Control

The chamber was eerily quiet now, the echoes of battle fading into the distance. Speed stood amidst the ruins of his carnage, his chest heaving with each heavy breath. Blood—some his, some not—streaked his torn shirt, and his transformed body still hummed faintly with the residual energy of his newfound might. But there, at the center of the chamber, something called to him—a pulsing glow that emanated from an altar he hadn't noticed before.

The altar was ancient, carved from black stone veined with streaks of glimmering silver. The glow came from a chest that rested upon it, seemingly untouched by the chaos of the fight. The chest was no ordinary container; its surface shimmered with strange, shifting patterns, as if it were alive, its design ever-changing. The edges seemed to blur, as though it existed in multiple dimensions at once, its presence both here and... elsewhere.

Drawn by an irresistible force, Speed approached the altar. The pull of the chest was unlike anything he had ever felt—intense, almost magnetic, as if it knew he was meant to find it. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out, his fingers brushing against its surface. The chest responded immediately, the intricate patterns on its surface spiraling inward before unlocking with a soft, resonant chime.

Inside, nestled within the infinite depths of the chest, lay a glowing gem, no larger than a fist but radiating an overwhelming power. Its surface was crystalline and flawless, shifting between shades of emerald green and deep sapphire, as though it held entire worlds within it. The gem pulsed softly, its energy resonating with the blade in Speed's hand.

As he lifted the gem, it hummed louder, its glow syncing with the flickering runes on his sword. Instinctively, he knew what he had to do. Carefully, deliberately, he placed the gem into the hilt of the sword. The moment it clicked into place, the entire weapon shuddered violently, the runes flaring with a blinding light that filled the chamber.

The transformation was immediate. The blade extended, its edges sharper and more jagged, the runes now pulsating with an intensity that matched Speed's own heartbeat. The once simple hilt transformed, the leather giving way to scales that shimmered faintly, and the pommel reshaped itself into the open maw of a dragon, the gem glowing brightly within. The sword was no longer just a weapon—it was an extension of him, a living entity bound to his very soul.

The moment the transformation completed, Speed felt it—a deep, unbreakable bond forming between him and the sword. It wasn't just power he felt; it was connection, as though the weapon had become a part of his very being. His body surged with energy, the hunger from before replaced by a clarity and focus he hadn't known before.

But the change didn't stop there.

In the depths of his mind, Speed's inner monster stirred, its presence growing more vivid and tangible. He saw it clearly now—a hulking, shadowy form that mirrored his darkest instincts. It roared, its massive frame swelling as horns sprouted from its head, twisting upward like jagged spires. Its claws lengthened, its eyes glowing with an intense green fire that matched the blade's.

Speed didn't flinch. He met the monster's gaze, unafraid, knowing this was his to control. The transformation was not just physical; it was the acceptance of what he had become—a warrior not defined by rage or hunger, but by purpose and balance.

The voice, ever watchful, returned, its tone laced with something new: intrigue. "Ah, the bond is complete. The beast grows, the sword transforms, and the Dragon Mage begins to understand his power. But tell me, child, can you control what you've unleashed? Or will it consume you, as it has so many before?"

Speed gripped the sword tightly, his glowing eyes narrowing. The answer burned within him, unwavering. "This isn't controlling me. I'm mastering it."