V-Chaos-Two was awakening, and thus this was the perfect time. He would give the babysitter time to reacclimate itself to its body, time to complete its training--and time to rest, in the meanwhile. And then, in a cycle or so's time, this new creature would hatch.

Vargas had been turning over ideas in his own head. Totum had been hard at work, too, at the Black Spire but Vargas had obsessed. He was still unsure how much he might feasibly create without exhausting his magic, or killing himself through doing so, or the weakening himself too deeply to attack. He was, therefore, being slow and cautious as he rebuilt the core of Origin Cave's chaotic mechanisms.

He was fairly sure he had the process down, now, anyway. With Astraea's guidance and his prior trial-and-error he'd learned how it worked, for the most part. And V-Chaos-Two had reemerged whole and improved. These were all good signs; and to top it off, Vargas had spent the last two cycles absolutely finalizing each and every detail of his next attempt.

He wanted something draconic, he knew that; to him, the dragons were a prime 'evolutionary' path. The ability to stay out of range of most danger, to move swiftly enough to avoid the rest, and with the natural magic to decimate anything near them--and their natural defenses if they were struck--all impressed him. Raheerah's form had been chosen for a reason, and he knew he could not recreate such a form so easily but a variation on it? That much, he could do.

He had given thought to the aquatic. To something draconic that could submerge itself beneath the waves to avoid detection or attack. He imagined a creature that lurked beneath the surface, dark against a midnight sea, only to surge out to decimate a vulnerable enemy at just the right moment. An assassin, then, more than a soldier, but one intended for immense or powerful prey.

It had to breathe water; he'd decided that very early on. It had to be hard to see, so he'd chosen oily black, slimy or scaled. Fins and wings for swimming and movement, though he knew that would be tricky to get right--the wings had to fold or be powerful enough not to create too much drag submerged. A fin-like tail for extra propulsion, and to act as a rudder in flight.

For offensive abilities he'd decided on a toxin: something that required only a savage bite or two to bleed out or to poison to death any foe. Night vision was a must.

So now Vargas sat himself down at last, at one of the empty pockets in the back wall of Draco; and here he contemplated the womb.

There was plenty of oilstone he could mold as he saw fit, and this was no exception. Stones that Jupiter had shattered. Stones that she had abandoned, before they'd had chance to hatch. Most had lost their life, but for a Master, this was all right; he could impart his own power into the gem and that would be that.

He'd chosen a large crystal, though it hardly mattered what he began with. What mattered would be what he molded it into. For nearly an hour he sat, almost meditative, staring off at nothing with toxic rows of eyes and pondering his intent. Shaping his very magic.

Rubbery and black, long-necked and -tailed. Gills for breathing water. Venom in its bite. Night vision. Swim and fly, fin and wing... here we go, he thought, at last. Hooked claws closed gently over the oilstone, its facets gleaming in Draco's sickly light.

At last the magic began: a slow flow, a trickle really, of purpose made manifest. Of power, coursing into a new life--a new form.

Slowly he moved to plant it within the recess, settling it in its hollow, where it began to swell and churn. Chaos, Vargas thought, a little bit distractedly.

And then he backed away, and left this one to grow.