[MalfGuy2]

---

The ethereal pull surrounds you.
A ghostly, ephemeral essentia responds to your call:

You can hear the cracking of bones and metal crashing all around you. Your body initially fights back, Water Mana and Fire Mana rising in equal temper,
But your body is crumbling. Your legs begin to shrink, shrivel, and disappear, replaced by fins and spike-like wings.

---

"Copying template: Moraine family. Copying template: Elizabeth Montelione I. Copying template: Kynodisme. Copying template: Vorraog family."
"...Now, merge them."
"Remove her evolution limiter. She will survive it or the experiment is termed a failure."

---

Shards of glass permeate you. You're sure that it was just a dream or sleepwalking issue, but something or someone is clearly forcing your body forwards. It is just as discombobulating as the Spirit-Trees nearby whisper unto you; Your eyes level with the cyan glow.

It was stable. More than you.

---

---

Your vision blurs. One minute, you're in the depths of a forge, forcing some dozens and dozens of pounds of Mythril to compress down to their most basic shape,

The next, a collar of the same metal weighs your serpentine body down, but not in restraint.

It makes you fire off that flamethrower even faster. 

It takes spar, after spar,

Battle after battle,

But finally, your first friend in this world couldn't withstand the brunt of a Gravity churn hitting them.

"Merging Templates success."



"The Emissary will do nicely. They will repair the Spirit-Tether bond, and in turn, give you the next step."



"...Just like old times. The Daimyo will ask to face you too, eventually."
"It's critical that you don't run away."
"Hesitation is defeat."

---

Your ambitions slip away from you. Instinct guides you towards whatever all you want, but the other Monsters appear scared of you. Non-engaging.
Only the Magi respond in full. They don't feed your power, not the same way. Your mouth fails to itch for them. It's just not the same.
A novice Magi trial passes by in the Shadowlands to some effect;
But it ends up mattering little to the Mana you accumulate.
When you turn to face the Stonehaven and Arcadians and Caethiri that nominally shelter you, something peculiar happens...

---

"This massive dose of Holy Mana is almost killing you."

"Please, you have to focus on winning one of these..."

"...He's asking for the duel."

"Brace yourself."

"...He went silent."

There is nothing to speak about.
He turns away without a word. The scythe returned to his back. You have no way of knowing if this was a fluke or not,
But you've clearly made it to the big leagues where Magi politicians are lurking.
A huge weight starts to lift from your shoulders, and your vision fades to grey...
It's so bright.

---

Too bright.

"...Made contact?"
"Continue the experiment. All indicators are green. This is the one."

---

The air around you stops folding in on itself.
After about a decade of constant tomfoolery and combat testing, your perception has fully adjusted.
We're smaller now.
Small enough to count as one of the humans' plushie toys they keep around.
Whatever ghostly magics were present had stood at a standstill.
They're ours to command now.

"We can get used to this."

"Plat."