The Draak

Music theme for part one: Linkin Park – My December

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He had always hated Airyglyph.

He didn't know when he had truly started to hate his birthplace, but it hadn't been a sudden revelation. As far as he knew, he hated the cold, he hated the stone walls, and he hated the plain, crumbling buildings that crept closer to collapse with every harsh winter. He hated the snow especially. He hated it when it clumped on the streets, turning disgusting shades of dirty brown and green. He hated when the snow landed on his hair and melted, getting his head wet. He hated when the snow landed on his metallic appendage, staying as cold and beautiful as snowflakes could be. Snow never melted when he held out his claw, and always he would clench his claw in anger and destroy the white on the metal.

Albel shivered, shaking his hair free of excess snow and trudged away from the inn. It was some odd hour of the night, and no one was out. Just the way he preferred it. The villages still cowered at his passing. Not that he didn't enjoy it, but his traveling companion seemed to find it annoying. He would never truly understand why the blue-headed fool decided to stay on Elicoor II and travel with him, but deep down, Albel knew that no matter how many times he called Fayt 'fool' or 'maggot', the young man wouldn't take him seriously and would remain nearby to give him sword and symbology.

There was something about the young man that gave Albel a severe tick in his eye. He was intelligent, yes, Albel admitted. He could compute complex problems as if they were magically writing themselves out in the air. He was constantly bombarded by that damn ringing abomination signaling calls from their comrades, out somewhere deep in space. Albel shivered from his memory of space. Too much space. Elicoor II was plenty large enough for Albel to have a full life of walking around and killing things. That was all he seemed to do these days. He was searching for something, something that would point him towards his true meaning of life.

No matter what he was searching for, Fayt offered to help him find it. That unnerved him to no end. It was none of the boy's business, so why did he seek to aid the captain's goal? When they first met, he wasn't exactly nice to Fayt and his travelers, back when it was believed they were from Greeton. Fayt actually had some backbone and humiliated Albel after his… crushing… defeat. Albel clenched his teeth at the thought of that day. He had underestimated their strength. But he knew if he wanted to find the key to their strength, he'd have to follow them. He'll never know why they had come back for him in the dungeons. It was even colder in the dungeons than outside, so he was slowly turning blue with every day he spent chained against the wall. But they had returned, and he was to escort them through the old lava caves to talk to the King of Dragons. Why they thought he could do it, he'll never know. Just because he was the leader of the Dragon Brigade didn't make him a dragon expert. Upon finally meeting Crosell, Albel could hardly contain his surprise. How could anyone defeat, much less befriend the damn beast? Another great surprise came when they did defeat the dragon. Albel assured himself he had gotten stronger, but he had a feeling in the back of his mind that Crosell really wanted to be of use.

Albel was hardly surprised when they took off in their large flying ship. They had finally found a way off the planet, so why should they have stayed? He grew angry, and had traveled to the Kirlsa Training Facility to be alone. But being alone never seemed to work with Albel. He could never find solace in being alone. Just having someone nearby was enough to give his soul some peace. Ever since the incident with his father, he hated being alone. It only led to thinking about that day, which angered Albel further. What he needed, as he reached an understanding, was to be part of their group again. This became convenient, as they had come back to the training facility. He didn't know nor care why they were back, just as long as he could be near and of use.

He really didn't understand why he had jumped in front of that shot. Call it pure insanity. He was known as Albel the Wicked, feared across three nations. Why did he save those annoying maggots? He must admit, they really trusted him after that. It was easy to please them. Save them from an enemy shot, and they offer to be your underlings for life.

Albel took a deep breath, watching his exhale coil in white fog in front of him. This was one thing that he enjoyed from being in Airyglyph. Every other town was in a warmer state, so watching your breath escape you was a pleasure you could find only in the snowy capital. Fayt had offered to explain how he could his breath, but Albel had growled at the thought of another confusing lecture and simply waved him off, throwing over his shoulder as he left that he needed a drink.

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The dark entrance of the tavern looked inviting, the candles flickering through the icy windows. Albel wrapped his traveling cloak tighter around himself, shivering. He really hated Airyglyph at night. It was colder, and his choice of attire was not best suited for that low of a temperature. And the damn snow was making his leggings wet around his shins. They had received a lovely snowfall as soon as they had entered the capital, and so a lovely blanket of damn snow had covered what little they could see of the roads. It had been pushed back away from the doorways of the buildings, but the snow was proving insistent and recovering the steps all over again.

Albel slipped on his way into the tavern, growling to himself. A warrior such as himself should not be slipping. It was very embarrassing, and he was glad that it had happened before he had opened the door. With a shove, he worked the door open and pushed it closed behind him, noting the terror-filled glances towards his arrival. Grinning to himself in his head, he made his way to the bar, unraveling his cloak around his shoulders. Giving an annoyed flick at his bangs to drop the snow collected on his hair, he ordered for hard ale.

Someone had not looked at him when he entered. He narrowed his eyes at the heavy-set shoulders, and he could make out gruff, dirty hands. This man was no ordinary man. He gave off a stony air of indifference, something that Albel admired somewhat. Not everyone could act like he had just strolled in as if it was only a small child. He clicked his claw around his drink and walked over towards the man. He noted the raspy breathing and the smell of blood instantly.

"What brings you to this fine tavern, I must ask?" he questioned politely. His voice could not drop that air of sarcasm though, something Fayt found tiresome in their conversations.

The man only grunted, and said nothing more.

Albel frowned. He had tried being polite. "That's very rude not to answer a captain, you realize."

Everyone else in the tavern had gone quiet.

When the man did not answer, Albel stood up. "I asked you a question, and you will answer me, you idiotic fool. Or do you not know who I am?" Albel could have sworn he heard a small chuckle from behind those shoulders. He grit his teeth, and struck out with his claw, shoving the man around in his chair. "I am Albel Nox of the Dragon Brigade, you will answer me!"

For the first time, Albel saw the man's face. Deep scars trailed across his eyebrows down to his lower jaw, and one large one trailed down his eye, leaving a milky white orb glaring up at him. His other eye was a sharp yellow. He grinned suddenly. "Don't you mean the former Dragon Brigade?"

Albel shook slightly with rage, but willed himself to calm down. "Just because I no longer stay in Airyglyph, doesn't mean I have lost my touch." He punctuated this by running his claw through the man's scars on his face, trailing the marred flesh. "I'd think twice before being a fool and getting me angry."

The man swatted his claw away from his face, and simply smiled apologetically. His eyes remained angry however. "Too sorry, Captain Albel Nox. It will not happen again, I assure you." With that, he stood up, wrapped his coat around himself, and promptly left the tavern. Albel could still hear that damn chuckle.

Albel growled, roughly sitting down and finishing his drink. The nerve of the maggots here. Some believe he really had grown weak! The absolute nerve.

He grew so angry, his claw shattered his glass.

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Some odd hour later, he staggered out, clearly smashed. Albel could never really hold his liquor; his father had teased him about it when he had wanted to try his father's brandy. He had choked, and his father had laughed. He had glared at his father through his coughs, but his father had simply patted him on the head and remarked that he would like it when he was older.

Even now, the only kind he could actually stomach was ale. He couldn't remember how many glasses he had drunk, nor did he really care. He was too busy thinking about the next morning, which was what, several hours away? Fayt would not be pleased he had gone out and gotten drunk again. He could remember getting drunk in Peterny, but he couldn't remember how he had fallen asleep in the stables next to an extremely smelly horse rump. He blushed at the memory of how Fayt found him. He was only glad no one else had seen him sprawled over the horse's tail, snoring loudly. He had taken an extremely hot bath while Fayt continued to laugh for at least that entire morning. At least he didn't smell anymore.

He tripped in the same place on the stairs again, and only just caught himself before he fell face-first into the snow. He stuck his arms out to level himself, clearing his blurry vision. Good thing the inn was so close.

A growl erupted from the alley directly across from the tavern, and Albel stilled. His red eyes darted towards the location of the sound, his ears strained to hear more. He heard rough footsteps, and a pair of deep piercing eyes came into view. He put his hand on his sword hilt, but he had no idea how he was going to wield it in his condition. The best he could do was flail the sword around. His limbs weren't following orders. Even now, his claw hung limply at his side. It was too much work lifting the heavy appendage. Why had he chosen metal?

A shadow, dark and heavy, sprang from the alley, and sudden sharp teeth clamped around his metallic gauntlet. Albel thrashed, pulling his sword out and roughly beating at the large creature piercing his armor. It took one shake, and the gauntlet split apart, Albel's damaged arm barely escaping the shreds of metal. It did not escape the creature's mouth, which simply switched from holding metallic arm to real flesh and blood. Albel screamed in pain, shoving at the creature's jaws, willing it to let go. He could feel the hot breath and a searing pain where the monster's teeth were imbedded in his flesh. The creature shook his shoulder, and a resounding crack from his arm made him yell out. He slipped in the snow and fell backwards, his back connecting with the wall of the tavern. The monster suddenly let go, charging for his head. He held up his sword just in time, impaling the creature through its shoulder. It roared in pain before roughly pulling back, nearly pulling Albel's other arm out of its socket, and sprinted away, clearing the bridge into town and fading into darkness beyond.

Albel panted, in shock. What the hell just happened? He looked at his arm, the one kept in the gauntlet for so many years. He could make out the deep puncture wounds oozing dark blood, and he hissed as he felt the nerves screaming at him. The damn thing had broken his arm. His other arm hung limply down in the snow, still holding his sword. The Sword of the Crimson Scourge. Its blade was covered in blood darker than his own, and as he lifted the sword back, it stuck to the snow, leaving at long, sticky trail. He wiped it in the snow several times, then sheathed it. He struggled to stand, his whole shoulder suddenly flaring up in pain. When he got to his feet, he noted the lights appearing in the windows. He didn't want to be seen. He ran as best he could, down alleyways and across slippery snow-covered roads. Where could he go?

A sudden erratic beat of his heart had him on his knees. He groaned, clutching at his chest. He could feel his heart beating out of tune. He gasped for breath, struggling to continue. He looked upwards, and immediately noticed the cave. That would do. He struggled up the mountainside, coughing up blood. What was happening to him? He gave a glance at his arm, which was turning black around the bite marks. He made it to the mouth of the cave, panting heavily. His heart gave another lurch, and he pitched forward, crying out in agony. Something was happening to him, but what? He didn't understand, and he was afraid.

Albel the Wicked screamed, his world going black from pain.

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The screaming in front of the tavern had nearly woken up the entire town. Fayt had jolted out of bed, blinking rapidly. He searched the bed next to his, and was shocked to not find the swordsman in it. Where was Albel? He threw the covers off, dressing quickly. The other patrons had opened their doors in alarm as he ran down the hallway. He cleared the stairs two at a time, and wrenched open the door. Stepping out into snowfall, he dragged his feet through snow to the small crowd standing around near the entrance of the tavern.

"What's going on?" he panted. An older man gave him a glance. "Somebody was attacked, or something. Sounded like they didn't make it. All that's left is their armor."

He stepped aside for Fayt to see, and the boy gasped. He'd recognize that metal claw anywhere. "Albel…" he said under his breath. He bent slowly and picked it up, staring as it hung lifeless from his grasp. There was no arm in it; there were no trails of blood on the metal. He narrowed his eyes at the deep tear marks in the metal. Something extremely strong had torn through Albel's armored gauntlet. He glanced around, looking in alarm at the blood spills everywhere. There was red blood, Albel's blood he surmised. But there was also a viscous black blood. Something non-human. He took a piece of Albel's shredded claw and carefully collected a sample. It stuck to the snow as he lifted, leaving a long trail as he pulled. Everyone groaned at the sight.

"This was the work of some demon?" a villager asked. "No, it was a monster; something came in while we were sleeping." "But do monsters really come into the town? I thought the guards were on patrol on the bridge to prevent that."

Fayt stood, pocketing the sample and walking towards the entrance. The guards, why hadn't he thought of that? They would have seen anything coming in or out. He stepped near the gate, noting with nervous breaths that it was already open. Had the creature come this way, or perhaps Albel? Had the creature taken Albel? Fayt worried even further. He shoved the door open, hearing the villagers crowd into the open space to get a good look.

Fayt breathed quickly, his heart beating fast. Where were the guards? Dawn was slow approaching, and darkness still loomed across the entrance to the capital. He shuffled forward slowly.

He hadn't expected to trip, but he fell. The villagers cried out in alarm as he landed. "Are you alright, son!"

Fayt groaned. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just tripped, that's all." He rubbed his injured arms, sitting up. He hadn't seen anything blocking his way. He turned to look. What he tripped over gave him reason to yell. He had found the guards.

They weren't guards anymore. Their throats had been slashed open, blood pooling around their shocked faces.

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He was alive. That was his first thought. He groaned, struggling to get up. His head pounded, each pulse bringing new pain. He was cold, and his clothes were shredded. His cloak lay nearby, tossed away as he rolled in agony. What had happened to him? Was it all a dream?

Albel sighed softly. He was just so tired. He had alcohol in his system still, and he couldn't recall what had happened to him. He was attacked, and he ran, he had made it to the cave, but then what? Was it really a dream? He ran his hand through his hair, wincing as that hurt as well. His eyes focused on the light coming from the mouth of the cave. He could make out small white flakes drifting down. Nice to know the weather remained a constant in dreams or reality.

He placed his hand on the floor to get up, but paused. He never had feeling in his left arm before. All he felt before was metal. He glanced down, and his stomach did a flipflop.

His badly damaged arm still had the teeth marks.

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End part 1

We'll see how long I can keep this story going. I really should update my other story, but this just screamed at me to start writing. ;;