//------------------------------// // The Offer // Story: The Last Dragon Lord // by TheApostate //------------------------------// ‘Always inspect the merchandise before making a deal.’ -Thomas Warnek, Aquilean economist. Maloghurst continued his ascension, untroubled by the juniors frustrating gaze, remembering why he religiously avoided children. Horrible things better kept to their parents’ care to destroy their lives. A thing that surprised him was how promptly regular individuals were ready to dispose of their young – almost to an all too playful manner. It was always perturbing to see how they committed massacres beyond his initial instructions. Cruelty seemed to be ingrained in every creature – the Equestrians ironically displaying it more prominently than any other. In fact, he saw more Equestrians performing these acts than Griffons. His procession kept a fair distance from him but not far enough for them to be caught unnoticed by the more playful Dragons. Syln gave him a final apprehensive glance and left, walking toward the Eye’s eastern edge, next to the Woods edging on Squamata’s fief. Aramunth waited for him, leisurely relaxing between the Sun and trees’ shadows with some of his flock. ‘And your instincts fail you again!’ Aramunth joyfully proclaimed, waving away his company. ‘You should have followed the order.’ ‘It is wrong. Something is not right.’ ‘Every loss to Valyr proves something, no? Your uncanny instinct can falter.’ He stiffened his pose. ‘I let Valyr win for him to save face in front of others. He can get really jealous. He-he.’ ‘Like Derkoma says: “when you are average in everything, you tend to get jealous of everything”,’ he chuckled. ‘She was referring to you in that one. I was there when she said it. Valyr knows how to fight and have-’ ‘Also good fights?’ he quietly laughed. ‘Ah-ha! That’s why I like being around you!’ ‘You don’t see me complaining. Ophis, though…’ ‘Look… Aramunth… I know where you are going with it. So, let me conclude by saying that he is, indeed, an orifice.’ ‘Just because he always lands last does not mean he is bad. Just get over it,’ said Aramunth, a tad annoyed by Syln’s posturing. ‘Give me two or three centuries to think about it.’ ‘Sure. Take your time.’ It was Syln’s time to chuckle. **** ‘Dragon Lord,’ the sorcerer hissed in an oddly perceivable voice. ‘I am Maloghurst, the Perennial.’ ‘What are you hiding, thing?’ Even with her initial stupor at the fluidity of his voice, she was mostly disinterested in the small one’s presence. ‘I am a mage, Dragon Lord,’ he bitterly corrected. She did not care for his title. ‘What are you hiding, mage-thing?’ ‘I won’t perturb you much, Drake. So, I will cleave directly to my intention: I require your assistance.’ She restrained a laugh, letting it out in a loud giggle. Cornelia then spoke in a resonating whisper, ‘Very well, little sorcerer. Show me what you and your clique have to present me with.’ He despised her tone. But in his intent, he presented Cornelia with his creations. Things wrought from the survivors of the wreckage of griffonian vessels and augmented to become instruments of his war. A war to help him carve an empire in the south of Equus and the islands connecting it to Zebrica. And threw between the mention of each unbelievable goal some bits of his past – but assured her that Syln knew it all. Maloghurst took pleasure in keeping the most interesting parts hidden into what he deemed was superlative proof of his skills as a storyteller. The Sisters had left the area devoid of their presence at this point in time, and by striking into the left behind places, he considered himself as a future contender to their rule. They formed an empire that lacked imperial monarchs and the name that goes with it, restricting the land for their people alone. And so, when the coveted land would be under his control, he would allow the last Great Dragon to freely sail the sky of his realm, granting her total freedom of movement. While he had not stated it, Cornelia was sure that the Sisters’ powers would be not far from his list of prerogatives. Celestia and Luna had alluded of it being the goal of many enemies they faced early on. With Celestia referring to it as being a frankly dull and unoriginal goal – “a total lack of originality on their part,” she had said. The Dragon Lord peered closely at the hooded things. They were Griffons in body alone, their wings and legs stripped from them and replaced with sturdy, spider-like limbs, contorting easily in all manner of form and permitting the half-dead Griffons to easily walk wherever their master would command. Some appeared dead, their eyes bleached with their head barely keeping a straight posture because of their half-rotten necks. Others looked directly at the Dragon Lord with still full eyes, but they were ones filled with artificially subsided dread. Not in fear of her, but it was a gaze born from the scars of the surgeries Maloghurst performed upon them. It was a look simply demanding to make it all end. The memories of her old Hippogriff companion sparked, Cornelia gradually rose her immense frame, the ground around the sorcerer trembled, and Dragons in the distance fled at the sense of perceived danger, while others moved forward to their liege, only backing off to an unuttered order. Syln resisted, but a piercing glare from azure eyes obligated him at the same level as his lesser. Cornelia let out a light chuckle, prompting the thing to embed their limbs into the rock in an all too mechanical motion. ‘Explain to me why should I even consider – even for a modicum – to assist you in that all so obviously ill-fated quest of yours? You are presenting me with aberrant things. Creatures of foulness and detestability. Things you have used to distract yourself within the eternity you have gifted yourself. And look at yourself – you are mad. Derange and lost to your own hate. I care not for the power and freedom you are offering. If you want anything coming close to solace in your life, thing; I can offer you death. A quick, merciful end to a life of misery in reach of a goal unattainable. It is, believe me, your best and most worthwhile outcome than to end in another more gruesome one. Now, Maloghurst, tell me – do you want to die?’ But she did not receive the answer expected from this supposed last remnant of an age of myth. More of those mongrels abruptly appeared in front of her and a myriad of emplacements, veiled by the exotic magic wielded by Maloghurst. A piercing howl followed, wrenching the air apart, pushing all traces of it out of the path of the vibration. It rendered her movement null. Her wings retracted, and the claws kept fixed on the rocky slope, clenching it until it was turned to dust. Her scales resonated intensely and crackled at the impossible sound. She tried to open her mouth and burn the damned sorcerer, but her mouth refused to comply at the command. Maloghurst observed with a maddened gaze the last Magna Dracii struggling to resist the onslaught of noise. She managed to retreat somewhat into her cavern, but an ill maneuver of hers broke its ceiling on her back. The fragmenting of the mighty and proud Drakes. The breaking of such power. The fact that she will soon be under his unwavering thrall was stimulating. After all these years, he still had not lost it – he still had the capability to wrought destruction. Maloghurst clenched the necklace beneath his clothes. It had been a gift – he was absolutely sure of it. From whom, though, he did not remember. But it had always been with him – he had always worn it. And his tic had never left him. Maloghurst relished that moment; so close was he to his ultimate victory. The entire race suffered as their Mother did. Soon, his revenge would be enacted. It… was… fascinating… On his own, he forced an entire race to kneel. Soon, he will become their new lord. The skin of the smaller Drakes unraveled, and their wings disintegrated. Their muscles liquefied into putrid goo. The eggs burst, letting the embryos slide dead on the rocky ground before turning into an unrecognizable jelly of flesh and blood. Syln and Aramuth, beset by half of Cornelia’s numbers, felt their muscles atrophied, and the blood vessels of their eyes burst. Then the noises began to wane – the cacophonies were dying through the same process designated to subdue the Dragon Lord. Cornelia managed to open a single eye. Their beaks were cracking and shattering; eyes burst out of their sockets or simply detonated in a soundless deflagration of gore; their feathers had been long gone, and the now exposed skin began to melt at the force of the vibrations, tearing and ripping their bodies apart. The blood-covered damned creatures appeared as red dots on the brown rocks. The legs of all began to break. Their eyes jutted out. Some regained consciousness, comprehending the inconceivable grim reality of their situation. They stopped to regain control of a body they were once its master. The liberated mongrels peered in dread at the giant drake. Azure blue eyes looked back at them in a predator’s glare, piercing, uncompromising, and cold. There was no hatred, no emotion in them; the beast had the aura of a killer. Then the pain rushed into their newly awoken minds, paralyzing them in impossible agony and maddening them to an instant. Using what was once their claws, the now sentient Griffons killed themselves before the tremors or the Great Dragon could deny them their last free act. Cornelia gradually regained control of her functions and raised her claw toward the mesmerized Maloghurst. But the claw was caught in an invisible shield, holding its integrity under mild duress only a few meters from him while he prevented her from raising the second deadly instrument. The Great Dragon did not relent. She pushed further as something primordial took hold of her. Sparks grizzled in the air. Taking notice of them, Maloghurst amplified their intensity, provoking the beginning of a roar as Cornelia hardly withheld. She forced her jaws shut. The few still living Griffons in his vicinity were forced back under his control, ordered to expend the last of their force on arresting the Dragon Lord’s resistance. Syln and Aramunth intervened to save their Mother, putting aside her orders and letting the headache take root in them. If only a dozen had been able to force them into their knees, they could not begin to fathom the tremendous pain Cornelia was being put through. They raged and raged, clawing at full force the barrier, desperately attempting to tear it open. The electric jolts amplified but failed to dissuade them. But the sorcerer shield resisted even the additional might of the two Validir; their strength increasingly diminishing at every hit. Aramunth, losing his mind from the impossible shrieks, put aside their ill-fated attempt and began digging at the barrier’s rim. Concentrating all his strength on his forward arms, Aramunth removed huge chunks of ground; the shield followed the carved geography in a spherical fashion. The Validir grabbed another chunk of ground, though his arms refused to answer his orders. He was losing his breath – and it gave him an epiphany. He turned toward the equally tired Syln and urged him to cease. Motioning his plan, the two smothered the rocks in flames, raising their temperature. Maloghurst held on the second claw faltered and Cornelia thundered it on the barrier. A brief lull in the cacophony stretched in an invisible wave as the claw hit. Another hit. Again. And again. Two fingers broke, but she continued to rain hits on the Perennial. Maloghurst did not back off, grabbing from within all the magic he possessed. His features lost their fake youth. He began to truly rote. He expended more magic to keep his body one. The barrier briefly flickered under the tremendous kinetic energy of the Dragon Lord. Cornelia’s claws fell on the Perennial, burying the sorcerer and whatever abomination caught in her revenge underneath, leveling the nearly liquefied rocks. Ending the life of Maloghurst with one simple motion. But Maloghurst had not found himself cursing and damning the creatures and decisions that took him to the end of the ordeal that had been his life. It had not been idle, however. It had not been a boring one. He regretted not being able to visit the Crystal Empire one last time. Of all the places he had ever ventured to, it was the only place he found himself returning to more often. He could not pinpoint the reason why he expressed such adoration to the Empire. As the claws closed in, quick images conjured themselves in his mind’s eyes. Maloghurst, the Perennial, the Warlock of Eternity, and the former head of the Cabal of the Veracious Bearers, died with a grin illuminating a face that never was his. It had been, all things considered, a good life. The two Validir’s fire reached her, scorching the Dragon Lord on the chest and the legs – scaring and melting her scales. They ceased just as she thundered in a roar said to have been heard to the borders of the Crystal Empire. An impossible sound rippled through the air, stunning all in motion as it swept through unhindered, transforming into the deadly strike of hundreds. She rose waves that only died on the kilometers-far continental coast. Cornelia staggered at first, rising to her full height and spreading her wings in all their ancient majesty. She peered down at the two Validir, freezing them in place as they were distancing themselves to let their Mother a path for her to rest. They had attacked her. They were going to assail her once more. They were going to kill her. To kill her kind for their own power. For their own ambitions. Maloghurst was not dead; he lived. He still lived! They were his accomplices! She would be no weapon to be brandished. She was the last Great Dragon, and until her body fails of its own accord, she will be the Last Dragon Lord. Cornelia unleashed her internal rage. Aramunth was the first to get caught in her fury, boiling his scales away like water. His blood vessels exploded as the vapors were desperate to find their way out. The eyes became filled with red, blinding him completely. He could not breathe anymore as his lungs shut close. The skin oozed out from its holds, letting the exposed bones melt into nothingness. His teeth had been gone alongside the entirety of his skull, vaporized in the first second of the three Aramunth’s death had taken. Syln was partially caught in the blue flames, scorching half the surface of his body. The pain felt was nothing the hundred-time victor of the Feast of Claws experienced. Then it vanished as his heart started pumping faster. His brain told him to stop all movements, but Syln had to calm down Cornelia. He spread his wings. Then an immense jolt coursed through his being. Syln lost consciousness; he let himself fall from the cliff.