Nothing was going to stand in my way. Even if Lance and Winona had the advantage of flight I would still chase them down to their mountainside lair.
How best to follow, though? I was stuck atop Mount Chimney and the fastest road down was a jagged pass of sharp rocks ready to skewer and smash anyone stupid enough to hike down them; I knew that first hand. Circling around for a safer route would cost me time, and the blood raging in my veins wouldn't wait.
But maybe, with a little pokemon power...
"Hermes," I barked, "put up a barrier. Flat on the ground, right underneath you." I planted my feet on the rainbow shimmer. "Good, now give it a bit of curve on the bottom, like a bowl. Armstrong, you get on too." The machop stood behind me and hugged my waist. Hermes just gave a confused quarter-turn.
Okay, boss, but how does this help – Whoa, boss, why're you grabbing my spikes?
"Handlebars."
Handlebars? Hermes squirmed anxiously under my grasp. Boss, why is Armstrong pushing us towards the cliff?
"Because we're going down."
Going down!? Hermes angled himself to look down the impossibly steep slope and gave a timid squeak. Boss, you're gonna get us killed!
"Trust me, you get used to it."
Hermes screamed the whole way down, and I think I joined him for a good chunk of the ride. Surfing a psychic scooter down a volcano is a sport better left to the imagination. Every little rock and outcropping became a ramp that launched us into the air, and every landing made my teeth rattle in my skull. I'd assumed I could use Hermes' spikes to steer but we zigzagged at random, even flipping around backwards at one point! Pebbles kicked into our faces, dust flew down our mouths and my terrified stomach spent the entire ride plowed up against my jackhammering heart. The suicide run ended with a head-on collision with a car-sized boulder, pitching us into the air and face-first into gravel.
When my ears stopped ringing I realized that that the noise coming from my mouth wasn't screaming but maniacal laughter. I flopped onto my back and checked on Armstrong – the athletic machop had made a perfect three-point landing. His eyes were watery but his chest was heaving up that same crazy laughter. "Now that's how you fall down a mountain!"
Boss, what were you thinking? The crash had sent Hermes spinning through the air like a frisbee but now the miniature sun zipped into our faces, wriggling his body with anger. Do I look like a motorcycle to you? We could've died pulling that crazy stunt!
"Hermes," I gasped, fighting through the laughter, "you levitate. How are you supposed to die from falling off a mountain?"
That gave him pause. Well ... I could've died of a heart attack!
Armstrong chipped in a grunt. You're a rock. Do you even have a heart?
Just because an expression's rhetorical doesn't mean it's not true, Hermes snarked back.
That only made us laugh harder. It was completely tone-deaf – we'd barely survived my stupid plan, Robin and my other pokemon were probably dead, and Linda was suffering from Winona's curse – but at that moment it just felt so good to laugh and forget the pain. I'd suffered through so much fighting, so many loses and setbacks; I needed a moment to just fall flat on my butt and enjoy the adrenaline rush of motorcycling down a volcano. Even Hermes' stubborn anger finally broke down and he joined us in a last-minute chuckle. Hermes, Armstrong and I; we'd only just met but for that moment we laughed as though we'd been lifelong friends.
"I'm glad I met you guys." My praise sent Hermes flustering but Armstrong slapped me on the back. The feeling was mutual.
Hermes, the brains of our bunch, was quick to put us back on task. So, we're down the mountain. Now what?
"Take care of the welcoming committee, I think." Two Magma monks on patrol duty were rushing to see what had fallen down the pass. Hermes whipped a barrier at the first like a flying disc, beaning him in the head. Armstrong kept things classy and just punched out the other guy.
"Grab their robes," I ordered. "They're our ticket into the fort!" Having finished my growth spurt, I could wrap myself in the adult-sized robe, no problem. Armstrong, though, was still the size of a small child and his devil hoodie puddled around his feet, to say nothing of the limp-noodle sleeves. We settled that problem by having him piggyback on top of Hermes, gripping the little sun's top horn like a joystick.
I'm a rock, Hermes reiterated. I'm not a motorbike for you people to scoot around on!
"It's just until we're inside," I reassured him. I shut the cloak over his face – which, again, managed to look absolutely peeved – and stepped back to inspect their disguise. It was completely unconvincing, of course. Hermes' corona made the robe flare out wider than a snorelax and Armstrong's snout was clear as daylight if you glanced at the right angle, but I was hoping that the panic around the fort would keep people from examining fellow monks too carefully. Besides, if these bozos could accept seven-foot tall Archibald as "one of them", they shouldn't bat a glance at my lizard-snouted, footless, morbidly obese Magma buddy.
Before we scurried down the road I snatched my monk's belt of apricot balls and clicked each one open. They were empty, weirdly enough, but I tightened on the belt and capsules anyway. Who could tell when another wild pokemon might show up and join my cause?
As we jogged up the road to the Dragon Master's lair, Hermes filled us in on the history of Fort Lavaridge. Originally Lavaridge town, the settlement had started off as a resort famous for its soothing hot springs. The water from the underground springs had nurtured the growth of a small forest and people had built a settlement under the shade of the trees, welcoming weary travellers passing through the mountains. I wondered if Birch and Maxwell had rested here on one of their long travels.
Of course, that was all before the Dragon Master had claimed the mountain range as her territory and converted the resort into her personal garrison. Stepping through the town gates we found its cone-shaped houses plated over with spiny shells. Guard towers and golbat patrols watched over the intersections. The hot springs now turned water wheels for weapon factories and the fragile forest had been stripped to its roots in order to plant a wall of spiked logs around the fort. At the center of the destruction stood the Dragon Master's tower – a turret of black rock smashed into the center square like a poison-tipped spear.
As expected, the other Magma monks were too occupied setting up defenses against another Aqua attack to notice us. With our hoods pulled high we crept closer to the black tower and I was pleased to notice a bridled tropius resting by the front doors. Perfect, Winona was still here. The leafy dinosaur glanced briefly at us then went back to observing the other monks scurry around their base like durants amid a heatmor invasion, grinning at the blind panic. I wondered if the beast took after its master and whether the Fortree leader was taking in all this chaos with a satisfied smirk.
Inside, the tower was more cavern than castle. The hallways and staircases were all carved out of coarse black rock – solid lava, I wondered? There were no lights or windows to guide the way, just flaming torches gripped by dragon statues. We poked our heads through every door we passed; some filled with weaponry, others with books, but the tower seemed deserted. Where was everyone?
The top floor was where things got interesting. Armstrong pushed open two grand double doors and we wandered into the Dragon Master's personal chambers. A tall, four-poster bed, a vanity mirror and sink, and an open balcony that admitted a marvelous view of Mount Chimney and the now ruined charizard gargoyle. It was also an artist's studio with painting easels positioned around the floor. The subject matter was gruesome and petty: Dragon pokemon roaring atop a pile of dead Aqua pirates. A haxorous chomping Archibald in half. Wallace and some moustached dandy screaming as dragonites burned them to death.
This Dragon Master was a grumpy emo kid.
One painting stood out from the rest by virtue of being draped with a cover. What image was so sensitive that it had to remain hidden even within a stronghold? My hand ripped away the cloth, exposing a picture of a little red-haired girl lost in a deep, black cave. The other pictures had been over the top in their blood and gore but this one was small and personal. The frightened girl could barely be seen in the darkness and tears were streaming down her cheeks as she reached for the light of a charmander's tail.
Armstrong growled a warning. Footsteps were clacking down the hallway; someone was coming!
"Under the bed," I hissed. I re-hid the canvas and we zipped below, Hermes tucking himself in sideways. Peeking from under the covers I saw the bottom of the door burst open for three pairs of stomping feet. The black boots and cape – that was Lance. The shuffling red robes belonged to Maxwell. The third pair of legs were bare and clicked about in impossibly tall high-heeled shoes
Winona.
"Lovely décor," she murmured, cool and collected in spite of the chaos wracking the fort. "You really must draw the cover for my next book. It would be a fascinating partnership."
"Don't change the subject, Bird freak! You said you'd gotten rid of the boy's pokemon!"
"My sources never reported a machop or a solrock in his gang. Evidently he's picked up some fresh blood. As for the rest, well, my darlings are hunting them down as we speak. If you're done playing the fool we can finish them together."
Lance and I were both stunned, though for different reasons. Robin and the rest – they were still alive! Hunted and on the run, but they were still out there. Lance's boots stomped towards the Fortree leader. "What did you call me?"
"You heard me." Winona's high heels sashayed among the portrait gallery, taking in the angry canvases. "The mighty 'Dragon Master', so caught up in protecting a fantasy. Now's not the time to be defensive. We have to keep this boy on the run; make sure he stays separated from his guardians."
"Oh, because Winona is always right; Winona who 'sees all' and 'knows all'. Tell me, bird freak, if you're so smart how did you miss Aqua's attack?"
"You mean those 'petty rebels' you were going to 'wash away in a single blow'? I thought the power of the Dragon Master would subdue even the mighty ocean. Even if they surprised the great Lance, I never imagined you'd be so utterly humiliated.
"Be reasonable and think! Why was Archibald able to sneak inside your borders? Because the Emperor's garrison was transferred to Dewford Island! Why were they transferred? Only to put down a rebellion after Brawly was taken down! Who took down Brawly and Wattson? It all comes back to this boy! He's the one we need to focus on!"
"And Archibald and his followers? You expect me to stand aside after they attack my territory, insult my pride?"
"Leave them! The Emperor has plans for the Cult of Aqua; he'll deal with those water-worshipping lunatics after they've served their purpose."
"Plans and purposes," Lance snorted. "Not that the Emperor ever cares to explain them to us! I'm done with that puffed-up dandy and his scheming, Winona. I'm done with bowing to him; I'm done with –"
"By the everlasting patience of Arceus, it's like I'm talking to a child! Don't forget who gave us our power and don't forget how easily he could take it back. Now, if you could put your petty jealousies aside for a moment let's review the problem at hand: this Petalburg boy has taken out Brawly and Wattson and he's coming for us next!"
Here, Maxwell felt compelled to interject. "My Lord, I've analyzed this boy; what he lacks in reason he makes up for in an indomitable tenacity. It would be wise to consider Lady Winona's proposal and eliminate this variable as swiftly as possible."
The Fortree leader clapped her hands. "Thank you! A breath of sanity in this dark pit! Enlighten me, Professor – you've brains to spare, but you're still taking orders from this lunatic. Why is that?"
"I – I don't -" I couldn't believe it: Maxwell, the perfectly composed professor, actually stammered out that response. "I don't know what you mean..."
"Oh, I think you do, Maxie." Winona circled the robed professor like a swaggering liepard; her prey had nowhere to run and she could toy with it at her leisure. "What makes you work so tirelessly? Endure these endless fits of temper? What makes you stay by this man?"
"Enough!" The torches flared at the Dragon Master' bellow. "I've wasted too much time entertaining your conspiracies, bird freak! Get out! You and every last one of your feathery spies are banished from this land, and the next time I see so much as a puff of a swablu over my mountain, I'll see to it that Fortree is melted down to slag!"
Winona sighed and tried a final appeal. "This boy only strong because we're divided. Together, you and I, we could –"
"Out!"
Another sigh. "Then I'll be going. Good luck. You'll need it."
As soon as Winona slammed the door, Lance released a pent-up roar that sent the torches blazing. "Maxwell, status report!"
The man switched to business mode, flipping on a pair of spectacles so he could read his parchment reports. "Zubat reconnaissance reports that Archibald and his troops are pulling back to Mauville city. I've lowered the threat status to level three but the fort gates remain sealed. All squads have received orders to reinforce Fort Lavaridge but sixty percent of your forces remain missing in action."
"The altar?"
"Ruined," Maxwell stated. He paused while Lance cursed and paced up the floor. "My lord, we may have to abandon the plan to expel the weapon through a controlled eruption. With your authorization I'm prepared to begin tunneling operations."
"Tunneling?" The very word seemed to disgust Lance. "Fine, do it. But wait until the Bird Freak and her flyers are long gone. She can't know what we're up to, Maxwell. Nobody -"
"Nobody can know," Maxwell finished. He wasn't being defiant, but his voice sounded tired, like he'd had to reassure Lance on this point time and time again. "Lady Winona suspects nothing, my Lord. She, like the rest of them, still believes burying Aqua in lava was our end goal instead of ... an added bonus."
"I want it, Maxwell; even if we have to dig for it like ratatta, I want it." She finally stopped her pacing and turned to the balcony. "You can't feel it, can you?"
"My Lord?"
"No, of course you can't. The Emperor hasn't gifted you with his badges. But I can feel it, Maxwell – power; power overwhelming. Calling me, taunting me. Daring me to ... to reach out and seize it!" Her hand stretched over Mount Chimney.
"I want that power, Maxwell."
"And you shall have it, my Lord. A little patience is all we require."
"A little patience and this world will know the true might of the Dragon Master!" I didn't know what this 'weapon' Lance was after was, but she'd apparently made lots of future plans around it. She started pacing wildly again, raving about her plans for Archibald, for the Emperor, all the while dancing from one gory easel to the next, drinking in the mad visions she'd committed to canvas. Maxwell kept nodding and yes, my lord-ing like a good lackey but his eyes looked weary and sad. He'd stepped to the covered canvas, the one painting Lance ignored, and his fingers started to play with the sheet.
"What're you doing, Maxwell?" The professor startled and jerked his hand away, stammering.
"I was ... that is I –" He cleared his throat and started over. "Forgive me, my Lord. I am fond of all your work. Even the pieces you seem to dislike." The Dragon Master scowled and yanked the covered easel to the far corner.
"That will be all, Maxwell." Instead of leaving, her advisor squirmed on the spot until his courage rose up to his throat.
"My Lord, this has been a trying day but ... I want to reassure you that I will always be at your side. If there is anything further I can do to assist you, anything at all..."
"There is," the Dragon Master grunted. "Shut your mouth and stop your grovelling! I'll always be at your side. I know why you're here, Maxwell: because I have power! And the minute you learn how to steal it for yourself you'll pick my bones clean. You're nothing but a mandibuzz circling for scraps!"
Maxwell's face blanched and his once-composed features erupted into nervous stammers. "M-my lord, I..."
"You w-w-what?" she mocked. "What have you to say for yourself?"
But Maxwell couldn't face the green fire of her eyes. Ducking his face he bowed and excused himself. Lance followed him to the doors, making sure they slammed at his heels.
Alone at last, I watched the Dragon Master slump her head against the heavy door and heave a miserable sigh from her body. The flames around the room retreated into their torches, and the Dragon Master seemed to shrink with them, until all I saw was a tired young woman smothered in a great black cloak.
With a disgusted grunt she ripped herself free of the dark cape, bundled it up in a ball and pitched it at the nearest easel. The aqua pirates suffering death by dragon fell to the floor – the first dream gone. Lance tore the scarf veiling her mouth and nose and pitched that as well. A world covered in magma toppled. She continued to strip away her costume – her jacket, her finely-tied ponytail – until the entire gallery was toppled, save one. Lance tore the cover from the forbidden canvas and all that remained was the little girl in the cave, staring into her reflection.
She hadn't meant to damage the other paintings, but she took great pleasure in smashing this one over her knee. "Useless..." she hissed, and retreated to the vanity sink to wash her hands of the debris. Underneath her capes and disguises, Lance wore a low-cut black undershirt that clung to her body and drew my eyes to her chest. First, to the ugly knife wound burrowed into her left breast, and second, to the glimmering badge pinned by her clavicle.
Boss, we can't leave this nutzo with that power, Hermes psychically whispered. No sense leaving empty-handed, I agreed and nodded at the tiny sun to start his attack.
Psychic shields clapped down over every torch, smothering their flames. Lance spun around as a rainbow shimmer planted itself before her doorway, sealing the exit. "No fires to throw at your enemies, and no way out," I summarized as Armstrong, Hermes and I crawled from beneath the bed.
"You again," she hissed with seviper's venom.
"Yeah, me – the end of your lousy day. Hand over the badge, dragon girl, and my machop won't rearrange your face."
The Dragon Master squinted, dumbfounded as to what I could be thinking. "You think I need fire to burn a little pest like you?" Her hand reached for the pokeballs clipped to her belt. "Even an ignorant Petalburg boy must know the legends of dragon pokemon. Almost impossible to catch and raise, but their powers are unmatched throughout the universe! Like the mighty earth they are indestructible!"
The wider Lance's grin spread the more I realized my mistake: Hermes' barrier wasn't locking out the Magma monks; it was trapping us inside a cage with a wild animal!
"Are you ready to lose, boy? It's time you witnessed the true power of a Dragon tamer. Fafnir, come out and destroy these pests!"
Her pokemon hit the ground like a thunderclap: a big, brutal tank that carried two steaming mountains of rock and lava atop its tree trunk legs. Fafnir the camerupt bellowed out a fury like an erupting volcano, and the tower shook to its foundations.
It was my turn to blink weirdly. "Lady, that's a camel, not a dragon!"
Lance stammered. "S-shut up! What do you know about dragons? Crush him, Fafnir!"
The camerupt lunged for me fast as a rocket; faster than such a heavy beast ought to move, and only Armstrong's quick reflexes kept me three dimensional. Fist cocked back, the fighting-type sprang forward and slugged the camel across the face. Fafnir went reeling but so did my machop. Armstrong grimaced and clutched his fist. Had he broken it against the camel's rock-hard skull?
"Wounded already?" the Dragon Master cackled. "How pathetic. Why not send out another pokemon, Petalburg boy? I thought you had countless beasts in your service."
I grit my teeth and ignored her goading. "Armstrong, get a weapon!" Hermes knew what I had in mind, telekinetically smashing a chair and tossing a broken leg to his partner. Armstrong whipped a home-run swing at the camerupt's jaw but the only thing that broke was his bat. Fafnir head-butted Armstrong across the room.
"You haven't even trained your fighter properly," Lance sneered. I'd had just about enough of her taunts and I raised the monk's belt high in the air, showing off the attached pokeballs.
"Go ahead," I laughed, "Waste all your energy on Armstrong. I've got four more to spare!"
The Master's eyes filled with venom. I'd meant to unnerve her, put some fear into her soul; instead I only pushed her to the edge.
"You loathsome little bug, how can you summon so many pokemon? What makes you so special?" Her camerupt seemed to feed off her rage. The more she ranted the stronger its attacks grew. "I've toiled five years for these two beasts! I've fought and suffered; I've fed this region my blood and sweat and still my own men don't respect me!" The camerupt blows were coming faster, heavier.
"Why?" she screamed, clawing her nails through her scalp; pulling at her hair as though she could dig the answers from her head. "The Emperor, Archibald; now you – you call pokemon and men to your side with such ease. What makes you so special?" Bitter tears were falling as she ranted.
"It should be me they obey! Why won't they follow me? Why won't they love me?"
I was half afraid for Armstrong's life but my other half was enjoying her torment. "Hey, maybe they got turned off by the stink of crazy, your cross-dressing nutbag!"
Green venom hardened her eyes. "Fafnir! Enough with the machop; get that boy. Kill him, kill him, kill him!"
The camerupt jumped in front of me and reared up on its hind legs. Armstrong roared and plowed the beast off its feet. They tumbled across the floor, trading blows and bites with the intensity of bitter rivals. Pain meant nothing; their only thoughts were to their masters, and destroying the one that dared them harm. No obstacle could hold them; they smashed through everything in their path: through stone tile, through furniture, wrestling closer and closer to the balcony railing...
"Fafnir!"
Two wide sets of eyes; that was the last I saw of both pokemon. They were too surprised to even scream. Just a half-second silence, then a distant thwack like the sound of wet rags hitting the floor.
Then Lance and I both screamed.
The pain crackled through my right leg. For me, it felt like someone had split my bones down the center, pried them apart like a wish bone. I fell to my knees, clawing at my thigh and begging for Arceus to cut off my leg and spare me this agony. Through watery eyes I saw the Dragon Master collapse in mirror image, only she hugged her chest as though her ribs would burst.
This phantom pain ... it wasn't just me?
A fist banged against the sealed door. The voice was Maxwell. "My Lord, what's happening in there? My Lord, please open the door!"
"Shut up, Maxwell!" Lance's face was twisted with pain but she forced herself to stand. "I don't need you; I don't need anyone!" She looked to me, and then to Hermes, fury swimming through her eyes but now mixed with a touch of uncertainty. The hand reaching for the sphere on her belt trembled. "Last one," she whispered.
In the air, Hermes twitched and trembled. Armstrong's dead ... Boss, he's ...
"Stay strong, Hermes!" Armstrong had been his best friend but I had to keep him focused. "It's not over yet. Unless you surrender?"
"Surrender?" My words made the Dragon Master's eyes blaze green with fury. "You think you can kill my pokemon and walk away?" Her moment of fear was gone – incinerated in the furor spreading over her face like wildfire in dry tinder. There was no going back. "Let's end this, boy! Come out, Smaug!"
A burst of light and a little torkoal half her size leapt to the ground. It looked ancient, withered; barely able to take a step forward, but when it opened its slit eyes and hissed, Hermes and I knew to back away.
I don't wanna die, boss...
There would be no half-measures this time. Lance tore the Emperor's badge from her shirt and slammed it into the turtle's shell. The torkoal flinched but stood firm; in fact, it seemed to stand taller, stronger as the jewel's energy filled its leathery body. Hermes began to shiver. The dragon master barked a single command –
"Overheat."
– and a wave of fire threw us into the wall.
It was like a bomb had detonated in the room, but I could see no flame, no debris, just the invisible shockwave of heat pinning me to the stone, searing my skin. Hermes sprang to action, throwing a psychic barrier against the oncoming heat. I dropped to the floor, gasping and sucking in the newly cool air while a kaleidoscope of colours danced over my eyes. It wasn't dizziness – Hermes' barriers remained invisible until they contacted a surface, and now the wall of heat bearing down on his mental shield made it quiver like a crystalline rainbow.
Behind the colour and wavering air, the Dragon Master cackled. "Burn them, Smaug! Cook their marrow, boil their blood; scorch them black and brittle until their ashes don't dare grow back!" The torkoal hissed its affirmation and the red vents over its shell glowed with hellfire.
Hermes and his barrier fell back a step. Suspended in the air, I could see his body tremble with exertion. Every granule of his rocky being was pouring its energy into holding the shield, pushing back the endless onslaught of heat.
The solrock was pushed back again; he was directly above me, and I felt a trickle of sand rain over my head. "Hermes?"
I'm okay! Boss, you've gotta come up with something fast. I can't –
The tip of his bottom spike dropped to the floor.
The room beyond the rainbow barrier was falling apart. The bed and painting easels combusted into red fire; the rock walls were dripping molten sweat. Only Lance and her torkoal stood unaffected, cackling and reveling at the madness she had unleashed.
The torkoal took a further step forward and bits of Hermes body fell like drops of rain. Hairline cracks were splintering over the solrock's body, pulsing with an unsteady inner light. His voice kept panting in my mind, growing higher and louder as the heartbeat light from his body glowed brighter and fractured further. So hot ... Boss, I can't - I can't – I don't wanna di-
Hermes voice crescendoed into a final scream while his inner glow went supernova. An explosion of rock shards burst over the rainbow shield, shattering it like glass and letting the torkoal's heatwave pitch me into the wall.
The heat cut off. I fell to the floor, still hot and sizzling at my touch. A misshapen pebble, flickering with a red glow, rolled by my face and I realized it was Hermes' eye. I was lying in a graveyard of crumbled rock, each piece like a body cut down on a battlefield.
"Hermes," I whispered, reaching my right hand to grasp the flickering heart.
Lance's boot ground it into dust.
"Oh dear, did I break him?" She tipped her head back and laughed; gloated, savoring the moment. "You and all your arrogance – this is where it leads, boy! Into the dragon's fire! Can you feel it? Feel the life crumbling around you? Feel the perfect agony of oblivion?"
My right hand ... I tried to push myself up, but I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't feel my hand ...
"My lord!" Maxwell, blind to the events inside, was still howling and hammering at the door. It sounded like he was throwing his weight into the half-melted barrier; he was that desperate to get inside. It meant nothing to the Dragon Master. When she finally grew tired of my squirming she picked me off the floor herself. "Still lingering? What wretched little pokemon could you have left?"
Then a shriek at the window. Lance turned and was bowled to the ground in a flurry of wings. A trio of fully-evolved flying pokemon circled and landed at the balcony, spreading their wings and screeching their rage. A crobat, a swellow, and a half-mad skarmory.
Dolce? Winry? And ... Him again?
The Dragon Master screamed orders to her torkoal but the flyers were too fast, spinning around the room and dive-bombing the tortoise in relentless attacks. Dolce knocked Smaug onto his back; the skarmory pecked and seized its tail. Winry's talons went for the neck, and while the blind tortoise flailed its useless limbs, she squeezed her claws and twisted.
Two things happened at once. At the doors, Maxwell burst into the chamber, panting and white with terror. In the middle of the room, the Dragon Master froze, hands clutching her own neck and jaw open in a scream that emitted no sound. Maxwell's eyes jumped - my flyers, their bloody talons, the limp torkoal on the floor.
"Flannery..."
The Dragon Master fell to her knees. Not because she had lost the strength in her limbs, but because she no longer possessed limbs below her knees. The legs of her pants went limp and empty, wafting blackish-purple smoke like burning cigarette butts.
This time, Maxwell screamed. "Flannery!"
The tactician raced to the woman's side, cradling her into his arms. "Concentrate," he pleaded. "Don't let go! Don't – don't leave me, Flannery!"
The black smoke had crept up to her abdomen, and new patches began to dissolve from her fingers, her hair.
"Maxwell -?" Her vision must have been failing because she reached a hand to touch his cheek, confirm his presence.
"I'm here for you, Flannery. Please, just hold on a little longer!"
Her fingers drifted, brushed his lips and, with a last act of strength, seized his collar in a feeble hold.
"I'm not ... Flannery..."
Her head lolled back and crumbled into black smoke, leaving Maxwell alone and clutching empty clothing.
Maxwell tipped back his head and screamed.
When his eyes hunted me down they were bloodshot and filled with tears. One hand shot to his belt, pointing his Mightyena's pokeball at my face; the other gripped the fabric covering his chest and the heart my actions had broken.
Maxwell's eyes shot between the dead torkoal and my three flyers. Head and heart fought a furious inner debate and with an agonized roar he re-clipped his only pokeball. Crawling to Smaug's corpse he ripped the badge from its shell and threw it at my face.
"You came for this, didn't you? Well take it! Take it, you simpering, brutish Neanderthal! Take it and choke on it!" Then he fell to the floor, sobbing and pawing at the remains of the woman he had loved.
The skarmory snapped up the badge and flew for the window. Dolce and Winry – I was sure it was them – seized a shoulder each and prepared to airlift me out.
"Boy." I turned to Maxwell, still crouched to the floor and looking to Mount Chimney with a red light in his eyes.
"Run as far as you can," he ordered. "Hide everything you cherish in the darkest corners of this world and pray I never find you again. Because when I claim the throne of God... everything and everyone you love... I'll destroy them all."
Then I was pulled into the sky, hugging my numb right hand into my aching chest and shutting my eyes to block the horrible image of black smoke and nothingness.
