I had been in straits more dire than current circumstances, but not by much. 53, no, 54 dragon hunters including one sneaky fellow who thought himself undetected, along with various [Clones] from all manner of Abilities, brought my number of opponents to 74. Normally, such overwhelming numbers would be more than sufficient to take down a Princess like myself, one not at the peak of her power. However, a few advantages provided a ray of hope for survival.
First, I had Ribbette with me. Her poisonous fogs and needles harried the enemy and provided deterrents and concealment both to aid me, while I could see through her fog just fine. Ever a wildcard and opportunist, she would prove invaluable in a longer fight as she slowly sapped the strength of our enemies. The second advantage was that I had not been caught flat-footed. [Secrets of the Sands], one of my more taxing and powerful Abilities, continued to wreak havoc on their advance, and more than a few would fall prey to it before they could close into effective range of me. Third was the kobold choir that egged them on in a most insidious and intoxicating manner that robbed them of prudence and wisdom in their approach, the fires of their greed and lust for fame and glory fanned by a full orchestra and choir. Lastly, a few hydras still lingered, although they were severely wounded and the effects of Control waned. Most were just feeling territorial and acting out of lingering reverence for their ancestors and their favored sons.
Unfortunately, I had dozens of wounds big and small, and most were not regenerating well due to their weapons countering such an Ability. Not even cautious and crafty Ribbette was without injury. We were both fatigued and low on mana, but not so low that we could not finish the fight if we remained frugal. The flashy Abilities were off the table, so this would be a drawn-out affair of martial prowess and attrition until one side experienced defeat in detail.
With an exertion of will, I shaped the sand into pillars around me so that Ribbette would have more hiding places and vantage points. My [Stone Colossus] slowly limped around the area, ready to strike at the unwary, but a stiff breeze would probably shatter it. However, I didn’t need it to last much longer, for I already prepared my last powerful Ability that would make use of it. While Ribbette and I have never practiced what I would do next, I had instructed her in the theory, so I trusted that she would stick to our training.
Eight pillars of sand provided a cage around me. However, I was not trapped in here with the dragon hunters, but rather, they were trapped in with me. I waited until three quarters of them crossed the threshold of their final durance before I activated [Colossal Wreck - Boundless and Bare]. In one last surge of power, it heeded my will and leapt into my impromptu arena, where it shattered into a sandstorm. Harsh winds and abrasive sands scoured the area and the flesh of the unprotected, while also providing me with Obfuscation that few could counter.
Immediately following, Ribbette released a poisonous fog that quickly dissipated, the sand absorbing it while still remaining free of any sort of clumping. Now thoroughly poisonous, the tiny abrasions caused by the whipped-up sand would carry its treacherous payload to my foes. Dismay and dread filled the hearts of those within my trap, while fear and trepidation persuaded those outside to see how things would play out. With the initiative seized, Ribbette and I got to work before they could rally.
The sneaky one was the first of my victims. My tail sliced him in two, and with a flick, I sent the parts of his corpse crashing into his allies. Demoralized and distracted, some panicked while others huddled. The sun, closer to setting than not, feebly attempting to provide illumination, but the thick sands shrouded what rays it could offer, and in the miasma of poison, sand, and darkness, one very angry dragon stalked in her element.
I singled out those who were alone, sneaking up on them and dealing lethal blows. Stabs and thrusts were to be avoided, with a strong preference for decapitation. Healers could do wonders to help the wounded recover from stab wounds, less so for missing heads. Their cries, piercing but faint over the gale of the sandstorm, spread fear as a dozen fell before they could amount to much. However, some were stalwart and could see me without issue, and so those ones were priority threats. Now I found myself with a dilemma. Do I focus on them and risk the sandstorm stalling out before I can kill everyone, or do I leave them for Ribbette and take out the helpless ones first?
I favored the latter option, and in a game of cat-and-mouse, I avoided or distanced myself from those who posed a threat while trampling and slicing those who were helpless. A few close calls were had, as well as more than a few new wounds, but still, the thrill of battle sang through my veins. One wrong step would spell my demise and death, and only a dauntingly long series of correct actions would see my triumph. Long had it been since last I flirted so with life and death in so intimate a dance. Round and round the arena I stalked, each pass claiming new victims while Ribbette skulked near the pillars to spring her ambushes on my pursuers. I seduced death with my tribute of those unworthy of life, and soon, only a handful remained.
However, that handful proved to be a problem. A great spear of ice smashed into my side, and surprisingly, penetrated perhaps two feet into me. Before a nasty follow-up finished me off, I transformed back into human form, which dislodged it without a moment to spare. An explosion of ice-shards scoured the area, and one unlucky fellow met his demise from friendly-fire. The bastard who hit me soon found his smug satisfaction dispersed as Ribbette snuck up behind him and soundlessly placed a needle in his neck. She slipped away into the safety of the sandstorm as he fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Vindictive, Ribbette showed no remorse and extended no mercy. The man would die, slowly, but certainly, unless an extremely powerful healer were right next to him. His screams would continue to sow fear, so Ribbette had clearly learned a thing or two from Skull.
Now in my human form, I would not be able to transform again for a minute or two, which hamstrung my combat potential. However, a human is significantly smaller than a dragon, and so I relied on Ribbette’s poison to finish the work as I dove into the shifting sands, passing through it like a fish through water as I evaded my pursuers. Time would tell if I bled out before they collapsed of poison, and so our race towards death continued.
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Fucking shitsnacks, that was close.
Dickless over there nearly skewered me like a shish kebab with that ice spear explosion. I say Dickless, because the necrotic effects of my poison will certainly decay his extremities before he dies. Overkill, but sometimes a girl needs to make a point. Now Dickbag, over here, is a different matter. As his insides turn to mush and the lining of his guts disintegrates, he will experience catastrophic hernias as gravity does the rest to fill the lower half of his body with his liquified insides. A terrible fate, but not half as painful as he deserves.
It does bring satisfaction to watch the dumb bastards hesitate to cut off a poisoned limb, with each second of indecision only making their situations worse. Even better when they are distracted by the limb-cutting-off process, for that is when I sneak up to poison another limb with my needles. Skull had shown me what such terror-tactics can do to morale, and I respected her ingenuity as my mentor.
Fortuitous, then, that Nanu approved of my poison-sand combo. Currently, she stalks her prey beneath the sands, and the ripples of the [Sand Sharks] looked an awful lot like hers. One dumbass thought he got her good, only to get ripped to shreds by a [Sand Shark]. The rest of them were more or less my bitches. My poisons had already done their work, for they were but dead men walking.
One uppity fuckwit decided now was a good time for an incantation. No idea what for, because after I gave him a good [Tongue Lashing], he keeled over from the cocktail of poisons I delivered to him. His friend took offense to that, and so I dashed away and hopped to the top of a sand pillar.
Glancing outside the arena, the others had lost heart and booked it. They had scattered in dismay, with more than one falling prey to ambushes from waiting hydras. Bunch of three-headers, not much good in the brawl, which is probably why I didn’t see them the whole time, but excellent at snatching up the hasty.
Just to be certain, I opened my mouth wide and angled my head back. Reaching into my mouth, I withdrew my pride and joy, a blowgun twice as long as I am tall, all stored away safely thanks to a handy pocket dimension Ability that Master gave me. I lined a bead on the one farthest away, and I took aim as I inflated my vocal sac to the maximum. [Fire and Froget], combined with [Poison Dart], meant I could shoot the coward without a need to wait and see if I hit. One after another, I hit each of them with a lethal payload, and satisfied, I turned back to the arena. Perhaps Hopper, that lovable idiot, would praise me for my marksmanship when I told him about it later.
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In the two minutes or so that I had been sniping bitches, the arena had changed. The sandstorm had mostly died out, but then, so had most of the enemy. Only two remained standing, and they staggered doggedly onwards towards Nanu. Well, Nanu, or [Sand Sharks]. Just as I was taking aim at one, I found myself in freefall as the pillar of sand collapsed beneath me. Taking a leaf from It-Has-Pockets playbook, I planted my blowgun into the ground as I landed and pole danced my way down, kicking my legs out and into a spin to transfer momentum horizontally. I stuck the landing spectacularly, by the way. It should be obvious that I would succeed, but I know I have to spell things out for some of you dumbasses.
Anyway, douchebags needed darting, and so I prepared my blowgun. One good puff cleared the sand, but before I could take a shot, they both collapsed. My fun denied me and, as I expected a clever ploy, I gave them each four darts, which should be more than enough to kill them. A quick look around showed no signs of any enemies. Well, standing ones at least. I made my rounds to carefully finish off the dying, staying at maximum range the whole time. An attachment of a spearhead to my blowgun gave me a veritable ten-foot pole to poke them until they died.
With that chore done, I deployed a normal fog cloud to provide concealment. My mana was about spent, and Nanu would be in rough shape. I hopped over where I felt she would be, which was slightly off-center of the now fading arena.
She garbled something at me, and after a few moments, [Froggiest Idea] translated it for me. Apparently, she was tired but happy to see me. A quick once-over revealed that she would live and regenerate from her wounds, but she would be largely out of commission for a while. As my adrenaline crashed, I too felt the mounting exhaustion brought on by my near-constant exertion of physical energy and mana. Too pooped to poop, I plopped down beside her, and together, we collected our strength as we watched two dragons duke it out. As spent as we were, we would only get in the way if we intervened, so we hoped and prayed for victory.
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Impossible. Such were several feats of the accursed Emperor. [Blood Rush] granted me alacrity nearly unparalleled compared to other Marquess and even some Dukes, yet the Emperor matched my speed and then some. And the sheer number of elements of magic he could use was disturbing. Did he really not specialize in anything? Such squandering of Experience Points in breadth would surely stymy the depth of his power, and yet he continued to counter one Ability or attack after another with a perfectly selected element. Air, Water, Shadow, Fire, and even Blood were at his disposal. Just how many did the fool pick up?
And the pesky vermin lingered at my flanks, snapping at me whenever the Emperor pressed me. They had outlived their usefulness, but I presently lacked the resources to deal with them. Unfortunately, I could not risk my children tagging along to tie up loose ends, for they were not Skilled enough to evade the detection of the dragon hunters. They had inflicted a few fleshwounds and then some, and so they owed me a [Debt of Blood] for their transgressions that I intend to collect with interest just as soon as I finish up this vexing Emperor.
He has far more wounds than I have and is half my size, yet he is tough to pin down. Someone had clearly trained him, for he moves with practiced grace in his draconic form. Most likely that bitch, Nanu, had taught him. After dealing with the Emperor, I would have to collect her, too. Surely, the remaining dragon hunters had taken care of her by now, for the sandstorm had abated entirely.
Still, I cannot let this fight drag out. Though a fresh Emperor, he still has the power of his peerage to make him hardy in a fight of attrition. If he would just hold still for a moment, I could finish him in one blow. [Blood Feud] would enable a strong retaliatory strike, so perhaps baiting him with an opening would do the trick, provided I did not take too grievous a blow. It would be futile against a death by a thousand cuts, but against a heavy hit, it would be devastating. He thinks I don’t see the trap he is sliding over towards me, along with the even sneakier second trap, so perhaps one of them would pack enough punch to bring about his demise.
Best to be cautious as I lure him out. He probably suspects I can see the first trap, but doubtless, he doesn’t know that I invested greatly in Detection Skills. I must not become complacent, for he may catch on if I play along too well. It’s all in the details, the little tells and distractions that clue one in to what an opponent knows or suspects. An Emperor he may be, but he could not last a day in the Court of Blood, where a single twitch of the eyebrow can reveal everything.
How tedious. Even more elements to thwart my advance. Such is the nature of young dragons to show off every move they have. Perhaps he is simply fishing to see which Ability can strike me down or chase me off, but I have won against his betters in a duel. It is just a matter of time and his head is mine.
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Some guys just can’t take a hint. This dude keeps chasing after me despite how I dance away from him and under the legs of the dragons. He clearly has designs that involve his carnal satisfaction with my body, and so I feel that turnabout is fair play. I changed tactics and danced suggestively for him, using the provocative swaying of my hips to lure him in and enticing views of my breasts to lower his guard. With a lecherous grin and reckless abandon, he followed after me.
And down stomped a dragon’s hind leg, and that was the end of my stalker who found himself as nothing more than a red smear beneath the foot of a red dragon.
Right, one down, four more to go. Stalkers that is, not feet, but if I could cut the dragon’s feet off, I would. As long as I keep focusing on defense and mobility, I can continue to evade the destruction wrought by the draconic brawl, provided the red one never focuses on me.
While I am no Adventurer, I do have a significant advantage over the dragon hunters. I have trained almost exclusively in my youth to fight humanoids and to duel, whereas they have trained to fight magical beasts and monsters, and, naturally, dragons. They learned through experience and were generalists, whereas I had elite instructors and specialization. I was more than a match for any one of them provided I could take them one or two at a time.
One less predisposed to rape me and more of the inclination to kill me made his approach. A dwarf, judging by the shorter stature and the bulkier frame. Also, the gratuitous amount of plate armor, including intricately engraved beard-armor, gave it away. He swung his hammer for my left knee, but a leap and a spin found me twirling over his head horizontally as I landed on the side from which his swing started. A sweep of my blade caught him under the arm, though the blow was shallow thanks to his armor. I would peel him like a potato if that was what it took, but getting him caught in either dragon’s attack would be preferable.
As I lured him towards the dragons whose fight at extreme speeds has carried them away from me, something snagged on my foot and tugged. In a panic, I tried to right myself, but something had ensnared my foot. I rolled in time to avoid a thrust of a sword through my gut, but the she-elf prepared another attempt as her blade, now wreathed in flame, descended again. Even if she missed, the flame would probably burn me, and so I thrust at the fancy hilt of her sword to stop her blade from descending, if even for a moment, just to buy some time to escape.
Just then, of all things, one of the kobolds sprung up from a pool of water and attacked her from the side. It was the kobold with the yellow hat and jacket, and he also wielded a harpoon of some kind. My hero got her right in the neck, but in her final moments, she turned and drove her sword right through him. The pair of them collapsed on their sides, each one dying. With no time to mourn my little hero, I quickly untangled the snare around my foot and recovered to a standing position before the armored dwarf could catch up.
Another she-elf, a sister of the first by the looks of it and the tears of anguish in her eyes, charged at me from the opposite side. Rage and hate fueled her strikes, and though she appeared to be some sort of [Warrior], she lacked the discipline and poise of one well-trained. Casually, I danced away from her strikes, getting the measure of her patterns as I prepared to retaliate. She screamed something in elvish at me, which I only vaguely understood the literal meaning of due to her dialect not matching my education, but the venom in her voice got the point across. She lasted 19 exchanges before I took her head. Clearly, fatigue was getting to me such that it took that long.
That just left a slow dwarf and…
An arrow to the left shoulder answered that mystery. An [Archer], clearly, for no one without such a Blessing would take such an easily countered weapon into battle. The arrow dug deep, as if hungry and alive, and with a scream of pain and a mustering of willpower, I pushed the shaft through and barely out the other side. A quick snap near the fletching and another awkward tug saw the arrow removed and me screaming in pain. Badly injured and bleeding, I hobbled away, my [Dance Routine] interrupted. The arrow came from nowhere, and scared and alert, I counted on my superior troll bloodline and the regenerative capabilities of my kind to deal with the wound as I hastened towards the dragons once more.