Next on my list were acid and poison magic, two schools I hadn’t yet fully explored but were crucial for any dragon seeking a deep understanding of the magical arts. Both of these disciplines stemmed from death magic, which in turn originated from dark magic. Poison magic was the primary affinity for green dragons, while acid magic was favored by black dragons. Though different in their essence, these two types shared a foundation rooted in decay, destruction, and the darker side of nature.

Poison magic was subtle, lethal in its delayed effect, and often preferred by those who wished to weaken their enemies over time. Green dragons, with their connection to nature mana and mental magic, excelled in this form of magic. Their bond with life forces allowed them to craft poisons that could subtly manipulate the body and mind. While they lacked the complete mastery that gem dragons held over mental magic, they were still proficient manipulators, weaving schemes behind the scenes with great finesse. Poison, to a green dragon, was more than just a weapon—it was a tool for control, for sowing discord and fear, and for enforcing their will without brute force.

Black dragons, on the other hand, were masters of acid magic. Acid was brutal and direct, dissolving everything in its path with ruthless efficiency. Where green dragons worked subtly behind the scenes, black dragons preferred a more straightforward approach. The cruelest of the chromatic dragons, they had a reputation for treachery and malice, always looking for an opportunity to betray or backstab. Their bodies, with scales that clung so tightly to their frames they often looked like skeletons, gave them their well-earned nickname: the "skeleton dragons." Their acidic breath was as fearsome as it was destructive, a reflection of their unforgiving nature.

As I studied these two forms of magic, I couldn’t help but think about the other dragons and the stereotypes that had grown around them. Blues, like me, were often called "storm dragons" or "disaster dragons," due to our habitats on beaches and deserts—regions that symbolized both storm and disaster. Our affinity for lightning and air was tied to these environments, giving us a unique balance between aggression and calm. Meanwhile, green dragons earned the nickname "nature dragons" for their deep connection to the natural world, capable of restoring forests and bending nature to their will. Their breath weapon, while still deadly, was less destructive compared to the sheer force of reds or the icy precision of whites.

Reds and whites, however, didn’t earn many nicknames. They were simply feared. Red dragons were synonymous with destruction and fire, embodying the chaos of their element. Whites, the most primal of the chromatic dragons, were known for their brutality and isolation, creatures of ice and rage with little interest in the nuances of power that other dragons often sought. But they had their place, just like every other dragon.

With these thoughts swirling in my mind, I returned my focus to poison and acid magic.

The first step was understanding how these two forms of magic differed from the others I had already learned. Poison and acid magic required a different kind of control—less about force and more about precision, much like sound magic. It wasn’t enough to simply unleash a poison or corrosive cloud. The magic needed to be guided, its effects spread in a calculated way. Whether to corrode armor and weapons, weaken an opponent, or cause long-term suffering, both disciplines demanded a careful balance of timing and application.

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I began with poison magic, diving into the human texts I had gathered from my travels. The first spells were basic, designed to manipulate small toxins in the environment—perhaps from a plant or insect—and amplify their effects. These introductory spells were familiar to me from my earlier studies in nature magic, as they both required a similar understanding of life forces. However, where nature magic nurtured and healed, poison magic corrupted and decayed.

I practiced by crafting small clouds of poison, altering their density and intensity. At first, the results were underwhelming, little more than a harmless mist. But as I refined my technique, the poison thickened, and soon I could create a cloud potent enough to wilt a patch of nearby grass in moments. The satisfaction of seeing the spell’s effects unfold was immense, and I quickly moved on to more complex variations—poisons that could paralyze, induce hallucinations, or slowly sap the strength of an opponent over time.

Despite my success, I knew poison magic wasn’t just about brute force. It was about patience, control, and subtlety. Green dragons used this magic to manipulate their enemies over time, weakening them before delivering a final, decisive blow. I couldn’t help but admire the artistry in that.

Once I had a firm grasp on poison magic, I turned my attention to acid magic. This was the complete opposite—brutal, straightforward, and immediate in its effects. Black dragons, in their cruelty, used acid magic to melt away obstacles and enemies alike. The concept was simple: dissolve anything in your path with raw corrosive power. But simplicity didn’t mean it was easy to master. Acid magic required intense focus, as the corrosive energy had to be controlled, or it would eat away at everything indiscriminately.

My first attempts at creating an acid spray were clumsy. The acid dissipated too quickly, losing its potency before it even reached its target. I needed to focus on maintaining the strength of the corrosive energy while ensuring it didn’t turn back on me. After several failed attempts and a few near-misses where I almost melted my own claws, I finally succeeded. A focused stream of acid shot from my maw, hitting a nearby rock and dissolving it into a bubbling puddle of sludge.

The power in acid magic was undeniable. Unlike the creeping effects of poison, acid destroyed quickly and efficiently. It didn’t leave room for second chances. As I continued practicing, I found myself admiring the straightforward brutality of it. There was something oddly satisfying about watching something dissolve under the sheer force of my will.

Weeks turned into months as I continued to practice both poison and acid magic. By now, I was becoming more comfortable with both, integrating them into my growing arsenal of magical disciplines. Though they weren’t my natural affinities like lightning or air, I was steadily advancing, reaching Tier 3 in both. It took nearly a year, but my dedication was paying off.

Each new tier brought with it more complex spells, and I found myself combining what I had learned in surprising ways. Poison magic paired well with nature magic, allowing me to create plants that not only healed but also carried deadly toxins. Acid magic, meanwhile, combined beautifully with metal, creating corrosive weapons that could eat through armor and shields.

As the second year came to a close, I reflected on my progress. Reaching Tier 3 in poison and acid magic had been challenging, but rewarding. These schools of magic, while rooted in destruction, had taught me the value of patience and precision. They were tools for those who could appreciate the art of subtlety and power, a perfect balance to the more direct magic of fire or lightning.

Now, with sound, metal, nature, poison, and acid magic under my control, I felt more confident than ever in my abilities. There were still many more forms of magic to explore, but I knew I was ready for the challenges ahead.