Nic watched as Talnu’Mo inscribed anchoring marks onto Redjaw’s skin, carefully driving an ink-tipped needle into the slimy, sluggish flesh again and again. It was so sharp it barely hurt, simply leaving behind a simple drop of energy-infused ink. One point after another…

That was how Talnu’Mo built his runes.

Nic couldn’t imagine how demanding the focus required was. It was so much slower than simply drawing onto paper, and Talnu’s mind would have to remain steeled and steady for the entire time, keeping the Essence within each pinprick harmonious with the whole.

In one small mercy, the whole design didn’t need to be drawn on directly.

Most of the inscription had already been completed on a ‘canvas’ and could be transferred over, so long as the anchor-marks, which would connect it with Redjaw’s unique constitution and meridian layout, were in place.

Nic watched until it was time…

Talnu laid the canvas against his patient’s skin, slapped a palm against the design, and spoke a single word. The ink began to burn hot, and Redjaw let out a sudden barking cry as it burned straight through the canvas and seared itself down into his flesh. Nic could see the lindwurm restraining the urge to lash out as steam coiled from his skin, marking out a reddened, raised pattern. Slowly, blackness spread through the brand…

Completing the design and fusing it to the seven anchor-marks.

On Redjaw’s back, there was a tree with a wheel of eyes in its branches. Six letters surrounded the wheel, and seven stars surrounded them in turn.

Redjaw craned his head around, examining the mark. His tendril-antenna lashed about, feeling it.

Talnu’Mo stepped back and wiped his face.

“Well, that’s a fine thing we’ve done today. A masterwork…” With satisfaction, he slapped his fat belly. “Anything else you needed me for?”

“Actually, yes.” Nic held up the talisman of fang he’d made to contain the corruption of the desert. It was burning hot in his hand.

Even in a short time, it had already filled to nearly half-way. Much longer in the desert and it would’ve started to fail.

“My beast-friends can’t wear this while they’re within my tattoos. So I need a mark that does a similar thing.” He tossed the talisman over to Talnu.

The frog-man caught it, examining the markings. “I see. A modified battery, meant to stop Demonic Essence? Clever…”

He reached for his pen.

“But simple enough to copy. I’ll start right away…”

---

Tarquin arrived as Inkspur was getting his tattoo, the big baby fussing and fidgeting and making such a racket he was probably keeping half the city awake. Every few seconds he would blow up with complaints, struggling not to twitch as the needle pierced his skin with ink.

Tarquin stepped in through the door, looking a bit worse for wear. His regeneration wasn’t perfect like Nic’s own. It left scars, at least for a time, slowly fading away on his skin. In this case it was a long mark that extended down his throat and across his collarbone, ragged and shock-white against his tanned skin.

But he grinned when he saw Nic.

“Hey hey, brother.” He snapped a salute. “Or should I say Lord Winterhome? Master of the skies and all beneath them?”

Nic just snorted. “Yeah, you should actually. Don’t go saying my name without a ‘your majesty’ first either.”

“Alright, your high-and-holiness. Just checking in to let you know I took a few Dominus Nodes while you were out. Caught some pretty fun fights, found some treasures…”

He took out a gourd bottle wrapped with a green silk ribbon.

“One of them was a fortune-type that collected healing water. The ‘milk of the stone’. It’s pretty strong stuff, although the damn guardian of the place drank most of it before I could kill him.”

Tossing it to Nic, he said, “Keep alive out there.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Nic caught the bottle and uncorked it, letting the scent of the medicine fill the air. It was a deep, sour fragrance, like the metallic tang of ancient lightning allowed to grow still and stale beneath the soil. It wasn’t entirely pleasant…

But Nic could feel the power inside.

“Thanks, Tark.” Reaching into his own bag, he took out the Primary Shard he’d taken. It had been gruesome work getting it from a living host…

But if it kept Tarquin alive out there, that was a price Nic would pay.

He tossed it over. “This one will let you double yourself up. Make a copy.” He explained.

Tarquin’s eyes shown. “There’s so much trouble I can do with that.” He looked up. “Thanks Nic. Don’t worry about me too much while you’re out there. I’m holding up pretty well on my own- When I was out there, I only met one fight I couldn’t win, and I could still escape pretty easy.”

“Easy is what I worry about, idiot. The last thing you need is to be overconfident.”

“Oh, like you don’t just throw yourself at every fight you can see. What are you going up against, out there in the desert? Just an army of bugs, a mad queen, and three ghosts.” Tarquin snorted. “But sure, you’ll be fine.”

“Always am.” Nic retorted. “I’ll have the army done before breakfast and mop up the ghosts by noon.”

“See, you’re saying that. But I’m thinking you’re leaving out the bit where you half-die yourself, and that’s the best case scenario. Why not wait? Let Winterhome catch up. Come at them with an army of your own.”

Nic did consider, for a moment.

But then…

“I can’t. Winterhome isn’t going to catch up unless I slow down, not right now, anyway. And the enemy will just keep growing. They’re not just stronger- they’re getting stronger, faster. I might not actually be able to wipe them off the face of the earth…” He paused. “But if I can slow them down, then, maybe, we can all come at them together.”

Tarquin seemed to accept that. “I’ll do what I can to whip these Earthlings into shape.” He swept a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. “I swear… They can be so tough one moment, and so soft the next. And I have no clue what they’re talking about half the time.”

Nic snorted with laughter. “They’re weird. I guess everyone from another planet is weird. But they’ve got promise. I think they’ll learn…”

“All done!” Talnu’Mo called.

“And it was only a TORTURE OF A THOUSAND CUTS! Performed by a clumsy, CACK-HANDED OAF, intent on making every pinprick SCREAM WITH AGONY! I survived only by RELENTLESS DETERMINATION not to give him the SATISFACTION OF HEARING ME SCREAM!” Inkspur complained, clambering off the tattoo bed.

“Oh shush.” Tarquin retorted. “You’re not cute anymore, so you have to work on your personality now.”

“NOT CUTE!? I was never- Never tried to be- Anyway- And now I am FEROCIOUS AND DRAGON-BLESSED, so you had better watch your tone!” Smoke sizzled from the edge of Inkspur’s mouth.

Nic squeezed two fingers over his eyes, trying not to chuckle. “Okay you two. Knock it off. You can measure lengths later.”

Dropping down from his seat, he calmed Inkspur with a hand on the wyvern’s wing. “Tarquin, take care of Sunfire for me, okay? He’s a little young to come on this mission.”

Tarquin nodded, acquiescing.

And Nic stepped out of the shop, swinging himself aboard Inkspur’s back. The fact that he could ride a damn dragon anywhere he needed to go was still a high note of the day, and he grinned as he pet the scaly ridge that ran from Inkspur’s nose to the base of his skull.

Together they leapt into the sky, circled over Winterhome once with a wild shout, and went sailing towards the distant desert…

---

Nic stared down the portal and prepared for a fight, unslinging Peacemaker.

If the enemy was smart, they’d have put everything they could spare on the other side, waiting for him…

By now, Nic had fought the Scales of Sand so often it had become the mark by which he measured himself. The first time he’d arrived, he’d been so weak he could barely scratch the surface, opportunistically seizing what treasures he could and avoiding the challenges he wasn’t ready for.

The second time, he’d had his Warform. He’d slain the sand devil’s monarch, slaughtered their armies, and taken to the skies. He’d fought Azmin as well, ending her reign of terror and detonating the nuclear fire to fulfill Sula’s last wish.

The third time…

The third time, the desert had finally fought back. When he returned the devils had taken on a new strength under Seoona, and Nic had barely been able to compete with them. Even if the rank and file of her new army posed no threat, they were able to tie him down and exhaust him through the use of formations, and their fleet of ships forced him to constantly stay on the run, burning through his powers to escape.

But now came the return. And Nic was dead-set on this being the last expedition.

This time…

He’d scour the Scales of Sand of the remaining foes and treasures. He’d leave the desert empty of any reason to return a fifth time, and finally cut the thread of fate tying him to this place.

Stepping through the portal, Nic was already prepared to meet resistance on the other side. He vaulted through the extra-dimensional space and exploded out the other side with a ripple, landing amidst a battalion of sand devils.

He spoke one word…

A word of power, striking them like a hammer and breaking their defenses.

And in that same moment he called up the mangrove Domain, turning the sand underfoot to wet, clinging mud. Having finally overcome the weakness of his Mire-Caller Shard, its reliance on the environment…

Nic no longer needed to fear swarms of enemies.

The earth itself turned against them, dragging them down. Several reached weakly for formation tokens, but Nic’s Peacemaker swept out in all directions, severing their hands and preventing them from crushing the tokens. In moments…

There was no sign of the battalion guarding the portal. They had vanished beneath the devouring earth.

Nic released the mangrove Domain and left them to their fate.