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Ricky the brown bear did a startled double-take as Rain wandered in from the office of the Dragon's Spire, hurriedly buttoning up the wrist-cuffs on a sharp-looking black shirt. Not making eye contact, the dragon was already heading for the club's entrance. Nonetheless, Ricky felt he should say something: "Oh! Sir, my apologies -- you're back far earlier than I had thought." Not stated was the fact that Ricky hadn't even seen him come in, but which Rain could read easily enough from the alarm in his tone.

Rain took a smiling glance back at the bear and nodded while getting that last button into place. "Don't worry about it. I'm not quite back yet."

He hadn't worn this specific ensemble of black formalwear in a long while... but it had also been quite some time since he last took less than five seconds to decide what clothing he was going to wear. Somewhat older and more conservative in its style, It stood out to him as the most un-Storm-like thing in his entire wardrobe, and he donned it hastily for no other reason than as a personal reminder that he was mature enough to wear stuffy clothing without whining about it.

Rain ambled off to the nearest elevator and rode it down to street level, fidgeting all the while. He glanced at his mane in a clamshell pocket mirror he had brought with him -- hurriedly tidied his long, golden hairs. He confirmed by close inspection that none of the ends looked burnt anymore, which was a relief. In general, his body wasn't any worse for the wear, though he was still coping with the lingering symptoms of a blown mind.

The alleyway between his building and the next was... empty, mostly. There was some sort of dark residue there which gave off a faint magical trace that Rain could sense only if he truly concentrated. Visually, it was difficult to distinguish from a poorly cleaned oil slick, and it seemed to be drying out.

"That servant thing..." he whispered. "Damn, it's not dead. There should be a lot more material than this if it was."

Looking around further, he located more scattered patches of the odd residue, behind bins and pressed up against walls. A few even had what looked like small, solid chunks of some sort in them. He dared to poke one with a fingertip and noticed it felt like... melty glass. Like it was a solid sheet that was in the process of slowly liquefying...

Rain realized something a moment later and clenched his teeth, growling.

The orb. This was residue from its impact. The black goo proper -- which had definitely fallen as well -- was nowhere to be found, except in arguable tiny traces on these shards. It must have gone somewhere... but wherever it went, it went contiguously, without leaving a trace.

He took some photos and wished he had brought a plastic bag and gloves with him. Lacking that option, he reached for his wallet and took a glance around the area before surreptitiously withdrawing his "just in case" condom from it and tearing open its wrapper.

"Always use protection," mumbled Rain as he knelt by one of the larger chunks and unrolled the condom just enough to sack it down into the reservoir-tip. "Don't want any sexually transmitted servitors today..." He took a small microfiber cloth from his wallet as well (a handy backup for dusting off objects or offering to friends who needed to clean their eyeglasses) and used it to dry the claw-tip that had gotten the tiniest exposure to the substance. The small droplet came right off and smeared as a thin line over the cloth. It didn't seem to have much in the way of motility or infectious power, but he still didn't trust it.

Folding the cloth and condom for minimized risk of exposure, he tucked both into the pocket where he would normally keep his phone. The phone itself he kept in hand, permitting himself to be one of those guys who walks around distracted by a device -- if only for the next ten minutes, while he made his way back up to his abode. He needed to check his messages and see what the hell else Storm had managed to screw up for him.

His previews told him that he had a new message from Ricky: I do hope we're still on, sir. Your messages earlier were... -- Rain grimaced and tapped it -- ...among the sauciest that I've seen from you in some years. If anything is troubling you, please let me mix you up something special so that you may unwind in the back.

Rain blinked slowly and scrolled up, reading the sex-seeking messages that Storm had sent in his stead. He also noticed that his avatar for his messaging program had already been replaced by Storm's likeness -- a nuisance which he subsequently corrected by taking a fresh selfie against the nearest wall.

It was a little disorienting to feel the memories of those events coming back to him. It was a trickle at times and a vivid flash at others... a bit like remembering something from a night of too many drinks, but not so many that it was all black. Moreover, even though the memories felt like they happened to someone else, they confusingly felt like his own, in much that same way that he might regard some physical item as belonging to him: Storm did that, but it belongs to Teryx, so I can remember it.

It was the sort of thinking that could put one's brain rapidly in danger of a headache, but Rain made a point of letting himself think about it some as he continued to recall those feelings and perceptions. Prominent for him was a sense of Storm's mostly unconscious arousal as he had sent all of those teasing messages to Ricky: the bear was easy pickings... an already-devoted servant who was, in a sense, almost boring compared to the sea of people outside who needed conquering. That way of thinking was at once familiar and foreign: relatable in the sense that he could imagine it at least in jest, yet appalling in its disregard for the value of other people.

Rain started typing a message to tell Ricky that something had come up and that he wouldn't be in the mood to play tonight -- then got partway through it and deleted it before sighing to himself. He reread Ricky's message and could feel the hunger in the bear's words. It had been a while since they last indulged one another. Moreover, Ricky was clearly in a bottoming mood after Storm's overtures of hot, steamy ploughing up against a wall... and Rain was currently in the mood to top. Not because of machismo, but because he wanted to reclaim his sense of personal agency in a place where doing so was safe.

Rain typed his reply more quickly now: Don't worry about opening tonight. I want you all for myself. In the bar, at the counter, with the opaque curtains across the door. Let's make this special.

A heat stirred in Teryx's groin as he sent that declaration of desire. He should soon try meditating and contacting his higher self, but that could happen later tonight anyway. Right now, he just wanted a win with his best bear.

* * *

In a manhole beneath the streets of the city, a black ooze plied its way forward, clinging to the ceiling to stay above the weather-flooded sewer below.

Stupid, stupid, stupid...!!

He was absolutely outraged. Livid! He'd find that Alter and control him. He'd control Rain, too! He'd control everyone!! All swept up in his wind, spray, and thunder!

Just... as soon as he found a suitable body to attach himself to, again. It was hard to be as commanding as he preferred without being able to take some semi-stable shape.

Not that he hadn't already tried: by thinking of himself, he had been able to generate a grotesque arm here, a head there... slimy caricatures of his Storm-self's features. Transient phantoms in a medium not meant to hold a shape for long. He had a goodly portion of the orb's magic, absorbed into his gooey creation's body... and he had his own perfect mind, also so-infused.

Now he merely needed to find someone suitable.

A key problem, of course, was lack of remotely reasonable candidates. For the most part, the whole populace of the city were all scum, uglier and filthier than he could possibly tolerate. It was no fun unless he could take someone of high beauty and esteem and cultivate them as he saw fit. A stodgy old politician would not do, nor would some random lower-class sort on the street. Nor would he accept some sweaty bodybuilder who lacked a mind worth playing with -- an amusing distraction for his lusts, doubtless, but not a true host in whom he could dwell primarily for a long time. He would by no means accept a female, either, so that was half the population gone in one thought. A strong, brainy, handsome, well-to-do, self-starting man whose will he could bend and erode -- and in so doing, prove once again his strength. Was that really so much to ask for?

Perhaps it only made sense if he waited for the cover of darkness and then snuck back in through some clever means to re-infest his original body. That blueness, the handsome blueness and goldenness would be his again! Everything would be better again... soon.

Yet, as mere minutes passed and his formless wandering continued, a truth became abundantly clear: something was... wrong.

He didn't feel sluggish, nor weakened, but he felt... off, and angry about some uncertain affront. It was how he might have expected to feel if someone served him wine when he asked for a stout, or if someone tried to address him by... that other name.

His malaise deepened when he realized a moment later that he was having trouble remembering what "that other name" was. Further attempts at thought saw other named concepts slipping rapidly away from him, replaced by a base and primal intuition.

He began to feel... empty. Hungry? He no longer knew the word to call it. A feeling of vacancy, so great and distressing that it must be filled. If it was not filled, it would grow and grow until it engulfed all of his experience.

The black goo paused under a manhole. The footsteps of pedestrians drew his attention -- reverberating into his mass, inciting strange feelings and instincts. Without quite knowing why, he pressed against the manhole and... envied them.

Fools with flesh. Fools living in this world without him. His mass trembled with raw rage, even though he could no longer think out the reasons why.

Take them... control them...

He now heard articulate thoughts in his own mind... but it was as if the one thinking them was an external being, oppressively compelling him to do so. This confused him: wasn't he also that one?

My servant. Go. Find vessels...

The ooze felt a hot pulse of... hunger. Now remembering only the vague imprint of that blue, attractive form, he forced the shape of the head to merge from his mass and burbled aloud, "I... Tahr... ryx," before losing focus and letting it disperse.

No, you are inadequate to carry our name without a vessel. Now go and find one, you stupid beast, before more power leaks away!

The head-shape arose again in protest. "Tahrix, Tarrix!" it insistently burbled, as if clinging desperately to the half-remembered name. "Tar-rex, Tarrex, Tarrex...!!"

A surge of compelling power rushed through it.

You were born my servitor. You will not resist your creator. Bear my will into this world, even in your amnesia.

The ooze quivered. Its confused, child-like rebellious consciousness was suppressed as the lingering malevolence of Storm resumed forceful control.

What that detached part of himself had not mentioned was that the servitor's amnesia would become his own, too. That momentary master-servant consciousness split had not been sustainable -- merely a desperate measure as part of reorienting himself to ensure that his purpose would still be fulfilled.

This servitor would know hunger. This servitor would know emptiness, envy, and the craving for form.

In a vibrating frenzy, the ooze pressed out of the manhole and glided its tar-black path down a nearby side street, keeping out of view while feeling the ugly proximity of so many people -- hearts, steps, breaths, voices.

From among them, he would search. Devour. Shape. Enjoy.

* * *

Ricky's jaw hung open a little as Rain re-entered the bar. The bear had been on his phone in the midst of typing a message to someone else, but he darkened the screen and set it under the counter immediately upon noticing his boss's demeanor.

There was a hungry, intent look in the well-dressed dragon's eyes: a look which only seemed to grow more piercing as those supple blue hands undid his shirt's buttons in a practiced hurry, gaze neither breaking nor blinking as the dragon strode closer.

"Yes, Mr. Commodore?" asked Ricky as Teryx's shirt found its way onto the nearest barstool, fully exposing the mane and muscular chest. Rain's muscles were looking somewhat pumped after his jaunt -- a happy product of getting the circulation moving.

With infinite severity, Rain inhaled slowly and said to him, "Give me a plastic bag."

Ricky blinked twice, mouth starting to open to speak but failing to produce a word.

"On second thought, brown paper," said Rain. "Give me a brown paper bag, and quickly."

The dragon had not stopped the process of stripping. His belt was already coming off, and then his footwear. Right there, with the entrance still uncovered for now. There was a hard-to-ignore bulge at the front of his trousers.

Ricky regained his composure long enough to retrieve the desired bag from a drawer. Rain took it, withdrew an open condom from his pocket, and dropped that unmistakable item straight into the bag without comment.

The bear wasn't sure if this was elaborate foreplay or something totally serious. The fact that not knowing wasn't getting in the way of his interest said something about the strength of their relationship.

"Thanks," said Rain. He flicked his head dramatically toward the door, causing his mane to bounce. "Get our privacy in place, won't you? I'll be right back to deliver on those earlier promises."

Rain walked past without waiting for a response. Ricky could hear the sound of a fly being slowly and deliberately loudly undone as Rain sauntered into the back to place the bagged item somewhere for safekeeping.

When Rain returned thirty seconds later, it was to the sound of Ricky scrambling to put away an assortment of some thirty bottles that he had placed atop the bar counter earlier for a routine wipe-down before getting distracted by that text conversation. He stopped in his tracks with eight bottles still there, a submissive smile coming to his brown-furred face as he looked over at the proprietor.

Rain was nude and erect, posed like some terribly handsome living statue by the doorway to the back. Many earlier sculptors were said to value modesty, depicting the penis in a flaccid state and of average size. Rain's girthy, draconically ridged shaft held to no such conventions, conceding that sometimes, more was more, and that no master should be too shy about showing off superior goods. He had his left hand to his chin, thumb and index finger rubbing there thoughtfully, while his right stroked its way over his rock-solid abs and down along the smooth strength of his inner right thigh. With a casual motion he gave his sack a tug, tail slowly swaying off to one side as his mouth parted into a grin.

"Sir!" said Ricky, coy as ever, as Rain stepped toward him. "I'm glad to see you are in good spirits despite all this bad weather." One of the bear's hands futzed with his own shirt collar, the heat of the situation seeming to gather along his neck. There was a stiffness rising in his own dark pants, too.

Rain glanced down at the man's waistline. "That belt will have to go. I don't like it right now."

Ricky nod-nodded eagerly, hands dropping to undo the buckle. Slowly turning to show off his rump as he did so, he asked, "See anything else you do like?"

"We'll see," said the dragon as he stepped in closer to grab the belt from Ricky's hands and toss it aside. Quieter, and with that hunger from earlier rising to its apex, he breathed the command: "Now bend over."

Ricky gulped. Playing it coy to the end, he asked, "But where, sir?"

Ricky's wrists were grabbed a moment later, his waist being pressed forward along the counter then and there as Rain leaned around him for a strong, deep kiss.

The phone under the counter vibrated, going completely ignored by the both of them.

* * *

"That damn bear," grumbled Harry Pasir as his conversation with Ricky got left hanging. Turning to Evan, he shook his head and said, "Er, no offense."

"None taken," said the black bear. "He is a 'damn bear' sometimes. Let me guess, wandered off in the middle of talking with you about what happened?"

"Yep."

Evan shook his head. "Utterly obsessed with that Teryx. Can never get a word with him when that one's around."

"Ehhh, well, I won't begrudge them their relationship," said Harry as he pocketed his phone. "Not really casual enough for my liking, but what can you do." Sighing, he stood from the bar stool where he had been sitting and said, "Heck with it, I'm gonna go over there and find out what's up."

"You sure that's wise? He may have drugged us. My memories of earlier are very strange."

Harry waved a large orange hand, dismissively. "No way in hell. Teryx doesn't do that kind of crap."

"You're so sure?"

"I mean look at him." grumbled Harry as he gestured emphatically at a hypothetical sassy rain dragon. "It's just not his style."

Evan shook his head. "I don't like it, but I can't stop you. Have fun. Call me when you get there."

Harry pointed a finger at him. "Hey, I'll call you when I want. Don't you go acting all Ricky on me trying to one-up him."

"Nothing so mushy; this is just a weird day."

"Yeah, well, isn't that the truth. Seeya, be safe."

Evan nodded professionally. "You too," he said, before continuing with his cleanup.

* * *

There was a clinking of hard bottle-glass as Ricky's arms spread dramatically across the counter. His large brown mitts had bumped a few of the untidied containers of alcohol, nudging them aside and making them collide with others. One with a narrow base wobbled and tipped before being righted just in time by the thrusting dragon. Ricky's face -- sideways where he could see the occurrence -- relaxed into the penetration with a quiet moan.

"Forgive me, sir," Ricky mewled after a moment, his head and shoulders rocking forward with the dragon's thrusts. "Had I known you'd be back so soon, I should have made the place neater..."

"This is exactly as it should be," Rain growled as he worked his way deeper. "A night for stiff drinks. Owner's choice to serve the first from the back!"

The bear gulped as Rain grabbed his sides, leaned forward into the next thrust, and love-nipped the fur above his right shoulder, tugging at it hard enough to cause tension but not hard enough to tear.

The Spire's lights were low, and it was quiet -- save for their vocalizing and the rough thuds of Ricky's large thighs being rammed against the counter. The bear pulled his arms forward, grasping the bar by the opposite side and leaning farther over it, flattening his slight gut against it while his "always boss and sometimes lover" quickened the pace, groin-slapping against the plush double cushions of his ursine rear.

As usual, penetrating Ricky was always an exercise in spreading those buns of his -- widening them over the course of the encounter until tight, hilting smacks became possible. After some initial growls and snarls of played-up, beast-like submission, Ricky grew quieter, squeezing at the counter and flexing his arms to work out his tension as he let Rain drive progressively deeper.

Flickers of what Storm had done with Evan and Harry came back to Rain as he did this. The idea that both of them had chosen to rail someone over a bar-counter today gave him the slightest pause for its eeriness -- until his well-stoked arousal shoved the worry aside with a simple justification: counter sex was alluring. No need to worry over Storm choosing similarly; their shared good taste was separate from Storm's decision to use every available power for conquest and exploitation.

Rain spread his hands along Ricky's wrists again, grasping them while opening his teeth possessively around the bear's neck. The posh, regularly shampooed fur brushed against his fangs and tongue.

Both were breathing faster now. Though he wasn't touching Ricky's shaft, Rain knew the bear would be leaking pre like mad on the underside of the counter's edge. Rain felt similarly, the pleasure growing inside him as he churned up what he planned on serving to his favorite worker.

Their bodies and emotions were in sync. No magic, save for the metaphorical kind.

It had been a rough day. They had earned this.

That, really, was the difference. A willingness to earn anything, rather than pillaging it with impatience. At the end of the day, Rain was the adult -- and Storm no more than a manchild.

It was an honest ego-boost for the dragon, who couldn't stop raking his teeth and sniffing the bear's pleasant, citrus after-scent. The smell of a man well kept: it flowed through him like a cool breeze, the sensations soon reaching his groin and causing a paradoxical rush of tingling and heat.

This was his bear. His best bear.

Rain growled low, his passion evident in his pace as his thrusts went short and urgent. There was a quieter moaning from Ricky -- and then that familiar mental sunburst of pleasure as the seed issued forth. The bartender's rump was clenching in rhythmic excitement, squeezing that ridged length and tugging out every drop the dragon had to offer.

Ricky wasn't done, but was close, which was exactly what Rain had wanted. Pulling out slowly as his dragoncock finished twitching, Rain breathed to Ricky, "Turn over."

The bear looked confused as he obeyed, not initially sure whether Rain wanted him flat on the counter or more upright against it. The latter seemed more sensible, but was denied when Rain's hands grabbed both cheeks of the bear's rear and shoved him more fully up onto it. The bear's erection flopped back, tip bopping his own belly to the right of his navel.

In the midst of his own sinking bliss, Rain forced himself up onto the counter and squatted over Ricky. Straddling him, while showing off both his strength and dexterity as he handled such a deep squat in an elevated location casually, even as afterglow set in. With a growing grin he scooted backward, letting his low-hanging blue sack brush up against the bear's shaft. With his left hand he scritched Ricky's belly while the other reached back and cupped around that shaft, stroking at it and pressing it in against those meaty nuts. Rain's tail lowered, folding down behind where his hand had grasped Ricky's shaft. The dragon's hand was soon lathered up in the bear's considerable pre, which led to slicker jerking and massage. Rain's groin began to bob and sway, making the smallest of motions to create unique pleasures for the bear: teasing grinds against the dragon's taint, smooth gliding along that supple athletic ass, and an inevitable shift toward hotdogging as Rain's efforts continued. That tail pressed in lower, tighter, as the grasping hand moved lower along the bear's shaft-base. Ricky moaned and thrust, face making it abundantly clear that he was enjoying feeling his tip brush against the surface of Teryx's tail, while the bulk of his shaft rubbed up against those muscular buns.

"You won't last, will you?" said Rain, the eagerness in his voice obvious.

Ricky shyly shook his head, thrusting slow and hard into that outercourse love-pocket. He tried to talk, but it came out as a louder moan.

The dragon's left hand massaged that flexing groin. "Come on, Best Bear, let it all out. Cum for Teryx." He saw the bear's eyes open fully and look right at him, so he raised that hand and stroked it up along his own chest, and then ran his fingers through the mane with a sultry look on his face.

"Teryx..." Ricky whispered as he peaked. Soft eye-lidding followed amidst hard ejaculatory spurts, the cream rushing out against Rain's tail and cheeks before dripping uninhibited onto the floor.

As he watched his employee writhe, Rain felt even surer about his decision. There was a peace in this... a peace sorely needed.

Later, when he prepared to rest, he would reach out in meditation to try to contact the one whom Storm had called "Alter." For now, he was finding his center in the breaths and pulses he shared with this true companion. They might yet have a round two, or a round three. They might shower together, bathe together. They would spend their time together, and all of the water in their bodies would bear witness to it. That they were alive and natural... pure, in their own bonded way.

* * *

Harry emerged from his cab onto the street near Teryx's building. He took five brisk steps toward it before a dizzying, oppressive pain filled his head and prompted him to shut his eyes.

He swore under his breath as the pain persisted for a few seconds before fading away. Just as it was fading, some asshole walked straight through him, winging him with a shoulder and arm and sending him stumbling forward.

"Hey asshole, you mind giving a man some room?" Harry growled as he turned to confront the person, who turned out to be a muscle-gutted elephant wearing a black tanktop. Not that much taller than Harry, to his surprise -- half a head at most -- but as stout as a tank.

"Maybe don't stop in my way, prick," said the elephant, who was staring him down.

Harry felt violent but knew he shouldn't. It would be crazy to attack somebody right there on the street... especially that guy, who looked like he was spoiling for it. This wasn't the back room of his club. Nonetheless, he hungered to put that guy in his place...

"You best hope we don't run into each other again," said Harry darkly, before turning and walking into the alleyway between Teryx's building and the next one over.

That pain came back again... fainter this time, somehow with a soothing edge to it. That guy deserved it, whatever happened to him. Anyone who dared to affront him deserved their fate.

The elephant had apparently decided to leave him alone and was already wandering off as Harry glanced back. The tiger rubbed his temples with one hand as he strode forward in an odd delirium, the thought of going up the building having slipped his mind.

He needed to find him. To find Teryx. The only one who would understand. Him.

There was an odd, oily odor on the air as he walked past a large, well-kept garbage bin that adjoined the building. He might have assumed it was the rubbish... but it seemed familiar somehow, despite his simultaneous certainty that he had never smelled it before. He also felt so... exhausted. He breathed deeply as he leaned up against the bin and shut his eyes, wondering if he was having some kind of unforeseen health problem.

Harry... you need me...

The voice drifted into his thoughts without warning. It didn't sound like Teryx, but the reminder was uncanny. It was the strength of that earlier, stormier version of him, yet there was a burbling, liquid distortion to its tone.

There was a yawning feeling of hopeless emptiness in Harry as he pondered what was happening. He felt anxious, like the world was out to beat him down right now and that the voice's words were true. As a normally strong man, feeling this so viscerally was unfamiliar.

Not being taken seriously... being ignored... It's a crime. A crime against us.

There was an oppressive hum in Harry's mind. His vision faltered as if flashed with a bright light, causing him to blink hard as if that would help. When it didn't, he stumbled around in confusion, looking down at himself and his clothing... his meaty tiger hands.

Something about his body felt like it... wasn't his. Like it was an object -- something which he was only observing through the convenient camera lenses of its eyes.

Something cool, wet, and somehow familiar flowed up Harry's ankles -- spread like spilled oil over the broad structure of his footpaws.

There was a spark of visible blueness in Harry's eyes as they relaxed open. An electrical crackle -- and a sudden expression of contentment.

"This vessel will do," his mouth uttered before he sank compliantly to his knees. The blue spark faded, but his eyes gazed happily into the space of the alleyway as the oily substance flowed up him, coating more of him, seeming to dissolve his clothing away as it did so.

Feelings of exposure, nakedness and insecurity kept him paralyzed. Simultaneously, feelings of protection, adequacy, and purpose began to fill the void left in his mind. He had only to remain still and receive it -- let the guiding power of Storm fill him as it had filled him hours earlier...

The black goo was already at Harry's chest before he managed to have an original thought. Some sensation stirred him... it rubbed his nipples wrong, triggered a flash from a bad night with a bad bondage partner. He roared in alarm and lunged forward as if trying to get the attention of others, only to have his mouth plugged with a lunging tendril of goop a moment later. Grotesque gargling followed, before the goo around his legs and midriff exerted itself enough to force him to roll back behind the bin again.

Harry was on his back in a heap, fighting with his controlled lower half, as the corrupting tar swept over his eyes -- engulfed his ears, and began penetrating his body through every available spot. It sank into his skin, wormed its way into his parasympathetic nervous system, and began sending instinct-warping signals through his body. His prostate spasmed so harshly and repeatedly that he had an orgasm-free ejaculation, the thing rudely yanking his seed right out of him while making his entire lower body feel hot and anxious, like he needed to run and fight and fuck.

Seconds later, a similar connection came online for Harry's brain, and all of the confusion and resistance gave way, crushed under the creature's influence.

The ego known as "Harry" fell silent, trapped beneath the smooth black gelatin which had now encased his body and mind alike. He felt calm. He felt good.

He thought to himself, I am the Tarrex. The one, true Tarrex. The hum of the Storm within him lingered in the background, like a capacitor being slowly charged, but Tarrex hardly noticed it.

Despite now having a body, his thoughts remained quite irrational. There was so much hunger still: so much hunger to claim the something and make the completeness.

He thought to himself, Who else can Tarrex claim? The thought was followed by a massive info-dump of every person Harry knew, the host's memory responding in service to the symbiote's needs. "Teryx Commodore" was of course on the list, but he thought of that one only as "Rain" and felt an odd compulsion to shy away from him, as a quiet voice in his intuition told him not to feed on that one yet, but to amass power first.

Who would give power? Tarrex knew: anyone touched by the effects of the recent weather. Anyone who had been touched by so much as a drop, silently marked by the scorn of the thunderclouds. Others could be converted for a lesser value, but those already present in the city, right now, were best. Evan the bear was also an important source, having been touched by the same power that Harry had been.

He must acquire them. He must grow, spread, contain, convert -- so that he could grow, spread, contain, and convert. He was Tarrex. He would expand. He would turn rainwaters into the blackest nightmare: the impure cocoon of himself.

"Tarrex Komo..." the entity burbled as his body's surface erupted with new features: a dragon-like maw, a boneless wing-like cloak-membrane, and a latex frill connecting his upper spine to the top of his head. All still totally black.

The creature touched his wings and knew they were not right. He also felt his head, his neck... and suspected something was missing.

He tried to remember. When he tried, he felt pain. Claws. Struggle.

In response to that thought, glowing blue scars appeared at his sides, along his right pectoral and shoulders, and along his arms. Other blue accents formed on his frill.

He felt at the top of his head alongside his frill and knew something else was supposed to be there. He touched his puny cloak-wings and growled, knowing this was definitely not right.

He felt anger.

Envy.

Loss.

The memory... the hurt.

He must... more.

Roaring low to himself, he ran off down the alleyway before leaping up to the second story of another nearby residential building and crashing bodily through the window as if it was nothing.

He arrived in someone's washroom, tumbling clumsily but standing without harm and treading upon the broken glass without the slightest worry. He blinked twice, and his black eyes took on a deep red color as he began to look for... suitable ones.

He already had a signature. Someone who had heard the sound and reacted by standing bolt upright. Perhaps he caught them napping.

He didn't care who it would be. He only knew that he could feel the seed of another of himself already lurking inside of them, waiting to be brought to life by his touch.

He was Tarrex. He would grow.