What separates mortals from Superior Beings and Gods from myriad lives? Authority. Only by grasping the essence of authority can one reach the peak of the Spiritual World—able to pluck stars and reshape a galaxy with a finger snap.
But not all authorities are created equal. When he first awoke his powers, Mithras inherited a diluted version of Vritra's Authority that gave him control over the serpent race. But now that he'd obtained the Violet Flame and evolved to Dragon King status, his authority evolved as well, getting increasingly close to Vritra's tier, and now extending over Wyrms as well.
And unlike snakes and dragons, wyrms are everywhere, congregating in areas where malice, jealousy, treachery, and the burning need for vengeance gather. Some hide deep under the surface. Others make themselves invisible. The boldest shapeshift and walk the Earth.
But so long as the slightest source of negativity exists, have no doubt that a wyrm is nearby, following without a sound, and growing on the darkness.
Now, driven by Mithras' Pyromantic Thesis, millions of wyrms rose like flaming bolts, becoming a coiling vortex of violet flames as they circled the Human Aphrodisiac.
A complete Pyromantic Thesis altered the world and its life forms. Mithras couldn't alter the world. But he could still alter himself. And so that's exactly what he'd do.
The millions of wyrms generated by the various tragedies of Flameheart City over the last few centuries drove into the Human Aphrodisiac's chest, burrowing inside and fusing with his flesh as his eyes went bloodshot. A horrifying blaze of violet flames blasted throughout the void, sending Akamana rolling back and causing both Ricimer and Vel'Asha to pause for a moment.
Just like Red Cloud Pythons, wyrms could control their size at will—able to shrink to microscopic levels or expand to mountain size depending on how much darkness they'd consumed over the years. These million wyrms came from various backgrounds and individually didn't have much darkness in them.
But once they united in Mithras' body, they fused into a nightmarish abomination, roaring at the void like a cacophony of ancient devils.
Mithras' skin took a violet shade, a variety of reptilian tattoos forming on his chest and back while a pair of footlong dragon horns stretched out of his forehead.
"Million Snakes of the Burning Hell. One million wyrms burrowing into my chest. My flesh and bones, my veins and muscles. In this thesis, I am the Burning Hell," Mithras whispered, and in that same breath, appeared before Akamana, kicking into her chest with his draconic talons.
It was too fast. Again, once she entered Mithras' vicinity, Akamana's physical attributes dropped to ruinous lows, making her unable to follow—much less counter his moves.
She couldn't understand. The Dragon Lords' crippling gaze only worked on lower-class beings or Superior Beings with little to no control over their mutation.
But unlike Elektra, Akamana had achieved absolute control over her powers and mutations centuries ago. As a Dark Preceptor of the Naifem race, how could she get affected by Mithras' dragon eyes?
Not to be outdone, Akamana forced her shoulder back into place, refusing to back off, and meeting her foe with relentless drive. In a flash, the two traded a flurry of blows, going back and forth as they tore and blasted through one another's bones and muscles. At first, none could get a decisive advantage.
But as the slugfest went on, Mithras took over, breaking Akamana's momentum and pressuring her till she caught herself backing off!
"You want to make me believe that even with Vel out of the way I can't deal with you? Bullshit!" The Grand Priestess snapped, teleporting out of Mithras' way. The void disturbance messed with her trajectory, but she still got enough space to try and reestablish her Palace.
Reestablishing a Palace of Indulgence right after it'd been broken was no mean feat—the Dark Crest of Paradise typically needing a couple of hours to restore its energy reserves. Otherwise, Akamana would have done that a while ago.
But there was a way to speed up the process: filling the crest with a portion of the Dark Preceptor's soul! And the Grand Priestess' obsession with victory had reached the point...that she'd rather lose her soul than fail in battle.
The Dark Crest of Paradise appeared once more. But as Akamana was about to redefine the meaning of madness, her eyelids trembled. The world around her vacillating as she suffered a dizzy spell. Mithras didn't let the opportunity slip, his hammer crashing into Akamana's knees and cracking them instantly.
"AARGH!" The Grand Priestess spiraled down the void. Mithras didn't give chase, watching Akamana with an impish smile.
"Finally. I was wondering how long I'd have to hold on before it kicked in," the dragon youth whispered, and with a grasping motion, cast a storm of vibration waves that sent the Grand Priestess flying back to him.
"No...how...I won't have it!" Dazed and confused, Akamana thrashed against the inevitable, swinging and kicking at will. Her speed increased with each breath, breaking barrier upon barrier as she struggled for a way out.
"Useless. Each of my blows carried my Thunderclap talent at maximum strength. Individually, they can't shake you, but as they build up, your brain and nerves become a mess, leaving you vulnerable to a standard beating.
Of all the tricks I've used today, the one you've paid the least attention to turned out to be your undoing. Unfortune." Mithras wasn't moved, arming his hammer like a baseball player as Akamana flew towards him.
"NOOOOO!" With nothing else to try, Akamana went for a desperate swing. Futile and fruitless. Her body refused to obey, leaving her open to Mithras' final swing. The hammer came crashing in, and Akamana hurtled back, blasting through the Astral Void to crater in the royal palace—battered and unable to move.
Mithras appeared before her; his hammer aimed at her face.
"All struggles end before the reality of defeat. Grand Priestess Akamana, you lost."