Her vision fades, her hearing dims, her thoughts fade, her mind dims.

She remembers her own mother, her own pack, her own siblings, killed by people who could breathe incredible fire from fruits. They were burned alive.

She remembers their bodies falling and writhing in pain as they became engulfed in an unnatural flame.

Her mate had shielded her as one spit fire onto him, letting her escape and carry on their legacy in another pack.

Now she has nothing left.

She feels empty.

The wrath of her bloodline falls upon her. She has no control over her body.

She places a talon on the bar, her claws gripping it, pushing against it. It snaps, breaking off, causing her muscles to tear; regardless, her arm carries over to the next bar, continuing to push, breaking it, allowing her to exit out of the cage.

The tribe leaders stand in disbelief, frozen in fear. She stares at them, then charges, breaking their stillness.

The woman turns away but is gutted by the dragon’s claws, falling down onto her knees, placing her sleeping newborn down safely before falling dead on top of it. The dragon charges the tribal leader, pushing him down by his head; his skull cracks and shatters, his brains spilling out, coating the dragon’s lower arms and the clay floor.

She charges the fellmonger, who dodges by falling herself onto all fours, causing the dragon to run over her. The dragon hits her with her tail, rolling her across the floor, leaving her slowly struggling to get up. The rest of the men run into the village to raise an alarm.

The dragon grabs the fallen staff, going over to the lady who had fully gotten up, knocking her back down onto her back before she can dodge, taking the staff and piercing it through her mouth and into the floor.

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The dragon stomps on her hand once, causing it to explode, staining her fur with blood and tissue, the bones crushing into bits. Then, she stomps on her other hand, causing her to cry out in pain as it becomes mutilated, her tendons severing. Then her forearm, stepping down hard on it, pressing into it to cause her pain before lifting her talon and stomping on it, the bones crack and blood starts to spurt out of her arteries.

She grabs one of her knives between her claws, slowly stabbing her over and over as the old lady lays underneath her, screaming. The dragon places one of the knives in her throat, another on her other forearm, and another on her bicep. She stomps on her feet; bones crack, tendons sever, and blood splatters everywhere.

The dragon starts to bite her, ripping chunks out of her body, causing her blood to pool beneath her. Blood forms in her throat and mouth, causing her to choke - unable to scream anymore. She dies slowly, painfully, her face becoming paler. She stomps on her skull, destroying her head as if she had stepped on watermelon.

The dragon charges out to kill more people. Outside in the courtyard, there is an army of hundreds of men. They are chewing on a red fruit, then they spit fire.

Her body is engulfed in flames. She roars deafeningly loud, her voice audibly burning away. She charges at them, trampling some of them to death and burning others; the rest charge the dragon with their spears. Several enter her body, her blood boiling as it falls onto the grass, burning it. She starts swinging her claws and flailing her tail, goring some of the men, and burning and knocking down several others.

She stomps the ground beneath her, crushing some of the men who had been knocked down. The wrath of her ancestors had kept her alive for so long; her body almost fully deteriorated now.

She falls over, dying. The few remaining men are terrified of something fighting them so ravenously while burning alive.

The bones of dead men begin to rattle; some of the men let out bloodcurdling screams as their dead comrades become possessed by the souls of the furred dragon’s bloodline. Men of legend among the tribe buried in catacombs beneath the village rise up, grabbing their gear and exiting their tombs, going out to wreak havoc. Those who run away are ambushed by animals risen from the dead, mauling them.

Everyone is killed.

The soil becomes displaced, all the grass and plants dead from the dead rising up beneath them. The landscape is a muddy wasteland.

The remaining offspring freeze to death or are killed by vultures.