His roar was of the earth, splitting it in two. Each beat of his wings toppled trees, spun up sandstorms, tore houses from foundations, he was more a force of nature than beast. Drefan was the bane of the unworthy, a monster unlike any other. So why was he suddenly about to die?
These thoughts swirled in his head of anger, as each moment he rose higher into the air. Something had pierced his side, a scale chipped off under his arm, a path to his fiery core. He knew it, all dragons knew it, one touch and boom, the core shuts down. So he rose, he flew, higher and higher, away from the pesky humans. The time for murder and mayhem would be soon, he vowed. Oh how right he was.
The sound of whistling cut through the air and Drefan howled, his left wing pierced by another human invention. Large spikes jutted from it holding him in place, and Drefan saw his doom on the ground as several more ballistae moved into position. Twisting and turning he tore the spike through his wing, ignoring the pain. He could get away. He could turn and the horizon was right there-
Drefan fell. He felt his core charging for a disperse of fiery breath, and smiled. They brought him right to their feet. The wind screamed by his ears, the tear in his wing seared as the open wound was torn further, but Drefan didn't care. Those humans had made a grave error, they didn't know about liquid death. Most dragons blew a thick fire, or bolts of jagged lightning. Drefan? He found acid to be much more intriguing, and took it for himself. He couldn't wait to show them Just how magnificent he was.
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“The dragon isn't fighting sir!” Lieutenant Corben shouted this between frantic orders, his men steadily clearing the area, readying their shields. They all knew what this meant, the dragon wanted to fight on the ground. Looking around, the general could admit they should have chosen better ground to fight on, but to get this far was a miracle by itself, to hope for anything more than rough success was to court death, in his line of work.
“Corben!” The man turned to look immediately, a bit of fear plastered across his face. “Call the mage, tell him it's his turn to earn his worth. The dragon took it to the ground.” Nodding, Corben pulled a large scroll from a pack laying on the ground, reading words multiple times in pattern. Turning away as the message was sent the general continued barking orders. He could only hope the magic was here in time, for the fire was coming, and it was their only chance at survival.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
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Drefan snarled in anticipation as he crashed into the ground. Immediately spinning he shredded and destroyed all ballistae with his talons, but couldn't find the humans who dared to attack his lustrous body. The dust kicked up from impact was just too thick, it billowed out like a blanket in the wind. So he waited. Drefan knew what he would do next, he knew the humans didn't expect dragon's acid, they only ever expected fire and ruin. Drefan much preferred the drawn out screams, and the acidic tang on the wind of dissolving flesh. He wasn't so sure they would.
As the dust cleared Drefan stood up to his full height, looking at the assembled ranks of humans, their large reinforced steel shields held by two men a piece, a sort of armor for their mushy interiors, who held pikes tipped with gleaming silver alloy under the rapidly setting sun. Did they really think they could hold the weight of a dragon's ire? Drefan knew they couldn't, and he couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces when he waded through their blood. Drefan wouldn't stop here, after he mutilated and decimated this excuse for an army, he would fly to the capital and melt it to the bedrock, not one building would be left standing, not a rat left alive.
“Do you know who I am!” The trees shook, men clutched their ears, birds took to the skies, no one could handle a dragon's voice. “I am Drefan the mutilator, razer of a thousand armies, destructor of the Bathlazar Mercenaries! I tore down their cities when they killed my brethren, and now, I will do the same to you.” Eyes to the sky he roared these words. Dragon fire called upon, it stoked in response. It was time. The heart beating within him pulsed, and gave him life, as well as magic. Green acidic magic, corrupting and corroding and dissolving all things.
Drefan breathed, the only thing on his draconic mind, his breath of death.
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235 miles away a mage stood, overlooking the ocean, and the sun. “Now!” He shouted, watching hundreds of panes of mirrors tilted to focus the energy right onto him and several others. They began chanting, ignoring the torture of energies blasting through them, lessening the load upon the one who mattered. Down below almost 800 cattle sat pacing around, and the mage raised a hand. 800 life's of energy, plus a mages control, plus a spell fit to fight a dragon's magic. It had to be enough.
Screaming the words for a magic barrier at the top of his lungs, the mage called upon his own core of magic, feeling it dry almost instantly, just to be replaced by a foreign blood magic. The 7 men around him took the energy first, the Impure burned by focused sun energy, the rest concentrated and adapted to human anatomy, for the mage to use. Doing so gave him the strength of a hundred mages, and for a moment, he channeled as much strength as a dragon. He knew where they were fighting, he knew exactly down to the centimeter where they stood. And so he chanted. He chanted as his skin began to smoke, as the people dropped one by one around him, dead. As the sun disappeared he stumbled, but stood firm, chanting. Then a sudden sharp pain overrode his magic, a physical weight slamming against the barrier so powerful he couldn't possibly hold it.
The mage collapsed, doctors shouted, and the site of extraordinary magic was silent.