Dragon(s)layer

32

The Battle for Oversight

Ignitia didn't know whether or not she was angry.

She kind of was about certain things.

But mostly she was caught in a sort of shell-shock over everything that had happened. When was the last time she could remember ever losing control? Much less to the point of not recalling a full-fledged duel with the Purple Dragon of legend?

She'd never felt this insecure in her entire life.

But at the same time, she'd also never felt this excited.

"Get behind me! Go! Pull back!" The Guardian cried, bounding forwards and gesturing with her orange wing. Mole infantrymen bustled past her, shouldering or carrying their wounded as they went. "Form up on me!"

"Guardian! On the roof!" A Mole howled.

There was a rush of flame and a crack of bone. A pair of Orcs tumbled from atop a nearby commonhouse aflame and crunched onto the street as two blackened mounds. The air rushed, and a purple bullet zippes between the rooftops at blindingly fast speeds.

"Gods, she's fast!" Another soldier gasped.

"Assemble the remainder of your infantry in fighting condition at the end of the street, you're to kill any who get past us." Ignitia spread her wings and snarled, her hips wiggling like a preparing cat's. "Go now, please!"

She leaped over the Mole's head and tackled an Orc to the street right behind him, tearing his throat out with her claw and summarily pulping his head with a heel.

Spyra whipped over the intersection and a bolt of lightning careened into a cluster of Grublins. The monsters that hadn't instantly died were still screaming when the purple dragoness swung around and landed on the Orc who was leading them. She sprawled on his pauldrons from behind and blasted a jet of pure streamed flame right into the open rear of the creature's helmet. The Orc looked like a living suit of flaming armor for an instant before it shriveled and collapsed.

"I'm on thirty-eight!" Spyra cackled, rolling past Ignitia's flank and slashing a Grublin's face open. "-And I'm still not seein' the grind, Ignitia!"

"I'll show you grind!" The Guardian laughed. "I've been fighting much longer than you have, little one, beware whom you test."

"Lotsa' chatter, baby!" Spyra's wings whipped all around her form, sending a squad of Grublins flipping away in all directions. She took advantage of all who fell prone by bathing them in fire. "You wanna' take care of that guy for me? I got my claws full."

Ignitia completed a low rotation go her paws, her tail becoming a buzzsaw that scythed down several fighters in a clearcut cone-path down the street. She righted herself, a ball of flame shooting from her puckered chops and vaporizing an Orc peppering them with a crossbow from behind a storefront.

There were still so many of them, though...

"Isn't Urukal's main force gathering outside the castle?" Spyra called, slashing, blocking blows with her wings and igniting Grublins on the flanks. "I feel like we're fighting his whole fuckin' army out here!"

"Probably a quarter of Urukal's men are scattered around the city!" Ignitia shouted back. She barely dodged the business-end of a glaive, reaching down to grab the leg of the offending Orc. She swung about and threw him like he sported the weight of a feather. The Orc flipped and ended his journey impaled on a decorative brass protrusion of one of the buildings. "But I think if we-"

The front of a commonhouse suddenly was vaporized in a violent burst of debris and crumbling brickwork. The blast sent Spyra reeling and forced Ignitia to take cover behind a pair of abandoned carriages. The shingles making the building's roof sounded like some kind of deranged xylophone as they fell into the crater en masse and clambered around the rubble.

When the smoke was barely cleared, a towering figure stomped through the refuse and into the street. It stood almost eight feet tall, and had the guttural squeal of a pig for its voice.

Ignitia gasped and peered around the carriage.

"Jeez', you are one ugly fucker!" Spyra cringed, backing away and spreading her wings defensively. The creature shrieked and raised a Morningstar bigger than her whole body over its gnarly head. "Nice threads, dude, what do they call ya'? Crusher?"

"Spyra, get away from it!" Ignitia cried. "It's an OgreOrc!"

The street exploded in her face and barred her from reaching the purple dragon. Ignitia snarled and leaped back for safety from a second OgreOrc lumbering out from behind the first one. It ripped its massive Morningstar out of the street and patted the haft in its other claw as it stalked towards her.

"…I-I admit… the confidence wavers when it's right in yer' face." Spyra swallowed, her horns practically wilting like rabbit ears as the monster's shadow fell over her. "-Oh my god, look! It's Cynder! And is she- is she bending over?"

The OgreOrc stopped dead and glanced over to follow her talon.

Spyra gawked.

"What the fuck?! Even the Orcs have a hard-on for her?!" She opened her mouth and bolts of electricity singed into the monster's chest and arm, sending it stumbling. "Fuck her and you people!"

The Orc squealed piggishly and brought the spiked head down. Spyra zipped between its legs and the street cracked under the impact. She spun around and bathed the monster's rear end and back in searing flames. The OgreOrc screamed and threw itself around with a counter strike.

Spyra nearly lost her head, cutting off her stream and hugging the street as the Morningstar whistled right over her horns.

Good dodge-

The OgreOrc kicked her in the head. She tried to catch her flight with her wings, but ended her descent into a market stall before she could manage it. Wood snapped and the counter and uphaft came apart under her back. The tarp concealing the sunspace delicately settled over her and descended her world into darkness.

"Ouch." –She brooded, muffled.

Nearby, Ignitia was engaged in a series of vicious back-forths with the Orc's companion. She caught the claw holding the Morningstar in both forepaws in a thundering clap of scale and moss-flesh, dousing the OgreOrc's chest in flames from her screaming maw. The Orc shrieked and punched her across the cheek a total of four times until she lost her grip on his weapon-arm. The opponents staggered back and came at one another again a moment later.

Ignitia swept under the Orc's attacking swings and ran her horns to the cranium through its belly with a sickening crunch, twisting free and vaulting into the air in one movement. She plucked her rear paws over the Dark creature's face, flapped her wings and strained against the weight as she lifted it off the street.

With an angry roar, Ignitia corkscrewed her own body and stalled the spin with her wide membrane-span suddenly. The OgreOrc became a bodily blur- like it was a propeller blade –before it snapped free of her talons, flew almost thirty feet, and caved in the front of a first-floor building when it hit the wall in a blast of dust.

The Guardian landed with an enraged snort and fumed.

She was not in the mood.

"Spyra!" She stood upright the moment her gaze crossed the street.

"I got this!" The purple heroine cried.

The OgreOrc still standing suddenly jolted, and a meteorite burst out the back of its torso with a spray of singing viscera and charred chunks. The glowing ball of fire hit the street, flashed to nothingness, and revealed Spyra, who had been its core.

The towering monstrosity thundered the intersection as it fell to its knees and then on its face, dead and steaming.

"I ain't gonna' lie," Spyra breathed as Ignitia trotted over. "me and the Fallen make a better team, but still: that was badass."

"You did well." Ignitia leaned down and snout-nudged her. "Speaking of the Fallen, he's probably close to the castle courtyard. You should gain some altitude and scout out the enemy formation, see what they're up to before the two of you just dive in."

"Sounds radical. I'm on it." Spyra grunted. "Y'know, you didn't do half bad yourself, grams'…"

Ignitia clicked her tongue in gall and glanced at the still smoking building-crater the other OgreOrc was lying dead in.

"I'm yukkin, Ignitia. You're badass too." Spyra bumped her with her fist and spread her wings. "I should be able to spot the Fallen from up there too. We'll regroup and start up the killin' machine. What are you gonna' do?"

"I'll finish cleaning out this block, and then I'll rally the new force we've assembled and lead them in a flanking attack once you and the Fallen engage." Ignitia nodded. "If I know Terradora, and I do, she's probably out here somewhere, most likely by herself, venting frustrations on wandering Grublin scavengers and Orc patrols. Maybe one of us will run into her."

"But she'll definitely show up for the courtyard battle, right?"

"Terradora hasn't passed up the opportunity for a fight in her entire life." Ignitia chuckled. "Now get a move on, Spyra."

"Hey! Look! More Wyverns! Are you sure you got this?" Spyra wing-pointed between the rooftops.

"I can handle Wyverns!" Ignitia laughed, turning around and spreading into a combat stance. "It's probably another patrol left over from-"

The color from Ignitia's face drained.

"Fly."

"Wait, huh?"

"Fly!"

The Guardian whipped Spyra away with her tail and didn't stop hollering until the younger dragon zipped into the sky, a concerned look splayed all down her snout.

{Ace Combat 7 OST: Rescue}

Ignitia grimly folded her wings and planted her paws.

It was no use trying to gain the high-ground outnumbered like this. For dragons, the duels were only established by who could be quicker and more precise, and it was usually the defender who chose the theater of air or ground.

Focus on me, focus on me, the Guardian, I'm a Guardian! You sick outcasts can't resist that, can you?

She splayed her iconic wingspan out as far as it could go, and the specks in the sky immediately altered course.

Without much time for preparation, those specks quickly grew to the size of her claws.

Then, they were on top of her.

Ignitia opened her mouth and let loose a challenging roar. Another bellow answered her as a dark, sinewy shape smashed into the street and sprinted at her like a feral predatory cat.

Her opponent screamed like a psychopath and sprung, colliding with her breast with enough force to rattle bones. The Guardian felt the cobblestone part from her shoulders as she was dragged backward with the enemy mounted atop her. She snarled, clawing, slashing and biting, eventually getting a good blow in on the throat.

She hooked her fangs into the softer belly-flesh and used her feet to tear the barb free. She tasted blood, red blood, not black.

Rolling in the air from the blow, a black, serpentine dragon landed in a blast of debris ahead of her, dark limbs flailing and kicking as it clawed at its bleeding throat.

As soon as Ignitia righted herself, her enemy sprung to his heels and spread a pair of wings black as ink, bellowing at her with a shrill voice tuned through a harsh lifestyle that valued the survival of the fittest.

"Keep your displays, Glower!" Ignitia barked. "We don't need introductions from murderers."

"The only hen guilty of murder is you, False Fire!" Glower screeched. The cloudy daylight almost seemed to be sucked in and swallowed by his impossibly dark body. It was as if his scales were a void that could be used to see into the darkest of nights.

It was why his kind had the name that they did.

Night Dragons.

"You're too late, Guardian! The Mistress has seen through your schemes!" Glower stalked closer, the street rumbling as one, two, three, and finally, four other dark reptiles landed at his flanks. "Might you make this easy, and bear your throat?"

"Frankly, Glower, it baffles me that Malefora was willing to let you off the leash Cynder had on you, given your… less than shining record of command."

Glower snarled, nodding for two of the other Night Dragons in his Wing to take her flank.

"That was an old time and an old squad." He snapped. "But! Forgetting the past, sister, what is the news I hear of the Purple Dragon being in Oversight? I'd very much like to meet him…"

"You will not touch her." Ignitia spread her wings and hunched lower. "And you will not touch this city."

"Oh isn't that heroic of you?!" Glower screamed, quivering with hateful rage. He fanned his wings, and his Night Dragons leaped into action. "I want one of you to eat her fucking eyes!"

A narrow-snouted drake was the first to make contact. Ignitia locked forepaws with him and endured the strike of a serrated tailblade located at his fifth limb's tip. The Night Dragon snarled and tried to lean his weight with a spread of his own wings.

Ignitia twisted down and vaulted him over her shoulder head-first into the street.

Another dragon tried to dig his fangs into her wing. She snapped backward and caught his chin with an upwards swing of her tail, finishing her flank with her paw drawing a trio of bloody lines down his breast. She bit him across the face and craned her neck so she could hurl him like a sack of potatoes into a buttress on the side of the road.

Her flesh suddenly began to bloom with indescribable pain, and a moment later, Ignitia was blind. All she could hear was the scream of an angry wyrm over the flow of Mana.

She tucked and rolled with an agonized shriek, bursting from the cone of Shadowfire covered in unnatural blisters and steam. She sent the offender into the air when a fireball imploded under his heels. The drake she'd face-planted came back and straddled her from behind, his talons raking a duo of gory trenches down her snout and another three across her neck. Another Night Dragon landed in front of her and galloped at her with her own black horns presented.

Ignitia screamed, twisting, to adjust the inevitable blow away from her clavicle. The Night Dragoness' horn instead impaled her shoulderblade and ran nearly to the halfway ring. The Guardian felt her own blood running like a lukewarm river down her flank and onto the street.

She writhed like a snake and sent the bitch-hen reeling with a bat of her sharp wing across the face. Ignitia threw her whole weight into the air and tossed the startled drake off her spine.

The Guardian looped mid-fall and latched onto his belly, swinging him around and using him as a bed to shield her crushing fall back down to the road.

Crasshhhhh~! –the street cracked and bricks flew everywhere. The Night drake she straddled peeled his head out of the rubble and screamed at her defiantly, broiling green Poison energies swirling in the back of his throat.

Ignitia swatted away a rescue attempt from one of his comrades with her tail, and gripped her victim's snout and mandible in both forepaws.

What followed next appeared to look like Ignitia was about to lock jaws with the Night Dragon in some obscene kiss. Instead, the Fire Guardian kept their throats aligned as a jet of terrible flame shot out from her gullet and penetrated the back of the drake's throat.

She kept the stream flowing until the body beneath her stopped struggling. The Night Dragon's face started to slide off his own skull. His eyes vanished in puffs of steam and were replaced with amber-glowing portcullises. The back of his once regal neck liquefied and became part of the cobblestone.

Ignitia did not cut off the fiery scream until another moment before silencing her Mana and tearing back, the melting head and spinal column of her opponent ripping free from his glowing, magma-like shoulders like one would pull a foreign object out of fresh baking batter.

The Guardian threw the slag away before Glower himself tackled her from the side and assailed her with a series of slashes and bites, riddling Ignitia's shoulder and ribs viciously like he was a starving dog tearing into a slab of meat.

Ignitia could only cry out in hateful defiance as the rest of the Wing of the dragon she'd murdered pounced on her as a pack.

They were going to draw and quarter her with their teeth.

Then, one of the Night Dragons went still and squeaked, like a mouse.

All motions ceased.

That same drake had a look of horror written across his black snout. He was yanked back suddenly by some extremely powerful force, causing the whole Wing to leap back in surprise and leave Ignitia a bleeding wreck in the street.

"Watch:" Terradora's voice bellowed across the whole intersection. "witness all of your fates at my claw."

The massive Earth Guardian regarded the kicking and flailing lizard that was a head shorter than her with disdain. She was standing on her rear paws and holding the Night Dragon, suspended, like he weighed nothing, her talons wrapped around his throat.

Without another word, Terradora gripped one of the drake's black horns, and snapped it free of his skull with a sickening crunch of flesh and bone. The Night Dragon screamed at the top of his lungs as blood rolled down his head and began to coat his already dark body.

The Earth Guardian spiraled the horn in her other claw like it was a dagger before ramming it point-first through her victim's eye, twisting when the shrieks doubled in volume, and jerking it around until they became silent and the reptile's form swung from her grip limply.

She spat in the corpse's face and threw it at Glower's feet, making him and his remaining Wing leap back in fright.

"Let us fight now." Terradora said sternly.

The Night Dragons scattered into the air in a hasty retreat, like a flock of panicking pigeons.

Wingleader Glower took a moment to regard the bleeding form of Ignitia with some measure of grim disappointment.

So close.

Next time.

He spread his wings too and went after his squad, back over Oversight's walls and into the heavens beyond.

"…s-sister…"

"Ignitia!" Terradora held onto the Fire Guardian's flank and rolled her onto her back, examining the brutal damage wrought up and down her usually beautiful body. "You are in bad shape."

"…ecck, I f-felt that before you said so, Terra'…" Ignitia wobbled in her grip as the Earth Guardian hauled her weight.

Very soon, Terradora had her slung over her back, and she began to gallop down the street, unaffected at all by the Guardian of Fire's weight as the chord-like muscles streaming down her emerald scales rippled and flexed.

Truly, Terradora had become a powerful warrioress over the years. Ignitia felt like she was lying on steel.

"The Night Dragons have only recently joined the fray." Terradora breathed over her wing as they went. "That's the third Wing of their banner that has infiltrated the city at various times. Malefora has unleashed their full ranks, I think."

"…if the Night Dragons have become active, that means Malefora herself is coming as well…" said Ignitia weakly. "…Terra'… I… I brought her… she's headed for the castle…"

"Who?"

"The Purple Dragoness." Ignitia paused, cringing as blood ran down her scales. She creased her chops and vainly tried to apply pressure to the shoulder-wound she sported with her claw. "…her and the Fallen…"

"Mm. Perfect. I may exact penance on that one." Terradora smirked darkly. "Urukal has gathered all his remaining forces inside the city. He's mustering them outside Crownhorn's courtyard and is about to assault the gates."

"…best speed then." Ignitia cried out in agony, holding onto her fellow Guardian's shoulders and twisting around so that her belly ran parallel to Terradora's spinal scutes. "…What about the Queen?"

"I'd have crushed her like the insect she is if our laws allowed it." Terradora rumbled, her wings unfurling and spreading on either of her sides. "I do not think Oversight could take another blow to its morale. But to answer your question: she is as useless as she was during the blizzard incident between you and Cynder."

"…Oh…" Ignitia closed her eyes, suffering terrible pain. "…That's a long time to be useless…. Yes…."

"Mm." Terradora heaved, taking her own and Ignitia's weight in stride, and lifting off the street with a creak of leathery membranes. Ignitia heard the wind whistling but couldn't keep her eyes open to see for herself. "By the way: it is good to see you."

Ignitia would've laughed, but she fell asleep before she could.

{🐉}

Terradora almost smashed straight through the window. It was by luck or chance that Blizren was there to yank the sills apart and leap out of the way before that happened.

"Guardian Ignitia!" He squawked upon seeing Terradora stand herself up.

"Gather everyone." Terradora snapped, carrying her friend across the chamber. "One of you: find a capable flyer not in this room."

"…Terra', you know I'm not one to prod panic, but…" Ignitia coughed when she was heaved onto a cot, and a Fire drake with golden horns scurried over to apply a dressing over the gushing wound on her shoulder. "…I-I feel like it's crucial to let you know…"

"Out with it." Terradora grunted, tearing parchment and pressing a prepared Red Mana Crystal onto Ignitia's flank. The latter winced in the resultant flash.

"-I can't feel my chest."

"Gather everyone." Terradora practically threw one of the other dragons scrambling around the chamber. "What the hell are you all doing? Move faster!"

"Don't forget about the survivors." Ignitia heaved. "The remnant battalions waiting by the gates."

"I will lead them." The Earth Guardian touched their foreheads, a rare chip of strain marring her stoic expression. "Then I will find the Purple Dragon."

"-And the Fallen, don't forget him either."

"How could I not." Terradora rolled her eyes. "Besides, if they are as close as you have described them as, they cannot be too far apart."

"I don't mean to interrupt, ma'ams." Blizren stepped to the side of the cot. "But do you have standing orders?"

"Take whatever is left of your Wing and merge with the rest of the defenders." Terradora regarded him for only a second. "Try to keep to the air. I have been told by our scouts that Urukal himself is leading the charge. The melee is going to be overwhelming."

"-Spyra and the Fallen won't even flinch at that!" Ignitia cried, almost rolling out of the cot before others hurried over and steadied her with their paws. "Terradora, you have to find them!"

"I only have two wings." Terradora grumbled. "Find more crystals, somebody!"

"But the medical wing with all of the wounded..." A dragon blinked.

"I do not care. Get more crystal-"

"I'm ordering you to not listen to Terradora." Ignitia winced, ignoring the resultant gawking glare of the prior. "Just patch me up, please."

"Damn it Ignitia-"

"I can't survive losing that dragoness again, so if you want me to recover, get your scaly ass out of that window and back into the fight!" The Fire Guardian shrieked.

"Sergeant Colcrus was able to reassemble another Wing, ma'ams, they're waiting for your orders as well." Another drake announced.

"Fuck off." Terradora snapped before leaning over Ignitia. "Consider the value of different lives here, sister. Keeping one who can operate a broom is not over keeping one who can with a sword."

"I will be dead before I endanger others for my own sake." Ignitia snarled, angling her head painfully over so she could gaze at the messenger. "And, Sergeant Colcrus?"

"Recently promoted." The messenger grimly frowned. "On account of the casualties recently suffered."

"…Oh, Ancestors." Ignita let her head hit the cot's pillow. "Terradora, please just go. If you don't move, the lives of every being in Oversight could be in jeapordy."

"I'm supposed to be the hardheaded one." Terradora locked foreheads with her again. "Damn it, Ignitia. I wish you were colder sometimes, like me."

"Cyrila's the cold one." Ignitia giggled. "Now please, hurry!"

"The dark armies are moving!" Someone shouted, clawsteps echoing out from a nearby hall as messengers returned from the streets outside. "-And the Purple Dragon and Fallen are emerging out of the central district and are coming here!"

"This campaign is about to culminate in a major battle." Terradora growled as she stomped back over to the window and ripped it open. "I will bring the reinforcements. After that, it is time for this heroine to prove her worth to not just the Dragon Realms, but to me."

{🐉}

This was all new to her, obviously. Swamp-life never required aerial reconnaissance simply because it couldn't be used. Whenever Spyra had flown over the bogs, the mist, woodland canopies and mushroom-tree caps would obscure everything below her.

Oversight was completely different. Everything was organized into these neat channels. Alleyways, streets and squares, all snug between trench-like caps created between tightly wound stone and shingle buildings. Unless someone hid inside a structure or under some of the wharf overlofts, it was impossible to not be spotted.

Evidently, the Dark Army in Oversight's heart had considered themselves victors already.

They certainly weren't making an effort to keep themselves subtle.

Spyra liked a good fight…

But this seemed suicidal.

The stringent forces her, Ignitia and the Fallen had wiped out outside the walls, and the straggling units that had entrapped their allied survivors paled in numbers when put up against the final mob.

It was true, Urukal (wherever he was down there) was amassing all of his infantry in a burning market square not too far from the courtyard directly in front of the gates to Castle Crownhorn: the only way to easily breach the castle without having to spend days pummeling through solid stone.

There were thousands of Grublins, so many that they looked like moving carpets of little ant people scurrying around the ankles of platoons of Orc infantry and clusters of Trolls. Spyra tried to stay over the formation for a while to get a somewhat accurate estimate of ranks.

She wanted to say between fifteen-hundred and two-thousand.

She lost count when a trio of patrolling Wyverns engaged and tried to claw her face off, effectively ruining her internal counting. After butchering them, Spyra took off towards the heart of the city, now scanning the ruined streets for the Fallen.

Between her sweeps, she massacred any stragglers she came across. A handful of Grublins picking at the remains of a butcher's shop, a trio of Orcs and their lapdogs wandering towards the gathering down a sideroad.

It all felt relatively easy.

After all, the Fallen was pretty easy to track.

She just had to follow all the bodies she didn't make.

When she found him, the human was sitting on the remains of a stoop, his helm was removed and lain next to his weapons at his feet. He had his face buried in his hands, fingers clawing through his matted hair. Spyra had never before seen him so covered in blood. He looked black, like tar. There was that much of it.

"Hey, what're ya' doin'?" She breathed, claws clicking as she landed in front of him and folded up her wings. He didn't immediately answer her. Spyra swept her snout around and observed a cluster of Orcs and Grublins he'd slain. There was a massive OgreOrc missing a hand and with its entrails decorating the street slumped over curb. "…Looks like you had a good fight."

The Fallen just shivered. For a long while, Spyra gazed upon the top of his head and doted on him, tempted but refusing to touch him.

"…Did, uh… didjya' get hurt or something?" She coughed, wiping some sweat off her brow and polishing a horn with her thumb. "I've kinda' been the one giving you the silent treatment and all that the last day or two, so, y'know, it's a little weird having it done back. Especially now. …Are we going to the castle? Ignitia's gathering the soldiers we saved."

The human slid his hands away and revealed to her a sunken face. He looked like he had aged over the last few hours. She supposed that was expected, given the fact that they had rapidly secured the fringes of a whole city, in fights that would've taken normal armies days.

Though, that was all against remnants.

As it turned out, Urukal had put all of his cards into bull-rushing the castle, and they were just in time for the real fight. The city was still infested, on top of that. The cries of angry Orcs were caught on the wind from all directions in the distance. Something exploded a few blocks away and Mole rifles were cracking in the direction of the castle, looming over the rooftops like a pristine watcher over all the destruction.

"The castle's outta' range for all the siege weapons outside. No wonder it's practically untouched like that, the Dark Army is just gettin' to claw it up now after the whole battle." She muttered, sitting in front of the Fallen and lapping at one of her paws. "You do gotta' give it to these Northern-peeps, they fight alright, not as good as us, but alright…"

"Are you talking to me again?"

Spyra blinked and met his gaze. The Fallen looked terrible. They both did, but it made him look worse. The beautiful suit of armor the Moles had given him was utterly ruined. Battle damage scarred every inch of it, most of the scale-mail was gone and the pauldrons had been almost completely shorn away, like they were made of paper and someone had slashed them with a tiger's paw.

He was covered in lacerations and bruises. Nothing had cut too deeply, thankfully, and that went for both of them. The worst she was dealing with was a developing black eye from that son of a bitch OgreOrc's foot in the intersection, and mad blood-blisters. She still had the energy and vigor to keep fighting, like her normal peppy self.

But this…

"…Are you talking to me again?" He asked a second time.

"I don't know yet." She turned away and huffed at her feet, kicking a pebble. "…It felt weird last night, not having you there. I know it hasn't been that long, but, like… it's hard for me to sleep without the weight against my flank, and… and shit."

"So then come back." He croaked, wiping blood off his cheek.

"What, ya' want me to?" Spyra grumbled.

"Of course I want you to."

"I hate the fact sometimes, that you're the person I-"

He held up a hand in front of her snout, keeping it off her chops because of all the mud and gore. The Fallen smiled and shook his head.

"Please," He muttered. "please don't say that."

"…S-Say what…." Spyra suddenly felt her composure becoming brittle. She clenched her fangs when her lower jaw quivered and stayed strong. "…Why?"

"Because you shouldn't."

"Yeah? Why the hell not? I can say whatever I want to whoever I want." The dragon whipped her tail. "I could have anyone!"

"You could." He conceded. "I never wanted your prerogative, Spyra, just you."

"So then why can't I say it? Huh?" She got in his face. "Do you really not care, that at any friggin' second, right now, in this hell-hole, one of us could be dead?"

"That's exactly why you shouldn't say it." He forced himself to stand up and slip his helmet back onto his filthy head. When he breathed, it came out as a shiver. He grabbed his blade and gun and sheathed them. "Look, fate's got us on the chopping block right now, and to your word: there could be a moment right in the middle of my sentence where I'm finally set free, and you can save the world. But just so we're clear: if it means I can keep you alive, my own well being is forfeit."

"T-That's exactly why I want to say it!" She cried. "God damn it, Fallen! I'm not a confused little hatchling, alright? I know how I feel! I've had too hard a life to not learn how to tell truth, from worthless in-the-moment emotion!"

"Listen to me." He knelt, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Look at me. You have every right to leave me behind. I have no right to lay any sort of claim to anything about or upon you. I don't want you to say anything to me, not about that. You only stand to lose and never gain from this from that moment on when the words leave your mouth."

"b-but-" Spyra started crying. She held onto his wrists and wrung her paws on the bloodstained metal of his gauntlets. "-I-I never sa-id y-ou had t-to accept it-"

"The last time someone said that to me, I-!"

"Wait!"

The Fallen looked up at a rooftop.

Conscience was standing there, chin down, now similarly beaten, bloodied and ruined just like he was. However, his expression always maintained that calm aloofness, just as it was now, albeit with a slight sprinkle of sadness.

"Fallen," His other folded his arms. "just be sure. Once you tell someone, there isn't any going back."

"….I…" The Fallen swallowed. "I know."

"w-what-?" Spyra sobbed, bowing her head so she didn't have to look at him.

"Spyra, please, look at me." He delicately lifted her chin. "What I need from you, is for you to focus on getting through whatever happens today. No matter what. You must live. Do you understand?"

The purple dragon sniffled and touched her forehead to his despite all the gore and detritus. She ground her scales into his hair, missing how it felt on her snout.

"….Hey…" The Fallen tiredly grinned. "-isn't that Comet Festival tomorrow night?"

Spyra sat back, blinked, and then scoffed before rubbing at her eyes again.

"Who cares about the stupid festival." She pouted. "I'm in the middle of a fucking warzone being told no by you, and I'm listening."

"Those fireworks that they're going to use are for you." He smiled. "So you can't miss them."

"What? B-But they aren-"

He rubbed her neck and stood up.

"We gotta' get you to your own fireworks." He nodded. "C'mon, I know you're angry with me, but for the times we had in the swamp's sake: let's save a castle."

"…A-And fuck up a load of bad-guys while we're at it?" She hiccupped laughter.

"A huge load of bad-guys."

"I'm game."

{🐉}

"There's someone coming!"

"More fallback survivors?"

"No! It's the Purple Dragon and the Fallen!"

The Moles and dragons in the battlements defending the gates couldn't have looked more relieved.

Taking into consideration their situation: neither Spyra nor the Fallen could blame them.

Crownhorn Courtyard had six individual streets it led out into. A great statue of a masterfully carved stone tree riddled with vines lye shattered in the center of the plaza, and craters speckled most of the buildings in the direction of the city-gates from artillery fire.

The walls were staffed with Moles wielding rifles and polearms. There were two brass, mechanically-mounted cannons facing the courtyard below on either end of the forward-facing walls flanking the massive wooden, brass-barred gates, which were carved with murals of vines and rose thorns in deep umber relief.

Dragons organized into mixed Wings waited to begin aerial sweeps on the walls and from the taller spires of the castle proper. A contingent of Mole pikemen had assembled in front of the gates to mount a last-ditch ground defensive with overhead support. The Fallen and Spyra opted to stand among them and not on the walls, despite many of the officers and some of the dragons suggesting otherwise.

"I'm not putting anyone between me and them." The Fallen said.

"Ditto." Spyra smirked.

"Guardian Terradora left a few hours ago and still hasn't returned as far as we know." The Mole captain said as he strode with them to the front of the pikemen line. "What if Cynder's gotten her too?"

"I don't think so." Spyra shook her head. "If Goth-slut was here, we would've noticed, and she'd had to have taken on Ignitia and Terradora at once. Even she couldn't manage that."

"Terradora and Ignitia probably linked up somewhere in the city and are organizing the forces by the gates." The Fallen nodded. "We have to hold out long enough, and draw the Dark Army in so they can hit from behind."

"My men are ready." The captain looked up at the taller human. "We'll stand by the Purple Dragon, and an alien, especially if you've both done half the things I've heard you have."

"Brutha': get ready to be amazed." Spyra snickered. She hip-bumped the Fallen. "Best-a' luck out there, stud."

"Stay close." The Fallen winked.

"Yeahyeahyeah, I know… and, ehm…" Spyra wandered a bit closer, her voice falling to a whisper. "…about earlier, just lemme' say one thing:"

"Yes?"

"If you die, I'll fuckin' kill you." She nipped at his arm and giggled. "Besides, I need some more incentive and shit if I'm gonna' forgive ya'."

"Maybe I'll save you in the following moments from a near-death experience?"

"Or you'll trip on a Grublin and smash your face in the brickwork, and it'll be so funny that I'll have to start liking ya' again." The dragoness stretched her wings. "You never know, huh?"

"They're coming!" One of the Moles pointed at the sky. A pair of dragons flew overhead, giving claw-signals as they returned from scouting over the streets. "The Dark Army's mobilized!"

"It's about time." The Fallen grunted, looking down at his wrecked armor. "…Somebody's gonna' get their ass kicked for what they did to my new suit."

"The battle-wear fits ya'." Spyra grinned. "Makes you look all badass and weathered and stuff. Hens dig the tough ones."

"I'll flex with every Orc I kill and make you swoon."

You already did that, she sheepishly thought, wishing he had let her say what she wanted to earlier.

The sound of massed marching and the screams of beasts echoed through the air. The city ahead seemed to tremble beneath the duress of a thousand heels. Three of the streets ahead began to slightly jitter as things crawled out of the shadows cast by the commonhouse rows.

Then, the first blackened creatures began to stride across the massive courtyard. The rising cry of hundreds of ragged throats bellowed out into the air.

Even the Fallen shifted on his heels as the square began to flood with moving tar.

Thousands and thousands of Grublins and Orcs. Tens of Trolls. The rush was colossal and seemingly endless, and it was happening so fast.

He and Spyra glanced at one another and settled on their heels, breathing, trying to keep their nerves from completely rattling.

The cannons on the walls started belching, and the riflemen's guns cracking. Detonations of fire erupted in the hordes, killing scores, felling a Troll, but ultimately even the flames were swallowed in the sheer mass of bodies.

"-Advance!" –Came a deep, thundering voice that bounced across the whole block. Spyra and the Fallen squinted, and saw on the roof of one of the buildings across the square, an Orc had appeared standing on the shingles, raising a two-handed, double-sided axe into the air. There was a black, ragged banner flowing from a pole stringed with dragon bones protruding from the back of his cuirass several feet into the air. Tusks splayed in a set of six from the sides of his finned helmet, and his stature was positively massive, rivaling that of an OgreOrc. "Tear down the Northerner's puny gates, and kill every single thing inside that castle! Leave no one alive!"

"Urukal?" Spyra glanced at the Fallen.

"Urukal." He sneered.

Who the hell else could it be?

"Arms!" The captain screamed. The Moles shifted and a row of pikes lowered in a prepared wall. They couldn't have numbered more than a hundred either way.

A hundred and two against two thousand.

The Fallen gripped his gladius until his knuckles went white.

Before he knew what was happening, he had sprinted past the last of the outstretched pikes.

He cried out his challenge as loud as he could, sword high over his head, the massed of Dark infantry converging into an arrowhead to meet him halfway. Spyra's voice bellowed out beside him as the Purple Dragon galloped alongside his flank, fangs bore, flames whipping from her mouth.

"Charge~!" Urukal's echoing voice strained over the cacophony of chaos in the background.

The Fallen vaulted off the street and hurled himself at a wall of Orcs and Grublins, a monstrous Troll stampeding towards their backs and trampling some of its own allies to reach them.

Steel shrieked and flames screamed. He and Spyra landed in the heart of hell and began to fight for their lives.

Around them, Oversight burned as if it was eating itself from the gravity of their actions. The defense of Crownhorn had begun.

{🐉}

"Why would she tell us that they were leaving in the first place?" Taliopia sulked, her expression appearing to melt and slide down her snout. She fiddled with her toe-talons and refused to look at the temple doors. "Spyra doesn't want anything to do with us anymore anyway."

"That's not true." Morinth answered with no conviction at all, her emerald gaze sweeping around the campus island. She was keeping up some unreasonable hope that the human and purple dragoness would simply appear around a corner, merrily chatting and going about their evening… "…What about Mr. Bugzee? Isn't he making you feel just a bit better?"

The black dragon gestured to the stuffed fox she had bought Taliopia earlier this morning. The bug-eyed little thing bulged, squished at the midsection as Taliopia hugged it until the point of the seams coming apart. Even though she didn't answer her, Morinth still saw the disappointment in the healer's eyes.

For a moment, Morinth thought about singing for her, but found her own mood too sour to work up the words. Instead, she plopped on the stoop of the Guardian Temple and kicked a stray piece of litter to watch it bounce around the cobblestone. She put a dark wing over Tali's set and sighed.

"We should go after them." Taliopia muttered.

Morinth looked at her like she was crazy.

She liked the suggestion, of course, but it was just hearing such a bold statement from her Tali-walli' was… well, unlike her. The Fallen had really helped get her out of that damned shell it seemed.

"You know all that will do is get you or me or both of us killed." Morinth grunted. "Trying to search a warzone for one person is like picking out a thumb of quartz in a mountain of sand. Forget all the Orcs trying to cut you to bits…"

"…I hate Orcs." Taliopia quivered, hugging her toy fox even tighter, its little button eyes glinted with mock agony from the childish attentions. "If the Fallen's already gone there, and so has Spyra and Lady Ignitia, then they had to have destroyed the Dark Army there, they just had to have."

"The Fallen is quite good at what he does." Morinth blushed, feeling a sensation in her thighs. "-But, even he can't take on an entire army by himself and win that fast. You might get your wish, because the longer that fight goes on, the more likely we are to get deployed with the rest of the battalion to provide reinforcements."

"Isn't it your wish too?"

"It is." Morinth lapped at her horn. "But I have to keep you safe too, my doctoring 'ness. We could get stabby-wabbed by jumping into a battle all willy-nilly… You don't want to get stabby-wabbed, do you?"

"N-No!" Taliopia squeezed the plushie and gawked at Morinth like a frightening hatchling. "But I don't want Spyra and the Fallen to get stabby-wabbed even more! Oh, please Morri-poo', I can't take this! Let's go find them, please!"

"Tali'-"

Morinth shushed her when a young drake scrambled over with a wild look in his eyes. He was one of the campus assistants, judging by the canvas bag slouched over his hip and the little monocle over his eye.

"Is Lady Ignitia in there?" The drake screeched to a halt at the foot of the stoop, pointing frantically at Guardian Temple.

"No?" Morinth blinked. "Why, has something happened?"

"Oh-no-!" The drake yanked his horns and danced on his hinds. "I need Ignitia's help!"

"With what, sir? Maybe me and Tali' here could lend you a paw-"

"Someone got stuck in the well again!"

Before Morinth or Taliopia could blink, the intern spread his wings and zipped off into the center of the island, vanishing.

Morinth rolled her jaw and started teething on a knuckle.

"They're going to miss the fireworks tomorrow night…" Taliopia sadly uttered, turning her stuffed fox around and nuzzling its nose. "Spyra's never seen fireworks before… I just wish we could talk to them at least, and see if they're okay."

A look dawned on Morinth's face as she let her paw out of her mouth and looked back at the Guardian Temple, silently towering into the cloudy day sky above like some titanic sigil of draconic might.

"…Maybe we could." She smiled deviously. "Maybe we could talk to them."

"How?"

"The temple has a Vision-Pool in the basement catacombs! Don't you remember from the semesters we had during trials?"

"So what about some stupid, smelly pool anyhow…" Taliopia pouted. "They locked the temple up and we aren't allowed to use the Guardians' Vision Pools, Morri-poo, we'd get in trouble…"

"…Ooooohh Talliiiii'….~" Morinth sang, leaning closer. "Do you recall how long I had to spend telling you that jumping the Fallen's bones in the medical wing was a good idea? And how much you said no and nu-uh, and then when we just went and did it…"

Taliopia shuddered and ground her backside into the stoop steps.

Oh, the feeling of the Fallen inside that part of her had been…

"…I-I don't know, M-Morri'…" Taliopia began to shiver, licking at her fangs to lap up suddenly hyperactive rivulets of drool. "…I-It's dishonest…."

"What's the value of honesty, my love, when you can make the Fallen stick it in your-"

"Okay! Okayokayokay let's do it!" Tali' moaned, her creamy body undulating as she clawed at her rump and tried to squeeze her own cheeks. Any attempt to relive that little episode back in the castle had proven faulty for her. She needed more. "J-Just as long as I can have my own moment with the human, Morri'! Just as long as he can- ….–stick it in my butt again….~"

"Come on." Morinth grabbed her by the wing and yanked. "I know how to get inside-"

"Daughter!"

Morinth and Taliopia shrieked in fright and grabbed one another, the latter's stuffed fox falling down the stoop before her tail whipped out and curled around to smash it between them.

Coming across the square in a regal trot was Councilman Leetol, looking as stern and emotionless as he always did. Immediately, Morinth felt her spinal scutes prickle and her wings tingle.

It was easier for an inlaw to deal with a slight distaste.

But describing how Taliopia's parents felt about her relationship and partner as distasteful was being generous. Morinth could still remember when Tali's mother had screamed at her, like she had murdered her daughter, not kissed her in front of them.

Oh joy…

"There you are! I have been searching for you." Leetol said studiously, coming to a halt at the bottom of the stoop, his rose-colored eyes fixed on Tali'. "Well? Aren't you going to come down here and say hello to me?"

You had days to come to her yourself, Morinth immediately thought, venom dripping from the words. And he's not even acknowledging me again. Pah.

"H-Hi, daddy…" Taliopia shyly smiled as she uncoiled from Morinth. "How are you?"

"Quite well, daughter, quite well, or as well as this war can let me." Leetol angled his long neck down and put his face in front of her when she reached the bottom step, waiting for Taliopia to peck his cheekscales before reclining and not offering one himself. Morinth growled as she followed. "Your mother and I have made a reservation. We were fixing to buy you dinner in celebration of your successful campaign in the south."

"O-Oh. Oh! T-That sounds w-wonderful!" Taliopia immediately began to revert to her normal, timid self. She sat on her haunches and smiled at her father, eyes continuously darting to her flank where she heard Morinth sit down too. "-I-Is Morinth invited too?"

"Ah, yes, Morinth." Leetol (of course) frowned, and looked past his nose at the darker hen.

"Hoowwww arrree yoouuuu~, Leetol?" Morinth sang with a mocking grin. "You must have been quite busy the last two days. Cheeky that, I guess it's expected, since you're a Councilman and all."

"I think both of us have many times been outside one another's expectations." Leetol raised a brow. "I do profusely apologize, but there were only three seats reserved…"

"Daddy," Taliopia said sternly, gripping Morinth's paw and squeezing. "if Morinth doesn't go: I don't go. We've talked about this before!"

Leetol was taken aback by the assertiveness, and for a moment, it looked like someone had walked up to him and slapped him across the snout. Morinth almost started cackling.

Oh dear, did anyone else hear that terrible shatter of glass somewhere? Ha-haaa!

"-I-I see." Leetol cleared his throat. "And I take it that this is your final deci-"

"Daddy."

"…*sigh* Yes, my daughter, yes. Fine."

"Eeeee~!" Taliopia squealed, almost choking Morinth as she squeezed her in a crushing hug. "This is gonna' be great tonight!"

"Some might say I'm like a bad smell when it comes to you guys, Leetol." The hybrid snickered. "I just can't help it! What would I do without Taliopia and her lovely family by my side anyhow?"

"Dinner is at eight." Leetol swallowed a response he knew would land him in hotter water than he could chance in his already distant relationship with his own child. "Your mother is very excited to see you, so please do not be late."

"I won't, daddy!" Taliopia hopped a little away from Morinth and beamed at him, hugging her stuffed fox. "So, how are you today? Did you do anything coo-"

"I'm sorry, Taliopia, I have matters to attend to. Do conclude… whatever sort of business you have here. Did you not graduate from this place years ago?" Leetol took a series of glances around the campus and wing-shrugged. "Ah, the past. Anyway, I will see you soon. Ta-ta."

Taliopia lowered her eyes, frowning as she picked something out of her plushie's fur, and Leetol spread his massive, beautiful rosy wings before taking off.

"Bloody asshole…" Morinth grumbled, kneading Tali's shoulderblades.

"Did you say something, Morri-poo?"

"Not at all, my love." Morinth doted on her, nibbling the base of a horn. "Actually, I'm curious: when was the last time you saw your mother?"

"Oh! The last time I saw mommy was-" Taliopia paused. "…u-uhm…. uh…"

"Oh, Tali'." Morinth sighed, resting her snout between the medic's horns and brushing her face with a cool exhale under her chin.

"D-Does that make me bad, Morinth? That I don't see my mother?"

"Bad?! Are you fucking kidd-" Morinth shut herself up when the startled look on Tali's face became evident. She leaned back and locked tails with her, thinking for a second before changing her response. "-No, not it doesn't make you bad or good or anything at all. It isn't by your choice that your relationship is a little… estranged."

"What does that word mean?" The medic blinked.

"It's the word dragons use when someone's being a doody-brained, pig-headed meanie. So, about this temple…"

"Yeah! How are we supposed to get in?" Taliopia craned her neck around and blinked at the Guardian Temple.

"Back when I was still a student here, me and some of the other hens found a way that I guarantee the Guardians never discovered!" Morinth exclaimed. "This way!"

{🐉}

{Halo Wars OST: Flollo}

"Mm. That's the tree, isn't it? I can still see the divet. It must have grown fat from all the blood, Mistress."

"Tch', you know there wasn't much then or after." Cynder ran a talon down the bark and brought her fingers back, rubbing the prints together as if some sort of residue had been acquired. "I think it was the first time in a long time that I had a competent fight ahead of me. That's a hard thing to find."

"…Mistress, if I may ask a question freely?"

"Lords and ladies, Reslo, you needn't suffer formalities in privacy such as this. I didn't ask you here to be prim and authoritative like my rank determines I should be."

"…Of course, Mistress."

"God, just call me Cynder. I won't ask again."

Evidently, that was too far a border for the emaciated dragoness' comfort zone to ever reach, because from that point on, Reslo didn't use anything to address Cynder's being, and instead constantly spoke aloof.

"Something was different before the fight and after. May I ask you what happened to cause that?" Reslo hopped onto a dragon-sized root splaying from the tree's massive foot, peering at Cynder with a pair of crisp, pretty, violet eyes.

"I don't think I know what you're talking about." Cynder snorted, gaze dancing over a portion of grass that was growing on the tree's merger with the dirt, just below the rented scar in its ancient wood where her tailblade had kissed long ago. "It is curious, though, the circumstances that brought us to that point and now to here. Consider this: we've been here before, several times, as conquerors and summarily defeated refugees."

"The Northerners are disgraceful but powerful too." Reslo reasoned with a half-smirk. "There isn't much guilt to be had when someone has put forth so much effort over those around them."

"Careful, you're starting to sound patronizing, Res'." Cynder chuckled and turned around, walking back towards an aisle between all the Avalarian trees. "Wouldn't it be ironic if they came back right this second?"

"Who? The Cheetahs?"

"Yes."

"That's unlikely." Reslo hopped off the root and trailed by the larger dragoness' side. Her thin limbs arced quietly with each step she took, exposing the bulge of her upper pelvis through the taught scales and flesh making her hips. Though it looked like some form of health problem, it was actually Reslo's natural body form. Her breed of Night Dragons were supposed to look like pencil-thin night-crawlers laden with thorns and bird-like snouts. "Most of the tribes migrated deeper into the forests, I've been hearing, some even hiding in the valleys where the Grublins can't seek them out. The Dark Master's touch is so constant, and yet so… weak."

"Fear not in saying it, at least." Cynder grinned. "I've advocated that exact view beyond count."

"And no one listens?"

"Why the fuck would they? And no, don't start bowing and begging for me to release you from this view of my own vulnerability. Take pride in it, however. You're the sole occupant of such a seat at the time."

Reslo looked meek as a slight flush overtook her face. They entered a foliage-hugged aisle winding in several directions through the forest. Nearby, the rush of the Twilight Falls and the mutter of the subsidiaries was constant over birds' songs and crickets.

"You put too much trust in me." Reslo admitted.

"Trust? Oh no, do not mistake my kindness as trust, little one. That pride I said you should feel goes claw-in-claw with understanding. The understanding of knowing your place, which is and always will be beneath me."

Reslo ground her fangs as the two walked.

"Did you ask for me to be your escort just to remind me of that?" She grumbled.

"No, I asked you to be my escort because you are beneath me and the subject of some degree of kindness." Cynder smiled. "You've been looking tired lately. What ailes you?"

"…It's…" Reslo muttered, glancing down at her own body. "…it's nothing, Mistress."

"-You were pregnant."

Cynder exhaled through her nose and opened her eyes, bringing back the real, living world as her recollections ended.

She was standing atop the edge of one of Oversight's many coastal cliffs, granting her a view of the bloodied and soiled beach to the northeast, speckled with ruined Dark Army engines and landing ships. The gray ocean held a few trailing Mole vessels and Ape man-o-wars, but aside from that, the majority of the battle had melded into the city center.

"Where the hell is he?" The black dragon grumbled, gazing around at the cloudy, late-afternoon sky. "I knew I should've simply showed up myself."

No, no you know you shouldn't have. Do we really want another replay of Zargos the Pathfinder.

Cynder growled and dragged her claw through the grass.

Actually, she didn't know where Zargos had gone after his failed assassination attempt and betrayal of her goal. Cynder had been a fool to attempt to manipulate one of Malefora's assassins so brazenly. Relying on fanatical worship was something she could do with her Apes, not the Orcs of the Dark Continent. Hoping to attain otherwise was just dumb.

She didn't know why that reminded her of Reslo, her long-deceased minion straight from Darklight. She supposed her entire life was being called into question since the Fallen and Spyra had rearranged it so. Now was more of an opportunity she hoped would work.

Reslo had been a far fetched dream, anyway. That was another stupid decision on Cynder's end. Trying to talk double about seeking solace in a henchman. Reslo had done that well, for the few times in their brief careers together that Cynder had been able to find her. Then, that shit had gone down in the mountains. That horrible, ugly, bloody shit that didn't even leave a body for remembrance.

Damned Dracolich. It killed Darkshade too, that oaf.

"Aye, Mistress!"

Wings flapped and the ground thudded. A large Dreadwing covered in tribal fetishes with a ring of parrot-feathers hanging from its neck-tuft thundered into the grass and growled at her, an Ape wielding a bone-axe hopping down from the throne on its back.

"Jute." Cynder greeted, meeting the Chieftain halfway. "The flight wasn't too perilous, yes?"

"Nah, them draggos don't gots a clue about anythin past the Frontier shallows." Jute chortled. "Tall Plains is ours now. Me men are fortifying it as we speak, using some new traps that I fink you'd get a right kick out of if ya saw em!"

"Possibly. I have a task for you. It involves harming the Purple Dragon."

"Than it's a task I'll do no matta what, Mistress." Jute ground his fangs. "That little bitch smashed up me Dreadwing flight and killed Visigoth, her and that hoo-man. Am I killin him too with this?"

"He is untouchable, do you hear me? He is mine." Cynder snarled, surprising the Chieftain and making him take a step back.

"Aye, Mistress, I didn't mean ta-"

"The Purple Dragon and her companions are going to be passing through the mountains overlooking Solemn Pass, pursuing one of the Guardians that I have trapped in an ancestral location of her own people." Cynder explained. "Troops from Vandal's tribe have already donned winter gear and are traveling up into the peaks as we speak. I want you to take a small flight of Dreadwings and act as aerial support."

"How small a flight?" He asked suspiciously.

"Fifteen riders max."

"…Aight, I can manage a numba like that, given the losses. As long as Vandal's boys are up-front gettin shot full-a holes." Jute stepped closer to his Dreadwing, Charlee, and patted it between its misshapen, goblinoid eyes. Strangely, the hideous beast stopped growled and purred silently. "I'll lead em meself."

"Excellent. Kill the Purple Dragon and anyone else beside her. The human is to be kept alive."

"Alive?!"

"Do not test me, Chieftain." Cynder whipped her tailblade. "I have already suffered enough deviance from my plans and I will not tolerate such from you or your fellows. Death awaits any who challenge that. Do you understand?"

"…But, why?" Jute held his claws out. "Wha could ya possibly need from da hoo-man? I'll do it! But I jus wanna know why!"

"None. Of. Your. Concern." She sneered. "Prepare your flights as soon as possible and bring them here. I plan on letting the knowledge slip of Guardian Cyrila's whereabouts when the time is right. The Purple Dragon will take the bait."

{🐉}

{Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim OST: Combat #5}

Two hours.

It took two hours for Spyra to become exhausted.

The Fallen was not only impressed, but he was also in awe at her resilence. He actually had expected an hour and a half.

Neither of them knew how many of the pikemen were left. Probably not a lot. But then again, being in a sea of enemies left little room for outside observations. For all they knew, the castle had already been taken, and they were hopelessly outmatched…

No, hold on to hope.

Those weren't his words, but he stuck with them, even if he couldn't remember who had said it to him in the past.

All that mattered was keeping the steel from touching him. All that mattered was keeping Spyra's body away from any blows she couldn't see. He had a feeling she was doing the same for him.

They didn't know how many they killed. It was hundreds, but ultimately unknown. Things were too fast and terrifying to focus on anything else but staying alive. The Fallen felt like his heart was going to give out. Spyra felt like she had already dropped dead and somehow was still moving.

Flames erupted down a cluster of Grublins and sent scorched cadavers flipping across the plaza. A second later, and a purple missile landed among the disorganized defenders, spinning like a buzzsaw and shattering bones with each crash of her paws, tail and wings. Spyra mowed down a cluster of Grublins with her talons and tackled an Orc, splitting open his face with her claws and knuckles and transforming into an orb of flashing lightning when the Orc's fellows surrounded her swinging greatswords, and summarily died as steaming, blackened hunks of meat.

The Fallen slashed, parried, ducked, rolled and kicked, leaving a trail of mortally maimed and dead in his wake. He decapitated, removed legs and arms, impaled guts and saw open cuirasses to burst apart the ribcages beneath. At some points, he began to kill with his bare hands, pure adrenaline-fueled rage flowing in place of blood as he channeled every ounce of hatred he knew how to experience in a desperate bid to keep himself from suffering the strain of physical effort.

"Behind you!" He screamed, forcing himself through a ring of Grublins, suffering a slash on his leg and another on his hip as he disengaged. He ran to Spyra's position in the mob and ripped a polearm from a dead Grublin's claws. He reared back and chucked it, the blade running to the hilt as it impaled an Orc through the neck and sent it tumbling. The bastard had been running up behind her with a warhammer over its head.

"No!" Spyra shouted, twisting and tearing an Orc's head off from its shoulders, even taking the black-dribbling spine as she used her wings to fan a funnel of air and trap several Grublins under the corpse. "Behind you!"

The childish shriek let him know before the thundering earth did. The Fallen killed a pair of Grublins and rolled over their falling bodies. A pair of rocky fists cratered the street in his wake, and the Troll screeched as it turned around to track his movements and attempt a second strike.

"Big ugly fucker…" He heaved, standing up.

An Orc rushed over and swung an axe at his face. The Fallen threw himself back and felt the blade glance the top of his helmet and slide up the curve, which effectively saved his life.

He met the street with a clatter and rolled when a Grublin came down with a hatchet. The human parried blows as he stood, grabbing and crushing the center of the Grublin's face with his fingers. He merged the Orc's axe with his armplate shield and ran his gladius through his guts, twisting and using the edges of the pommel to rip back, a moist tumble of intestines spilling between both their booths.

He climbed the Orc's wobbling body and threw himself off its shoulders. The Troll swung again and flattened the Orc like a black, runny pancake in a near miss. It screamed in frustration and continued pursuing him through the melee.

"Hey! Ugly!" Spyra appeared in flight and zapped the flank of its head with a lightning bolt. "Your mother takes it up the ass from gay drakes who think she's a guy!"

The Fallen used the distraction and climbed up the Troll's arm. It shrieked and attempted to bat him off, but he reached its neck too soon, and ran his gladius through its left eye. The Troll screamed and thrashed about. He ripped out the remains of the first and then speared the other eye, pushing the gladius into the gore-spewing socket until he was elbow deep.

The Troll teetered and crushed a legion of its own allies when it fell. The Fallen rode the wave of motion and used it to hurl himself into a cluster of Orcs, knocking most of them prone as he recovered and started stabbing one of them to death as it attempted to stand.

Spyra landed nearby and transformed herself into a living comet, dashing through and incinerating entire squads before the fireball burst and showered a pair of OgreOrcs in draconic napalm. She flew into and gripped over the face of one of the large monsters, breathing a stream of electricity into its open mouth until its belly and chest popped open like soot-spitting cysts.

Mole pikemen were indeed surviving on the edges of the melee, Spyra and the Fallen absorbing enough of the initial charge that the squads were still functioning under extreme duress. They were surrounded by a mountain of dead that had been sliced to pieces trying to climb through the wall of polearms. Mole rifle fire was killing scores, and the brass cannons saw to it that phantom explosions bloomed among the deeper crowds and slew tens.

{Dragon Age: Inquisition OST: Pride Demon Battle}

"Purple Dragon!" Bellowed a thundering voice from the center of the mobs.

Spyra flipped away from a dying Orc and landed in a clearing of the melee, panting as she followed the call and settled her gaze on an Orc stomping through the ranks towards her.

He was massive, a black banner flowing from the pole setup on his back, his armor colored crimson like scabbing blood. He was easily eight feet tall, and his boots clattered loudly even over all the shouts and howls and gunshots.

"Come closer, wyrm-bitch!" Lord Urukal hollered. "So that I may cleave your horned head from your shoulders!"

Spyra would've normally had some kind of smart-assed retort.

However, she was wheezing so badly that she couldn't speak. So she opted for the express way of dealing with this.

She spread her wings and lunged right at him, Urukal meeting her halfway with a quick sprint and howling roar.

Spyra leapt and flipped over his serrated axe, landed by his flank, and immersed his leg and hips in a torrent of flame.

Urukal twisted around like the fire was mere rain pattering off his armored bulk and backhanded her across the face. Something snapped, and Spyra suddenly couldn't feel her mouth.

Urukal grinned and brought the axe down in a vertical chop. She rolled, forcing herself through blooming pain in every part of her body as she dodged a summary series of slashes the warlord mounted in her direction.

"I didn't believe the tales of your invincibility." Urukal's gruff, monstrous voice etched over the clang of metal and shrieks of death. "I still do not."

Spyra landed on the haft of his axe in the next swing and spat a bolt of lightning into his face. The Orc reeled and grabbed at his helmet. She scrambled up to his shoulders and head-butted him horns first. His helmet shrieked and metal ripped. Urukal stumbled back and crushed to death several unwary Grublins in his bid to right himself.

No sooner had he shook his bloodied head and readied his stance, the purple dragoness shot back at him like a magnetized bullet and twisted mid-leap. Her golden tail-leaf caught his temple and sent the Orc's head swinging roughly to the side with an aberrant crunch.

The warlord endured a fireball bursting to ashes across his chest. The blast killed every other Dark soldier by his sides, but left him still standing. Urukal snarled, reached up and ripped his tortured helmet off his face, exposing the hideous, gnarled reality of his crocodilian features and buggy, little red eyes.

The Orc bellowed at her and thundered the earth as he stampeded through the dead and dying. He swung his axe and clawed in the same movement. Spyra dodged the prior and was caught by the latter in the chest. She flipped across the street and skidded to a halt. Urukal had already reached her before she could recover and brought his axe down.

Then, a Grublin's polearm impaled his shoulder and shot his aim off. The warlord plowed his blade into the cobble by Spyra's flank, and cast an enraged sneer at his newest attacker.

The Fallen strode through a wall of Orcs and Grublins, dancing between them and slashing open stomachs and throats with trained flicks of the arm. An OgreOrc stepped between him and his target, brandishing a maul.

The Fallen slid between its legs and opened it with an incision down its groin. He climbed up the stumbling beast's back and yanked to the street with a horrible crash before taking his gladius in an underhanded grip, stabbing it in the face until it died.

Urukal snorted and tore his axe free from the street, stumbling away when Spyra breathed fire across his body and relocated in a swift scramble of paws.

"Human." The Orc growled.

The Fallen sprinted over and stabbed him in the leg, running the gladius to the hilt in the Orc's muscular thigh.

Urukal snarled and corkscrewed with his axe whilst stepping back. The blade caught the Fallen in the stomach and cut upwards through his chest, sparks and metal flying everywhere as he tossed onto his back and sprawled in the street, the armor saving him, but becoming shredded in the process.

"Your Moles are tin-workers." Urukal grumbled, making to stomp on his head, but missing when the Fallen rolled. "Stand still and die."

Spyra came out from the flank again and zapped him with lightning. This time, the blow lifted the warlord off his heels. He fell back into a swamp of Orcs and Grublins and vanished from their sight, leaving only a quickly dissipating trail of soot.

{Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim OST: Combat #4}

"They're getting through the gate!" A Mole pikeman hollered.

As the Fallen ran over and steadied Spyra, they both turned to see that a Troll had stampeded through the polearmsmen and was beating its rocky fists into the gates, jittering them with each impact and splintering the wood.

"Get its legs!" He yelled.

They killed their way through a Grublin net and shouldered through a line of pikemen engaged with some Orcs. Spyra set the Troll's legs ablaze and the Fallen climbed up its spine-moss.

As they killed the first offender, the Troll thundered back from the gates and collapsed in a heap, several Moles ran over and started dipping their pikes into the softer portions of its body while the Fallen sliced its face to ribbons and Spyra roasted any Orcs or Grublins that attempted to intervene.

Two more Trolls completely ignored the pikemen line and threw themselves at the gates. The wood splintered and the brass etchings became shredded.

"Fallen!" Spyra cried, stepping back when a torrent of flames failed to get the Trolls to even glance at the burn wounds on their legs. "I can't stop them!"

An Orc broke through the line, killed a Mole in its path and tackled Spyra. The Fallen screamed out for her, trying to slash his way through a cluster of Grublins when one of them knocked his sword free.

A new kind of beast they had not encountered before thundered through the fray, a larger Grublin armored in fungus-like plates with a pachyderm-styled growth protecting its skull-like face like a helmet. The creature drew a sharpened moss-gauntlet over the Fallen's head. He tumbled.

"Break down the gates!" Urukal sliced with his axe, cutting an opening through the breaking pikemen that sent a cluster of bodies flying off in two halves. He pinned a Mole under his heel and crushed it with a morose splatter. "Kill everything inside the castle!"

It was then that the dragons descended entirely.

Drakes had been harrying the horde the whole while, but the draconic officers had chosen to hold off on a concentrated attack, and the strategy paid off.

An Electric drake knocked Urukal off his feet with a lightning bolt, and a Wing of Ices froze the entirety of the front ranks of the force in beams of shining white light, transforming squads into disorganized fields of icicles stuck in various positions of fright and anger.

Pillars of flame cut through the mobs like hot knives as Fires swept overhead, occasionally landing and dicing their way through weaker mobs with claws and tailblades. One of the Trolls died as stalagmites made of glowing green rock materialized from a flight of Earths penetrated its head and chest in tens.

"Spyra!" The Fallen snapped a Grublin's neck, tackling another. He punched it in the head until the center of its skull caved in and his gauntlet's knuckles were glistening black. He stole its polearm and tackled the Grublin champion from before, decapitating it and throwing the body into another gaggle of its kin attempting to intercept him.

A Fire Dragon zipped over his head, its flame breath incinerating a whole row of Orcs in his path. He jumped through the scorch and embers and ran for where he had seen the purple heroin earlier.

The second Troll's head burst in a wet, fiery mess. Spyra appeared from under its barreled chest as the corpse flattened against the gate and left a black smear as it slid down heavily. She landed in front of him, blood dribbling out of her mouth.

"Spyra…" He breathed, falling to his knees and gripping her shoulders. She made a wet noise and put her forehead against his.

"Reinforcements! From the rear!" The Mole captain from before hollered, sliding a dead Orc off the end of his pike. "It's Guardian Terradora!"

An explosion echoed like thunder across the battlefield. Spyra and the Fallen looked over and saw a mushroom-cloud of tan smoke rising from the back of the Dark Army's ranks. A flight of dragons approached from the south and spread out over the rear ranks of the mob, elemental breaths cleaving through the mounds of beast-soldiers. A battalion of Moles completely surprised the back of Urukal's line and summarily began to slaughter the units of Orcs and Grublins who had literally been facing the wrong direction.

At the head of this spear was a huge, muscular, green dragoness who landed in the middle of the monstrous horde like a meteor, her very body causing the impact that saw the cloud's existence. Bodies were flying everywhere as the wicked macehead tipping her tail arced to and fro, shattering skeletons and pulping flesh.

An OgreOrc charged from the flank and swung at Terradora with a maul. The Guardian slipped back and pinned the beast to the street when a trio of stalagmites the size of men each flew out of her maw and bloodily ran through the Orc's chest and head.

Shoving his way to the flank, Lord Urukal and a band of Orcs began to distance themselves from the center.

"Stay close." The warlord sneered, tasting his own blood as it ran down his snout in rivulets. "We're retreating."

"What of the rest of the army?" One of his lieutenants croaked, another Orc nursing a wound on his chest.

"They'll keep the enemy's eyes off us. Move."

Back towards the gates, the Fallen and Spyra observed the battle for another moment.

"You still got some?" He grunted, reaching down and picking up a Grublin's sword from the bloodied ground.

Spyra winced when she tried to open her mouth and nodded.

"Then let's go."

The two of them surged forwards and began to kill their way into the front ranks of the army yet again. The rifle fire redoubled, the cannons went silent as it became too risky to fire into the melee on account of hitting their own. The shriek of metal and the cries of dying Orcs began to lower in volume more and more.

Another hour.

Another hour of killing and maiming.

Then, the Fallen hacked the head off an Archer and shouldered the stumbling corpse from his path.

When he raised the greatsword he'd taken over his head to strike, he faltered.

Standing before him was a Mole, covered in grime and blood and wielding a sword and shield.

The Fallen staggered and fell to a knee, breathing uncontrollably as he saw a whole line of Mole soldiers, mixed with dragons towering over their heads. He looked up, seeing the Northerners circling over the courtyard like vultures.

He looked everywhere.

Left, right, behind, forwards.

There were no Grublins or Orcs or Trolls or anything that he could see, none that weren't lying as mounds of corpses. There were just stringent groups of Moles, stumbling around, sticking any Dark soldiers still twitching. Dragons were landing and surveying for survivors themselves.

There was nothing but a crisp wind, the crackle of fire and the din of the evening.

That was it.

They had won.

The Fallen dropped his weapon and fell onto the seat of his breaches between some bodies. He ripped his helmet off and craned his soaked head at the darkening sky, trying so hard to get his breathing under control, and only succeeding after long minutes of wheezing and gasping.

His mouth felt like sandpaper. His body ached so badly that the pain was threatening to make him cry. He couldn't smell anything. Every single centimeter of his body was coated in blood, sweat and dirt. He was bleeding from multiple wounds, and had to spit when reams of gore ran over his lips.

Heavy footsteps caught his attention.

He lazily leaned his chin down and watched as Terradora, the Guardian of Earth, trotted over to him through the ranks of Northern soldiers. She was just as covered in gore and filth as he was, and she hadn't even been in that fight as long.

The two regarded one another for a moment.

He grinned cheaply.

Terradora sneered and spat on the street.

"…The Pool didn't do you justice." He wheezed. "You're actually pretty hot."

The Guardian smiled sourly and bowed her head, huffing at her own talons.

"When I recover," She grunted. "I am going to kill you."

Spyra appeared and collapsed by his side, leaning into his flank. The mighty purple dragoness only found enough vigor in herself to bury her head in his gut, her breathing erratic, and rasping.

"…Get in line, lady." The Fallen weakly sniggered. "You're not the first to tell me that this week."

"Don't tell me we have to fight her too." Spyra gurgled over her ruined jaw.

{🐉}