconic body parts suddenly zoomed back through interdimensional portals—Jogid’s body reintegrated in normal space. In seconds he was made whole again.
The air still rippled all around, but it was different around the Great Master.
Quieter. And serene.
“Forgive me, Master...I doubted my strength. I am no match for a hell beast.” Jogid said, crestfallen. “This one continues to fail you.”
But Kaito simply smiled gently. “On the contrary. Knowing your limits, and seeking aid when needed…that shows wisdom. That’s what I wanted you to learn.”
“So, you’ve shown yourself,” the monster grunted. “The one good thing you’ve done is entering my realm willingly.”
With a twist of his hands, he caught strands of Vexlerion’s spell, weaving them into a new fabric of reality.
“Both of you shall no longer exist in this reality,” said the hell beast Vexlerion roared, charging Kaito in a frenzy. But the Great One simply snapped his fingers, and the Reality Weaver dissolved, screaming as he crumbled to dust on the wind. Just like that. He easily defeated yet another hell beast, reminding Jogid again that he would have to die and reincarnate a hundred times before he could attain even scraps of Kaito’s power.
“Next time, don’t forget to warm up the water before adding the yeast.”
The alternate dimension collapsed in turn. Jogid found himself back in Calmo, the horrific world scrubbed out of existence. All returned to normal.
Kaito helped him to his feet. “Jogid, don’t doubt yourself. You did well today.”
At that moment, Zenith, Portia, and Angelina rushed over to check on Jogid and Kaito.
“Thank the gods!” Zenith cried, throwing her arms around Kaito while Portia clapped Jogid on the back.
Jogid gazed around at the festival grounds. Before he could speak, Angelina chimed in, “I’m glad you’re both okay. And luckily, no one got hurt outside of Vexlerion’s spell.”
“And everyone from Eastscar has returned to normal,” Portia said. “Thanks to Angie’s healing IDM.”
“I really didn’t do much,” Angelina replied, timidly.
“Ah, don’t sell yourself short,” Portia chortled.
“We’ll the festival is obviously over. We’ll have to rebuild and recover…” Zenith trailed off with a sigh.
Jogid was about to offer words of reassurance when the mayor shook her head and smiled bravely. “But it’ll be fine, we’ve survived far worse.”
Jogid nodded firmly, and then again after Zenith began issuing instructions on organizing repairs. Then, he nearly lost his balance pivoting twice on his claws considering where to begin assisting while his limbs still remembered the strange sensation of being in different dimensions—even his wings felt off, as if they wouldn’t be able to carry him through the air.
Strange, how quickly everyday worries like rebuilding took over again. Yet perhaps that anchor to routine action was welcome, drawing him back to the familiar tangible world.
He wandered among cottages and shops. The villagers were already pitching in to repair, hauling cartloads of materials and shouting encouragement to one another. As Jogid continued patrolling around assisting people, he came upon an elderly woman struggling to prop up a collapsed section of her cottage.
Wordlessly, he moved to help, steadying the beam so she could wedge supports underneath. With care and teamwork, they soon had the little house stabilized once more.
The woman clasped Jogid’s hands, her wrinkled face crinkling with gratitude. “Bless you, brave one. We’ll be trading stories about you for years to come!”
Buoyed by her praise, Jogid continued aiding the rebuild throughout Calmo. By day’s end, spent but satisfied, he rejoined his companions as Zenith supervised the recovery efforts.
“Jogid, we can’t thank you enough for organizing such a wonderful festival,” she said warmly. “I’ll make next year’s twice as big to make up for this!”
Kaito slipped an arm around her waist, “we’ll make sure.” After a tender kiss, he turned to his pupil.
“Come, Jogid. Let us go home.”
▬▬ι════════ﺤ
The next morning Jogid awoke feeling utterly exhausted. Every muscle ached as if he’d battled an army of tanglepaws single-handedly. Downstairs, he found Master Kaito slumped at the table with dark circles under his eyes slowly sipping coffee. Apparently reversing a hell beast’s reality warp took a massive physical toll, even for archmages.
The villagers on the other hand seemed lively and vigorous as they continued the repairs and cleanup.
Common folk truly are hardier than they appear if they can bounce back so quickly from magical chaos.
That afternoon, they bid the mayor and Eastscar villagers farewell. As the group turned to depart, Mayor Tharbomi approached Master Kaito. “Great Baker! despite the nasty business with that demon chef, I hope you’ll come to Eastscar next summer and compete again” he laughed. “Maybe you’ll even win first place then.”
First place? Jogid didn’t like how odd that sounded, so he glared at his Master while Tharbomi and the rest of Eastscar departed.
Though Kaito’s expression remained neutral, he ended up addressing his concern. “Jogid we are still within Vexlerion’s reality.”
Those were the words that Jogid didn’t want to hear. “But Master Kaito, I saw you destroy Vexlerion with my own eyes. How can we still be in his reality?”
“Do you remember the outcome of the baking competition?”
Of course he did—and that’s what worried him. “Yes, certainly, you won! It was a remarkable victory. Perhaps Mayor Tharbomi just made a mistake.”
Kaito shook his head gently. “Although highly improbable, it could be the case. But there’s something else—my mana is being drained subtly.”
How could that be? “Drained? But I don’t feel anything unusual.”
“Close your eyes, Jogid. Focus. Feel beyond the surface,” Kaito instructed softly.
Jogid did as told, closing his eyes and concentrating. After a moment, his face tightened. “You’re right... I can feel it now. There’s a slight but constant drain on my mana. How could I miss that?”
Kaito’s gaze was steady. “Vexlerion’s manipulation is subtle but pervasive. Now, we need to think. Where do you suppose is the center of this reality he’s created?”
Jogid pondered for a moment, before responding the first thing that popped into his mind. “The baking competition area? Is that where we’ll find him?”
“Exactly,” Kaito affirmed with a nod. “That’s where he would anchor his control—the heart of his fabrication. Let’s move, now.”
They ran there.
Jogid was trying to sort out how, exactly, Vexlerion power worked based on the seemingly normal reality that he had created outside of the reality that Master Kaito had dismantled.
In the center of Calmo village stood a monstrous purple tree, easily thirty feet high and growing larger by the second. Its thick, gnarled branches reached out hungrily, pulsing and twisting as if alive.
“This is bad, very bad,” Kaito muttered. He turned to his apprentice. “Jogid! Can you burn the tree down?”
Jogid nodded resolutely, trusting his master’s command. He closed his eyes in concentration as power flowed through his hands. With his tattoos glowing red across his entire body, a jet of flames erupted from the tip of his claws, engulfing the purple tree.
The tree shrieked. Loudly. Very loudly.
The trunk cracked and groaned before crashing down in an explosion of ashes and embers.
But as the tree toppled over, an inky black mass began rising from the ashes. It coalesced into a towering dark figure—Vexlerion. The stars continued forming and dissolved on his face.
“You are too late,” Vexlerion and his characteristic second voice boomed. “I have already drained every soul in Calmo village of their mana, feasting on power beyond your comprehension.”
He loomed over them, expanding in size. “Even if you destroy my physical form now, the immense energy I have harvested will set off a cataclysmic explosion. All of Daiyudura shall fall to darkness with me!”
Dark thunderclouds swiftly gathered overhead, responding to the monstrous power Vexlerion now held. Jogid braced himself, prepared to make a hopeless last stand. But Kaito simply pulled out his small tin whistle.
“Cover your ears, Jogid!” he shouted over the rising winds. Then, he blew a single note. Visible sound waves ripped forth, hammering Vexlerion like a tidal wave of pure IDM.
Kaito advanced, blowing relentlessly as Vexlerion destabilized under the auditory onslaught.
With a final shriek, Vexlerion’s form collapsed completely. “You...fools!” he choked out. “I curse you all! When I fall...you fall too!” His form began glowing with blinding white light, flooding the surroundings. Jogid shielded his eyes
“Be calm,” Kaito soothed. “It is finally over.”
Finally.
Kaito clapped once.
Vexlerion phased in and out of reality several times before completely disappearing out of existence, taking the brightness with him.
Around them, Calmo reappeared exactly as it was, peaceful under the morning sun. The illusion had been completely dispelled. Vexlerion was no more.
“Master Kaito, I... we owe you a great debt. Your magic saved Calmo.” He couldn’t even twitch his black tail.
Kaito slumped down next to him. “Jogid, remember, we can’t let our guard down. This... all of this could be just another layer of an alternate reality.”
“Your insight never ceases to amaze me, Master. But, how can we be sure? How do we know this isn’t just another illusion?”
Pausing thoughtfully, then speaking more to himself than Jogid, Kaito said, “I don’t feel that familiar tug, the leeching of my energy.”
Jogid closed his eyes, focusing inwardly for a moment. “You’re right, Master. I don’t feel the drain on my mana either. It feels... stable, real.”
“Then we must stay vigilant, Jogid. Pay close attention to our surroundings, to each other. That’s all we can do,” Kaito said, shrugging.
Jogid’s heart swelled with pride as Great Master Kaito was announced as the winner of the baking competition. He watched his master graciously accept a golden cupcake-shaped trophy with a serene smile on his face. This was how it should be, with the Great Master receiving the accolades he deserved.
On the other baking station Rosto hunched over, his face draining of color until it was a sickly green. Approaching him, Jogid hesitated before speaking. “Rosto?” he asked. “Are you alright?”
What was happening? This went beyond normal disappointment at losing.
Rosto did not respond. As Jogid wondered whether to call for a healer, Rosto’s body began to shake violently.
And before he could decide, the baker let out a loud scream that made Jogid jump. Startled, the dragon took an uncertain step back, overwhelmed with confusion.
Rosto’s body lost all definition, arms, legs and torso merging into a throbbing, swirling mass that was somehow both liquid and solid at the same time. He grew larger, three times his normal size, then four times, then five, shifting and rolling like a dark storm cloud with cracks of electricity inside.
While his torso continued expanding and contracting as if filled with water, the awful scream deepened into a roar that shook the very air—the smell of doughnuts and velvet cake was no longer there.
Jogid stared in shock as the shadows faded, revealing Rosto’s new appearance. The only way to describe it was like a towering, shifting figure, with a body that flowed like liquid. Made of some dark, gaseous substance, he swirled ominously. His eyes glowed white and piercing, full of ancient power, and his visage, which consisted of a series of malevolent stars, flickered through a myriad of grotesque faces. One moment it was a wide open mouth with too many sharp teeth, another moment it had a single, huge eye, and then it was smooth except for a bunch of squirming tentacles.
This was no illness, Jogid realized. This was Rosto’s true form—the form of a dangerous magical being. Jogid shuddered at the immense power this man wielded—if he could even call him a man.
Meanwhile, Portia raced around the festival grounds, directing villagers to flee until suddenly skidding to a stop between the panicked screams, and squinting at the swirling figure overwhelming the festival. “Vexlerion,” she breathed.
Vexlerion? Jogid repeated in his thoughts. The Reality Weaver? The mythical hell beast himself—one of the most dangerous sorcerers in history. He had not been seen for decades.
Another hell beast in Calmo? And it went unnoticed throughout the entire festival? What should I do?
Rosto—Vexlerion carefully scanned the festival grounds. When the stars on his face fell on Jogid, they dimmed with unmistakable hatred.
“You set me up!” Vexlerion thundered. His voice echoed a second voice, one more demonic than the first. “You and that charlatan Kaito,” he jabbed an accusatory claw towards the Great Master, “planned this charade to humiliate me!” He raised clawed arms as he began chanting in a guttural language. The air crackled with gathering energy.
Portia’s eyes widened. “Run, Jogid!” she yelled. But it was too late.
With a roar, Vexlerion unleashed his spell in a blast that shook the earth. Reality around him warped. Sections of the festival grounds blinked out of existence—in their place stood a desolate purple landscape under a pink sky. Craggy black rocks jutted at odd angles and whirlwinds of sand swirled apocalyptically.
Villagers’ screams continued as the warped dimensions spread, erasing celebration booths. “Don’t get caught in hell beast’s spell!” Portia shouted.
“I’m done with this place!” bellowed Vexlerion. “No more festivals, no more Calmo or Eastscar! I’ll reshape this entire kingdom into one that properly respects me.” He thrust his arms skyward, chanting words that made the air crackle, followed by a shockwave of magic that pulsed outward.
Calmo is…helpless, Jogid thought, while feeling more than a little helpless himself.
Nearly half the villagers warped into horrific monsters—the Eastscar residents. Mayor Tharbomi sprouted curved horns and leathery wings. Others gained claws or extra limbs. They howled mindlessly at the sky.
The Great Master darted in front of him and the others—Zenith, Portia, Angelina—shielding them from the dark magic with a soft hum from his lips. “He must’ve spiked those poor people with cursed cupcakes for ages,” Kaito said. “Building an army of monsters right under our noses.”
“How do we stop him?” Angelina asked.
“I don’t know, but we should do it fast. Who knows what other evil magic he’ll unleash,” Zenith said, looking at Kaito. “And he’ll destroy Calmo.”
“We won’t let him,” declared Kaito, rolling up his sleeves. He turned to the others. “Not even food critics are this salty!”
Then, to Jogid’s shock, his master stepped aside, regarding him as calm as a silver river. “I’ll leave this one to you.”
Jogid stared, terrified. Him? Face a hell beast that just transformed half the villagers into monsters?
Seeing his hesitation, Kaito placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You can do this. If I believe in you, you must believe in yourself.”
Jogid took a deep breath, then nodded. His master’s faith strengthened his nerve. If the Great One believes I am capable, I cannot falter. “I will try, Master.”
“But Jogid, it’ll take all of your strength,” Kaito warned.
“I understand,” said Jogid. He squared his shoulders and marched towards the swirling vortex of Vexlerion’s power. There was a visible threshold where reality ruptured violently on the other side. When he crossed, everything changed
Jogid was alone.
He had been transported. The frantic screams were gone. A different dimension? No. A different reality. The landscape was a galactic-pink sky and two colossal stone purple walls on either side.
Fear pounded in his veins, but he clenched his fists, stood tall, and faced the endless, ceilingless corridor. Unsure whether to go forward or back, he simply walked. It soon became clear he was trapped in a labyrinth.
Strange noises called out to him from around corners. There were things crawling, flying, oozing in this place. A swarm of giant eyeballs with bat wings dove at Jogid. He blasted them to dust with fire, then whirled to see several huge fanged mouths skittering toward him. But he seared them with more flames before they could bite.
He continued down the labyrinth, but made it a point to conserve his mana—he would need to battle the hell beast’s aura.
After what felt like hours battling abominations, the passages emptied into a large chamber. In the center, waiting atop a mountain of bones hovered Vexlerion, grinning madly.
“Well done, little dragon! I see you survived my playthings.”
Jogid stood tall. “Why, Vexlerion? Why attack innocent villagers and warp this land?”
The beast cackled. “Innocent? Those fools saw me as only a monster! I gave them a chance, but they refused my generosity. Scorned my reality-bending delicacies. So I added a touch of corruption each day. Soon their true natures emerged.” His face darkened. He descended from his throne, shadows that looked like long hands moved like tentacles underneath him. “And now I will force their respect...by reshaping everything to my liking!”
He shaped a portion of his being into an arm, and the cavern tremored. Jogid sprang forward.
“Stop!” he shouted. “This madness helps no one! Leave these realms in peace and we can find another way.”
Vexlerion hesitated. For a moment, sadness and longing flickered across his face. But then his expression hardened.
“No. It’s too late now, don’t you see?” His eyes glowed with fervent purpose. “I will reconstruct this land and all its people until I am properly revered!”
The sorcerer swept his arms wide. Reality around them warped further. The chamber’s walls melted away, replaced by…by…nothing. They were on a large piece of rock floating in outer space, surrounded by the pink hues of the galactic expanse.
Violence and fury had consumed this tortured soul. He had to be stopped before both realms were devastated by his reckless powers.
The humble dragonfolk removed his robe, fire enveloped his claws and wings, and he sprang forward, leaving a sonic boom behind. “I cannot allow your madness to continue, Vexlerion. For the sake of both our worlds...stand down! Final warning!”
Vexlerion tilted back his head and laughed. “You? Stop me? Very well, try your best! When you fall, you’ll join my army of beasts. I could craft a magnificent creature with those flaming wings of yours!” He unleashed a barrage of spells. Jogid raised glowing barriers, bracing himself.
The conversion rituals I know are too slow, too predictable, Jogid thought, dodging a spell.
The dragon counterattacked with fiery blast from his palms. But with an almost lazy gesture, Vexlerion chanted a spell beyond Jogid’s comprehension.
I’m outmatched, Jogid realized with a sinking heart. History repeats itself. Do all hell beasts control chaotic IDMs? Vexlerion stood as a titan of arcane power. Jogid’s own mastery, primarily rooted in Earth and Fire IDM, were nothing in comparison. Vexlerion’s spells, a maelstrom of interdimensional mana, defied the traditional laws of conversion efficiency. His tattoos glowed with an eerie light, indicating a high-level mastery—even higher than that of the Krekanox
The air rippled. Suddenly Jogid blinked out of existence, reappearing in pieces across fractured dimensions.
First his left arm vanished, finding himself in a star-filled outer space. Next his right leg disappeared, arriving in a scorched volcanic realm. Soon only his torso and head remained hovering before Vexlerion as other body parts scattered helplessly across reality. It didn’t hurt, and there was no blood, but the sensation was impossible. He could sense his hands, arms, legs, and feet moving, yet they weren’t there—a black void occupied their place.
“We can accept you!” Jogid cried.
“Accept me? I sought admiration, not pity. But no longer shall I be overlooked,” Vexlerion snarled.
It’s over. My tattoo dynamics are off. After everything, all his training, he still lacked power compared to this cosmic entity. The sheer variety of IDM types Vexlerion controlled, and the ease with which he wove them together was unreal. Tears rolled down his cheeks at his failure. In a choked whisper, he called: “Master Kaito...please, help me...”
A resolute snap echoed across dimensions. Between one blink and the next, Kaito manifested, facing down Vexlerion. With a snap of his fingers, The draconic body parts suddenly zoomed back through interdimensional portals—Jogid’s body reintegrated in normal space. In seconds he was made whole again.
The air still rippled all around, but it was different around the Great Master.
Quieter. And serene.
“Forgive me, Master...I doubted my strength. I am no match for a hell beast.” Jogid said, crestfallen. “This one continues to fail you.”
But Kaito simply smiled gently. “On the contrary. Knowing your limits, and seeking aid when needed…that shows wisdom. That’s what I wanted you to learn.”
“So, you’ve shown yourself,” the monster grunted. “The one good thing you’ve done is entering my realm willingly.”
With a twist of his hands, he caught strands of Vexlerion’s spell, weaving them into a new fabric of reality.
“Both of you shall no longer exist in this reality,” said the hell beast Vexlerion roared, charging Kaito in a frenzy. But the Great One simply snapped his fingers, and the Reality Weaver dissolved, screaming as he crumbled to dust on the wind. Just like that. He easily defeated yet another hell beast, reminding Jogid again that he would have to die and reincarnate a hundred times before he could attain even scraps of Kaito’s power.
“Next time, don’t forget to warm up the water before adding the yeast.”
The alternate dimension collapsed in turn. Jogid found himself back in Calmo, the horrific world scrubbed out of existence. All returned to normal.
Kaito helped him to his feet. “Jogid, don’t doubt yourself. You did well today.”
At that moment, Zenith, Portia, and Angelina rushed over to check on Jogid and Kaito.
“Thank the gods!” Zenith cried, throwing her arms around Kaito while Portia clapped Jogid on the back.
Jogid gazed around at the festival grounds. Before he could speak, Angelina chimed in, “I’m glad you’re both okay. And luckily, no one got hurt outside of Vexlerion’s spell.”
“And everyone from Eastscar has returned to normal,” Portia said. “Thanks to Angie’s healing IDM.”
“I really didn’t do much,” Angelina replied, timidly.
“Ah, don’t sell yourself short,” Portia chortled.
“We’ll the festival is obviously over. We’ll have to rebuild and recover…” Zenith trailed off with a sigh.
Jogid was about to offer words of reassurance when the mayor shook her head and smiled bravely. “But it’ll be fine, we’ve survived far worse.”
Jogid nodded firmly, and then again after Zenith began issuing instructions on organizing repairs. Then, he nearly lost his balance pivoting twice on his claws considering where to begin assisting while his limbs still remembered the strange sensation of being in different dimensions—even his wings felt off, as if they wouldn’t be able to carry him through the air.
Strange, how quickly everyday worries like rebuilding took over again. Yet perhaps that anchor to routine action was welcome, drawing him back to the familiar tangible world.
He wandered among cottages and shops. The villagers were already pitching in to repair, hauling cartloads of materials and shouting encouragement to one another. As Jogid continued patrolling around assisting people, he came upon an elderly woman struggling to prop up a collapsed section of her cottage.
Wordlessly, he moved to help, steadying the beam so she could wedge supports underneath. With care and teamwork, they soon had the little house stabilized once more.
The woman clasped Jogid’s hands, her wrinkled face crinkling with gratitude. “Bless you, brave one. We’ll be trading stories about you for years to come!”
Buoyed by her praise, Jogid continued aiding the rebuild throughout Calmo. By day’s end, spent but satisfied, he rejoined his companions as Zenith supervised the recovery efforts.
“Jogid, we can’t thank you enough for organizing such a wonderful festival,” she said warmly. “I’ll make next year’s twice as big to make up for this!”
Kaito slipped an arm around her waist, “we’ll make sure.” After a tender kiss, he turned to his pupil.
“Come, Jogid. Let us go home.”
▬▬ι════════ﺤ
The next morning Jogid awoke feeling utterly exhausted. Every muscle ached as if he’d battled an army of tanglepaws single-handedly. Downstairs, he found Master Kaito slumped at the table with dark circles under his eyes slowly sipping coffee. Apparently reversing a hell beast’s reality warp took a massive physical toll, even for archmages.
The villagers on the other hand seemed lively and vigorous as they continued the repairs and cleanup.
Common folk truly are hardier than they appear if they can bounce back so quickly from magical chaos.
That afternoon, they bid the mayor and Eastscar villagers farewell. As the group turned to depart, Mayor Tharbomi approached Master Kaito. “Great Baker! despite the nasty business with that demon chef, I hope you’ll come to Eastscar next summer and compete again” he laughed. “Maybe you’ll even win first place then.”
First place? Jogid didn’t like how odd that sounded, so he glared at his Master while Tharbomi and the rest of Eastscar departed.
Though Kaito’s expression remained neutral, he ended up addressing his concern. “Jogid we are still within Vexlerion’s reality.”
Those were the words that Jogid didn’t want to hear. “But Master Kaito, I saw you destroy Vexlerion with my own eyes. How can we still be in his reality?”
“Do you remember the outcome of the baking competition?”
Of course he did—and that’s what worried him. “Yes, certainly, you won! It was a remarkable victory. Perhaps Mayor Tharbomi just made a mistake.”
Kaito shook his head gently. “Although highly improbable, it could be the case. But there’s something else—my mana is being drained subtly.”
How could that be? “Drained? But I don’t feel anything unusual.”
“Close your eyes, Jogid. Focus. Feel beyond the surface,” Kaito instructed softly.
Jogid did as told, closing his eyes and concentrating. After a moment, his face tightened. “You’re right... I can feel it now. There’s a slight but constant drain on my mana. How could I miss that?”
Kaito’s gaze was steady. “Vexlerion’s manipulation is subtle but pervasive. Now, we need to think. Where do you suppose is the center of this reality he’s created?”
Jogid pondered for a moment, before responding the first thing that popped into his mind. “The baking competition area? Is that where we’ll find him?”
“Exactly,” Kaito affirmed with a nod. “That’s where he would anchor his control—the heart of his fabrication. Let’s move, now.”
They ran there.
Jogid was trying to sort out how, exactly, Vexlerion power worked based on the seemingly normal reality that he had created outside of the reality that Master Kaito had dismantled.
In the center of Calmo village stood a monstrous purple tree, easily thirty feet high and growing larger by the second. Its thick, gnarled branches reached out hungrily, pulsing and twisting as if alive.
“This is bad, very bad,” Kaito muttered. He turned to his apprentice. “Jogid! Can you burn the tree down?”
Jogid nodded resolutely, trusting his master’s command. He closed his eyes in concentration as power flowed through his hands. With his tattoos glowing red across his entire body, a jet of flames erupted from the tip of his claws, engulfing the purple tree.
The tree shrieked. Loudly. Very loudly.
The trunk cracked and groaned before crashing down in an explosion of ashes and embers.
But as the tree toppled over, an inky black mass began rising from the ashes. It coalesced into a towering dark figure—Vexlerion. The stars continued forming and dissolved on his face.
“You are too late,” Vexlerion and his characteristic second voice boomed. “I have already drained every soul in Calmo village of their mana, feasting on power beyond your comprehension.”
He loomed over them, expanding in size. “Even if you destroy my physical form now, the immense energy I have harvested will set off a cataclysmic explosion. All of Daiyudura shall fall to darkness with me!”
Dark thunderclouds swiftly gathered overhead, responding to the monstrous power Vexlerion now held. Jogid braced himself, prepared to make a hopeless last stand. But Kaito simply pulled out his small tin whistle.
“Cover your ears, Jogid!” he shouted over the rising winds. Then, he blew a single note. Visible sound waves ripped forth, hammering Vexlerion like a tidal wave of pure IDM.
Kaito advanced, blowing relentlessly as Vexlerion destabilized under the auditory onslaught.
With a final shriek, Vexlerion’s form collapsed completely. “You...fools!” he choked out. “I curse you all! When I fall...you fall too!” His form began glowing with blinding white light, flooding the surroundings. Jogid shielded his eyes
“Be calm,” Kaito soothed. “It is finally over.”
Finally.
Kaito clapped once.
Vexlerion phased in and out of reality several times before completely disappearing out of existence, taking the brightness with him.
Around them, Calmo reappeared exactly as it was, peaceful under the morning sun. The illusion had been completely dispelled. Vexlerion was no more.
“Master Kaito, I... we owe you a great debt. Your magic saved Calmo.” He couldn’t even twitch his black tail.
Kaito slumped down next to him. “Jogid, remember, we can’t let our guard down. This... all of this could be just another layer of an alternate reality.”
“Your insight never ceases to amaze me, Master. But, how can we be sure? How do we know this isn’t just another illusion?”
Pausing thoughtfully, then speaking more to himself than Jogid, Kaito said, “I don’t feel that familiar tug, the leeching of my energy.”
Jogid closed his eyes, focusing inwardly for a moment. “You’re right, Master. I don’t feel the drain on my mana either. It feels... stable, real.”
“Then we must stay vigilant, Jogid. Pay close attention to our surroundings, to each other. That’s all we can do,” Kaito said, shrugging.
