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Frank Turm’s massive heart is filled with a burning rage, unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

His new jaws are incapable of forming a single word, but it’s as they say: actions speak louder than words.

The moment he heard they almost raped his daughter and wounded his son, it was enough.

‘These are crimes for which I cannot imagine a just sentence, but magically removing their skin and laying their insides bare under a torrent of corrosive magic will have to do,’ he thinks as his beautiful wings carry his glorious form into the sky.

He wishes he could speak, for he would declare that he will unleash destruction never seen before –what escapes his mouth instead is a furious roar.

Someone yells something below, but the sound is drowned by the claps of his beating wings. While his new eyes are better than anything he could imagine, his new ears are not quite as good. He doesn't understand what is being said, but he doesn't need to. He knows it’s probably his wife, one of his sons, or his daughter. Wishing him good luck or cheering him on as he embarks on his righteous crusade.

Even though he’s been a dragon for almost a week now, he still hasn’t gotten used to the incredible feeling of flight. By now, the movements all come naturally, but he still knows that both he and his new body need to be perfect in order to even take off.

As his wings grab the air and push it down, every muscle in his body is needed to stabilize him in a symphony of movement that overrules gravity itself. Every thought needs to be precise and every beat of his wings perfectly timed as his feet lose contact with the ground.

With unimaginable strength, his wings propel him forward, increasing his speed and altitude. At first, he’s only as fast as a running human, but every beat makes him faster until he could keep up with a car.

His spirits soar as he puts more and more distance between himself and the ground.

‘Nothing can deny my power. For I am a god among mortals. An angry god!’

From up high, he sees all. The center of his vision provides him with an extremely clear image, even over a great distance. The corners of his sight are much less detailed, but their only job is to provide peripheral vision, so they don’t need to be.

He follows the road the human woman said the men he’s hunting took. His eyes search it for any indication as to where they might have gone, but even as he scans the road from above he finds no clues.

‘If they will not lead me to them, I will have to find them the old fashioned way,’ he thinks.

With a burst of effort, he pushes himself even further away from the ground. As a human, he was afraid of heights. Now the sky is his domain. From the clouds the things below him look as small as they are insignificant, compared to him. And nothing can hide from his piercing gaze.

His eyes scan the land below and ahead of him until something in the distance catches his attention. As he focuses on it, he notices that it’s smoke.

‘People.’

The source of the gray plume is a complex close to the fog that consists of three buildings. One large main one and two more that are a story shorter. Next to it is what looks like a long road or an airstrip. That woman said the bandits’ base is an army high school. He’s sure that this is it.

There are people moving around the area, but even Frank’s new, incredible eyes can’t make out more than dots. The fog starts just beyond the landing strip and covers everything, save for a few buildings at the end. Little more than a few kilometers of forest separate him from the buildings.

He picks up speed towards his target by performing a short dive, and as he does, he spots movement beneath him. His long neck twists to focus on it. It’s Astrid and that other elf that the soldier violated. They must be following him to witness the destruction he will wreak.

‘Good,’ he thinks, ‘I will show Astrid and that other woman what happens to those who harm the ones I love. They will be able to tell the others about my epic conquest.’

He makes sure not to fly too quickly so the two can keep up on their horses. He sees the woman wave both her hands at him. ‘She must be cheering me on. I will not disappoint them. What is about to happen will be glorious.’

He lets out a loud roar to tell her he saw it.

Flying slower makes it a bit more taxing, but giving his daughter the satisfaction of watching his revenge is worth it. It also gives him a bit of time to consider his strategy.

Before the fog, he worked as an engineer for a car company. His magical breath attack acts a lot like a super-catalyzer. Substances it comes into contact with are forced to react with each other. Steel, flesh, and concrete disintegrate under his magic, while gold, glass and ceramics seem to be mostly impervious to the corrosive energy.

His first idea was to call the golden acid-fog magical super-catalyst, but he prefers his daughter's name. Soul Fire. At first, he wondered why it doesn't set wood on fire. It makes sense with living things as the water inside them prevents flames. He initially thought dry wood would burn, but after thinking about it, it makes sense that it doesn't. The energy burns the wood, but as soon as it dissipates, the material isn’t hot enough to burn on its own. Similar to how a wooden beam doesn't burst into flames when you hold a match to it.

Analyzing magic in such a scientific way amuses him. He has no idea where the energy he uses comes from. The vitality it drains from his body can’t be anywhere near the megajoules needed to pull this kind of effect off. Still, once the energy is here, it acts in a completely natural way. It’s weird how something can create such arcane effects by using something as mundane as chemistry.

Of course, he’s not just amused. He’s also glad, because if magic more or less follows the normal laws of physics, he can predict its effects. ‘But never mind that. I have something more important to focus on.’

The building ahead of him is mostly made of concrete, but has a lot of glass windows too. While the glass itself is immune to his magic, the metal or plastic frames holding the panels in place are not. He should be able to destroy them by covering the building's façade with Soul Fire in one fly-by, and then fill the rooms themselves in a second one, but the people he can see moving within will have enough time to run deeper inside and he won’t be able to reach them while they’re hiding in the core of the building. At least not without getting inside. He will have to move fast. These people have guns, and while he can heal some wounds with his magic, it takes a lot of energy. Energy he needs for his Soul Fire.

As he gets closer, he gains even more altitude.

His wings take him higher and higher until the school is small beneath him. Now that he can see the entire complex from above, he can finalize his plan of attack. There are people in army uniforms patrolling the school. This has to be the place. A large group of children plays behind the main building, with several armed and unarmed adults watching them. Trees provide cover from flying monsters.

‘At least, flying monsters that can’t spew soulfire. They don't seem to have spotted me yet, or if they have, they're ignoring my presence. First, cover the entire backyard of the school. Some of them will be able to run inside before my magic can do its job, but most will die. Then, improvise.’ For a moment, he hesitates. ‘There are children and innocent people down there. People who probably didn’t have anything to do with the attack. Then again, the soldiers didn’t care about innocent people either when they gunned down the caravan…’

Now is the moment to decide. Will he retreat to spare them?

It is a hard decision, but there is only one choice. ‘I came for justice, and I will not leave before it has been dispensed.’ He flies a loop and begins his dive. ‘Death comes.’

The ground draws nearer.

He gathers his strength and focuses his mind. Magic comes naturally to him, yet using the organ under his tongue requires a lot of concentration. Energy flows through his entire body and into his mouth. There it gathers, ready to be unleashed.

He can already feel the crackling in his mouth, but he instinctively uses some sort of spell to protect his flesh from being burned by his own magic.

The people beneath him are getting closer.

He can see one of them pointing towards him. He somehow knows the exact range of his breath attack and he is almost close enough.

One of the soldiers raises his gun.

Finally, he’s in range. His wings spread and turn his rapid descent into a fast glide. As he does, he swings his long neck so he’s looking straight down. His mouth opens and he lifts his tongue to expose the opal organ.

Then he unleashes his magic. It comes out as a torrent of crackling golden energy that looks like a cloud of millions of tiny golden lightning bolts. It washes over the trees and bathes the people beneath them.

Everything it touches begins to look like smoldering paper as orange lines move across leaves, clothes, and skin, turning everything to black dust. His own screech-like roar drowns out all other sounds.

Some people are running towards the safety of the building. They will probably make it before they are too badly burned. Others are running towards the playing children. Right into the cloud of crackling energy.

‘Yes, run to your pathetic offspring and burn with them!’

He can’t hear the children screaming as Soul Fire burns their skin like acid. He can’t hear parents screaming their names and running towards them, but he can see. They pat their clothes and try to wave away the corrosive cloud to no avail. One after the other they collapse, but they do not die.

Even after their clothes and skin have been burned away, they still writhe on the ground. Like worms that have been cut in half.

Frank expected he would feel something. Guilt, grief, or at the very least sympathy for the people slowly dying what he can only imagine is an incredibly painful death. Yet the dragon feels nothing of the sort. The only thing he feels is a sensation that is almost impossible to describe. It's a mixture of glee and satisfaction.

‘How am I enjoy—’ His thoughts are interrupted by gunfire. A stabbing pain goes through his torso as several bullets pierce him. The pain is immense, but his body reacts immediately. Energy flows towards the affected area and his flesh begins growing back together at an incredible pace. It takes away a lot of his strength, but he manages to continue his attack until the entire playground is covered in crackling soulfire. Then he uses his speed to regain some altitude and put a bit of distance between himself and the school.

His neck twists to look at the places where he got hit. The fur is stained red where the bullets hit him, and even though the damage is mostly repaired, the pieces of metal are still stuck in his body. He will have to ask that doctor to remove them later.

Now he has to focus.

He uses the glide to regain some strength while he gets ready for the next phase of his assault.

As he flies back towards the building, a window opens. Three soldiers with assault rifles are getting ready to fire at him. He tilts to the side and flies upwards. At the same time, he changes the way his wings are positioned and begins beating them. This takes away his ability to glide but makes his flight pattern extremely sporadic. He jumps up whenever his wings go down and falls whenever he readies another beat. Flying like a bat is much more exhausting, but also faster, and it makes him a very difficult target.

Gunfire fills the air. He feels one bullet hit his leg, another strike his side, then another his other leg. Three even pierce his wings. Two hit him straight in the chest, ripping through the muscles he uses to beat his left wing, and then through his left lung.

He tumbles mid-air as the incredible pain prevents him from beating his wing and properly breathing. His body leans forward as he begins to pick up even more speed and the distance to the ground becomes smaller.

He falls, and as he does, he focuses all of his energy on healing these two wounds.

‘Come on. Come onnn!’ Even though the wound hasn’t fully healed yet, he forces himself to spread both his wings and stop himself from crashing into the trees below.

The leathery skin between the fingers of his wing burns from the immense strain of catching his body. It feels like it’s about to rip apart, while his shoulder joints are barely able to stay in their sockets. The muscles in his chest burn and a roar escapes his jaws as he forces his wings down. The maneuver barely manages to bring him into an upwards glide, and he narrowly avoids the treetops.

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His heart beats like a jet engine in his ribcage while the left side of his chest burns like fire, but the pain rapidly fades as he regains altitude. Each wound hurts even after his magic has closed them, and healing them has cost him a lot of strength.

The dragon can hear the assault rifles fill the air with bullets. Rather than fly towards them, he goes into a dive to pick up speed and makes a mid-air U-turn to fly away from them.

‘Damn. I did not expect those weapons to be so… deadly.’ The two bullets that pierced his lung caused some fluid to enter it before the wound healed. One of the two is now stuck in one of his ribs and makes its presence known every time he takes a breath.

‘I can’t take another volley like this,’ he thinks as he coughs up some blood. ‘They’ll be expecting me. If I fly straight at them again, they’ll fill me with bullets. How can normal human weapons stand up to me? I’m a dragon! It doesn't matter. Unlike the ammunition Astrid used, these will pierce my skull. I have to be careful. A well-placed headshot might kill me instantly.’

They don’t stop shooting, even after he’s put a considerable amount of distance between them. ‘Maybe I should retreat. No. I have a better idea.’ He tilts to the side and starts to fly in a gigantic circle around the school. He’s flying as fast and randomly as he can, while the soldiers fire at him non-stop. They had pretty good aim when he was closer, but now not a single bullet hits him. Despite his lack of vocal cords, he manages a crude imitation of a laugh. He’s sure they can hear him and his taunts.

He continues flying and roaring until they eventually stop shooting. He’s not sure if they’re out of ammunition, or just waiting for him to come closer. ‘Before I test this, I need to rest a bit.’

His wings expand as he stops his active flight and enters into a glide. It quickly costs him most of his speed, but this form of flight gives his burning muscles time to rest.

He could fly away a bit to land on a nearby building. He could regain a lot of his strength by just sitting down. Maybe he could even find something to drink. But it would allow the soldiers to head downstairs and get more ammunition. Then again, they could just send one to get a crate of ammo while the others continue shooting.

He considers his options for a moment. ‘There’s no way for me to know how much ammunition they have, so I have to assume their supply is unlimited. Right now, I’m too far away to hit. It took them a couple hundred shots to figure that out, but now they know. Still, my attack on the schoolyard at the very least killed ten children and a few adults. It must’ve also severely injured at least twice that many people. If it didn’t kill them outright.’ Some part of him feels terrible for thinking about murdering children as a strategic move. He growls. ‘Those people should’ve thought of their children before they decided to attack my family!’

Frank knows all too well how powerful the anger of a parent can be, and if they’re anything like him, the soldiers will try to chase him down and kill him for what he’s done. Especially if he sits there and taunts them. Somehow he likes this new strategy more than his old one. ‘Burning someone’s skin off is one thing. Murdering their children, forcing them to chase you and fight you on your terms, then burning their skin off sounds like a much more fitting punishment.’

Thinking about murdering people in the cruelest way he can imagine provides him a weird mixture of joy and anticipation. Not only that, it makes him feel strong. Those people hurt the ones he loves. They are evil and the fact that he can torture and kill them as he sees fit gives him an incredible feeling of power. A feeling of power no human will ever be able to feel.

He roars, as loudly as he can. Then he flies towards a tall, nearby hill. As far as he can tell, it’s no more than a few minutes away from the school by motorcycle. They will then have to approach using a narrow country road. The trees will make it difficult for them to see him coming or to aim and shoot up at him, but will not provide cover from his soulfire. He’ll be able to ambush them as they approach.

They’re watching him with binoculars and he knows it. They’ll be able to see exactly where he lands and he’ll be able to see them coming.

Casually flying towards the top of the mountain takes him a few minutes, and before he lands, he circles the hill for a good spot to do so. While resting would be easier on the ground, he wants to watch the soldiers and make sure they can see him.

He spots a tall oak that stands a bit removed from the other trees. The massive, old tree looks sturdy enough to carry his weight and will provide him with an excellent view of both the school and the road approaching his hill.

He slows down and furiously beats his wings as he lowers his body through the weak branches at the top. His feet lock onto a thick branch and then onto the trunk.

Finally, he stops beating his wings and grabs the top branches with one of them before he loses his balance. The entire tree shudders under his weight but holds him with ease.

A deep breath fills his tired lungs and is expelled in another loud roar. Then his gaze fixes onto the school.

More soldiers have climbed onto the roof. One of them is still watching him with a pair of binoculars. He’s not sure if they can see him at this distance, but he licks his lips and opens his mouth in a crude imitation of a smile.

After less than a minute, the soldiers climb down from the roof.

Even though the wounds the gunfire inflicted have healed, the bullets themselves are still stuck inside Frank’s body. The one stuck in his rib throbs every time he breathes. The others are also stuck in random places – some he can feel, some he probably can’t. While he waits, he closes his eyes and tries to relax. While his muscles are tired and glad for the rest, his mind is still clear as day.

The soldiers take their time to prepare and Frank doesn't mind. Every minute they waste gives him more time to restore his energy. He even shifts in his tree to give more of his muscles a chance to relax.

His watchful gaze is fixed onto the school until he finally sees people coming out the front door. Sixteen men mount eight motorcycles and then they’re on their way towards him.

He waits as they come closer. As he hoped, when they reach the dirt trail that leads up the mountain, the soldiers don’t dismount but just drive into the forest. As soon as they’re all on the dirt path, he makes his move.

‘Showtime.’ He takes off as quietly as he can and begins to glide down the hill. He flies low. So low that his feet almost touch the treetops. All to make sure he can’t be seen from the path.

Within a few seconds, he can hear the roaring motorcycles. Unlike them, his glide is nearly silent. He listens. His ears aren’t too good, but they are the only thing he can rely on to pinpoint the soldiers as his flightpath aligns with the road.

His strength flows towards his mouth as he readies a burst of soulfire. The energy crackles in his mouth.

The soldiers are right in front of him. At the last second, he turns and unleashes his breath attack. Accompanied by a satisfying screech-like roar, soulfire blasts into the trees and then onto the road. The leaves and branches wither and burn, as even the asphalt bursts into small flames and melts.

He has done it too early.

Instead of hitting the group itself, he has covered the path in front of them. The first few don't have enough time to react and drive right into the cloud of crackling golden energy before they can so much as scream.

The magical fog forces the iron in their bikes to react with the oxygen around it. Within the blink of an eye, solid steel turns to red dust, while the wheels disintegrate. Flames dance over the driving soldiers as their bodies burn. They scream as their vehicles collapse beneath them and their skin turns to ash. It takes only moments for the motorcycles’ gas tanks to disintegrate, allowing the gasoline inside to taste air. The catalyst forces the fuel to react and the already volatile substance doesn't just burn, it explodes. With several booms, the first four or five riders are engulfed in flames. They come flying out the other side of the cloud, their broken and burned bodies showing no signs of life.

The rest of the soldiers hit their brakes as hard as they can, some of them stopping so close to the deadly golden energy that it touches their wheels.

The dragon didn’t expect the motorcycles to explode, but the awesome display fills him with joy and renewed confidence. He gathers strength for another attack and turns. Like a bomber, he comes in for a second run, intent on filling the entire road with soulfire.

The soldiers see him coming. He can even hear one scream, “You said it was wounded!” as he closes in for the kill.

Some of them jump off their motorcycles and run for cover. One even drives his vehicle into a ditch, but most go for their weapons. None of them are fast enough. Only one manages to draw his sidearm and fires off a badly aimed shot that doesn’t even come close to hitting. Then a screech-like roar fills the air.

He flies over them and leaves behind a cloud of death. The men scream while their weapons fall apart, along with the hands that hold them. Their motorcycles explode beneath them. They die, screaming in agony as they are consumed by gasoline and soulfire.

The dragon watches the entire show from above. It dawns on him that he has just beaten sixteen soldiers, armed with assault rifles, all on his own.

The screams and bangs below form a beautiful song. A symphony played by instruments of his wrath. A tribute to his victory. He can’t help but enjoy it. The feeling of power it gives him is exhilarating. A high no drug can provide.

‘Yes, vermin. Feel my power!’ he thinks as he roars.

From above, he can see a few of them have managed to escape the wrath of his magic.

He considers chasing them but knows they might be able to shoot him through the trees. ‘No. I have a better idea.’

Adjusting his wings, he turns left once more. Back towards the school.

‘I don’t have to chase these people down. Instead, I will murder what is left of everyone they know. I will kill them when they return. If they don’t come back fast enough, they will be punished enough anyway and serve as witnesses of my wrath!’

He longs to be able to talk. To scream his triumph to the heavens. Since he can’t, thinking it will have to suffice. ‘I have won. I have outsmarted these evil, violent, stupid and pathetic monsters and now it’s time for the final blow.’

His wings take him higher into the air, and with a roar, he announces his intent.

He hears a gun fire behind him but no bullets find their mark.

As his magnificent wings accelerate him, a quote from another dragon flashes through his mind: ‘I am… death.’

The classrooms are deserted. The remaining people must have retreated into the center of the building. Even though he allowed his body to rest, he's getting tired faster than before. Exhaustion gnaws at his muscles, but he still feels unstoppable, even though the building ahead provides some protection for the people within. After all, if it were too easy, it wouldn’t be as much fun.

Before he does anything else though, he'll have to deal with the lone soldier on the roof. The kobold isn't wearing army fatigues, but he is carrying a weapon. The dragon can tell that he has spotted him. Now it's the soldier's move. The dragon gets ready to start flying sporadically.

Instead of raising his weapon, the kobold turns as fast as he can and rushes back inside.

'That was easy,’ Frank thinks. ‘Now I just have to get inside too.’

The first thing that catches his eye is the main entrance. It would be easy to destroy the frames holding the windows in place. Then again, doing that would leave him exposed. He scans the building and finds something else. Skylights cover the roof. His lips part in a crude imitation of a smile. ‘Perhaps I don’t need to enter the building after all.’

The gravel that covers the roof crunches under his feet as he lands. He looks through the first skylight and sees an entrance hall. Empty. He walks to the next one and sees another part of the same hall. Also empty. The third one lets him look down into a large room. There are a few people directly under the window, but he can't see much more. The room is large, so most of the nearby skylights must also look down into it.

Light steps carry him to the skylight that looks like it will lead to the middle of the room. There are a few more people standing there and they all seem to be looking at something the dragon can't see.

The window is held in place by a metal frame and he knows he'll have to act fast. The people in the room below will notice him the moment he destroys the window. His attack will have to be fast and deadly.

Energy gathers in his mouth. He raises his head above the skylight and blows a small cloud of soulfire onto it. The steel frame instantly begins to corrode. The weakening metal groans under the weight of the window it's holding until it gives way and the glass panels drop. It falls and as it does, he unleashes a torrent of soulfire into the hole.

He doesn’t hear the glass shatter, but he does hear the screams. First of surprise, then of pain. People run into walls and each other as they are all bathed in deadly magic. This is the most powerful attack he has unleashed so far and it drains a tremendous amount of energy.

A sudden explosion drowns out the screams and shakes the entire building. Still, he doesn’t stop his assault.

“NO!!” a voice behind him screams.

Tremendous pain shoots through his backside as bullet after bullet tears through his behind. More out of instinct than reason, he begins to take off. At the same time, he rips his head up and turns it towards the source of the gunfire. Both the kobold and the man he brought up with him are disintegrated by soulfire, but in his final moments, the soldier manages to shoot half his magazine into Frank’s behind.

The dragon screeches in pain and beats his wings wildly. His mind fogs up and he feels light-headed as his body tries to reroute its energy to heal his wounds. His wings become heavy as iron and he tilts sideways as his magic drains the strength from his muscles. Even through the thick fog of exhaustion and pain clouding his mind, he realizes that he's running out of roof. His claws try to grab the side of the building, but they feel too sluggish to catch the edge.

Without a grip, he falls. As the ground gets closer, he pushes every last bit of strength into his wings. Again they feel like they’re being ripped off his body, and they barely manage to get him into a glide before he smashes into the parking lot below.

He flies away from the complex, back towards the hill. His exhausted muscles can barely keep his wings stiff enough to stay in the air, and without constant beats, he’s quickly losing altitude.

Through the fog of exhaustion clouding his vision, he sees a shape coming towards him on the road. His eyes focus on it and the shape turns into a motorcycle. The driver lets go of the wheel and raises his weapon. A single volley fires before he grabs the steering wheel again.

A single bullet finds its mark. It pierces Frank’s chest muscles and right lung.

He wills it to heal, but unlike before, his body doesn’t obey. Barely conscious, he sees the ground coming towards him and there is nothing he can do about it. Almost nothing. His tail feels like there is a metal ball wrapped around it, but he can control it enough to alter his trajectory. Down. Time seems to move in slow motion, almost as though the universe wants to give him a few more moments to aim. He opens his mouth, but no soulfire comes out. If it won't be magic, it will have to be his body. As he's about to fly over the driver, he drops his head. His jaws close around the man and he bites down. He squirms in Frank’s mouth as teeth pierce his body.

Frank can taste the sweet metallic taste of fresh blood as the ground beneath him turns into nothing but a wild blur of colors.

Then, the crash. He hits the road with his stomach and grinds over it. The asphalt scrapes his skin away until the road ends and he plows through the field next to it. It feels like miles before he finally comes to a complete stop.

His stomach burns, his behind burns, and the rest of his body feels like it’s little more than minced meat. He wills his wounds to heal, but there is no more strength to draw on.

He feels empty. Like a damaged bottle. The feeling of power and victory that coursed through him is gone. It is replaced by pain and a weird numbness that is spreading out from his back.

He tries to stand up. He wills his wings to spread and take him back into the sky. They ignore his commands. All his legs do is hurt, and all his wings are capable of is a feeble twitch.

He lifts his head, but his neck is too weak to hold it up for more than a second. Everything feels surreal. ‘What is this? What is happening? Sure, bullets hurt. They're supposed to, but why can’t I heal? Why isn’t my magnificent body closing the wounds and regenerating the damaged flesh?’

He knows it’s because magic takes energy and healing takes material and he has no more of either. He just doesn’t understand how that’s possible. ‘I’m a magical monster. A creature that flies and breathes magic. I’m as good as a god!’

He snaps for air. Breathing hurts, but his body demands oxygen.

Still, he refuses to believe that he is dying.

‘I am a god!’ he tries to say, but only weak gargling comes out. ‘I am… a god.' The dragon refuses to give up.

Frank, on the other hand, knows he is just a normal animal. No more invulnerable than the man he used to be. As the numbness spreads, he realizes that once he fades, he will never wake up.

The dragon continues to fight, as denial has turned into fear. True fear. Frank doesn’t remember the last time he felt this afraid.

The only comfort he has is that he has had his revenge. He's not sure if it was worth it. He's not even sure if what he did was fair. Still, it provides him with comfort. His wife, sons, and daughter will remember him as someone who would do anything for his family.

The numbness spreads all the way to his head. The pain is gone and his eyes close. Finally, his thoughts fade.

Frank Turm, the dragon, dies.