Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh
XXV: Scent
Atem halted several yards from his favorite stone. The river gurgled as it flowed and the sun streamed down to touch his scales. The trees whispered with a small breeze. The air should have smelled of pristine waters and animals that had passed through. He should have smelled squirrels or birds or a bear cub or two. He should have smelled wolves or moose, maybe an elk or sheep. He should have smelled fish. He should have smelled stale blood from the dragon he'd rendered a corpse the day before.
He should have smelled anything but what he did.
Atem bristled and glanced around, flattening himself to the ground. He lashed his tail and waited, listening and straining his senses. He flicked his top tongue where the sensors were strongest and pressed his wings into his sides. His claws flexed restlessly as he considered his surroundings.
A bird chirped irritably. A squirrel chattered at another. A fern swayed as a mouse crept about. A rabbit munched on tree bark. A human moved about the forest with a weapon for its latest hunt. A lizard scurried up the side of a stone.
The juvenile wasn't there any longer.
He could tell that much. They were not present, as the scent would have been unbearable. He'd have caught it more abundantly on them. They would have stunk of it more profusely than even the ground did.
He got to his paws. He didn't recognize the scent. He didn't recognize the species at all. It was one of the few that had never crossed his path in the quest to conquer a God Dragon. How odd he didn't know this one. He's always prided himself in having learned and memorized scents where he could. Most dragons to challenge him had not been shy. And he'd have been stupid to not take full advantage.
He'd memorized body shapes, from scales to tail tips to teeth formations. He'd memorized weaknesses, from the obvious underbelly and throat to the leg joints. He'd memorized magic tolerances and intolerances. He knew which dragon he could hit hard enough to throw sideways and which he had to take a more cautious approach toward. He knew which were faster, who could hold a flame to his speed and who could not. He knew which were easily blinded by sunlight and which were not.
He knew their movements, their strengths, their weaknesses.
He knew which dragon to stay further away from and which he could take a chance at close combat with. He knew the heaviest weights and the lightest. He knew how to wiggle from beneath any of them should it be necessary. And he knew which breath to use to counteract theirs should they disobey and break the rules.
He knew all of these things.
But he didn't know this scent.
Atem crept forward, sniffing hesitantly. He flicked his tongue and held the air in his lungs, sorting through what little he could gather.
They were juvenile, as their marking was far too potent to be mature. They were heavier set, as the amount of urine they'd marked with indicated. They were easily excitable, as the scent was softer rather than overbearing and terrible. They were male, as the stench was sharper than it should have been for a female out of season. They had gotten excited for whatever reason, and they'd marked his favorite spot.
Atem tried to process this thought, stunned by the implications.
Who in their right mind would have gotten so excited about being in his territory that they would mark so excessively from pure elation?
Atem blinked and shook his head. He was the Red Death. He was the God Dragon of the East. He was the Blood-Scaled Monster. He was the Corpse Gatherer. He was the Nameless God. He was said to eat hatchlings and humans alike. He was the one whispered about with a name too powerful to speak. He was fear incarnate for many.
He was death for others.
Dragons did not enter his territory without a blessing. Dragons did not breathe of him without praying he did not know. Dragons in his territory did not approach him but in deference. He was a creature whose very existence made the world quake.
And yet….
This misguided juvenile to enter his territory had marked his favorite spot to sunbathe. He'd urinated in his excitement and he'd made the air quiver with his personal stench. He'd come there, likely to challenge him, and yet…
Atem tilted his head as he came forward and looked about the bank.
Where had they gone? Where would they have fled?
Had they flown away? Had they—?
He faltered at the sound of wings. Was that him? He raised his head and looked over. A Wind Dragon was approaching, pale scales and heavier body. It started toward the river, then visibly faltered. It lost speed, scenting the air rapidly, and abruptly stopped altogether. It hovered, flapping its wings and breathing hard, and then glanced around with a horrified expression. Its eyes were so wide as to pop out of its head.
Atem wanted for a split second to ask if they recognized the species. But it died on his tongue. He blinked as the Wind Dragon seemed almost to panic before it turned tail and flew in the opposite direction.
Atem had never seen a suitor flee so quickly.
He blinked, sniffing again. It was pungent, but he did not think it deserved such a dramatic response. He blinked several times more then snorted and looked around. If the scent chased them away, he could only be grateful. Atem smirked and took his spot atop his favorite slab of stone, closing his eyes as the sunlight seeped into his scales. He stretched his paws out and let his wings droop over the sides. His tail was uncoiled, draped about the stone loosely as he took a moment to truly relax and savor the sensation.
Maybe, when they came back to challenge him, as he was sure they would, he'd thank them.