The stark stone villages of the Dunce Veil Tribe hugged the rugged landscape, nestled among ancient forests that whispered with secrets. Rock Dunce, the tribe's Crown Presidenttain-to-be, spurred his powerful mount forward, gesturing for Dunce and the others to follow as they approached his personal compound. Pride radiated from him. "Welcome to home ground!" he called over the thud of hooves, his gruff voice softening. "My Little Cloud's cooking… best damn grub you'll taste this side of the Thunder Peaks. Tonight, we feast!"
Dunce winced as he slid clumsily from his borrowed horse, his body aching like he'd been kicked down a rocky slope. Mystic Mystic Moon flounced off the wagon, wrinkling her nose at the dusty settlement. "Hmph. Impressive rockpile, I suppose. Where exactly *is* this legendary 'best grub'?" Ignoring Leader Mystic Moon Scar's mutter about Dunce Veil settlements rivaling frontier towns, she reached out, fussing with the folds of Dunce's travel-stained mage robe. "You look like you wrestled a Dust Devil. Tidy yourself up!"
Rock Dunce chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in the high mountain air. "Still claim she's not your sweetheart, Brother? Looks like she's got your collar on a short leash to me."
Mystic Mystic Moon flushed crimson. "Leash? This *oaf*? He's just… necessary luggage! Can't have luggage looking disreputable!"
They entered the compound gate. It was locked—odd for midday. Rock frowned, unease pricking him. "Cloud?" He called. Silence answered. His massive palm slammed against the heavy timber once, twice. With a grunt of sudden tension, muscles coiling under his hide armor, he struck the doorframe near the latch zone. Wood splintered; the lock snapped.
The stench hit them like a physical blow as the door swung open—coppery, thick, *wrong*. Dread plunged like icy water into Rock's gut. He surged forward, shoving past the entryway into the sleeping quarters.
The primal bellow that ripped from his throat shook the stone walls. Dunce and Mystic Moon Scar rushed in behind him. The scene froze them mid-stride.
On the low sleeping platform lay Little Cloud. Naked. Savaged. Her eyes, wide-open milky orbs, stared sightlessly at the wooden beams above, etched with an expression of purest terror and violation. Her body was marbled with deathly grey-blue patches. A dark, congealing stain bloomed horrifyingly from her lower body onto the once-white furs beneath, still oozing faintly. The cruel intimacy of the violence hung thick in the stifling air.
Mystic Mystic Moon gasped, burying her face against Dunce's chest with a small whimper. Mystic Moon Princess Petal Mystic Moon Princess Petal and Miles Li looked grim, hands instinctively dropping towards their weapons.
Rock Dunce moved like a man sleepwalking through nightmare. Tears carved silent paths down his leathery cheeks. Slowly, reverently, he pulled his heavy cloak from his shoulders and wrapped his wife's broken form, lifting her frail weight as if she were precious glass. He staggered back outside, into the harsh daylight where curious tribesfolk were already gathering at the commotion.
"Little Cloud?" gasped one woman, seeing the bloodstains seeping through the cloak. "Presidenttain's son, what—?"
A circle of shocked faces tightened around him. The air crackled with rising tension. Among them stood Strong Arm, one of Rock's most trusted warriors, his expression horrified. "Big Brother Rock… Cloud…?"
Rock's head snapped up. His eyes, once steady and shrewd, had lost all focus, drowned in a rising sea of crimson fury. His voice, when it emerged, was no longer human—it was a guttural growl dredged from hell itself. "WHO?" It wasn't a question; it was the scrape of claws on stone. "WHO TOOK MY CLOUD FROM ME?!"
Desperate hands reached out to restrain him. "Crown Presidenttain! Brother! Halt! The Fury takes you!"
"Calm your storm, brother!" Strong Arm commanded, moving swiftly. But Rock Dunce had already crossed the threshold into primal rage.
His body exploded. Muscles swelled like boulders under pressure, tearing seams in his leather jerkin. His skin flushed dark crimson. The air around him vibrated with unleashed power as thick, yellow-brown energy—the hallmark of the Dunce Veil's ultimate warriors—roiled around him. He wasn't Rock Dunce anymore; he was Fury Incarnate.
"CROWN CHIEFTAIN!" Strong Arm yelled again, trying to grab his arm. "Remember yourself!"
Maddened bloodshot eyes locked onto Strong Arm's face. "YOU!" The word was a death sentence. Rock's fist, wreathed in tangible killing force, blurred towards Strong Arm's chest with impossible speed.
"NO!" Dunce reacted on pure instinct. He threw himself sideways, channeling his Life Rockforce Pulse energy into a desperate block aimed at deflecting the death blow. His fist slammed into Rock's forearm just as it connected.
The impact sounded like a small thunderclap. Dunce was hurled backwards like a discarded rag doll, crashing into the wall hard enough to crack stone. Strong Arm, caught by the glancing blow intended to crush his ribs, flew several yards through the air, landing with a sickening crunch and the crack of bone. He gasped, spraying crimson onto the packed earth.
"He's gone berserker rage!" Miles Li hissed, instantly recognizing the terrifying transformation from traveler's tales. "Lost himself completely!"
"ROCK! SNAP OUT OF IT!" Strong Arm roared from the ground, clutching his shattered arm, pain warring with horror on his face.
But the Fury was unleashed. Warriors rushed Rock, seeking to subdue their leader. They met only living carnage. Each swipe of his arm sent men flying as if struck by siege weapons. He moved with brutal, unstoppable efficiency, growling an animalistic challenge. The wounded multiplied rapidly. Desperate yells filled the compound.
"Mystic Mystic Moon!" Dunce gasped, pushing himself up, bruised but intact. The berserker's raw power scared him. "He's tearing his own tribe apart! And he's burning up inside… Can you stop this? A quieting spell?"
Mystic Mystic Moon, pale but no longer hiding, shook her head. Her voice trembled slightly but held conviction. "The Calming Aura… I know the weave. But a warrior deep in the Fury…? Channeling that much focused peace against such rage… The backlash could…" She trailed off, looking at Rock, who was howling incoherently, his movements growing even more frenzied, scattering warriors like autumn leaves.
"He won't last," Leader Mystic Moon Scar said grimly, watching Rock's increasingly violent movements. "This depth of Fury eats life from the inside out. Like a wildfire consuming its own fuel until nothing remains but ash."
Dunce looked at his friend, seeing agony beneath the rage, a soul tearing itself apart. He saw Little Cloud's shrouded form cradled on the ground nearby. He remembered Rock's kindness, the pride in his voice speaking of his wife. He turned back to Mystic Mystic Moon, eyes pleading. "Please. Try. For him. We have to."
Mystic Mystic Moon took a deep breath, her blue eyes locking onto Rock's rampaging form. Fear warred with duty and a flicker of concern she refused to name. She pulled her ornate staff from its harness. The faint, ethereal glow of her sacred magic began to gather at its tip, fragile but determined against the overwhelming tide of rage emanating from Rock Dunce. It wouldn't be a gentle nudge; it would be a desperate plea for peace hurled into the heart of a hurricane.
The air crackled with conflicting energies—primal fury versus nascent serenity. The fate of Rock Dunce, and perhaps the fragile peace of the Dunce Veil Tribe's outpost, hung on the edge of a mage's spell and a heart pushed beyond breaking.