Prologue
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The Night of Blood and Fire
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The screams… Oh how she wished she could block out those screams… They were the screams of the living, loud and shrilling, praying for some miracle to bring them out of this mess. They were the screams of the dying, praying for the last bit of life to flow through them, and for themselves to live just a second longer. They were also the screams of the dead, silent but louder than any, commanding the living to avenge their deaths. It was the screams of the dead, which she could not block out, where else a simple covering of the ear could block out the other screams. She just couldn't block them out. The screams of the dead floated through every crack in the wall, every pour of her body, every hole in her soul. It was the screams of the dead that distracted her, and that made her cry in exasperation, praying that the screaming would stop. It was the screaming of the dead that killed.
Another scream filled the air, yet another victim to the dragon. It was a scream of the living, horrible and cruel. She recognized it as the scream of her next-door neighbor, no, it was the scream of her next door neighbor, for within seconds, the scream of the living turned into the scream of the dieing, then into the scream of the dead. Yet another voice of the dead to penetrated her heart, shattering her soul.
As soon as a scream of the dieing vanished, a scream of the dead took its place.
She gritted her teeth and willed herself to stay calm. Calm in this night of chaos and blood. A cloud covered the moon, a dark sinister cloud, just like the dragon that covered the village in blinding puffs of smoke. She peered cautiously around the barricade she was behind, her Hunter's Sword drawn and ready, though she could not imagine how such a puny sword would harm the dragon in the very least. It wasn't even a good Hunter's Sword, a little rusty and the blade was quite dull. The only valuable part of the sword was the small piece of ruby on its hilt, and even that was dull from years of neglect. The sword probably would not even worth a hundred coins, unless she took it to the blacksmith to get it shinned up. But she didn't have that kind of money, and plus, the sword had been given to her by her father. She couldn't sell it, even if she needed to.
The barricade was a good, strong wooden barricade. Warriors from the village huddled behind it as blasts of smoke came their way, poisonous smog from the dragon's throat. The barricade did nothing to prevent the smog from getting to the other side, but it certainly did offer some protection to the rows of archers firing untiringly at the dragon. But if the barricade was such a useful thing, then why didn't it stop the screams of the dead?
Her eyes watered because of the smoke. She batted her hands at the smoke around her eyes, trying to clear it so that she may look beyond it, to maybe catch a glimpse of the mighty dragon pillaging the village. Despite the night of fighting, she never really got a clear view. Her hands were dirty from crawling on the ground to escape smoke, and her eyes were red from smog. She coughed. The smoke was deafening in its own way. She hoped that her lung would not act up until the siege of the dragon was over. She prayed that her body had more strength than that.
Slowly but surely, the smog cleared, the first time in hours. The screams became louder now, the screams of the living being torn to shreds, the screams of the dieing lying there to waste and the screams of the dead, franticly trying to call out to the living to avenge their deaths. But the smoke was clearing. Perhaps fate was not all that cruel.
There were over five hundred villagers in the little village she lived it. Perhaps it could be called a town, but the village was under-developed and had not mayor. The little village had been proud to have such a large community, at least for a village as far north as this one, but now, it had nothing to be proud of.
There were less than a hundred villagers left. The attack of the dragon had taken its toll.
The smoke cleared. She looked on, past the barricade and the last row of frantically jabbing pikemen. Well, not exactly pikemen, as the village could not afford to train their villagers into warriors as they didn't often get attacked. So you can say the pikemen were really farmers with pitchforks and shovels. But it was the last defense they had besides a lone archer firing fruitlessly at the dragon, his fellows lying dead around him, their throats chocked up by smog and their faces charred and burnt from acid. She recognized her brother, lying there with his head twisted at an odd angle and a large bloody puddle where his chest should be, lying just by the archer still firing in vain.
She turned away from that horrific sight, and closed her eyes. She didn't… She wouldn't believe it. Her brother…
But strangely enough, she didn't feel anger, or pity, or even sadness. She felt fear. Fear for the village and fear for herself. The pikemen were the last resort to the village, was all she could think about. She turned away from the bloody sight. She had to concentrate if she wished to live. She had to protect.
Most of the people in the village could cast no further than a fume or a flare, and neither of those would damage the dragon in the very least. The Jupiter Adepts would use whirlwind, but that would only irritate the dragon. Even if she casted her spells, what could one person do against such a large dragon? It was hopeless.
She looked past their last resort, and saw the dragon.
The dragon was huge, its bloated body taking up over half the village space, forcing the villagers into a small tightly little clump. Its scales were a blood red, perhaps red-stained from the blood of its victims lying at its feet. Its cruel eyes were orange and yellow and blue in the middle, like fire. It was such a bloated dragon, but there was no doubt muscle beneath the mountains of vile blubber. Its teeth were swords, it's claws: scythes. Its tail was a giant mace, swinging from side to side, taking down houses as though they were nothing but toothpicks. And its wings were the most hideous, magnificent, incredible, vile things that she had ever seen.
Dragon blood poured out from little arrow holes and sword scratches all over its body. Every time it heaved, more blood poured out. But those were nothing compared to the wounds that the humans around it suffered. Every time the dragon swung its claws, humans fell. Every time it breathed, poisonous fumes killed. As long as it lived, people died. As long as it lived, the screams of the dead remained.
She coughed again. In the dim light, she could make out drops of blood on her hand. Urg. She grimaced, and spat out onto the ground a blob of spit and blood mixture. Her lungs were acting up again. She had to act fast. She had over exerted herself again. Then, something rushed through her. Fear? Anger? She didn't know what, but it made her determined… Crazy…
She let out another cough, before doing a desperate leap away from the barricade. She waved her sword up in the air, and let out a yell, which didn't really mean anything but just made her feel like a hero. She didn't know what made her do that, but she did. And she was forever grateful that she did. Just then, the moon peeked around its cloudy barrier. The ruby on the hilt of her sword caught the moonlight and shimmered in the air.
"Over here, lizard face!" She called, "Move your carcass over here! With so much blubber, though, I bet you can't even move! I hope that gangrene sets in and you rot!"
The dragon shifted its position of taunting the frantically jabbing farmers with pitchforks. Its eyes narrowed as it pointed its ugly and bloated snout towards the sound of the insults. It knew that nothing in the world could insult it without dying. The dragon was confident that a puny human could do no more damage than a fly would. If its face weren't so bloated, the dragon would have smirked.
It let out a roar, a deafening roar. She covered her ears. The screams of the living died with the roar. The screams of the dieing died with the roar. The screams of the dead vanished to the roar. But the roar took the place of all of those other voices. She sincerely wished that she had not driven those voices away. The roar was ten times worse.
But she must reap was she sow.
She let out another yell, and raised her hands into the air. She focused hard, probing her own mind to find that hidden reserve of energy. Yes! There it is! She punched the barrier confining it in her mind, and let it take over. Red light of psynergy flooded her conscience. Her mouth formed the words that she had dredged from the depths of her mind.
"Dragon Fume!"
The three psynergy-circles, blood red, appeared above her head. Just as abruptly as they appeared, they disintegrated in a flash of red light. In it's place, there was a huge burst of light, and…
A wave of fire in the shape of a dragon took place. It writhed, coiled above her head. Golden eyes glared at its surroundings from the shapeless flame. Suddenly, it blinked. The Dragon Fume let out a roar that rivaled the roar of the enemy dragon, and charged, straight at the enemy's head. There was a flash of sparks and suddenly, it was gone.
And the enemy was roaring in pain.
Its bloated head was charred and scorched by the flames of the Dragon Fume. The smell of burnt blubber filled the air, making some of the villages gag. The dragon roared in pain. Its blood flowed out of the shallow wound on its head. It had not been killed, only surprised and hurt and its pride had been damaged. Its blood red eyes were blinded by the streams of blood, betrayed by its own body.
It lunged blindly in the general direction of the attack, roaring furiously, poisonous fumes spewing out from its jaws. Its great legs scrabbled on the rubble of what used to be the town monument. It roared in pain and vengeance, and shook its head. Dragon's blood flew everywhere, splashing on broken down houses and on the villagers themselves.
She grinned triumphantly. The dragon had been struck by her psynergy. She shook her sword at the dragon, her eyes flashing. She had hit! But the happiness and triumphant glee that was just there before vanished as suddenly as it came, as the dragon lunged blindly towards her. Dragon's blood flew, splashing over her tunic. Her red hair seemed redder now that dragon's blood had been added to the mix. She let out a yell of surprise, and then wished that she hadn't yelled as dragon's blood splashed into her mouth. She spluttered, and spat the blood out again, leaving a vile taste in her mouth.
But she had turned the tide of battle.
The distraction she had caused allowed someone else to act. It had freed someone who was trapped under the dragon's tail. There was another flash of red light, and three psynergy circles appeared over another woman's head. She turned towards the red light, and squinted. She recognized the woman. It was Arukana, a friend of hers in the village, more mother than friend. Her blood red hair was flying in all different directions, and her skin had a pink glow to it, probably from the psynergy circles, she realized. Could she have looked like Arukana when she had casted Dragon Fume?
Arukana's lips formed words. She watched and listened, covered in dragon's blood and bits of melted blubber as Arukana casted the spell.
"Cycle Beam!"
Arukana's hands came together, and she pointed her palms at the dragon. Immediately, a flaming beam of glowing white flames shot itself at the dragon, piercing its body.
The smell of dragon's blood and burnt blubber grew worse. The dragon had been wounded. There was a gash on its side where the beam hit. Blood poured out. But neither the wound that Arukana made, or the would that she made proved to be the least bit fatal, but was more of a shallow scratch to the dragon.
But the dragon has had enough. With a shriek of defiance, it rose into the air; wings flapping furiously to bring its bloated body up into the sky. Blood came down like rain, creating a scene of blood red. The dragon wheeled, and pointed east, still roaring. And as quickly as it came, the dragon was gone, leaving a silent, plundered village, dead bodies, blood, and dazed villagers.
She groaned amidst the blood and blubber. Her arm ached. She was so tired… That one psynergy spell had been casted when she had been the weakest. She slumped forward, the blood of the dragon flowing around her and sank into the ground. She was covered in dragon's blood, but she was sure that the bloated dragon would have way more blood than this. And as long as the dragon was alive, her village would be in danger.
Her vision became hazy. She so sincerely wanted to sleep. She was just about to drop, when a voice penetrated her sleepy daze.
"Magaira! Magaira! You did it! You saved the village!" The voice crowed. It was directed at her. There were sounds of running feet, but she could not stay awake any longer. No, she couldn't. Her eyes closed as the sounds of the feet drew near, and the last thing she heard was the sound of a very familiar voice.
"Ah, the poor dear… She's all tuckered out. She deserves some sleep."
She, Magaira, fell into a deep slumber. Darkness took her.
But even though they had driven away the dragon, this night shall forever be dubbed: "The Night of Blood and Fire"
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Pronunciation:
Magaira: Ma-Ga-I-Ra
Arukana: Uh-Rue-Con-uh
