Guldrin’s Gluttony: Family Bound by Speed & Food

As Alisa handled delicate negotiations with Fury at S.H.I.E.L.D., back at their base, Guldrin was waging a very different battle, a battle against hunger that felt like it could devour the world. His stomach growled like a caged beast, and a haze of insatiable need blurred his normally sharp focus. 

Gluttony, his unique and dangerously volatile ability, was acting up like never before, and the feeling was unbearable. 

He knew it was due to his bloodline, of course, his sin was Gluttony; what else did he expect?

At first, Guldrin tried to satiate himself with snacks. Chips, candy bars, crackers, anything within reach was promptly devoured. 

The hunger, however, only grew worse. It wasn't simply physical; it clawed at him from the inside, an all-consuming demand for more. 

He didn't even notice the subtle changes in his appearance until Shiro, sitting on the couch and idly examining her own claws, pointed it out.

"Uh, Guldrin? You've got horns now. And some kind of creepy black crown thing on your head. Hot… But creepy, is that strange? I am both attracted and wary of this new look…"

"What?" he grunted, mid-bite of a chocolate bar. He reached up, feeling the sharp, curling horns that had sprouted from his skull. Along the crown of his head, dark tattoos had appeared, forming intricate patterns that pulsed faintly with an ominous light.

"Weird," He muttered, and kept scarfing down food like it would otherwise disappear. 

But horns and tattoos weren't what mattered right now. What mattered was food. And lots of it.

Realizing the pantry and snack stash wouldn't cut it, Guldrin shifted into overdrive. His Gluttony demanded a higher-caliber of sustenance, and he was determined to deliver. 

Channeling his unused but formidable cooking skills, he threw himself into the kitchen like a man possessed; which, in a way, he was. 

Every cabinet and drawer flew open as he rummaged for ingredients. Eggs? Check. Bacon? Of course. Frozen hamburger patties? Thawed in record time. Chicken, vegetables, spices, it all went into the growing chaos of pans, skillets, and pots that overtook the massive stove.

Shiro watched from her perch, both amused and a little concerned. "You're really going all out, huh? You're not even measuring anything."

"No time! Eyeballing it, not much choice." Guldrin barked, flipping an omelet with one hand while stirring a bubbling pot of stew with the other. "This hunger is, argh, it's like a void!" He groaned and held his stomach to ease the pain; it didn't work.

"Well, don't burn the place down," Shiro said, inspecting her nails, or rather, claws. They had sharpened into jet-black talons, a recent change since she had inherited Vritra's bloodline and legacy. With a flick of her wrist, she extended and retracted them, marveling at their lethal elegance.

"If you don't want me to… Burn the store down… Why don't you help, then?" Guldrin shot back, his tone biting but distracted.

"I've got my own problems," Shiro retorted. "For one, I can summon poison clouds now, and some other dark mist of some kind, which is awesome; but where are my wings? Vritra was a dragon! Dragons have wings! This doesn't make sense." She flexed her back muscles, trying in vain to sprout something resembling flight-worthy appendages. 

Nothing happened. "Seriously, Guldrin, what's the point of inheriting the bloodline of a legendary dragon if I can't even fly?"

Guldrin glanced at her briefly, sweat dripping down his brow as he juggled three pans. "I don't know! Maybe they're on backorder!"

"That's not funny."

"I thought it was?"

The hunger was unlike anything Guldrin had ever experienced. It wasn't just a craving or an empty stomach, it was a monstrous void clawing at him, an abyss demanding to be filled. Every second it lingered, it grew worse, gnawing at his sanity, clouding his focus, and turning his usually sharp mind into a primal storm of one thought: Eat.

"Neither is this hunger!" he snapped back at Shiro, his voice rising in frustration as he slammed a plate of pancakes onto the counter. But pancakes alone wouldn't cut it. This wasn't about quantity, it was about variety, richness, and excess. He needed a feast fit for a gluttonous deity.

Without missing a beat, Guldrin snatched strips of bacon sizzling on the stove, layering them atop the pancakes with practiced precision. Eggs followed, scrambled and fluffy, their golden hue practically glowing under the overhead lights. Sausages were added next, their crispy edges oozing fat that shimmered like liquid gold. To top it all off, a generous drizzle of maple syrup cascaded over the mound, pooling at the edges like molten amber.

Grabbing the entire concoction with his bare hands, Guldrin wrapped it into a makeshift roll and bit into it like a man possessed. Syrup dripped down his hands, leaving sticky trails on his forearms, but he didn't care. His jaw worked with mechanical efficiency, tearing through the layers of sweet and savory as if his very existence depended on it. 

And maybe, in some way, it did.

The kitchen around him had transformed into a chaotic battleground. Flour hung in the air like smoke from an artillery strike, clinging to every surface it could find. The counters were a war zone of half-used ingredients, spilled spices, and sticky stains. Cracked eggshells littered the floor, mingling with a scattering of breadcrumbs and splatters of batter. It was the aftermath of culinary carnage, and Guldrin was its relentless general.

Shiro watched from her perch on a stool, her expression teetering between amusement and disbelief. "You're like a one-man army against the fridge," she said, stifling a laugh as she leaned back, her arms crossed.

"Army of one," Guldrin growled without looking up, flipping yet another burger with a level of intensity usually reserved for life-or-death combat. "And I'm losing."

The absurdity of it all was too much for Shiro. She burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the kitchen as Guldrin grunted in response, his focus unwavering.

He moved with the precision of someone both desperate and extraordinarily skilled. 

His hands flew between tasks, grabbing a loaf of bread and slicing it with speed that left crumbs scattering like shrapnel. A slab of butter was thrown onto a sizzling pan, the golden liquid hissing and bubbling before he poured in beaten eggs to make yet another omelet. 

At the same time, he was seasoning a steak with one hand while stirring a pot of soup with the other, a feat that would have been comical if not for the sheer intensity radiating from him.

"This is ridiculous," Shiro said, though her tone was more entertained than critical. "You've got enough food here to feed a small army, and it's still not enough?"

"It's not enough," Guldrin growled, his voice strained. His Gluttony was like a living thing, urging him on, whispering dark promises of satisfaction just out of reach. He grabbed a slice of cheese and slapped it onto a steaming burger patty, watching it melt into a glossy layer of perfection. Without even plating it, he took a massive bite, the juices dripping down his chin as he chewed with ferocity.

"Slow down, you'll choke," Shiro teased, though she knew better than to think anything could stop him in this state.

"Can't choke," Guldrin muttered around a mouthful of burger, his words barely intelligible. "Gluttony... fixes it."

"Right," Shiro said, shaking her head. "Forgot you're basically a human garbage disposal now."

The kitchen was chaos incarnate. Flour floated through the air like a fine mist, mingling with the scent of sizzling bacon and seared steak. Every surface was covered, some with half-used ingredients, others with dirty dishes that had long since been abandoned to the periphery of Guldrin's culinary rampage. Bowls teetered precariously on the edge of the counter, utensils lay scattered like fallen soldiers, and yet Guldrin continued his relentless assault on the realm of hunger.

Amidst this frenzy, Shiro sat on a stool, her arms crossed, pouting dramatically. Her purple streaked silver hair caught the ambient glow of the kitchen lights, giving her an almost ethereal look that was hilariously at odds with her grumbling. 

She shifted uncomfortably, occasionally throwing annoyed glances over her shoulder, muttering about her wings, or rather, their infuriating absence.

Her attempts to summon them had become a spectacle unto themselves. She tried closing her eyes, breathing deeply, and focusing as though she were meditating. 

That failed. 

Then she attempted grandiose gestures, waving her arms like a conductor orchestrating some unseen symphony of magic. 

That also failed. 

Finally, she resorted to what she imagined a dragon might do: roaring.

It was, without question, the most precious thing Guldrin had ever heard.

Her "roar" started low, a sort of comically deep growl that sounded more like a purring kitten trying to sound intimidating. Then it escalated into something resembling a squeaky door hinge. She even clawed the air for added effect, her cheeks puffing up as she exhaled dramatically. It was the kind of performance that could make even the grumpiest bystander burst into laughter.

"Raaaaawr!" she bellowed, or tried to, anyway. Her voice cracked halfway through, and she ended the attempt with a defeated huff, puffing out her cheeks like a petulant child.

Guldrin, meanwhile, didn't even glance up from the skillet he was flipping. He was furiously searing a steak, seasoning it mid-flip like a culinary machine. "That was terrifying," he deadpanned, biting into a sausage he'd snatched straight from the pan.

Shiro glared at him, her cheeks flushing pink. "Don't patronize me! I was trying to channel something fierce. You're supposed to be impressed."

"I am," Guldrin replied, entirely serious. "Impressed you didn't pass out from trying so hard." He tossed another pancake onto an already skyscraper-high stack, then layered on scrambled eggs and a drizzle of maple syrup before devouring the whole thing in a single bite.

Shiro groaned, collapsing dramatically onto the counter. "This is impossible! I have wings. I know I do. They're just... being stubborn." She peered over at Guldrin. "Hey, what about you? You've got, what, angel, dragon, and devil powers now? Surely at least one of those comes with wings."

Guldrin paused, the tongs in his hand hovering over the grill. It was a fair point. With his recent transformations, he was practically a walking embodiment of supernatural overkill. Potential to have strength that could topple mountains? 

Check. 

The cunning of a devil and the grace of an angel? 

Also check. 

Wings? Probably. But in the face of his overwhelming hunger, the idea of flight had taken a distant backseat.

"Alright," he said finally, setting the tongs aside. "I'll give it a shot."

Shiro's eyes lit up. "Finally! This should be good." She perched on her stool like an eager child awaiting a magic trick, her earlier frustration momentarily forgotten.

Guldrin closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. He could feel the swirling chaos of his powers inside him, a chaotic fusion of energies that didn't always play nice together. Somewhere in that maelstrom was the potential for wings. 

He focused, reaching inward, willing the energy to coalesce. There was a tingling sensation along his back, a feeling of something shifting, stretching...

And then… Nothing.

Shiro leaned in, squinting at him. "Did it work?"

Guldrin's eyes snapped open, his expression one of pure irritation. "No."

Shiro sighed, slumping back against the counter. "Great. So we're both wingless wonders. Grounded for life."

"Guess so," Guldrin muttered, though his frustration was short-lived. He turned back to the stove, reigniting his relentless pursuit of culinary dominance. "But at least I've got food."

"And I've got... snacks," Shiro quipped, reaching for a piece of bacon before he could slap her hand away. She managed to snatch it with a triumphant grin, biting into it with exaggerated relish.

Despite their shared disappointment, the mood in the kitchen lightened. Shiro teased Guldrin mercilessly about his cooking habits, pointing out the absurdity of his endless appetite. "You're like a black hole," she said at one point. "Except instead of devouring planets, you're devouring breakfast."

"Planets… Now that is an idea…"

"Don't even think about it! At least, not ones with sentient life? Or at the very least, they should be enemies… We aren't monsters? Yet?"

Guldrin didn't deny it. The counter was now an ode to excess: pancakes stacked high enough to touch the ceiling, mountains of bacon and sausage, an entire pot of rich, savory stew bubbling on the stove. There were burgers, sandwiches, steaks, and even a small cake he'd whipped up "just because." He moved with precision, flipping, seasoning, plating, and eating all at once, as if he were a one-man army waging war against hunger itself.

"Hey," Shiro said suddenly, watching him in amazement. "Do you even taste what you're eating?"

"Every bite," Guldrin replied around a mouthful of eggs. "And it's glorious."

She shook her head, laughing. "You're ridiculous. But I guess I can't complain. This is the best breakfast feast I've ever seen."

As they continued their playful banter, Shiro occasionally tried her own hand at cooking, though her contributions were mostly limited to sneaking bites when Guldrin wasn't looking. At one point, she attempted to crack an egg, only to have it explode in her hand. The resulting mess sent them both into fits of laughter, the tension of their earlier frustrations melting away.

Eventually, the kitchen began to quiet down, the chaos giving way to a warm, contented atmosphere. Shiro leaned back in her chair, rubbing her stomach. "I think I'm officially full. Is that even allowed around you?"

Guldrin smirked, polishing off the last of his steak. "You'd better be. We've got enough leftovers to feed an army, or at least me, for the rest of the day. Maybe"

Shiro laughed, though her gaze drifted toward the window, where the morning sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains. For a moment, she looked thoughtful, her earlier silliness replaced by a quiet determination. 

"We'll figure it out," she said softly, almost to herself.

"Figure what out?" Guldrin asked, genuinely curious.

"The wings," she said, her eyes meeting his. "Yours and mine. We'll get there eventually. I don't believe we are wingless…"

Guldrin didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached for another pancake, his expression unreadable. "Yeah," he said finally, his voice steady. "We will."

Shiro grinned, her earlier frustration dissipating under the sheer weight of Guldrin's calm, unwavering confidence. "Good. Now pass me that bacon before you eat it all."

Her playful quip earned a smirk from Guldrin as he shoved the plate of bacon toward her. The energy between them shifted back to its usual dynamic, an odd but balanced mixture of banter and playful absurdity. 

The room buzzed with a comfortable chaos as the two of them continued their quirky morning ritual. Guldrin's cooking efforts filled the air with rich aromas that seemed to cling to every corner of the room, wrapping them in an almost tangible warmth.

Guldrin, for his part, finally began to feel the sharp edge of his insatiable hunger dulling as he devoured plate after plate of food. The intricate tattoos that glowed faintly across his temples faded with each bite, and the imposing horns curling from his head slowly receded. Still, an otherworldly aura clung to him, a faint echo of the power that had just recently awakened within him. 

Shiro leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh, patting her stomach and grinning.

"You're ridiculous," she said, watching him polish off the last remnants of steak with a voracious enthusiasm that bordered on feral. "But I'll admit, you've got talent. That was amazing."

"Thanks," Guldrin mumbled through a mouthful of food, his words muffled but no less sincere.

From her spot in the corner, Emily, their ever-sardonic feline companion, let out a long, drawn-out meow. 

Stretching lazily, she stood and fixed both of them with her sharp, unamused gaze. "You both are idiots… The dumbest geniuses I have ever seen." she declared with the kind of scorn only a cat could manage, her tone as dry as the Sahara.

Shiro's grin faltered, and she blinked at the talking cat, her expression quickly shifting to one of indignation. "What did I do?"

Emily yawned, thoroughly unimpressed. "Shiro, you're a fledgling dragon. Your wings haven't even grown yet. All that dramatic roaring and flapping you've been doing? Completely pointless."

Shiro flushed, her cheeks turning a bright crimson. "I wasn't flapping!" she protested weakly, though the memory of her earlier antics begged to differ.

"You were flapping." Guldrin said with a grin, as he continued to eat.

Emily rolled her eyes before turning her attention to Guldrin, who had the decency to look mildly interested despite still chewing. "And you," she continued, her tail flicking. "Your abilities are even stranger. You just awakened your lineages, dragon, devil, and angel, and none of them have had time to fully manifest yet. You're like a walking storm of potential, but instead of figuring out how to channel it, you're too busy stuffing your face with bacon. And worrying about wings."

Guldrin swallowed his mouthful and raised an eyebrow. "I'm hungry," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Emily groaned, her patience clearly wearing thin. "Shiro, you have wind magic. Use it if you want to fly. I have no idea why this hasn't occurred to you before."

Shiro's jaw dropped, and she stared at Emily as if the cat had just suggested she grow a second head. "Wind magic? That's... Wait, why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're an idiot," Emily replied without missing a beat. "And Guldrin, as a Nephilim, I'd wager you have some form of creation magic. Why not try something useful with it? Or better yet, tap into the red lightning Jin was known for. You've seen it in the descriptions of the files Beckman gave you. Stop focusing on what you don't have and start experimenting with what you do have."

The room fell silent, save for the faint sizzling of the stove top as the last bits of bacon grease bubbled in the pan. Shiro looked at Guldrin, her earlier embarrassment melting into curiosity.

"She has a point," Shiro admitted, her tone hesitant but thoughtful. "I mean, I have been kind of stuck on the whole 'wings' thing. Maybe I should try combining my wind magic with... I don't know, poison or dark magic?"

Guldrin shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Worth a shot. You're good at figuring stuff out when you're not being dramatic."

Shiro shot him a glare but chose not to retaliate. Instead, she pushed herself out of her chair and moved to the center of the room, rolling her shoulders as if preparing for a fight. "Fine. Let's see what happens."

Emily snickered, settling back into her spot with an air of smug satisfaction, but not before grabbing a giant fish from the fridge for her consumption. "This should be entertaining."

Shiro ignored her and closed her eyes, drawing on the wellspring of power within her. 

She focused on her wind magic first, feeling it swirl around her like an invisible current. It was wild and untamed, much like her, but it was hers to command. 

Slowly, she began weaving in threads of dark magic, letting it seep into the wind like ink in water. 

The combination was strange but oddly harmonious, the two forces feeding off each other in a way that felt both exhilarating and dangerous.

The room grew colder, the air crackling with energy as Shiro continued to experiment. A faint greenish mist began to form around her, laced with tendrils of shadow that writhed and coiled like living things. Her eyes snapped open, glowing faintly as a mischievous grin spread across her face.

"Okay, this is kind of cool," she said, her voice tinged with awe.

Guldrin watched her with mild interest, his head tilted as if evaluating her efforts. "Not bad," he admitted. "But can you actually do anything with it?"

Shiro frowned, her brow furrowing in concentration. She raised her hand, and the mist coalesced into a small, swirling orb of dark energy. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it hurtling toward a nearby wall, where it exploded on impact, leaving behind a scorch mark and a faint, acrid smell.

"Well, that's a start," she said, looking pleased with herself.

Guldrin snorted. "A baby could've done that."

"Be nice, she is a baby at the moment." Emily spoke between bites.

Shiro rounded on him, her eyes narrowing. "Oh, and I suppose you can do better?"

"Probably," he said, his tone infuriatingly casual.

Emily, watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement, chimed in. "Go on, then. Show us what you've got, oh mighty Nephilim."

Guldrin sighed but rose to his feet, brushing crumbs off his shirt. He closed his eyes, much like Shiro had, and reached inward. The storm of power within him was chaotic, a swirling mass of conflicting energies that seemed to rebel against being tamed. But he wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

He focused on the red lightning, the one ability he felt a strange, instinctive connection to. The air around him grew heavy, charged with static, as a faint hum began to fill the room. Sparks danced along his fingertips, flickering and snapping like tiny bolts of electricity.

Shiro took a cautious step back, her earlier bravado replaced with genuine curiosity. "Okay, that's... actually kind of impressive."

Guldrin smirked, the sparks intensifying into arcs of crimson lightning that crackled around him like a living thing. "Told you," he said, his voice low and confident.

With a sudden burst of energy, he extended his hand, sending a bolt of red lightning streaking across the room. It struck the same wall Shiro had targeted, leaving behind a jagged scorch mark that dwarfed hers in both size and intensity.

Shiro scowled, crossing her arms. "Show-off."

Guldrin shrugged, the lightning fading as he returned to his seat. "You wanted me to try, so I tried."

Emily stretched luxuriously, her tail swishing with an air of feline satisfaction. "Finally, a glimmer of competence from you two," she purred, her voice laced with mockery. "Maybe you're not entirely doomed to wingless mediocrity. But don't let it go to your heads."

Shiro shot the cat a glare, her lips curling into a small pout as she slumped back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. "Yeah, yeah, don't expect miracles overnight. I'm still figuring this out."

Guldrin, who had been examining the wall with a mix of curiosity and dismay, turned his attention to the scorch mark, gesturing toward it with a rueful expression. "Speaking of figuring things out," he began, his tone edged with nervous humor, "how exactly do we fix that?"

Both of them stared at the charred spot on the wall, its jagged black edges standing out like an incriminating scar on the otherwise pristine surface. The realization of their predicament hit them simultaneously, and Shiro let out a groan, dragging her hands down her face. "Oh no... Mother-in-law and Aunt Mia are going to kill us."

Guldrin nodded solemnly. "Right? It's not like we can just say, 'Hey, Mom! Hey, Aunt Mia! So, funny story, we were testing our superpowers, and whoops, burned the wall.' That'll go over about as well as a lead balloon."

The mental image of Letty's fiery glare and Mia's disappointed sigh was enough to make Shiro shudder. "We're doomed," she muttered, her voice muffled behind her hands.

Emily's whiskers twitched in amusement as she watched their spiraling panic. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she interjected, leaping gracefully onto the table. "You're both overreacting. It's just a wall."

"Yeah, just a wall," Guldrin repeated with a dry laugh, gesturing at the scorched surface. "A wall that's part of Mom's meticulously maintained home." He paused, tilted his head, "Store? Shop? Store-home? Meh, whatever… She's not exactly the forgiving type when it comes to stuff like this."

Shiro leaned forward, her face scrunched in thought. "Okay, okay, we need a plan. Maybe we can repaint it?"

Guldrin tilted his head skeptically. "Repaint it? Do you even know what kind of paint this is? Mom doesn't buy just any paint. It's probably, like, eco-friendly, non-toxic, scratch-resistant... and expensive. Or, it might be an old type of paint that isn't made anymore… How do we match the color?"

Shiro threw her hands up. "Well, do you have a better idea, genius?"

Guldrin opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, his brow furrowing as he considered the situation. 

Emily yawned dramatically, clearly unimpressed by their lack of problem-solving. "You do remember you have magic, right?" she drawled, flicking her tail. "Try using it."

The two exchanged glances, the simplicity of the suggestion hitting them like a ton of bricks. "Magic..." Shiro murmured, as though the word was some ancient and forbidden concept. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you were too busy panicking," Emily quipped.

Guldrin stepped closer to the wall, his mind racing through the possibilities. "Alright," he said, his voice gaining confidence. "Let's think this through. If I have creation magic, or something close to it, maybe I can fix the wall by... un-burning it?"

"Un-burning it?" Shiro repeated, arching an eyebrow. "That's... a thing?"

"Only one way to find out," Guldrin replied, raising his hand toward the scorch mark. He closed his eyes, focusing on the memory of the wall before their impromptu power demonstration. The image of its smooth, unblemished surface solidified in his mind, and he willed the magic within him to respond.

A faint hum filled the room as golden sparks danced along Guldrin's fingertips. Each spark flickered with an almost sentient energy, weaving together to form a shimmering tapestry of light against the darkened backdrop of the scorched wall. The air grew heavier, tinged with the faint metallic scent of magic, and the mark on the wall began to shimmer. 

Slowly but surely, the charred edges of the wood seemed to retreat, as if time itself were unraveling the damage they had caused.

Shiro leaned forward, her eyes wide with amazement. "Hey, it's actually working!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of astonishment and excitement. 

She wasn't used to seeing magic beyond the abstract ideas they'd been toying with, and now she was witnessing it in action.

Even Emily, typically the most composed of the trio, looked impressed, her whiskers twitching as she perched on the table. "Well, well," she mused, her tone laced with reluctant approval. "You might not be as hopeless as I thought. Miracles do happen. The paint even matches."

Guldrin allowed himself a triumphant grin as the final traces of the scorch mark disappeared. The wall looked as though it had never been touched, its surface smooth and pristine, utterly unblemished. With a dramatic flourish, he took a step back and gestured toward his work. "And that," he declared, a hint of smugness in his tone, "is how you fix a wall."

Shiro rolled her eyes and clapped slowly, her applause dripping with sarcasm. "Bravo, Mr. Fix-It. A true master of your craft. You've officially saved us from Mother-in-law's wrath, for now."

"Hey," Guldrin shot back, his grin undeterred. "A win is a win."

Emily stretched out luxuriously, her tail curling in satisfaction. "Not bad," she admitted grudgingly. "But maybe next time, try not to destroy the house in the first place. Just a suggestion."

"Noted," Guldrin replied, his tone dry. He was about to make another quip when a sudden wave of exhaustion crashed over him, almost knocking him off his feet. His knees buckled, and he had to grab the edge of a nearby chair to steady himself.

Shiro was on her feet in an instant, her teasing demeanor replaced by concern. "Whoa, are you okay?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm to steady him.

Guldrin nodded weakly, though his face had gone pale. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled, but his voice lacked conviction. His body felt like it was made of lead, and a throbbing ache pulsed behind his eyes. "Just... a little tired."

Emily leapt down from the table, her sharp eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him. "A little tired?" she echoed. "You look like you're about to keel over. What did I just say about responsibility? You've clearly overdone it."

Guldrin tried to protest, but another wave of dizziness hit him, and he sank into the chair, letting out a shaky breath as blood pooled in his mouth. "Okay, maybe I overdid it a little," he admitted, his voice faint. "Didn't think magic would take this much out of me."

Shiro hovered nearby, unsure whether to be angry or worried. "You've been pushing yourself too hard," she said, her tone a mix of frustration and concern. "You don't even know how this magic stuff works, and you're already burning yourself out!"

"It's like a muscle," Emily interjected, her tone unusually serious. "You can't just jump into heavy lifting without training. If you try to do too much too soon, you're going to hurt yourself, or worse."

Guldrin leaned back in the chair, his breaths shallow but steady. "So what you're saying is... I need to train this magic muscle," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite his exhaustion.

"Exactly," Emily replied. "You've got raw potential, but no control. Until you build up your stamina and learn to manage your limits, you're going to keep running into this problem."

Shiro crossed her arms, her brow furrowed in thought. "So, what's the plan? We can't exactly go to a magic gym and start pumping iron."

"Trial and error," Emily said simply. "Find a safe place to practice, start small, and work your way up. And for the love of all that's holy and or demonic, don't try to fix anything else until you've had some rest."

"Noted," Guldrin muttered again, though his voice was barely above a whisper. His eyelids were growing heavier by the second, and he could feel himself slipping into a lethargic haze.

(Give me your POWER, Please, and Thank You! Leave reviews and comments, they motivate me to continue.)