ROCKS FALL
They were in trouble now, there’s only so long a person can fight, and there were a lot of enemies. Errol was down from that fancy flourishing nonsense he used near the beginning to quick, efficient cuts and thrusts. It was so bad Sir Leeroy had stopped charging (considering that he usually charged like a loan shark whose family just got insulted by a debtor is saying a lot.)
Alba was getting rather annoyed with these bloody lizards with the pokeysticks, but after a few pokes were starting to tire. Even Mibbet was hardly jumping anymore; of course, when she did, she was bringing down a bloody hefty great piece of metal with a vengeance. But even so, she was getting tired, and there were a LOT of lizardmen.
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Down below, in the depths of the dungeon, on the other hand, Rascal was having a grand old time. It had turned out the place where the flames shoot out was great for a nap; the place was wholly full of holes to explore, and the occasional very big rat made a fun toy. But he was noticing less of those, and they disappeared after catching, surely there had to be some food down here somewhere.
After some exploration, Rascal came to the horrifying realisation that there wasn’t, and as you know, a kitty without food is a pissed off kitty. So the rampage began in earnest.
Lizards lost limbs, rats were rousted, then treated like ragdolls. Few failed to fear the ferocious feline’s fury. Until Rascal found themselves in front of a massive door. Sadly for Rascal, they were sorely lacking in the opposable thumbs department. So in the age-old tradition of cats everywhere, he proceeded to serenade, WRRRRROOOOOOOWWWWW, WRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW WRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW, WROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
The serenade had worked; after much reptilian cussing, the boss, sick of waiting, had opened the door. Rascal was proud; not even such a grand door could resist his beautiful singing voice, ooooohhhhhh that was a biiiig lizard.
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Raxtas was a Wyrm with a chip on his shoulder, largely over the lack of wing on his shoulder. He was of draconic blood, but here he was spawned in a dungeon without proper floor height to unfurl wings. That alone was bad enough, but when he had spawned, the core hadn’t realised that in the place of a big set of wings, he would have a long neck. End result? A crick in the neck for the rest of his natural life or whacking his head on stalagtites (or was that stalagmites, either way, they were spikey and not particularly nice.) Because of this, he now had the mother of all headaches, no way to shift it, and one hell of a bad mood.
His mood further deteriorated when the Lizardmen he used as lackeys stopped reporting back; where the hell was tsaaannnsss with his headache potion? What was he doing brewing the damn thing himself? (Of course, he had been, he always did, but now he wasn’t due to the act of cat. Which is somewhat similar to the act of god, but the cat demands more worship.)
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Now, as the cherry on top of everything else, something was outside his door, and it was kicking up one hell of a bloody racket. Well, he’d sort that annoyance out soon, he wrenched open the door, and the creature sauntered in like it owned the bloody place. Well, he’d soon fettle that. With a big breath, he let out his hottest flame, carefully aimed in the obnoxious intruders face.
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Rascal felt the familiar heat and decided now would be a good time for a nap. All that lovely warm spot all for him, this lizard could be a useful lackey. Then suddenly, the heat stopped the stone cooling with a ting ting ting noise. Then the bloody lizard had the nerve to try to grab him, mussing up his beautiful fur in the process. To which Rascal reacted in the manner of cats everywhere and went ballistic.
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Raxtas grabbed at the oversized feline that had somehow resisted his flames and came to a sudden realisation. Apparently, this was not an ordinary cat, and it was full of sharp bits.
He being very much of the draconic persuasion, did not have many dealings with hell. So he had never had the opportunity to test dragon fire vs hellfire before and was not aware of the fact that felix bastardus, aka the hellcat, utilised those flames on their claws when they are particularly pissed off. He also hadn’t gotten the memo that hellfire was not particularly good for dragon scale and that a claw wreathed in it would act much like a regular set of cats claws would to a human.
Due to this, it came as something of a shock to him when the cat was suddenly springloaded and kicked out with back legs, which felt like they were tipped with orichalum razors. It took even longer before it sunk in; he had actually been scratched and longer still before his brain processed the seldom-used ouch signal.
Those of dragon blood is used to fighting; it is pretty much what they do. Getting hurt, on the other hand? Not so much. They usually pick on small woodland creatures, large woodland creatures, small woodlands, small villages, large villages, and small towns (you know? Things weaker than them.) So when something hurts them? They take it personally.
Raxtas’s eyes flashed red as Dragon rage took over, and Rascal took off at the speed of scarper. Suffice to say, when a dragon is infuriated, it doesn’t let anything get in the way. All Raxtas knew right now was rage; there was more than one way to skin a bloody cat, and when he got his talons on it, he was determined to give them all a try. The Entrance was too small for him; he didn’t care as he bulled through EVERYTHING in his path. Stupid pillars wouldn’t stop him, traps? Hah, he was a Dragon; if he let traps stop him, he’d be a laughing stock. He bulled through everything until he heard an ominous cracking from above. He was pretty sure ceilings were not supposed to make that noise. He looked around at the chaos and structural damage.
“Oh, Bollocks.”
Rocks fell.