Author's Note: This story receives a warning. THIS STORY IS GRAPHIC. It is solidly in the horror genre. I used this story to adopt Phantasm, the ghost fury, from NightmareRebuff. As always, he can be seen in my (Frostfire Markson) signature on the School of Dragons forum.
"Get those night furies over to the cart. Their pelts will fetch the highest price." The heavy-shouldered viking hefted his axe back onto his shoulder. The parents had been tricky, but now with them out of the way, the hatchlings would be less than easy. They were only a few weeks old, tops. He walked up, no pretense of caution. As his men finished loading the bodies, they joined him, deciding where to start in the nest.
"Take the purple one. I don't like the way its looking at us."
The leader sneered, reaching down into the stunned and still hatchlings that were backed against the cliff wall of their home. As he lifted the scrawny thing by the scruff of its tiny neck, it struggled ineffectively. They all laughed. "Sorry, sweetheart," he simpered, "but you're no match for me." He breathed out heavily, before wringing its neck. He tossed it to one of the other dragon hunters, they carelessly tossed it into the back of the cart as well. "One down, six to go." The hatchlings were too young to fly; too young to truly control their fire. Their scales weren't even hardened yet. But still they tried to escape or fight as best they could. Within minutes four more tiny bodies were sitting on the hunters' pile of prizes.
"I'll do this one, boss." The skinniest of the three walked up from his place by the cart, pulling out his dagger. At this point the last two were all the way back under the overhang of their little nest. They were whimpering in terror as the hand came in, leaving no way around for escape. It groped for a minute, then recoiled. "Dam dragon bit me! Little monster!" Several more expletives followed as he jerked the dragon out, shaking it around. "How do you like that, huh?! You little brat!" He slammed it up against the cliff, making it see stars and go cross eyed, squeaking in pain each time it impacted.
"Eh, Ernith, cut it out, will ya?" The middle viking, a spear and shield across his back, requested. "They'll fetch better if the pelts aren't damaged."
"Shut up, you!" Ernith barked at his fellow hunter. "We don't need these little brutes for profit- just their parents. I can do whatever I wish to these guys." To emphasize this, he shook the black fury around some more before slamming him against the ground, pinning him there.
The middle viking looked at his boss, imploring him. He rolled his eyes, but also joined in. "Enough, Ernith. Just finish it up so we can get moving. You're wasting time on a pointless hatchling." Ernith glared at his boss, then turned to finish the job. He lifted his dagger.
A green blur erupted from the nest, attempting an escape. Ernith dove forward to pin it, freeing the black one in the process. As he struggled across the ledge, the tiny green dragon let out a small bolt of plasma, hitting Ernith in the eyes. He roared, holding his face. The leader of the hunters suddenly appeared in front of it, clamping his large hands over its body. He turned to the middle viking. "Dyrven, did you capture the black one?"
Dyrven shook his head, disgusted. "No, Lord Basquer. It managed to slip away when our companion here," he sneered, kicking at his still-struggling shins, "started rolling around on the cliffs. It dashed into the crack in the rocks there, and this yak-brain was in the way so that I couldn't get more than a yank on his tail. He's long gone now, most likely in the caving systems at this point." Lord Basquer swore himself.
"My eyes! He's done got my eyes!" Ernith wailed, and the still angered Basquer kneeled down, roughly prying his hands from his face. The skin was bubbled and cracking at the same time. The eyes were swollen shut, but he could tell that Ernith would never see again.
"Stop your wailing. You got your wish; you're not going to have to get bit by any more dragons in the field." He scooped him up before dropping him in the back of the cart. Dyrven approached, pointing to the still-struggling green fury in Basquer's enormous hands.
"Let's just finish that thing so this whole trip can be over with." Basquer walked back over to the cliff edge where the convenient rock they were using as a butcher block was sitting. He pressed the beast against it, pulling his axe off its sheath on his back. He lifted it, then slowly lowered it. He turned to look heavily at Dyrven.
"Knife." Dyrven was shocked.
"Sir?"
"Give me Ernith's knife. Now."
"But, your axe is much faste-"
"I don't care." His voice was deadly calm. "That idiot may have got what he deserved, but truthfully I am not happy to be losing one of my hunters. Finding good dragon killers who can bring them down without scarring the skin is something rare. If he will never see again, then neither will this hatchling; it will die in darkness." He chuckled. "Besides, he was right. We don't need these shrimp to make our profit." Slowly, Dyrven relinquished the dagger, flipping the handle to his boss. He took up the object, slowly lowering it to the dragon's face. "You're going to die slowly, devil." His face was a mask of evil pleasure. The bright, perfect tip of the dagger slowly descended, sinking into the flesh of its right eye. The tiny dragon squealed and thrashed, its movements only grinding the blade around more in its eye. The viking grinned as the damage first started slowly, the iris and whites turning red before finally spilling out its jelly-like contents. He twisted and pulled, bringing the eye fully from the socket. The dragon stopped squealing, panting in heavy breaths as it tried to endure the pain. It waved its head wildly around, trying to run, to ESCAPE!
"Halfway there now, almost done." His voice was honey, sing-songing the words like a croon. Dyrven shivered from his post by the cart. This was why he never left. He was sure his boss would murder him if he tried to leave. "Eh, eh, calm down. Time for the left." The dagger descended once more, this time going into the socket next to the eye as opposed to its center. With a swift flick, the eye popped out, dangling on its nerve. The dragon let out the worst shriek yet, the eye bouncing on its fleshy cord as it waved wildly. Blood soaked its face and jaws, flowing fast and freely everywhere over the stone. In its struggles, it knocked its head against the blade again, finally severing the eye and leaving a long laceration along the side of its head. It started to cough and attempt to roll more than flee now- the blood was starting to choke it, filling its nose and mouth. Instead of a mercy kill at this point, Basquer simply put the knife on the ground. He watched as its struggles lessened, its life leaching out in each painful pulse of blood flowing through its burst veins. Finally, it quit struggling, and he lost interest. The fun was over. He stood back up fully, dangling the mangled body by the tail for a second. He didn't even deem it worthy of the cart, tossing it instead against the cliff with all his might. There was an audible snap, and a final whoosh as what air was still in its lungs left. He turned, wiping the dagger on the stone before tossing it on top of Ernith.
"Let's move out." He headed to the front as Dyrven checked the back of the cart. He started to head to the front, to pull it with his boss, but suddenly the dagger flew at him! It clipped the back of his head, causing the initial turn. Suddenly the dagger was flying everywhere! It would rocket past close enough to cut, then suddenly stop and pivot before zooming back. Within seconds Dyrven was covered in dripping wounds, collapsing to the ground. As he lay panting, attempting for his shield, the dagger lodged itself inside his abdomen. It twisted, cutting the organs within. Dyrven let out a full bodied howl that turned to a high-pitched shriek as the pain intensified. The dagger dug deeper, throwing blood and tissue everywhere. Once fully inside his body, it slowly moved upwards through his chest. It let his natural- his necessary- actions of breathing and the beat of his heart cause the muscles to cut themselves on its edge. It just sat there, letting the body cut itself to ribbons on its blade. When the motions finally stopped, it shot out its victim's throat, tearing a new gory hole- not that it mattered at this point. It instantly shot down the path that Basquer had taken with the cart as he retreated from this supernatural force. It caught up in seconds, honing in on the still-moaning Ernith. It stabbed itself through the backs of his hand and into his eye again, twisting just as Basquer had done only minutes before. Once satisfied, it moved to the other. It paid no heed to Ernith's shrieks and cries for mercy. It ignored his curses and prayers. It was an emotionless force of vengeance. It couldn't be appealed to.
It pulled free, causing a new surge of red. Finally, it used its tip to caress the bottom of his jaw. He shivered, whimpering. "Ba-Basquer? I didn't mean it! I don't car- AArarrrhcchcggghhhh…" His voice ended as his mouth was clamped shut. The dagger had gone through his jaw, tongue, palate, and into his brain. It gave a final twist before releasing. At the arrival of the dagger, Basquer had backed off, but he wasn't prepared to abandon his prizes. Night furies were worth a small fortune! He drew his axe as the opposing weapon hovered a few feet in front of his face. It seemed a stand-off would be all that this encounter would produce, but suddenly it shot forward! He parried, tossing it to the side. A duel started, the dagger unable to be harmed and the viking determined not to lose. But despite his prowess, there was no wielder to injure, no tricks to pull that would do more than delay this force of malevolence.
The dagger got past his guard, stopping with its tip brushing his nose lightly. It paused before slashing down across his face, opening a deep diagonal gash. In an attempt to stop it, he grabbed the blade, but it simply continued to move, his hand going along with it. The blade proceeded to add every injury that could be inflicted without killing him. By the time it stopped, the mighty warrior was on his knees, soaked in blood and sweat, thoroughly defeated. The dagger hovered in front of his face, taunting him. He screamed at the entity. "JUST DO IT! KILL ME ALREADY! FINISH ME!" But instead the dagger dropped to the ground. In its place, floating inches from his face was a perfect copy of the dragon hatchling. He shrieked, tumbling and trying to crawl away from it all while staring at the unmoving image. He could see his cart behind- no, through it's still wings. It leisurely floated towards him, staring into his eyes- the one thing it hadn't touched. His eyes were locked onto the gaping black holes that were its ghostly eyes. Two red pinpricks floated in the centers, never blinking. His mind started to slip like the blood that was leaking out all over his body, but he forced it back in place enough to shout, "JUST GET YOUR REVENGE ALREADY! END THIS!" As it came close enough that he could feel the stillness it inhabited, he could practically see it thinking. It's gaze held no mercy. And he knew it would not be so simple. This creature wanted to do to him what he had done to it- plus interest for his family. It gave a silent growl before charging at him- and he gave one final shriek before falling silent, falling to the ground.
The viking's hand jerkily placed his palm on the soil. The other soon followed, and he started to push himself up. After several attempts, he managed to stand, swaying slightly. He picked up his axe, sheathing it on the third attempt, and then picked up the dagger in front of him. He held it in his left hand, running the blade over the palm of his right as he started to walk into the woods. His footsteps were uneven and jerky, but he slowly started to head towards the plume of smoke just visible in the distance, cutting himself the whole while.