Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop

As Morgan and Burn navigated the labyrinthine paths of the Great Forest, it felt less like an adventure and more like a family outing with Isaiah the dragon, who was currently sporting his impressive humanoid form.

He was attractive, just a cut above the elves. Isaiah had an imposing figure at a striking seven feet tall, clad in an ensemble that could only be described as “vaguely menacing.”

His long black hair cascaded to the floor like an overenthusiastic curtain, ready to steal the spotlight at any moment. It was as if every inch of him was declaring, “Behold, I am both majestic and terrifying!” 

His pair of horns sat atop his head like ill-fitting party hats—one broken, as if he had lost a duel with an angry tree, a storyline that would no doubt grow more dramatic with each retelling. Ahem, shout out to the world tree—

Those amber reptile eyes, however, were the pièce de résistance; they radiated an aloofness that suggested he was far too worldly for the mundane concerns of mere mortals.

Morgan often suspected they held all the warmth of a winter solstice, and the flippant nonchalance that accompanied his gaze could turn any serious moment into an accidental comedy. 

Indeed, Isaiah resembled a dragon who had just raided the nearest human fashion outlet but had decided sophistication was overrated. The very air around him seemed to sigh, “Here comes Isaiah, our resident brooding giant.”

The trees loomed overhead, their branches entwining like old friends gossiping about the latest forest scandal. 

“Honestly, just like old times,” Morgan muttered, “who knew searching for a space big enough for the world’s strongest dragon to transform would be this complicated? At this rate, we might accidentally stumble into Inkia’s border patrol.”

Burn snorted, “Maybe they would welcome the distraction.”

Isaiah shuffled along, his solid frame somehow imposing even in human form. “I would have the world tree not chastise me again for injuring his younglings,” he insisted. “I have outgrown the last time thou beheld me.”

“A sprawling field, perhaps?” Morgan suggested. “Or maybe one of those dramatic cliffs where you can pose majestically? Just be sure not to knock anything over, oh mighty one.”

The woods seemed to sigh quietly, rustling with the wind, as if they too wondered about the true spectacle that awaited.

Little did they know, Isaiah would soon transform into a colossal creature, eclipsing the sun with scales that shimmered like a hundred gemstones—if only he could find a spot that didn’t spell disaster for the nearby trees.

“Pray, concerning Merlin, dear Miss Momo, let us unravel this matter anon,” Isaiah said. “With Master Vlad as well.”

Morgan smiled softly, which didn’t escape Burn’s eyes, and said, “I would like that, but time is short.”

Isaiah sighed. “Thou art still as headstrong as in mine own boyhood.”

Burn turned to Isaiah with raised eyebrows and widened eyes. “Morgan is older than you?”

“The sole souls older than fair Miss Momo shall be Merlin and Master Vlad,” Isaiah answered calmly. “I am but six hundred years in age; this is mine prime.”

‘Only’…

“The evidence lieth in the fact that mine common tongue remaineth still somewhat recognizable and comprehensible to mortals today, in comparison to the tongues of elder dragons,” Isaiah added.

“No, your Common is almost incomprehensible,” Burn shot back.

Isaiah frowned. “I really ought to master those mind-reading spells.”

Morgan chuckled, “Yeah, but even with those, you still have to learn the language in your head. It’s not just copy-paste and poof—you’re magically fluent.” 

Burn turned to Morgan, shaking his head in disbelief. “Seriously, how do you get to be such a language whiz? You pick up new slang faster than a kid grabs candy at a store. It’s borderline scary.”

He paused, thinking, “Sure, you still had the basics of the languages you reacquaint yourself with, but somehow, you manage to make it look effortless.”

Morgan shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve just always been good with memory.”

“It can’t be just memory. You absorb and integrate information like no one I’ve ever known. Not even me,” Burn said. “You predicted Yvain’s rampage only by reading my mind. And other small, seemingly mundane things you noticed just from being with me.”

“It’s just memory,” Morgan insisted, “and a bunch of experience.”

Burn smiled faintly. “Fine.”

“You should tell that to yourself, anyway,” Morgan said. “You chose what to change and what to keep to manipulate the butterfly effect to your own advantage.”

“I’m just taking the fastest and easiest route. What’s impressive about that?” Burn groaned.

“I comprehend it not, yet I can safely presume that thou art engaging in flirtation before mine eyes, art thou not?” Isaiah asked. And after a lengthy silence, he inquired once more, “Honeymoon phase, perchance?”

“Shut up, Isaiah. He’s cool,” Morgan sharply said, almost yelled.

“The phase doth not seem to conclude anon,” sighed the dragon.

Soon, they found a forest clearing vast enough for Isaiah to transform.

Burn watched as Isaiah prepared for his grand transformation in the clearing that, frankly, could have used a little less stylistic choice and a bit more shade.

But then again, this was Isaiah, the Dragon of the East. He deserved this kind of dragon transformation debut. As he began to transform, the ground quaked underfoot. Isaiah’s body started to expand like a particularly ambitious balloon at a kids' party.

First, his limbs elongated with an anatomical movement that was surprisingly graceful for something so unwieldy. Isaiah’s scales erupted—black and gold sparkling like crystals and jewelry under fluorescent lights.

Finally, with a final twist, Isaiah stood towering at a glorious one hundred feet, wings spread wider than his own height. One of his horns still lay broken, while the intact one reached an impressive 30 feet tall.

“Oh, yeah, look at you,” Morgan muttered. “So, what did you feast upon up there on the moon, Isaiah? Moon rocks and stardust?”

“Rabbits,” the dragon replied, his voice echoing in their ears thanks to his magic ensuring their eardrums remained intact—no need for his real dragon vocal cords to ruin the moment.

He lowered his massive head, and the impact upon the ground sent shockwaves through the earth.

“Come hither, ascend and grasp my horns with grip most firm. Perchance conjure thee some seatbelts for thy safety, and a means to hold on, lest thou be tossed asunder in the skies.”

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We all need an Isaiah in our lifes.