Charred skeletons dance about the flames. The fire dances with it, like a devil toying with a doll. The beast’s visage forms a crescent grin, brighter than the moon but colder than the heart of Lady Winter- its laugh a screeching howl.
And above the skies, above the stars, abiding in the place for things unfit for the real world, sits Chaos- watching the dance.
…
Consequently after the ear-splitting screech came the fire, spewing from the gullets of the beasts. I had no time to look back, because the past behind me has already been burnt away. There is no time to regret the promises I failed to keep. There is no time to say goodbye.
The steel of my puny sword and shield melted into my hand, and I would be writhing in pain on the ground- burning to death, if it weren’t for my fear and anger. We ran to the rivers where it would be safe, where it was cold, where the screams would finally be drowned out and we could be at ease.
I ran- I ran so hard I could not stop in time before stumbling into the ones ahead of me. They had stopped running. For a moment I was confused. Time is of the essence- it waits for no one. But soon, I understood.
There perched a beast. The cunning thing, it knew where we were going. I figure I’ll never know for sure, but it must have been waiting for us here. Was it amused? We humans are like ants in the face of a curious child in its presence. I am genuinely frustrated, yet I somehow feel at peace.
This must be the sensation of death.
It flicks its tail playfully; it drools like a mutt smelling meat.
Nobody said a word. Nobody moved an inch. It watched us with an animalistic expression on its face, that is surely a facade- for it is no animal. An animal can hide behind that never-changing expression. An animal acts out of survival, occasionally playful. One might befriend them.
But this thing climbing from the pits of hades and tainting the skies with its wretched presence is no animal. It is no friend; it does not survive; it does not feel fear or anger- it only feels dissatisfaction.
It forever seeks evil. It is ever yearning for chaos and unrest, it can only laugh when others cry, smile when others frown. It is no animal. It is an unnatural and wretched creature that has no place in this world- neither predator nor prey. But these are no concerns for a dead man like me.
It watched us- perhaps savoring its victory. And we could only stand there, statue-like. As if we were cows awaiting the hatchet.
Finally, it decided the time was right, and grinned. A noise echoed from its jaws making even the wind cry. Flames plumed up and out of its stomach and seething through the gaps in its teeth.
A fiery death awaits. Nobody said a word. Maybe we knew this day would come one day. All our efforts were inevitably in vain. I closed my eyes. It’s the least I can do. It will not be slow. When we die, we will dance, and it will laugh.
The beast loomed over us. The sky grew dark, as if Helios himself grimaced at the terrible things to come. The stars seemed to look away, the clouds seemed to cover us- to hide the horror. The time drew near. My blood ran cold.
Just then, in that moment, I could have sworn I saw the skies split open and the cosmos pour in.
In that same period of time, I blinked.
At once, the beast lay there still. A gaping hole still gushed fresh molten blood out from its stomach, and a hero stood there in its place.
Our hero.
…
5,000 years have passed, and peace has swept over the lands. Nearly every dragon has been slain, converted into weaponry, or descended back down to the fiery pits from where they came. Innovations have come and gone, always replaced with the next new dragon-killing technology.
In recent years, it’s become a rite of passage. Our Kingdom has turned dragon hunting into a sport, and the rampant beast is no longer a threat.
I own a roadside tavern on the hills, next to a major military path. Therefore, my customers are always tired Knights, dragon hunters, and mercenaries, so I rarely have any trouble with bandits or any unsightly things of the like.
Today was different. A man dressed shabbily stumbled into my shop. He wore no shoes, and his garments were as brown as the mess my bulls left behind in the stables. The man smelled of it, too.
But who am I to refuse a customer? I give the poor guy the benefit of the doubt and shout at him.
“Whaddaya want?”
He stumbles, barely catching himself on the seat before pulling himself up onto it- smearing mud across my bar stand. In my best efforts to not quick draw my crossbow and scare off a potential customer, I smile as brightly as I can.
“You alright, pal?”
The poor one nods.
“My bad, lady. Rum, please.”
A couple of my regular’s snicker in the back. I disregard them for now, but this’ll surely be the talk of the shop for the next week or two. Hardly anything happens here anyway.
I digress. “Got any gold on ya? Payment up front, bud.”
He rummages through his pockets, and his hands come out through the other side. That settles things.
I sigh. “Doors right behind you. Don’t make things any more complicated than they have to be, and just leave.”
The man stumbles back up, rubbing his head, and he continues stumbling along the way- right into another one of my esteemed customers. The local military encampment Knight commodore, Fastus. He lost an arm and a leg to a dragon and still managed to pry an eye out before fainting, so he’s a bit of a legend around here. Nowadays he wields that new age “reanimation” magic to give himself artificial limbs. According to him, they aren’t half as strong as his old ones, but they get the job dob.
“Commodore Fastus,” I say, and my customers greet him the same.
“Iyenna. What’s this mutt doing in your shop? He’s tracking dirt everywhere. He even got his filth all over my armor.”, he responds- respecting me enough to acknowledge me, but after all these years I know that his calm tone seldom reflects his heart.
I figure he’s just about to execute the poor soul, so I speak up about it. “Hold it, Fastus. He’s just a beggar. Leave him be, guys probably too drunk to recognize heads from tails.”
Suppose I was right about Fastus, because just as I spoke those words, he was already in the motions of unsheathing his sword. He pauses, grabbing the beggar by the neck and holding him up in the air. Surprisingly, the poor man doesn’t say a word.
“Look at him. What’d you think might happen if I let him go, huh? He’ll be diving head first into the nearest river. Those eyes aren’t the eyes of a man who wants to live another day.”, he snarls, “Besides. He’s ruined my steel. This’ll cost me another arm and a leg to clean off, and this guy’s got just the right amount I need. We both know he’s got nothing to offer in return.”
“Fastus.”
“What, Iyenna- what could you possible want?”
“C’mon, now. What’s got you in such a bad mood today? I don’t want to have to clean up any blood, so if you spare 'em, I’ll give you any selection of drinks you want- on the house.”
I observe Fastus’ facial expression, and I can tell he’s still not satisfied. Desperately not wanting to mop up blood- knowing that bloodstains only deter future customers, I suggest another alternative.
“How about a duel, then? Better for you to kill the man outside rather than in.”
“I surmise if I give him one of my swords, he’ll run off with it to sell it.”
“You, me, and everyone else in here knows he won’t get even get close to the nearest pawn before you stick a spear into his chest, not talk of a pawn that’ll even service him. If you want him to pay with your life, this is the way only way I’ll agree to it.”
I know I might be talking quite brazen for a shopkeep, but Fastus and I go way back. He owes me. We were friends in little school for a while, ‘fore he was accepted into apprenticeship. We may as well have been siblings back then. He knows as well as I do that’s a tie you never sever- you just don’t.
So Fastus reluctantly agrees. The poor man doesn’t say a word throughout all of this, and I make sure Fastus’ knights hand him the sword outside of my shop to ensure he doesn’t finish himself off any earlier than he needs to.
I watch the events unfold from the porch seat, with my regulars leaning over the bar windows to spectate.
“Ain’t gonna be much of a fight,” one of them comments. “Look at his eyes, just like a dead fish. Mans’ just waiting for death to take him away. Suspect he may have been a veteran, must have let the fires singe his mind. That’s why he wants to die by the sword, I’ll say.”
But nobody says anything else after that. Like I said, nothing ever happens around here- so when something as interesting as a duel (may as well be a public execution) fires up, it’s big.
Fastus raises his sword. The poor man holds it loosely in his hand beside his leg. Maybe he really does want to die.
It all happens at once. Just as Fastus lunges at the poor fool, something even bigger than this pointless duel makes an appearance, slicing through the skies.
Wings like the skeletal feathers of a raven.
Tail like a bloodied mace.
Belly full of blameless souls, fueling the hateful flames seething from its mouth.
Eyes deceiving like a mask.
A demon making its appearance only at the time of the witching hour, the time for culling. A dragon.
Fastus realizes it too late. The dragon dives for my shop, and before I have a moment to regret anything, to even utter a prayer, yet another major twist of events rears its head.
That poor man with the dead fisheyes leaps into the air and catches that dragon mid dive, tossing it into the ground like a ragdoll. Then he slams into it with all his might, punching a great hole in its stomach like it was a roasted pig. An inconceivable, arcane light was about him. It shimmered and shined like a star.
He just stood there. Covered in blood that should be melting his skin right off. And we just stood there too, dumb founded.
Nobody said a word, even as he stepped out of the puddle of dragon blood and guts and walked to the nearest river. And just as Fastus said, he jumped right in.
I’ll never see that man again. I won’t ever know his name, and I’ll never get an answer to the endless number of questions I can’t help but still ponder to this day. I owe him my life, yet the only thing I remember about him was the shining light outshining his filthy garments, and the dragon blood dripping from his fists.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
…
afterword
Haven’t written anything in a while. Sort of lost the main point of the story 80% of the way through, but it still turned out alright in my opinion.
Although the dragons are deemed pests and can be killed for sport, much like in real life, it’s not uncommon for a monster like that to cause a ton of mayhem when you let your guard down.
The poor man isn’t the hero from the start of the story, but a descendant of him. I wanted to mention how he feels like he has a responsibility he never asked for, and something about an unsung hero, but I never ended up expanding on it. I could continue the story form here, since it does read like a prologue, but I probably won’t any time soon.
Anyhow. I hope whoever read this far enjoyed the tale. Have a good day or night.