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The Terror of Grazefield

In July of 2024, it had been quite some time since I had visited The Emperor, and even longer since I gave him a proper story. I felt the itch, and I had gotten a YCH from Marsel-Defender that was perfect for him, so I sat down one weekend and began to write.

There’s a funny thing when it comes to writing characters. Often, what you start out with drifts ever so slightly once pen meets paper. Such was the case with Volpes, Azurium, and many of my other characters, and such was also the case for The Emperor version of Enigma.

And though it’ll probably still a mystery to you after reading this, writing this tale helped me figure out his brand of evil.

---

“Twenty-Four…”

The crimson scales on his arms were peppered with sweat, lean sinew raising itself back up in a controlled, even motion. After a few seconds of reprieve, his body moved on its own, lowering himself down once more in a steady, internal rhythm.

“Twenty-Fiiiive…”

Once more in neutral position, Damien the lizardkin rose to his full height, breathing evenly in his private training hall on the edge of town. His wiry muscle and tan underbelly, honed through a lifetime of martial arts, were concealed beneath one of a rotating set of loose-fitting training gis, calloused hands wrapped in tape. Yet the scaled beastkin himself had no care for his appearance, merely his performance.

Improving himself was his passion. Beyond that, he knew he owed it to the rest of the villagers to continue to push towards new and greater heights. It was by their good graces that he even had the time, and the nutrition, to train, and all he had to do was make himself useful when beasts wandered too close to the settlement, or when someone needed an escort. A “hero” they called him, when to his eyes they were the heroes for enabling him in the first place. He threw that same gratitude into every punch at the sandbag hanging in the center of the room, bright yellow, slitted eyes focused and alert.

At least, until he heard footsteps outside. They were footsteps he recognized. What was the mayor doing here?

“Damien!” The elderly lizard, scales long since bleached from years of sunbathing, a slight hunch in his back, gasping for breath, unused to the exertion and winded from even that short sprint. “Come quick! We have trouble!”

When his village was in trouble, Damien’s body obeyed him. Today would be no different. Any exhaustion he might have felt from his morning routine drained out of him as he sprinted towards the outskirts of town, bare scales of his soles cushioning him from the impacts of his footfalls. The “Hero of Grazefield” had fended off beasts, drunkards, and the occasional Oplentian soldier who wandered too far outside their city looking for a fight. And as he studied this new threat wordlessly, he knew that it would be his greatest challenge yet.

Three beastkin were approaching the settlement: A golden lioness, albino ratkin, and gray wolfkin. This alone wouldn’t have been enough to set the pugilist on edge. No, that would be the sheer size of these newcomers. All three of them stood at least about head, possibly two, taller than the typical soldiers, or even “Towering” Tobias, the local bearkin barkeep. Each of them were adorned in durable leather breeches and boots. But between the three of them, the only form of clothing adorning their upper bodies was the lioness’s chest binding.

The scaled warrior assumed it was some form of intimidation, using the sheer musculature on display, visible even through their fur, to break the wills of their opponents without starting a fight, especially when paired with their malevolent grins, scanning the village. Even in the morning sun, it was clear that not only did each of them have a bright-green left eye, but that those eyes were all glowing.

Judging by their formation and disturbing similarities, Damien assumed that the wolfkin was leading the charge. More than his position in the front of the group, he had a tattoo underneath his eye that the other two didn’t. Though the martial artist registered a faint familiarity with the symbol, he couldn’t quite remember where he had seen it before. Perhaps he was too distracted by the sword resting in the wolfkin’s left hand, slung comfortably over his exposed shoulder, almost as long as the giant was tall. And as Damien continued to walk forward towards the trio, his whole village behind him, this wolfkin spoke with a calm bravado, pointing at the warrior with his free arm.

“You must be ‘Facebreaker’ Damien, the Hero of Grazefield. Your reputation precedes you.”

Without thinking, the lizardkin’s body began to shift, arms raised and body angled as he widened his stance.

“And who’re you supposed to be?”

The wolfkin let out a deep chuckle. “Don’t concern yourself about that. You’ll know exactly who I am soon enough. For now, all that matters is that you and I are going to fight. And if I’m not satisfied, Grazefield will be punished for your failures.”

Nothing about this was normal, and it was starting to make Damien nervous, yet he couldn’t afford to show it to the rest of the village. It took effort to steel himself, but he remained outwardly calm. “And if I win?”

“You won’t.” The wolfkin’s smirk broadened. “Ah, but it would be unbecoming of me to fight an unarmed opponent with this beast on my shoulder.” As he lifted the sword off his physique, all the villagers could see the individual muscles of the bicep, forearm and pectorals flex and bulge under the weight, activating in response to their owner’s command. Turning it such that the tip of the blade was hanging downward, directly over the ground, he held it towards the huge ratkin to his flank. With a wordless order, the albino took the weapon and moved backwards to give his master space.

It was then that the intruder began to rotate his shoulder and widen his stance, seemingly eager for the coming struggle. “And because I so rudely interrupted your morning, it’s only fair that I allow you to make the first move.”

Anyone else might have frozen up in Damien’s position, but instead he allowed his training to take over. His fist, charged with martial spirit, landed directly into the wolfkin’s shredded abdomen. It was enough to move the beast backwards a few steps, but he quickly recovered his stance.

“For your village’s sake, you had bet-”

The boast was interrupted by a collision between Damien’s foot and the wolfkin’s snout, the force of the impact enough to draw blood and knock the wolfkin to the ground. Taking a moment to recover, he wiped his face with his left hand before standing back up.

“Good. I daresay you’re exactly what I’ve been hoping for.”

A puzzled expression briefly crossed Damien’s features, but before he could finish processing the comment his opponent was on him with surprising speed. By the time he was ready to react, the lizardkin was already getting launched back with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. Collapsed to the ground, the lioness quickly grappled him, her vice-like grip leaving him unable to defend himself.

It was then, as the wolfkin approached him once more, that Damien saw it, or more accurately the lack of it. He expected bruising and/or bleeding, both from the wolf’s face and stomach, but instead he looked as if nothing had happened to him, that smug grin once again plastered onto his face. But wasn’t he bleeding just a moment ago? Words came to the lizardkin’s mind, and his mouth intoned them.

“Impossible! You should-”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a wave of the wolfkin’s hand, radiating a cerulean aura.

And his world went black.

---

Rousing from a deep slumber, Damien had no way of knowing how much time had passed, either for him or his village. As the grogginess abated, he tried to lift himself up, but the restraints on his legs, wrists, and chest held him firmly in place.

Panic started to set in as he studied the room, feeling the cold steel on his naked back, allowing himself a sigh of relief that his gi’s pants were still in place. Across from him, a table with notes and a set of alchemical equipment. Next to that, a locked cabinet stocked with various bottles and vials. Combined with the otherwise sterile scent of the room, the sight helped Damien to gain his bearings. On the edge of his field of vision, a door opened, and the giant wolf from before stepped out.

“Excellent. You’re already awake.” In the dim lighting of the room, the glow of his green-eye was that much clearer, stern features staring directly through the captive combatant. Whatever he was, it wasn’t natural.

“Freak! Let me go! If you did anything to the others-”

The wolf waved his hand, and suddenly Damien’s voice was gone. His mouth kept moving to finish his thought, but it was in vain.

“You’ll do nothing. Not that it matters either way. I have what I came to your village for. And I have no need to waste any further time on that hovel of weaklings. Besides, when I’m done here, I can just have my expert on Grazefield advise me.”

Damien gave the titan a look of horror. And with another wave of his warden’s hand, his voice returned to him. “Who’s that!?”

Chuckling as if he’d heard a bad joke, the wolfkin placed a hand under the lizard’s snout, gently brushing it with the smooth fur on the back of his hand. Damien could feel his stomach lurch.

“You are, of course. Who else could it be?”

“Why would I ever help you!?”

“Because you have skill, Damien. Skill enough to knock down a beastkin of my size and stature, as you demonstrated during my little test. I want you to teach me your techniques, so that I may incorporate them into my own fighting style.”

From the way he spoke, the wolf made it seem like the most obvious thing in the world. It further unsettled the crimson lizardkin.

“I won’t teach you anything.”

An actual laugh. Apparently this joke was even funnier than the last.

“You will. After I’m done with you, you’ll want to.”

Taking a key out of his left pocket, the oversized wolf unlocked the door to the cabinet, from which he snatched a vial of glowing blue liquid. Trembling in his restraints, a question forced its way through the captive’s throat.

“What’s that?”

Turning to face Damien, the grin on the giant’s face was framed elegantly by the glowing blue tattoo.

“It’s a marvel of science and ingenuity, capable of sculpting the body and mind to utter perfection. It’s what made me who I am today. And it will remake you much the same.”

Realization set in. The lizardkin tried to push himself backwards, away from the monster in front of him, but the restraints held fast.

“I don’t want-” His voice was once again taken from him, and his mouth forced open. No matter how much he willed it, his body refused to obey him.

“What you want doesn’t matter. I want your knowledge and power. And unfortunately for you, my will is stronger.”

The cork on the bottle was removed, glowing azure liquid pouring into Damien’s throat. Betrayed by his own flesh, the pugilist’s body greedily drank to contents down to the last drop. In that moment, warmth began to spread through every muscle and sinew. Still unable to move, he felt his chest expand, pressing against the cold steel before it began to conform to his new proportions.

In the back of his mind, Damien wondered if some enchantment allowed his bindings to change shape, but even that thought was growing hard to hold onto. His mind dulled as the heaviness of his body began to set in.

Seizing his opportunity, the wolfkin moved behind the captive, cupping both sides of his head with the rough pads of his fingers. A cerulean glow emanated both from them and his right, normally golden eye.

“Consider yourself fortunate, Damien. I would normally have one of my messerists handle this, but today you get to experience my personal touch.”

If the evolving lizardkin could hear the wolf’s words, he did nothing to acknowledge them. Rather, his thoughts were cast back to his life in Grazefield, and the gratitude he had for the people who hailed him a hero…

…No. Gratitude? He was grateful? Why should that be? He’s the one who saved them from Oplentian soldiers and wild beasts, wasn’t he? And all he ever asked for was his fair share of the yield in exchange for this safety. If anything, didn’t they owe him for his generosity!? Of course they did. It only made sense.

That’s why the wol- The Emperor of Oplentis brought him here, wasn’t it? He was wasting his time and talents on Grazefield.

He thought back to their fight back in the village square, the way the Emperor’s muscles heaved and flexed powerfully as he moved his weapon. The way his wounds healed almost immediately. Feeling his arms shift subtly away from his torso, displaced by the mass packing onto them, he realized that he was about to have a body like that. The mere thought made him giddy. The pants of his formerly loose-fitting gi began to conform to the growing, hardened bulges and shapes of the legs occupying them.

The Emperor was the one who he should be grateful to, for giving him the power he deserved, beyond anything he could have hoped to obtain through training alone.

The wolfkin released Damien from his grip, cerulean glow fading away as the restraints released on their own.

“Rise, Damien. The Hero of Grazefield is dead. Long live Damien the Fierce.”

And he did. At his master’s command, the crimson lizardkin rose to his full height, now equal to the wolf who made him strong. His chest rose and fell in controlled breaths, scales struggling to contain his new bulk. He began to trace the cleft of his pecs with a clawed finger, letting out a satisfied sigh. This was exactly what he always dreamed of.

“Thank you, Master. It would be my honor to teach you.”

With a pleased grunt, the wolfkin placed a hand under the lizard’s snout, gently brushing it with the smooth fur on the back of his hand. Damien practically melted under the gesture.

“Then let us get started.”