Whisper shifted forms a split second before the beast’s mandibles snapped shut. The fae’s panicked back-blue particles retreated, surging away from the lethal, snapping, snarling insectoid. Every survival instinct flashed inside Whisper’s head like a warning beacon, demanding they take to the air and flee, but they couldn’t. Their magic bound them to the arena. A deal had been made to defeat the nameless one, and Whisper couldn’t back out of a fae contract even if it meant certain death.
The scolopendra shrieked in fury as its long body uncoiled, searching for the surrounding area for the meal that had escaped from between its armored jaws. Hundreds of spindly legs thudded against the soft ground. The creak and groan of hard-shelled armor filled the still air. The nameless one scuttled across the upturned arena, its long, pincered mandibles opening and closing, testing the air for the quarry that’d slipped away.
Whisper’s incorporeal form hung in the air, frozen with uncertainty.
A familiar shape hurtled past below, weapon in hand, and disappeared beneath the plated underside of the beast. Whisper did not fully grasp what they were seeing. Not so much what they were seeing, actually, but why. The attacker, a mere human — the proverbial cockroach of all mortal-kind — went at the beast with no plan, no plausible means of defense, and absolutely no chance of winning. And yet, there was no fear. No hesitation. No magical bond compelling them to take on the impossible. The human’s charge was as selfless as it was stupid.
Complexing, as well, considering this particular human normally could not see this well. It seemed as though the boy had finally learned to meld his magic and aura sense into something useful. A pity that it had to happen now, mere moments before his death.
Under normal circumstances, Whisper would have hung back and waited for the mortal to die, leveraging the distraction to move in and strike a killing blow. But that no longer felt right. Whisper not only knew this particular roach, but deep down, buried under a heap of denial, a small part of them might have actually liked the boy. Not as an equal, of course. More like a pet. Rasp was like an overly talkative mutt that had somehow, some way, worn away some of Whisper’s long-held disdain for mortal-kind.
No, as much as it pained them, the fae couldn’t let the belligerent bug die on their behalf. At least not without trying to prevent it. Whisper’s particles buzzed in annoyance as they reformed, assuming their mighty dragon body once more. They immediately regretted it as, a mere moment later, a sudden spasm of pain flooded up their foreleg.
Hissing, Whisper tilted the long muzzle down and came eye-to-eye with the source of pain. A white faun stood brazenly between Whisper’s clawed forefeet. “About muckin’ time!” the white devil screamed. “Are you finally ready to listen? I’m warning you now, you’re going to go and get yourself caught in another enchantment if you don’t.”
Whisper’s eyes narrowed. Beneath their scaled hide, their blood bubbled and boiled with fresh fire. They did not like this particular faun. He was clever. Too clever. And had developed a nasty habit of spoiling Whisper’s plans. Whisper raised their foot, poised to crush the annoying little fiend while they had the chance.
“Don’t you even think about it!” Faris said. “Look, I know you don’t like me, and I feel the same about you, but we’re on the same team here. So put your petty opinions aside, open your damn ears, and listen.”
Whisper winced at Faris’s words. The brazen faun spoke as if they were equals — an insult of the highest order! While Whisper’s opinion on mortal-kind had softened over the years, the affront of being considered ‘one of the team’ had yet to lose its sting. Unfortunately, if Whisper hoped to survive the scolopendra and return to the surface, this was one mortal they were going to have to get along with. Temporarily, anyway.
Reluctantly, Whisper lowered their clawed foot back onto the ground and channeled their voice into the Faris’s head telepathically.
Speak, Whisper said.
The single word clanged like a damn tower bell within Whisper’s mind. Telepathic communication was not normally this painful. But Faris was a tricky devil and bore a charm specifically crafted to ward off would-be mindreaders. Whisper was able to infiltrate Faris’s thoughts not through might and power, but because the faun allowed it. This of course only contributed to Whisper’s overall dislike of Faris. A mighty fae forced to seek permission from a lesser being was as unnatural as it was infuriating.
“The beast feeds on magic,” Faris explained. “The more power you throw at it, the quicker it drains you. You can’t use spells against it. Got that? No magic.”
An irritated growl rattled from the depths of Whisper’s throat.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re pissy ‘cause it used your own power against you. I get it. It almost got Rasp that way, too.” Faris scaled a pile of nearby debris to avoid having to shout over the ruckus. The little bird and the other two were keeping the scolopendra sufficiently distracted. From the urgency in Faris’s voice, he was fully aware that their efforts would not hold out for much longer. “No magic means we’ve got to kill this thing with brute force. And in case you haven’t noticed, loping legs off isn’t doing much good. We’ve got to stick it where it’s going to count.”
Whisper’s tail twitched from side to side as they studied the insectoid beast. Ripping its head off would surely do the trick, but getting close without getting caught in its jaws was going to be an issue.
“Forget trying to tear it to pieces. You can end it in one go. See that spire?” The faun pointed to a tall, steepled tower that loomed above the edge of the colosseum in the distance. “Fly the beast up and drop it over the tower. Let gravity do the work for you.”
Clever faun. Whisper took great care to ensure this thought was not telepathically transmitted to Faris. Not necessarily because of the mental strain associated with doing so, but because Faris already had enough ego as it was. There was no need to actively increase its size.
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Whisper unfolded their great, leathery wings and snapped them up and down, building momentum, before pushing off into the air. The scolopendra saw them coming and reared up, poised for the anticipated attack. Its lethal mandibles snapped open and shut, as hundreds of legs stabbed at the air, clicking and creaking its long, segmented body, warning the dragon to keep its distance. Eyes focused on Whisper, the nameless one failed to notice Rasp had scrambled up a mound of rubble, awkwardly carrying a lance over his shoulder. The weapon, one of the many lying scattered along the edges of the arena, was far too big and cumbersome for the Stoneclaw to wield effectively. Effective, however, was not so much Rasp’s aim. He didn’t intend to kill the scolopendra but to distract it. In the most annoying way possible, naturally.
Rasp positioned himself beneath the beast’s underbelly, directly below the delicate, sinewy hinge where the armored segments connected, and thrust the lance upward, driving it into the soft joint. The nameless shrieked and flailed, its long body spasming as it twisted about, clawing uselessly at the weapon lodged deep between its plated armor. One of its legs struck Rasp and sent him careening back down the rubble pile. The scoloprendra’s head followed, jaws snapping at the air as it tried to catch him in its mouth.
Whisper seized their opening. They swooped down and grabbed the beast’s segmented hide near the middle. It squirmed and shrieked beneath them, coiling its gargantuan body as it tried to struggle free. Whisper’s talons sank deeper into its armored shell as their heavy wings beat the air, slowly lifting the thrashing scolopendra high, higher, higher.
The strain was strong and Whisper’s old bones felt weak. They cleared their mind and focused all of their energy on the steady of their beats. Little by little, the looming spire neared.
Foolish fae! The nameless one’s voice was no longer sweet but reeked of fear. Its magic wore at Whisper’s focus, desperate to splinter the frayed mental threads holding everything together. You help the very mortals that wish you dead! They will do to you what you will do to me!
Whisper lifted up and over the spire. Its sharp iron point was green with eons of rust and algae.
We are the last of our kind. All that remains of the age of magic and you dare help them? The nameless one’s haunting shrieks tore at Whisper’s mind, searching for a hold. Your people will never forgive you! Your kind will never come back. You are the last wind shifter to walk the land and no matter how you help them, the mortals will never allow your kind to return! The last of the great beings die with us!
There is no us. Just you. Whisper released the scolopendra from their claws and jetted upwards. For a few more seconds, anyway.
The beast fell, its long body unoiling, legs flailing, onto the spire below. The iron spike ripped through its plated armor in a burst of shell and wet innards. The spire slowed the scolopenra’s descent, but the body continued to fall, gradually sliding down the pointed shaft. Cracks splintered down the tower’s facade. With a grating groan, the building gave way, unable to hold the dying beast’s weight. The nameless one shuddered its final, feeble spasms as the tower disintegrated into rubble beneath it.
The tower collapsed against the next, causing a cataclysmic wave of destruction. Ancient buildings toppled and fell amidst a cloud of dust and algae glow. The resulting shrapnel struck the crumbling coliseum wall, sending it spilling over the stadium and into the open arena. Airborn, heavy wings beating the musty air, Whisper studied the stadium below. Rasp had Hop and June at his side, shielding them against the destruction with his magic. But Faris hadn’t reached the shield in time. Alone, without magic or a place to hide, the white faun was poised to be crushed by the destruction.
Slain by his own plan. Oh, how sweet the irony tasted.
To hang back and let it happen would cost Whisper nothing. They could claim innocence. Insisting the faun’s death was not their doing. It would be true, too. And yet, the little bird loved the stupid faun far more than he realized. By removing one problem, Whisper would inadvertently create another. Whisper recalled their time on the road together, when it was just the two of them, and how the little bird’s bemoaning about loneliness never ceased.
That was it, Whisper told themself as their mighty wings folded at their sides. They plummeted towards the crumbling arena like an arrow released from a bow, zipping ahead of the wave of destruction. This was a move borne of necessity, not generosity. Whisper wasn’t saving Faris because the faun deserved to live, they were doing it to prevent Rasp’s inevitable complaining.
Whisper swooped low and caught Faris in their outstretched claws a split second ahead of the landslide. Whisper rode the current of destruction across what remained of the open arena before lifting over the coliseum wall and into the space beyond. They carried Faris a ways before touching back down in an open square, free of crumbling buildings and falling rock. The polite thing would have been to come to a full stop before setting Faris back onto the ground. Whisper let him drop instead.
The fae fanned their leathery wings wide and landed as delicately onto the mossy ground as a butterfly to a flower petal. The same could not be said for poor Faris. Whisper folded their wings and they tilted their scaled head to the side, relishing the way the faun’s body flipped and tumbled head over hooves before eventually rolling to stop. He didn’t move for several seconds, as if uncertain whether or not he was dead.
Finally, coughing and sputtering the debris from his lungs, the white faun lifted his horned head from the protective curl of his arms. “You?” Faris stammered, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and horror. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It was you who saved me?”
Oh, dear me. Whisper looked away. I mistook you for the useful faun.
“Bullshit!” A harsh laugh escaped Faris’s throat as he staggered to his hooves and took stock of the damage. “At least own up to it. You saved me on purpose, didn’t you?”
A mistake I will not make twice, Whisper assured him
“Better double-check your math, Whisper. This is the second time you’ve saved me.”
Whisper didn’t expect gratitude, certainly not from Faris. The faun, above all else, knew better than to thank a fae. Still, Faris could have been a little bit grateful. After all, Whisper — an unimaginably powerful fae — went out of their way to save a mere mortal without asking anything in return. At the very least, that deserved respect, not a cocksure attitude!
“I suppose you did owe me,” Faris carried on, flashing a devilish smile. “Considering I’m the one that broke you from the beast’s enchantment in the first place.”
Are you injured? Whisper inquired, grimacing at the way each word stung.
“How sweet of you to ask. Honestly, not really.”
The fae lifted their upper lip and revealed their hooked teeth. Would you like to be?
It was as if the threat did not even register. The infernal mortal merely smiled wider, offering insolence in lieu of fear. “Hey, you know what I just realized? The priestess got it all wrong. You’re not Kriegaar. I am. It wasn’t magic that defeated the beast, it was smarts. Therefore, I am the Kriegaar and you’re just the dragon that happened to carry out my bidding.”
Whisper stood and started to slowly amble away, shaking their great spiny head in disbelief.
Faris trailed in their wake, mindful to keep clear of Whisper’s sweeping tail. “Bet you regret saving me now.”
Gloat while you can, Whisper hissed. Your day will come soon enough.