Five hundred years had slithered by, and Isaiah found himself a weathered dragon rather than the youthful pride he once brandished.
In his earlier days, being the weakest among his formidable panions was a humbling experiene that didn't do wonders for his ego.
Urien, the revolutionary Force Art user, had sparked the glorious epoown as the Folden Age. His strength was so intimidating that it left Isaiah feeling more like a barely flickering dle in a bonfire ance.
Then there ostle Romeuf, whose remarkable ability to wield Holy Energy as if it were mere mana had Isaiah questioning the very nature of power. Who wouldn’t feel a little ie watg someone aial forces while he struggled to lift his own tail?
Vd, the vampire, not quite the titan of strength, mao be extraordinary in his ht. He hadn’t just mastered Vision Art but had the audacity to master Force Art as well. Holy, who did he think he was? A triple threat?
Of course, Merlin reigned supreme among them all, an undeniable behemoth whose strength left even mountains trembling in envy. Man, oher hand, had been born special.
Now, Isaiah, after five hundred years of patient waiting—well, one would hope such exteime would trao growth—had hoped to surpass any of them.
He embraced the rich tapestry of their legacies, his scales shimmering with the vibrant promise of a dragon who uood that time was his ally.
With a long lifespan and the mythical “stro birth privileges” to guide him, he was on a unique journey of growth and transformation. Rather than merely peting in an endless game of “Who’s the Stro?”, Isaiah reized the power of patiend perseverance.
With every passiury, he evolved, stronger and wiser than he had been 500 years ago. He began to see that true strength wasn't solely about quering rivals, but also about self-discovery and embrag his own potential.
He maed his Vision.
TWANG! CLASH! CLASH! SLASH!
Isaiah pivoted, his spear glimmering with purpose, a sharp trast to the rarecise force that was Burn.
The air crackled with tension, and with his scales refleg the light, he was well aware of the spectacle he art of. Burn, with the elegance of a predator, swung his longsword, carving arcs that seemed to dahrough the air.
Trying to pee dragon scales was akin to attempting to pierce the world’s mightiest armor made from the purest pride. With his body fully prote, Isaiah didn’t feel the o dodge as much.
Yet, let’s be real—he wouldn’t actually let Burn strike him ly. His scales might hold up against a light drizzle, but he imagihat a solid hit would do little more than leave him with reassuring scratches.
And Burn? Well, Burn domihe space around him with an air of unyielding might—a presence Isaiah had never found himself up against before.
“Urien, Romeuf, even mine own father…” Isaiah began, defleg a downward strike intended for his shoulder, the spear’s shaft buzzing with the vibration of the impact. “They are naught in parison to thee, art they?”
“San wasn’t lying,” Burn replied, a glint of amusement brightening his eyes even as he shifted his stance, muscles coiling for the strike.
Isaiah luhrusting the spear forward. It was a calcuted move, targeting Burn’s midse.
But Burn sidestepped with a lofty grace, retaliating with a swift horizontal slice. Isaiah ducked, the bde swishing mere inches above him, his heart rag as he spun tain his footing.
“ry,” Burn tauhe ers of his mouth curling into a smirk. “Risky. But great.”
“Am I fated to roam in an age most ill-suited? From the dawn of mience, many hath eclipsed mine every endeavor,” with a growl, Isaiah capitalized on Burn’s overitment.
He twirled, bringing the spear’s shaft around to strike at Burn’s khe blow ected, sending a shockwave through Burn’s leg, but the man merely grunted. He tered with a quick jab of his sword, the tip seeking Isaiah’s throat.
SSSSRRRRING!
It scratched his neck—“Egad,” Isaiah cursed.
“Let us maintain civility,” Isaiah quipped, maneuvering uhe bde and defleg it with his horn, the tip of his spear aiming for Burn's belly. “For it is but a friendly spar, is it not!”
Burn twisted, using his momentum to create distand avoiding Isaiah’s tail whip at the same time, then lunged again, this time with a fierce upward ssh aimed at Isaiah’s abdomen. Isaiah parried in haste, his spear g against the longsword with a thunderous csh that reverberated through the battlefield.
GGG!!!
“Yettier, I’ll give you that,” Burn remarked, stepping back briefly, a fleeting moment of respect flickering in his eyes. “But you keep up?”
With a fierce grin, Isaiah surged forward. “What substah prise thy body?!”
“Hahahah!” Burn ughed, finding his question genuinely funny, parrying Isaiah’s final attack.
CLASH!
“Answer me!” Isaiah demanded, his knee kissing the ground as he transformed back to his humanoid form.
“I absorbed the pure heat energy of a dying sun,” Burn replied, an air of nonce apanying his admission. “Man helped with the transformation. This body is no longer... well, the DNA is still human, of course, but it’s evolved into my own little design project.”
Isaiah frowned, skepticism etched across his features. “Dying sun... dost thou profess this to be the zenith of Force Art?”
Burn nodded, pnting the sword firmly in the ground, leaning on it like a crutch. “My body won’t tear, and even if it does, it’ll ence self-healing immediately. Aging abolished. My body gs to the fi version of itself, retaining the data and memory to fabricate the perfect cell it ever produced.”
“No more deterioration for me. cer? Not on my watch. Aging? Like I said, nope. Evolving? Mutating? Only if I give it a thumbs up.”
In theory, the main cause of aging was the imperfect produ of cells, data corrupted like an old VHS tape struggling to py. Over the years, it was as if our bodies decided to photocopy fading dots, ink smudging, and inal data disappearing.
The ability to repce failing cells? Yeah, that dropped off like a bad date—slowly and with plenty of aauses.
Isaiah's lips thinned into a line. “But if thou dost draw thy might from a stelr body, wouldst not its radiation lend a pall upon thy regeive revelry? Is not the sun the ic embodiment of unbridled camity?”
Burn waved his hand dismissively, a smirk pying at the ers of his mouth. “If you think of sun energy as just energy—like mana or Holy Energy—it’s not a stretch to say it’s all retive.”
“Initially, I could only tain it and process it slowly. Now? I ie it fully. It’s still energy, after all.”
With a flick of his wrist, he bent light above his palm with mere intense heat. “We often transform mana to mimic the sun’s destructive energy, but what if we flipped the script? The sun, into mana.”
“That be clever,” Isaiah muttered. “Perce 'tis my draic privilege that doth stifle my creativity. I believed I hath already attained my zenith, yet I was wrong. Thou hast triumphed in this spar, Son of Arthur.”
Burn chuckled. He might have overpowered him, but deep down, he khat if Isaiah truly unleashed his full strength—with both his Ford Vision somehow w in harmony—he could, without a doubt, leave a mark on Burn's supposedly imperishable form.
Isaiah’s humble nature really trasted with eople think ons. Perhaps it was because of his past and his struggle. That was why he refrained from actually unleashing all he had in this spar.
“Pray tell, to what extent thy body attain?” Isaiah asked.
“Well, now, I ot be physically killed unless faced with preater than my own,” Burn stated calmly. “And even if my soul deteriorates or departs this realm, my body will remain impervious to deposition.”
Isaiah’s eyes widened, a mix of awe and disbelief. “And is this achievable without any form of preservation?”
Burn nodded slowly. “Yes. Without the need for any preservation teiques, nothing in this world could break my body back down to dirt.”
The man hummed.
“I call this state of being as vessel immortality.”
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Isaiah's just pyin :'v
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