in which Azrael discovers Chaotic Spellforge and has way too much fun

In his time since joining the Forge, Azrael had felt a new power in him. Chaotic, like the Spire in the center of Draco, but not quite as corrupting as some of those beasts that lurked around the edges of the crystal. Not enough to spill black oil from his body or drive him insane with an urge for destruction. He relished in chaos, but it did not consume him. But this...well, this was interesting.

He reached for it, searching, until he had a tight hold on this new magic and brought it into light. It was strange, twisting, nothing tangible or predictable. And as the magic activated, a switch flipped and it changed - he felt his senses heightening, focusing. Not to an insane degree, where he became overwhelmed, but he could hear more - The Sentinel and The Warden, breathing at the Aperture. The sound of small mice and flies skittering about at the entrance to Pegasus. He could smell the rocks and the moisture in the air, see specks of dust flitting beneath the lights.

After a few moments, everything returned to normal, leaving an unpleasant tingling sensation. But...that didn't seem right. It didn't match up with the resonance of chaos this new magic sang in his bones.

He reached for it again, felt it surging through his gemstone, seeping through the cracks in his chest. It activated again and he, again, felt that switch as the magic suddenly changed. And this time, it was far different. It didn't feel physical, as the other had, but intangible, mystical. And suddenly he was calling out with his mind - to who, he didn't know. He made sure to keep it contained, so that he did not disturb the protectors of Draco, casting it towards the entrance of Pegasus.

It was like leading someone else, a call with his mind with nothing but direction. He watched, carefully and saw a cave rat appear at the entrance to Pegasus, ears perked with interest, but upon seeing the giant demon glaring from the shadows, it squeaked in terror and ran.

The magic was a one shot this time instead of a lingering effect. And it brought with it more questions, more confusion, more need to keep trying because this had to count for something.

For the third time he reached, for the third time the switch flipped and he found himself...lost. This magic was wholly unfamiliar to him and reminded him of the forests of Pegasus, the deep jungle of Eridanus, and he found himself unable to complete the spell that called for plantlife. Something organic the grew from the earth. He let it wither away, uncast, annoyed, but having an idea, now, of what this magic did.

It must be random, pulling from many strings of magic to cast something that neither he, nor the magic itself, had any control over. Yet it wasn't completely out of his hands - once the spell was his, he had the power.

Perhaps it would come in handy.

He tried again, with no expectations this time but the hope that somewhere in his tests, he would come across a spell that would give him more destructive power, as he could never have too much. When he felt the magic change, it was a familiar magic, a spell that made him perk up with interest. Itching along his body, a surge of growth, and he was suddenly growing piecese. Spikes, plates, armor, all along his body. Not dissimilar to the armor that the Wishing Stone had granted him, but this was attached to him, keratin pieces that grew from his very skin.

Surprise and a faint bit of delight gleamed in his eyes as the spell ended and he admired the new pieces. They were most likely not permanent, as the spell had not taken too much out of him, but they were hard and strong and would help in a battle. It was just unfortunate that it was so unpredictable, he could not call upon it when he needed it. Perhaps he would look into learning this spell on its own.

Another testing spell had his skin, this time, changing color. He thought for a moment that he'd accidently cast the spell that he used to hide in the shadows, but it was different. Much weaker. He was the color of the surrounding rocks, but when he shifted, he could see himself. It was a faint effect, but it was like the rocks themselves were shifting.

Grumbling, displeased with this test, he released the magic, returning back to his normal coloration. This was getting boring - what use was a spell randomizer that didn't give him anything good?

As he tested his magic, Azrael decided that, if he wasn't going to be casting any earth-shattering, destruction-wreathing spells, he might as well sit. Taking a comfortable, cross-legged seat against the wall, closing his eyes to focus. He tried to control the chaos he was casting, but it was like trying to catch a river. A claw in only got him a handful while the rest flowed around and away. It continued to evade, moving on everymore, this time manifesting in that strange psychic power.

He opened his eyes and let the magic, which begged for a target, to latch onto a rock. With a flick of his gaze, the rock moved, hovering in the air where he watched. Another flick and it moved again. A small smile curled his lips. With just the smallest effort of will, he launched the rock at the wall with enough force that it broke into pieces on impact, leaving a sizable dent where it had made contact.

That was more like it.

not me coming back to this thread 7 months later so i can get him those last 2 successes

Azrael glanced back at the entrance to Draco, where voidlight shone. Ever since joining this Forge, he'd always wondered if corruption was the path he should take. It would be fitting - a demon, wreathed in darkness, dripping oil and bringing destruction in his wake. But...no. It was not him. He was chaotic, yes. A force of destruction. But he was not a monster. He was always in control, always the one in charge. He would not let corruption take away that control so that he was nothing but mindless beast.

He turned back and focused again on the chaotic force. He frowned, magic churning, and then it suddenly erupted out. From seemingly nowhere, gray spores burst forward and, immediately, an incredibly foul taste drifted through the tunnel.

Azrael shot to his feet, stumbling back as he coughed, using an arm to cover his nose. "What the FUCK." He roared at the air where the spores had scattered. Snarling to himself, he turned to find a different spot where the smell wasn't as strong.

What the hell was the point of that?!

He sat himself down again and grunted, hoping that he didn't cast anything like that again. To be honest, it was kind of fun, just throwing out magic and seeing what came up. But that one hadn't been fun. At all.

He brought the magic forward again and he felt something happen, but nothing came to sight. His claws tingled and there was an intrinsic knowledge, all of a sudden, that he was about to change the location of an object. Switch them.

He reached for a pebble on the ground and as soon as he touched it, it vanished and a similarly sized pebble appeared in its place. There was a clatter some distance away as the one that he'd touched fell to the ground.

He snorted. Interesting, but not practical in the middle of battle. Maybe one more skilled could use it better, if they had prior knowledge and planning to account for it, but he put it away with "useless spells".