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                  The Bloodstone Scepter                   
                       -by Damaged-                        
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                           Power                           
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Power
It was hot. Not just hot, but really hot. How hot? Mercury squirting out the top of a thermometer hot. Gibson was doing the best he could to deal with it which meant either hiding indoors or finding a cave to spelunk—and Gibson was not really one for sitting around and hiding indoors.
Just walking into the open mouth of the cave brought quick relief from the heat of the sun, drawing an audible sigh from his throat and urging him deeper. Free-climbing down the first rock face brought Gibson further and further from the heat of the day and into the cool depths of the earth.
No stranger to spelunking, Gibson had nonetheless not explored this particular cave before, nor had he seen it on local bulletin boards—which is why he wanted to explore it so much. As far as he knew, no one had ever been in this cave before.
Gibson pulled out a bottle of water and took a long swig. Getting his bearings, he noticed two obvious tunnels leading off from the small cave he was in. Neither were high enough to stand up in, but he could easily crawl through them on his hands and knees. One tunnel led almost at a right angle to his left, and looked to have a mild slope to it, but the second one had a much steeper slope and was straight ahead.
He'd been completely wrong, of course. A cave so close to the city, like the one he was exploring, had been delved into many times before, but its resident didn't like company.
A thousand years earlier the cave hadn't existed at all. A wizard from another world—another reality—had angrily cast an item of power away from him with such force it'd ripped through the fabric of reality itself before finding a new home in the cold ground.
The Bloodstone Scepter, symbol and source of power of Dragon Lords, had been cast into a magic-poor reality. It lay there, steeping the stones and minerals around it with its potential for hundreds of years before the first creature found it.
A young woman, she had been seeking shelter from a marauding tribe in caves. The scepter had reached out to her, much as it was doing with Gibson, and explored her mind. But that woman—and every other visitor since—had lacked a core of strength and malleability that the Bloodstone Scepter had required. Every visitor so far had had their memory of the cave compromised and sent back into the world.
All but Gibson.
The young man found himself staring at the deeper tunnel, curiosity and the mental nudging of the scepter urging him to pick it over the other. After a few minutes of crawling through the tunnel, Gibson started to feel different. Heat.
"It can't be hot down here. There's no way this area is that close to a lava tube."
Despite the nagging worry that something was wrong, Gibson kept crawling and occasionally mopping his brow as he followed the tunnel.
The tunnel turned several times, but it wasn't until he got past one final curve that the red light started pouring into the tunnel and swamping out the pure white light of his head torch.
"No way. This can't be real."
The scepter's urging wasn't exactly needed now. Gibson reached up to his brow and pulled off his torch and brushed at his damp hair. It was hotter, as he crawled from the tunnel into a huge cave, than it was outside. The heat was dry and stinging—low humidity. All around the cave the air shimmered and made it hard to work out how big it was.
The Bloodstone Scepter had spent a millennia making the cave system into its own realm. The rock walls dripped with magic, the crystals that had grown around it throbbed with power, and the lava pools below kept its home at the perfect temperature.
From the tunnel, the scepter was almost invisible. Gibson stood up slowly and squinted while looking around. The floor of the cave was actually far below, but the tunnel had let out onto a series of winding, raised paths of rock. Looking carefully over the edge, he had to quickly duck back before the heat became too much.
"Real lava…"
It was utterly impossible. Everything about the place seemed like a fantasy setting because it quite literally was magic. Gibson took one step then another, walking forward as the scepter called to him, tugged on a string in his head that led him toward it.
The heat was oppressive, but as he walked on the shimmering haze revealed a giant crystal formation in the middle of the path. Huge and perfect red spears of semi-transparent crystal jutted from the ground, and in the middle of them nestled the Bloodstone Scepter.
Looking nothing so much as a blue crystal arm with three talons grasping a ruby the size of a human fist, the scepter seemed to become more and more clear the longer Gibson stared at it.
The scepter needed just one thing—it needed its new bearer to touch it. Playing a symphony upon Gibson's mind, it caressed all thoughts of danger aside and urged curiosity to the fore. As he took step after step toward it, the scepter could feel his rightness.
Reaching out a hand toward the scepter, Gibson couldn't help but feel like he was in a dream. Every alarm bell in his head was silent—his fight/flight response was stilled. Oddly, neither the scepter nor the crystals around it were hot, and as his fingers closed around the shaft, a sense of cool perfection oozed its way along his nerves and through his body.
Holding the scepter and staring into the bright red gem, Gibson felt that slow honey-like feeling envelop his arm, shoulder, torso, and—as it spread out to each of his other limbs—his brain.
Cool and calm turned to hot and anger. Clenching his fist around the scepter, Gibson screamed a note of pure fury as he ripped it from its home. The red of the ruby—the Bloodstone itself—swirled outward and around the scepter and the arm holding it. He could only stare at the red energy as it coiled around his limb like a snake, reared up, and dove toward his face.
With no fear, Gibson shouted at the burning energy as it connected with his body at last. Then, darkness.
Waking up in his bed, Gibson reached up to his head and rubbed it. His thoughts came slow and thick, but the vividness of his dream clung tight. The cave, the scepter, his reaction to it—it was so vivid that it seemed like reality.
"Fuck, work!"
Gibson jumped out and to his feet and ran to have the quickest shower worthy of such a name ever, and was back to his bedroom again to get dressed. In the minutes it took him to get ready for his retail job, he completely failed to notice the crystalline Bloodstone Scepter hidden—mostly because it was laying beside the far side of his bed.
Somehow, despite his urgency, he felt great as he rushed out of his flat and to his scooter. Climbing onto his Vespa, he took off at a fast pace. Normally a ride on his bike would be a comfort, but today Gibson found himself leaning over the handlebars and keeping the throttle wide open.
Thanks to the spectacular riding, Gibson made it to work on time. The day was fairly mundane from there, though he found himself being a little more dismissive of minor problems.
Daydreaming was ever a minor problem for him. When his checkout lane was empty, he often thought of fantasies or dreams he'd had, but today it was all about the cave he'd "dreamed" of. Fire and heat, shimmering crystals and the Bloodstone Scepter had him almost getting a chubby.
The scepter couldn't make any modifications to him at such a range, but it noted his excitement and aggression throughout the day—it approved. His ride home at the end of the day was not only felt by the scepter, but rewarded.
"H-Heck. I've been really worked up all day."
Rubbing at his work pants—at the front of his work pants—Gibson didn't feel the stretching sensation in his legs. The truth was the scepter wasn't just rewarding him with draconic strength, it was fulfilling its duty.
The Bloodstone Scepter had been made to find and support the new Dragon Lord. It's choices had been rather limited since arriving on Earth, and so it twisted its duty a little. Rather than find a Dragon Lord, it would make one.
A quick stir fry was all Gibson needed before he found himself yawning and preparing for sleep. Walking into his bedroom, he found a desire to curl up under the covers despite the high temperatures that had been predicted.
The hot chamber burned around Gibson. He walked through all the heat without worry and up to the crystals. The scepter lay there—his scepter. Picking it up in one hand he felt a cool rush of power roll through him. The crystals reshaped themselves into a chair—a throne—and he turned and took his seat.
The first dream had been pure delight. Gibson had been the Dragon Lord, and all the dragons had followed him as their leader. That had led to other dreams—fighting with dragons, making them follow his word, and building his hoard. The last bit sent a jolt of sexual energy through him, and squirming his hips together revealed a good bit of morning wood.
One thing Gibson certainly didn't lack, however, was energy. He felt alive like no other. Rolling and jumping from his bed, he heard a ripping sound and looked back. The covers he'd been sleeping under were shredded. It looked like a big cat had slept in his bed with him.
A sense of knowing spread through him, and glancing down at his legs, Gibson's eyes widened in shock. Starting at his shins was a fine patterning of blue scales that spread intermittently from there down to his ankles. His right foot was almost completely reshaped—twisted into an tridactyl form (three big claws and toes at the front). His left was still somewhat human. He had three small toes and a big toe, but the smallest of his small toes was much smaller than the other two, and almost seemed like an afterthought on his scaled foot.
As he stared at his left foot, his small toe very slowly shrank away more and more, and the three remaining toes grew out and long, hooked claws pushed free of them.
An ordinary person might scream and freak out. Two nights of mental training from the Bloodstone Scepter made Gibson an unusual person, however.
"Okay. My legs just turned into—"
He stopped to think. They might be lizard legs, but something about his dreams made him think a single word—dragon.
"I can't be turning into a dragon. That shit doesn't happen in real life."
Just saying the words made the situation more real. That's exactly the moment when his phone started beeping.
"Right. Shower, work…"
Looking down at his crotch, Gibson mentally amended the list to include some personal time in the shower.
"I'm turning into a dragon, but I still need"—a deep, guttural need coursed through Gibson's body—"money." Though he said money, in his heart another word echoed his voice: hoard.
Money was all the incentive he needed. Walking to the shower, he kicked off his boxer shorts, too late remembering his changed feet. A loud rip as one claw caught in the silk underwear was the first and last mistake of their life.
"Dammit. Okay, well, let's get to business."
The air on his hard shaft felt better than he'd have thought, and Gibson stepped into the shower and spun the hot tap on first.
Reaching a hand under the stream of water to test the heat, he quickly found it to be barely above cold—despite the intense steam billowing around him. Shrugging, he dipped his body under the water and got to work.
A shower was just what he needed. The biting heat of the scalding water should have driven him from the stall with a scream, but if anything it wasn't quite hot enough. Gibson's mind swam—almost literally—in the remains of his dreams. A contented sigh escaped him as he focused on the respect he commanded and the power he held in his hand.
It was lucky that his hands were on automatic, working through his normal washing routine, because his mind was a million miles and one reality away. The fantasy of power shattered at the sound of his phone's alarm ringing.
"Shit. I gotta get going for—"
His voice stilled as he noticed the mess on the wall of the shower. He hadn't even been jerking off, nor had he realized the moment when he'd climaxed. It had been a slow build throughout his power fantasy, but the writing was on the wall.
Changing the shower head's direction to clean the evidence away, he stepped out of the shower with his new talons clicking against the tiled floor. Looking down, the manifestations of his power made Gibson's head swim with excitement.
"I wonder how much more will change?"
A small voice in Gibson's head whimpered with fear at the idea of losing more of his humanity. It bolstered itself by throwing words like freak, monster, and vivisection into the fore.
He wasn't so far into the scepter's fantasies that the idea of being captured and experimented on didn't freak him out. Drying off, Gibson walked into his bedroom to find suitable clothing.
The hated work uniform of long pants would hide most of the problem of his feet now being those of a dragon, but his claws were still going to stick out. Pondering what to do while he pulled a polo shirt on, Gibson's eyes drifted around the room until he spotted an old pair of crutches.
Left over from a time when he'd been an extra for a movie that'd been shooting locally, the crutches formed the basis of the perfect plan. Gibson forsook his normal trousers to instead grab a pair of shorts. It wasn't exactly easy to pull them on over his new feet, but with care he got them up and in place.
"Now for the perfect plan!"
Pulling out his first-aid kit, Gibson took out two coarse bandages and started rolling one around one of his feet—starting just above where the cyan scales started.
He wrapped down and around, over his foot and hid the huge talons from view. Swapping to the other foot, he soon had both looking like something very unfortunate had happened. A deep breath later and he was practicing walking with the crutches while keeping his weight on the back of his feet.
Grabbing up his phone, Gibson dialed his work. The moment he answered, he could hear someone complaining in the background.
"Who's this?"
"Gibson. I—"
"If you tell me you can't make it either, I don't know what I'll do. Half the team are out sick."
"Boss, I can come in, but I mashed my feet up pretty bad—two broken toes. Just get me behind a register and I'll be fine."
"If you put in a double shift, I'll double your pay."
Every sense Gibson had strained. Predator, hunter, hoarder…
"Sounds good, boss. I'm on my way."
Grinning wide as he could, Gibson hung up his call and slipped his phone into a pocket. Into another pocket went his wallet and name badge, and he grabbed his keys on the way out the door.
Then he ran back inside to grab his crutches.
His ride to work went even faster than the previous day. Despite having the crutches strapped to the back of his scooter (sticking straight up), Gibson kept the throttle open and his shouts loud—his mind filled with images of his wings spread and flying.
It was almost a crime for him to have to slow down as he pulled into the employee parking lot at his work. Turning the bike off, Gibson let out a sigh as he almost felt a pair of wings closing on his back.
"Can't forget the crutches…"
Hobbling into work, he was greeted by a thankful boss and headed out to work a register.
The day was busy. They were two register workers short in a store that usually ran four. Gibson, however, had his boss swing by every hour to check he was doing okay and got praise each and every time.
It was around hour eight of his twelve hour double shift when he needed a break. Reaching under the counter, Gibson tapped the break-time switch and put up a sign to tell people to go to another checkout.
Grabbing his crutches, he hobbled out from behind the register and made his way to the employee break room. The bathroom was his first stop, then he made his way to where the freebies were. Things that had lived on the shelves too long and that they couldn't sell—still mostly good to eat, but sometimes not—Gibson grabbed a pack of donuts that were on their last day of life and sat down.
The first baked treat slid down his throat and reminded him that breakfast had been nothing but a fantasy. The second and third followed suit. Fourth one down actually got chewed, and the fifth was savored.
That's when Gibson felt something in his mouth move. The feel of a tooth coming loose stopped him dead in his tracks. The lack of pain surprised him more, however. Reaching up, Gibson poked around in his mouth and found the canine that'd fallen free.
"What the—?"
Running his finger over the spot the tooth had come from, Gibson expected to feel a gap. Rather, a large and sharp canine tooth was in the spot where the formerly chisel-shaped front tooth had been. Curved, the new tooth pushed down a little more until it sat proud of the rest.
Reaching to the other side, he felt for the opposite canine and it took barely a poke and it fell free too. His bottom two canines fell out without any effort on his part.
Dragons have fangs.
The thought was his own, but this far away from the scepter's power, Gibson felt more concerned than excited. Getting up again, he completely forgot his crutches as he walked back to the bathroom and opened his mouth at the mirror.
The fangs weren't huge, but compared to the various other teeth Gibson had, they were vicious. Human teeth weren't sharp and protruding, they were made for cutting and grinding food—not tearing it. The longer he looked, the more he realized something was wrong. Another front tooth looked loose. Reaching up to his mouth with a shaking hand, he poked the tooth.
One. Two. Three.
Gibson's eyes widened in fear as more and more teeth fell free at the slightest touch. Just under each was another sharp little tooth—not huge like his fangs, but definitely not made for chewing and grinding. Trembling in fear, he ran his finger around all his remaining teeth and every one fell out painlessly to reveal their replacements.
In his pocket, set to vibrate only, Gibson's phone startled him. Pulling the device out, he kept staring at his teeth as he answered a phone call from his boss' mobile.
"'Sup, boss?"
"I'm at the doctor. Whatever the others got, it hit me too. My door keys are in my office, the alarm code is 2501. If you lock up tonight and open tomorrow, I'll"—heavy coughing made Gibson pull the phone away from his head—"I'll pay you whatever you want. I know you're not rostered on, but I don't trust anyone else."
"I got it, boss."
As he spoke, Gibson stared down at the teeth in the sink and shook a little. Focusing, he marshaled his spirit and got a surprising response. Hoard, control, power—
Shivering with excitement, Gibson scooped up the teeth from the bowl and walked to the toilet and dropped them in. With just his purely human mind, Gibson wouldn't have stood a chance rallying the store to keep running, but with the fire of a dragon inside he turned back to the mirror and grinned.
A fanged smile that spoke of a whole world of hurt for whatever would get in his way met his gaze.
"I got this."
And he did. The rest of the afternoon shift and into closing time should have been a chore coming off an 8 hour shift, but Gibson felt alive with vitality. The donuts had been a good start, but he also found himself grabbing a bag of candy from the break room too when he took another moment to recover just before closing time. Finally, with all the other staff leaving the store, Gibson walked to the entrance and put his key in the door.
"Don't play the hero, got it?"
Shock registered in Gibson's at the same time as it did in the Bloodstone Scepter. Turning his head slowly, he faced the man who'd spoken.
The man would have been suspicious at any time of day, but after close and pointing something hidden in a pocket at Gibson, he looked particularly villainous. A big hoodie covered the man's upper body and baggy pants made his shape harder to discern.
The scepter was far from its full power, but it sent a jolt of energy down the strained link toward Gibson.
The ripping of fabric surprised both robber and Gibson, but the latter felt a corresponding surge of aggression and strength.
As the temporary manager turned to face Charles, he froze in terror. A huge pair of cyan demon wings spread out from the man's back, and the smile he delivered froze Charles' blood in his veins.
When humans get scared, they panic. When people holding a gun panic…
The sound began with a crack, then a boom, and then Gibson felt something punch him in the gut. If he was angry before, he was furious now. Stepping forward, he grabbed Charles' arm that held the gun and pulled sharply to the side. Another crack, another boom, and again Gibson felt that punch to his stomach.
"Stop—doing—that!"
Gibson's voice echoed through the store behind him and he watched Charles' face blanch white in terror. The gun discharged again, but the round missed Gibson completely.
Grabbing the pistol now, Gibson flung it away into the store and clamped his hand down on Charles' hoody and dragged him back inside the store. With prey cornered, his draconic side purred inside his head and let his more simian brain do some thinking.
The first thought to come to him was, What the hell am I doing?!, the second was, What the hell do I do next?!
Call for help, Gibson's human mind shouted.
Rip him apart, his draconic side snarled.
If he were just a block closer to the scepter, Gibson would have been exploring the cleaning goods aisle for possible ways to clean blood from the floor.
"Get out of here!"
Charles just stared at the monster standing over him. His gone was gone and with it every ounce of confidence. He'd shot Gibson twice in the gut, and not only wasn't there any blood, but he didn't even look injured. Crawling on his hands and knees, Charles rushed for the door.
Panting with excitement, feeling like he wanted to chase the attempted thief down and rip him apart—or just make Charles think he was going to—Gibson stretched his wings wide and screeched out the door.
That's when he realized he'd been shot.
Grabbing the front of his polo shirt, Gibson pulled it up to reveal a wide pattern of cyan scales that painted his belly from just above his crotch to the underside of his pecs. On it, there were two distinct black burns.
"What the hell…?"
He ran his fingers over the burns and realized they were the powder burns from the pistol. Of the bullets he had no evidence, but his belly also wasn't actually marked further than the powder burns that hadn't actually burned him.
"Right. Dragon. Of course I'd be bulletproof. Why didn't I think of that?!"
Locking the door again, Gibson searched for and found the gun and looked at the thing. It was a revolver, not that he recognized its brand, but he knew enough that it would still have up to three more bullets in it.
Angry at his night being messed up, he stalked back to the door and unlocked it. Turning the alarm on, he struggled to pull his new wings in against his back to get through the doorway, but managed it before the alarm kicked in.
Walking over to his bike, Gibson climbed on and couldn't help but smile. He'd not only survived, but he'd come out feeling better than ever. He was also a little less human, but alive dragon beat dead human. He couldn't deny that if he'd still been entirely human, he'd be in the ER now—or bleeding out in the store.
As soon as he started his scooter and started moving, his wings snapped out. If riding had felt like flying before, it almost was flying now. The wind kept buffeting the undersides of his wings, and it took effort to keep them from pushing up.
Gibson felt reluctant to get off his Vespa when he reached his home, but he couldn't think of a reason to keep riding.
"Teeth, feet, wings, bullet proof—What other awesome stuff do I get for turning into a dragon?"
Halfway to his front door Gibson realized he'd forgotten his crutches. For a second he contemplated getting back on his bike and riding back, but as his brain worked over the idea, he realized that would mean turning the alarm off again. He'd closed up once or twice in the past, and if the alarm was on, his boss would get a phone call asking why it was turned off.
Walking inside, the first thing he did was slip his ruined polo shirt off and took off the bandages. Vitality pulsed through his body, and Gibson felt like he could go ten rounds with anyone.
The first thing he wanted to do was test his fangs. Walking to his kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and opened it. There was a piece of steak in there he'd been planning to cook and eat, but now it looked perfectly good as it was.
Salivating, Gibson grabbed the steak and ripped the packaging off. Draconic urges told him to devour it quickly, but there was enough of his intelligence behind those urges that he was reaching for the salt and pepper.
With his human side properly appeased, Gibson bit into the steak with his new fangs and sighed in carnivorous bliss as the taste of seasoned meat hit his tongue. It was the perfect meal for a big predator, but it wasn't quite doing it for his draconic side. Putting down the half-mauled steak, he looked around with an eye for what he was missing.
Something harder. Something that was utterly alien to his human senses. Walking into his living room, Gibson spotted one of his favorite possessions—a little carved rose-quartz statue of a pony.
It was bizarre to his human side, but with the scepter so close by his draconic urges were greater. Walking into the room, he reached a hand out for the statue and picked it up.
Something about the mineral statue smelled good. Holding it up, he leaned forward and licked the little horse. The smell and taste combined to make every sense burn with his hunger. He was just about to put the little horse in his mouth when he fixed eyes on something else.
A geode he'd found in a cave and polished himself sat on the shelf beside where the little pony was. Though the geode was also precious, it wasn't a cute little pony. His dragon side had full control as he set the precious little equine down and grabbed up the geode and—without a second thought—bit it.
It should have been impossible, but Gibson's dragon fangs sliced through the stone and he began to chew it up. His teeth weren't for tearing flesh like he'd though, but rather they were for shattering the hardest substances on Earth.
Walking back to the kitchen, he kept taking bites from the geode like it was an apple. The taste of it was sharp and full, and spread over his tongue like a rich chili sauce. Chili sauce, of course, goes with meat.
He grabbed up the steak and, while he had a mouthful of geode, tore off a piece of the steak and add it to the flavor.
Alternating his bites, Gibson felt drawn to his bedroom and walked in while chewing on the oddest meal of his life. The scepter was calling him, pulling him toward it.
Not having checked the other side of his bed since he'd come home from the cave, Gibson was surprised to see the scepter of his dreams there. The red crystal clutched in the claw-like talon glowed softly, calling Gibson to reach out and take it.
There was not a single thought in the half-dragon's head that contradicted the Bloodstone Scepter, so he reached out with his hand and closed his grip around it. Red magic poured from the gem and bathed Gibson in crimson light.
Staring into the Bloodstone, Gibson felt the fire and power of the cavern he'd taken the scepter from again. With slow, long breaths, he watched as the red magic swirled. Finally, he started seeing patterns in the magic, like there were sparks and flames and gouts of fire. He couldn't tell, of course, but the pupils of his eyes had changed to long slits, and his blue eyes slowly changed to not just reflect the red magic boiling around him, but to shine with their own flame.
The red magic winked out and Gibson acted like a puppet with all his strings cut.
Falling sideways onto his bed, he kept hold of the scepter as sleep overtook his mind.
Gems and magic.
Magic and gems.
Precious stones were more than just food, they were a status symbol. Having so many of them made them a hoard, and Gibson loved the idea of a hoard of gems.
Holding up the scepter, he turned slowly to survey all the mountains of gems he owned, and his eyes finally fell upon other dragons. All different shapes and sizes—he didn't care.
Opening his maw, Gibson screamed wordlessly in a roar that caused all the dragons to take a step back. His voice was laden with power, and he didn't care about showing how willing he was to use it. Showing off his power was as important as showing off his hoard.
Gems and magic.
Magic and gems.
The scepter was now a big part of Gibson's dreams. From one slumbering scenario to the next, it was always in his hand. He inhaled power from it and breathed out fire. It was almost as if it were filtering dragon magic into him and shoving his humanity out.
Waking slowly, Gibson stretched on his bed—wings spreading wide, legs (predictably) shredding the covers into long ribbons, and as he opened his eyes, he was face to gemstone with with the Bloodstone Scepter.
Tightening his grip on the haft, Gibson inhaled and felt the power of the scepter pour into him.
"Mine."
The scepter, not that it had much actual intelligence, rejoiced at the possessive tone and hunger for power its Dragon-Lord-to-be used. It wanted to be owned. It wanted to be used. Most of all, however, it wanted to be in the talons of a true dragon. But the scepter also had definite ideas about what type of dragon Gibson would be.
As he inhaled the power it poured into his body and focused around his belly and a bit lower. Pressure built, and he watched a thick tail push down between his legs. The muscles in it were new, but his dreams had trained him how to use it.
Holding the scepter in both hands, he rolled to his back and looked down his body. The patch of scales that had saved his life the previous night had spread to cover him from collarbone down to the tips of his toes.
Of course, this included his penis. His shaft looked different. It had little ridges here and there, and seemed to have plates of scale-like bits up and down it. It also glowed red with magic. What had Gibson's complete attention, however, was that it was shrinking.
Jerking upright in bed, Gibson reached a still-human hand out and grabbed at his shaft. The hard ridges seemed to soften in his hand as his throbbing erection dwindled from its usual six and a half inches to almost half that in a matter of minutes.
"W-Why is this happening? I'm a dragon! I should be—I should have—"
The truth was undeniable. Gibson watched as his penis shrank—his balls along with it—until it was nothing on the smooth flesh of his groin.
Just as tears began to well in the corners of his eyes, Gibson felt a clenching shove deep inside his lower belly. Then again. When it happened a third time, he felt the pressure relieve itself under his tail.
Fearing what he'd see in a mirror, Gibson set the scepter down on his bed and grabbed the leftovers of his meal from the previous night. Walking out of his bedroom while chewing on the mineral, he made his way to his bathroom and looked at his reflection.
The changes hadn't stopped with his body. His ears seemed a little further back than normal, and when he ran a hand through his hair, he felt two hard bumps where his ears should have been.
The mechanics of lifting one leg up onto the bathroom counter should have been easy, but Gibson's legs no longer resembled human ones in any way. There was a knee just past his thighs, but then his legs bent backwards to another joint before finally going down to his feet.
Balancing on one alien limb was a bit of a stretch, but he managed to get his other leg up and on the counter—then angled his body just right he could look all the way from his belly down along the underside of his tail.
Relief flooded him. There was only one hole there, and it was placed between two large plates of scale. In his own mind, Gibson figured he was still male and his penis was just somewhere inside him now—the truth was he just didn't realize that his cloaca marked him as a female dragon.
"Alright. So you haven't done anything too freaky. I can live with that, but how am I going to hide all this at work?"
Resigned to the fact the scepter wouldn't reply and give him all the answers he wanted, Gibson brought the geode to his mouth and bit into it like the apple it seemed to be.
Looking at his reflection, he tried to imagine ways to hide himself. The horny bits on the sides of his head he figured would keep growing, but other than that he looked mostly human from the neck up.
Long pants would be required to hide his legs, and he had no clue what to do about his tail. And that's when inspiration struck. Turning around quickly and almost falling over thanks to his tail overbalancing him, Gibson walked out to his kitchen to find his roster.
"I'm meant to have the day off. This is perfect!"
Walking felt strange. With his legs so different now, Gibson was walking higher on his toes than before, and every step he took made his hips twist as his tail swinging from one direction to another. But, with a new plan—Gibson was confident again.
The Bloodstone Scepter recognized its chosen Dragon Lord's mind settle on a new plan, and it filled Gibson with purpose and more confidence still. It also fed him more magic still.
Looking in the mirror at his body, Gibson felt a strong sense of both arousal and excitement. The first step was underwear. He fetched a pair of boxer shorts and reversed them. Pulling the shorts up backwards, he fed his tail through the fly.
The first ripping sound startled Gibson. He reached back and found a little of the seam had popped around his tail, but the shorts were otherwise fine. His pants were going to be harder. Getting his work trousers out, Gibson looked around for something sharp and then gave up and sat on his bed.
Stretching his wings out, he pulled one around aimed the thumb-claw at the rear seam of his pants. Carefully, one stitch at a time, Gibson cut the seam until he was sure it was a bit larger than the fly of his boxers.
Next he carefully worked his legs down the pants, making sure to curl his toes in as much as he could to avoid slicing his clothes up, then started to work his tail into the hole he'd just made.
Shimmying the pants up, Gibson was surprised at how tight they were going over his hips. But, with some effort, he got them all the way up and was able to button and fasten the fly at the front.
"Oh no, this was meant to be my day off, and I'd planned to go to a cosplay thing later on. No, I had to put part of my outfit on early."
Gibson delivered a huge grin to the mirror at his—to him—perfect excuse for why he had a tail and dragon talons.
The next step was to grab a light scarf from his draw and wrap it around his chest—lightly—while keeping his wings folded. It forced the wings to stay down and not get all shirt-rippy. Some deodorant (that completely failed to actually cover the smell of predator in the room) and his spare work polo shirt and Gibson was ready to face the day.
Walking into the kitchen again, he felt a little more human and himself. Of course, he had the last handful of the geode to munch on for breakfast, but it tasted a little bland without the steak to accompany it.
"Note to self, find more geodes and steak."
Tossing the last piece of geode in his mouth, Gibson headed outside to find his scooter and ride into work. As he settled on the Vesper's seat, Gibson focused on one thing—not going fast. Fast, he knew, would mean he'd stretch out his wings and scream into the morning air as he "flew" to work.
In the end, he managed to make it to work on time to open, and did so. When his first co-worked came in and looked at him, Gibson shrugged at them.
"I've got a party I'm going to later, and I had to get dressed up for it. Still got the arms and the rest of my head makeup to do."
"Whatever. You're going to work the register like that?"
A challenge was something that—now—caused Gibson's blood to boil. He almost ripped his wings out on the spot to fight—Gibson managed to check himself and spend enough time to read the other worker's name-tag.
"Yeah, Ray. Most people won't even notice it. Besides, I'm only here to do the boss a solid."
Ray groaned.
"Why do you suck up to him? He'll just keep using you and not pay you anything ex—"
"Maybe you should actually help him. I've gotten plenty of bonuses from him."
Gibson, having salved his anger by cutting in and cutting down Ray, walked off for the office to turn on all the equipment for the day ahead.
The morning went well, and nothing much happened. Gibson worked a register and kept an eye out on the other workers. When lunchtime rolled around, and he started rotating checkout workers so they could have their break, he was surprised to see his boss walk in the front door.
"Gibson! Thank all th—What are you wearing?"
Rolling his eyes like he'd been asked the same thing dozens of times (kinda true), Gibson gestured to his tail and feet.
"I've got a party today. I was rostered off, remember? This stuff takes too long to put on, so I got most of it done before coming in. The rest is still at home. You did arrange for someone to take over after first shift, right?"
"Go home now if you want. I feel like crap, but I'm here now, and it looks like you got enough people to turn up. Thanks, Gibson."
This was it. Gibson watched his boss held out a hand to shake, and there was a clearly visible wad of notes in it. Greed, hunger for wealth—Hoarding instincts kicked in and he reached out to take the money in a handshake with his boss.
"No probs, boss. I might just make this party on time."
Signing off his register, Gibson logged his cash drawer in with his boss and headed out of the store.
With a swagger in his step, Gibson felt the urge to fly again. The scepter was far enough away that he didn't just rip his shirt up to get his wings out, but he couldn't resist the need to take his shirt off and undo the scarf.
Spreading his wings, Gibson closed his eyes and let the sense of touch in his wings be his view of the world.
It was like a completely new set of senses had opened to him. Each tiny shift in the air registered against his wings while new sound reached his ears—there was the typical loud things he normally heard, but now he could hear and feel the muscle movements people made as they moved and myriad other such things.
The wave of new sensations started to well up higher and higher, and it took all of Gibson's willpower to not be buried in them. His mind, now more than a little draconic physically, raced to put all the new senses into order and present the information to him in a way that it made sense.
When he opened his eyes, however, all bets were off. A pair of slit pupils looked out at the world, and where human eyes could see the normal range of 380 to 740 nanometers of light, Gibson could now see past 900 nanometers into the infrared spectrum.
His focus was also far more precise, and he quickly found himself closing his eyes again. He'd not only seen the very heat lingering around surfaces and radiating off people, but he'd also been able to follow people's movement by the heat they left lingering in the air behind them. Air having a color was just one step too far for him.
Closing his wings and trying to get his mind in order, he looked down at the ground at his feet and then opened his eyes again. The blacktop was hot—but not as hot as his arms. Gesturing forward, Gibson stared at the aqua-pink blend of his scale color and the heat radiating out.
"This is really crazy."
With his eyes flicking around a little more, Gibson started to notice his focus a lot more. It was like his eye could focus two parts independently. While the middle of his vision was always sharp and in focus on what he wanted to see, the edges of his vision were a lot wider focus but not as crystal clear.
"Okay. So I can see heat, and I can focus on…"
He lifted his head slowly and looked toward the center of the city. If he wasn't staring in shock at being able to read the joke on the side of a woman's coffee cup in a high-rise office building over a mile away, Gibson might have dropped to his knees in a major freak out. His vision wasn't just good, it was good compared to an eagle's.
Slowly reeling his vision in, he first focused on the outside of the building, then drew back slowly building by building until he was looking at a three-story flat just a few blocks away. Looking slowly down from that building, he read the tiny stencil of a sign-writers signature at the bottom of an 18-wheeler's trailer, number plates were easy, and when he finally dragged his vision back to just in front of him, Gibson realized something else. He hadn't just seen all those things in amazing detail, he'd also seen the nearby environment too.
"This is really weird. How am I meant to ride home like this?"
For a few more moments Gibson felt worried, but then a rush of sensation in the back of his head caused all that doubt and fear to fade. A wide smile spread over the slowly growing snout on his face.
"I'm a dragon. I don't have to worry about jack and shit."
Climbing on his Vesper, Gibson started the engine and dug his right foot's talons into the concrete of the parking lot before he gunned the engine and turned the scooter on a die.
Even around corners Gibson didn't slow the scooter down. Wide-open throttle was the only way to ride now. Speeding out into traffic wasn't an excuse to employ caution either, not at the start of his ride home and certainly not at the end of it.
Slowing down only when having to stop at the end of his ride, Gibson stalked to his front door like a predator—sure of every step and that nothing could stop him.
It was for good reason he felt so sure and in control—the scepter was close. He didn't waste time taking his work clothes off, he walked through to his bedroom and grabbed the Bloodstone Scepter in one hand.
He watched in exquisite detail as the scales of his arm rolled down and over his hand. There wasn't any pain, nor was there any worry, as his little fingers melded up and into each ring finger. The scales armor-plated his hands as small claws extended out from where his nails once were.
Wings. Claws. Scales. There wasn't a lot of other things that Gibson associated with dragon, but one sprung to mind.
"Where's my—"
Gibson coughed as something in his throat seemed to shift.
"Where's my fire?"
His eyes widened and pupils narrowed in shock. His voice had risen by a full octave, though it was also more gravely.
Shaking his head, Gibson rushed to the bathroom and its big mirror. Startlingly red eyes looked back at Gibson from the mirror, and though they were the first thing he noticed, they weren't the last.
His body had grown slimmer in a way that didn't match any human form. His body was akin to a tube from where his neck met his head down to his hips and then continuing to taper off to his tail. Large plates of scale protected his front, while smaller scales covered his limbs, head, and (he assumed) his back.
There not only wasn't anything masculine in the body before him, there wasn't anything feminine in it either—until he came to his head. A pair of large horns grew as he watched them, curling from the sides of his head out and forward.
His red eyes had black pupils, and he watched as scales cascaded past them and onto the angular muzzle pushing from his face. The last vestiges of his humanity—his hair—was falling out to be replaced by an arc of fin-like spikes growing down the middle of his head.
The dragon in the mirror looked surprised at his appearance, but when Gibson started to feel a twinge of loss at his humanity, the red light of the Bloodstone Scepter pulsed.
Red magic poured over Gibson like hot butter. He felt it soak not just into his scales and flesh, but sink deep into his mind. He didn't have to worry about what he looked like because he was now a dragon. Dragons, he learned, didn't care about what others thought of them.
The thoughts seemed alien at first, but the more they chased around in Gibson's head, the more they felt right. They might not be his, but that didn't matter if they were true.
"Why should I care? I'm a—a dragon."
The corners of Gibson's mouth curled a little in the mirror.
"I'm a dragon!"
Putting the scepter down, Gibson stalked from his bathroom and reached casually to his waist to slash at the belt still valiantly trying to hold his pants on. The cloth and leather sliced apart like tissue paper under his claws.
It didn't matter, none of it mattered. Dragons didn't need clothing.
Such an old and ingrained idea as nudity taboo was not easily shed, but the power of the Bloodstone Scepter kept pushing more and more draconic ideals into Gibson's head.
Power.
Wealth.
Fire.
Mate.
The four words had begun as human concepts in his head, but the more the scepter fed him its might, the more Power turned from independence to dominance, Wealth turned from dollars to gemstones, Fire turned from a tool to spirit, and Mate—
Gibson shook his head and recoiled from the thought. He kept telling himself—fighting the Bloodstone Scepter's prodding—that he was still him and still male.
The scepter, however, had other plans for Gibson. It could understand its new master was willful, after all it had wanted that, but it had to give Gibson proof that he was now female. The last shove of magic had finished making Gibson into a dragoness—all it would take is the right push and the bearer of the Bloodstone Scepter would have her menstrual cycle advanced.
It pushed.
One of Gibson's hands shot to her stomach while the other dug a furrow into the wall as she fell forward. Draconic magic like that within the scepter was not in any way, shape, or form subtle or gentle. Her body was plunged into the final stages of her cycle and an egg grew rapidly inside her.
Despite the grip she held on the wooden beam in the wall, Gibson fell forward to her knees on the floor and instinctively parted her legs and lifted her tail up.
"What is—?"
Words cut short by a contractions, Gibson arched her spine and pushed. It wasn't actual pain, but rather a host of new sensations, stretching, and anger at what was happening that drove her to do exactly what her body wanted.
Panting, sinking her claws into whatever she could find, Gibson pushed at the egg inside her harder and harder with each contraction.
Every feeling—every part of her body—screamed at her mind in myriad voices, telling her what she was now.
Dragoness!
Each contraction was a coffin nail to Gibson's former humanity and masculinity. She pushed, screamed, swore, and snarled at the experience of laying her first egg.
When it finally breached her cloaca, Gibson trembled in anticipation of the final contraction that would end her compromised position. When it came, she spread her wings and arched her back. With her head in the air, Gibson breathed a white-hot gout of flame against the ceiling.
The egg came free and fell the last inch to the floor.
Panting hard, enjoying a moment of relief while she basked in the flames of her own breath, Gibson felt the penultimate push of the scepter.
~~Gibson~~ Ember shook her head and focused on her mind. There was a clear divide where she could feel all that was the human Gibson. He had been a precursor—a pattern she'd grown from. Everything he was was now her, but with the added cunning and metal of a dragon.
Standing up in the middle of the inferno, Ember lifted one hand and pulled with her own magic.
The scepter's bulk and Ember's power easily overpowered the timber wall between her and the bathroom as the Bloodstone Scepter flew directly to her.
Dragon Lord Ember, the scepter spoke, we go now.
The magic of the scepter began to unfold and twist in the room around Ember. Flames and fire scorched and licked every part of Gibson's life away, but there was one thing he—and thus she—wanted. More of her power ripped through the room and grabbed the little pony figurine while she bent down to the egg.
Securing her egg under one arm, Ember folded her wings around herself and held out the scepter.
"Take me home."
Author's Note
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