Gereon was having the absolute time of his life. Chaos? Check. Fire everywhere? Check. Cultists running around like headless chickens?
Big ol' check. This was a perfect day. Seriously, who needed a vacation when you could have a city-wide destruction party, complete with clueless villains and free demolition services?
"Ah, nothing like a little mayhem to clear the mind," he mused as he strolled through the burning streets, hands casually tucked behind his back like he was on a relaxing Sunday walk. "And here I thought today would be boring."
Gereon—who, by the way, was currently in his human form (because hey, why not make things a little more interesting?)—wasn't remotely concerned about the town. In fact, he'd been planning to rebuild the place for years. Now? He had an army of deranged cultists doing the hard labor for him, and for free! This was practically the highlight of his week.
"Who needs contractors when you've got maniacs blowing everything up for you?" he muttered cheerfully, kicking a piece of flaming debris out of his way. "And I didn't even have to sign any permits."
Gereon has become an old man, with years of experience at his disposal. He saw a group of cultists fighting a young, well-dressed man nearby. He looked at them and raised his hand, all of the cultists exploded as he curled his arm into a fist. " 'tis called pressure lads" He laughed sarcastically.
"Thank you sir Gereon" The young man bowed his head as soon as he saw him, with the hand on his sword's hilt. "I was having a hard time as I am still inexperienced."
"Haha, it is important to know your own limitations, good for you" He pats the guy in the back. "Go help any child you see, everyone tends to go overboard when there is a fight."
"Yes Sir!" He turned and left.
"Now let's see" He jumped up towards a tall building nearby and started to scan the whole landscape. "Who looks like they'll give me a proper warm-up?"
And then he spotted him—a hulking mass of a cultist, fighting a small group of dragons. The man radiated dark energy like a lighthouse of bad decisions, the kind of dark energy that screamed, "I take myself way too seriously. He was built like a tank and looked like he'd spent too much time thinking up evil speeches."
"Oh, great," Gereon sighed dramatically, "another mid-boss. Just what I needed to make my day even more exciting."
He smiled as he propelled himself towards the fight. He raised his hands and looked at the dragons as soon as he got there, "Now, now, now," he waved them off, "I know you young'uns want to play, but let an old man have his fun. I'll take it from here.
The dragons looked confused at first, "Yes, my lord." They quickly composed themselves and left.
"Now for you, my friend. Let's see what you got" He scratched his beard.
The cultist's lips curled into a snarl. "Dragon scum," he spat, dark energy swirling ominously around his fists. "You think you can walk around in your human form and beat me?"
Gereon raised an eyebrow. "Well, I was planning on it, yeah. But hey, if you want me to turn into a dragon and end this in, like, two seconds, I'm game. And please use nicer words, there are children fighting around here!"
The cultist roared, summoning a giant ball of black energy between his hands. The ground trembled, rubble shook, and Gereon could practically hear the dramatic battle music swelling in the background.
"Oh, a giant dark energy ball," Gereon said, stifling a yawn. "How original. Let me guess—you call it something ridiculous like, 'The Orb of Eternal Despair' or 'Doom Sphere'? I'm just spitballing here."
The cultist's eye twitched. "This is the Abyssal Death Orb, you ignorant fool!"
Gereon sighed. "Of course it is. Alright, fine. Let's get this over with."
Without warning, Gereon leaped into the air, performing the most unnecessarily flashy backflip you've ever seen. He twisted, turned, and spun like a figure skater trying to win gold at the Olympics, all while dodging the enormous death orb like it was just a minor inconvenience.
The cultist's face twisted in confusion. "What in the godforsaken world are you doing?!" He screamed, "Fight properly you punk dragon."
Gereon landed gracefully, with a smug grin plastered on his face. "That, my oversized friend, was called 'style.' You should try it sometime. Oh wait you can't."
The cultist, clearly done with the banter, lunged at Gereon with two massive, dark ether blades. He moved fast—like a freight train barreling down the tracks, but Gereon was faster. He vanished from sight just as the cultist swung, leaving the lumbering behemoth slashing at thin air.
"Looking for me?" Gereon's voice came from behind, tapping the cultist's armored shoulder.
The cultist whirled around, teeth bared in rage, but Gereon was already in motion, raising his hand. "Alright, enough of this. Time to show you something a little more… refined."
Gereon's hand began to glow with an intense, bright silver light, so bright it illuminated the battlefield like the sun itself. The light danced around his fingers, crackling with raw ether, until finally, he unleashed it in a move that would forever be burned into the memories of anyone watching.
"Behold," he said, voice so dramatic he should've taken up acting, "the silver arc!"
The air crackled with energy as the silver light shot from Gereon's hand, forming a blinding, crescent-shaped wave that cut through the air like a comet. It slashed through the cultist's armor, obliterating the dark energy around him and sending him flying backward in a spectacular, slow-motion arc, in two pieces.
Gereon dusted off his hands, looking almost bored. "Well, that was anticlimactic. Really should've invested in better cultists."
Just as he was about to turn and leave, he heard slow, deliberate clapping from behind him. Gereon turned, eyebrow raised, to find a tall figure emerging from the shadows—a man cloaked in dark robes, his face obscured but the ominous aura he gave was enough to get Gereon exited.
"Well done, dragon," the man said, his voice smooth and sinister. "I must thank you for ridding me of my incompetent underlings."
Gereon's eyes narrowed. Now this was more like it, he might've to transform.