Plopping down on burning land, they shook their feathers and locked their feet, marks inch deep on ground rock-solid; colors in constant change, concurrent with flickering fire, they craned their necks and swallowed the flames, razing the trees to embers search. Thrown to the air, the red hue vanished, warmth sucked into the birds’ bellies. Weapons in tow the tribesmen waited, eyes not leaving the uncanny banquet; from their midst, a piercing sound.
Pungent smell invaded their nostrils, a metal to many known; its source a large hole, at the heart of a comrade. Gushing blood, the corpse dangled and fell; before reaching ground, dry thuds came in sequence, roots splitting a deafening noise, uprooted. An explosion. From the rising cloud of dust, a bird the size of a human head; shaking the mud off its gleaming plumage, its claws dug into the soil, unable to move.
Wild blood pumping on his veins, a warrior threw his spear, piercing the void of falling trees to reach the creature; bones crushed on a loud snap, it pulled a layer of bare skin and flesh pale. The rest no more waited, hurling their weapons at the feeding parcel; a storm of deadly needles, twice did their wings flap, from a ball of fluff its feathers to thin sheets, met with no resistance.
Persistent as guided arrows, heat forming at the beak’s tip, in sequence they crashed, each time one life taken, voiding the flesh of men; the bigger ones cleaved their lower body, now body split in two. Aware of impending death, the warriors jumped aside, close companions to another, a place met with an explosion also met with a raging spear.
The strongest did no better, beaks grazed past their limbs, a lucky dodge, and they clapped down with a machete to hack them dead; the birds puffed up and changed trajectory, with their claws slicing, beaks sucking their warmth. Distant flocks ate their fill, unbothered, the tribe forgoing them for the unseen threat, trading primitive grunts and howls – not a spear wasted, not a life taken in vain.
The first rain in days poured fast and heavy, the warriors still and the birds’ sluggish, silence returning for a fleeting moment. Sensing the enemy preying on her heart, the woman threw away the machete and pulled her sky shard, eyes wide open; its beak split like a flower in bloom, turning into mush as it went.
From the distant trees, shadows colored the blue sky, coming towards them; scouts joining the fray. In small numbers they drizzled, helping their brothers and sisters. Fire died at a pace much quicker, the drifters turned their eyes to the deathmatch at the borders; newly arrived scouts struck them down before they took flight. Breaching a hole in the scattered formation, the woman blocked and killed one with the sky shard as shield, never stopping.
Fewer warriors died to their strikes, bodies cold from the large drops of water, cooling their roaring hearts. The drifters were mostly wiped out, when the cold suddenly reached for their bones, air heavy; with their vigor's remainders, some warriors fought, yet with eyes devoid of gleam, dropping to barren land. Accustomed to the cold, those still standing found limbs trembling, reason to them unknown.
Giant wings covered the dying lights, a beak shining an ominous glint, darker than the abyss; the temperature dropped significantly, a metal glow that froze their very souls. Hovering not high above, a thunderous cry it bellowed, waves of staggering wind that toppled the strongest, ears shattered to bleed. The warriors, scars aplenty from countless battles, eyes unyielding on face of death, knew now fear and shaking feet, wishing but unable to run.
Flapping its wings, another strong gust, the feathers repositioned on its body, sharp as blades. It fell slowly. The warriors watched expressionlessly as its image grew inch by inch, ominous mouth a tainting allure. The woman, not bound by bewitching, distanced herself, grabbing any weapons she could find, be them on the ground or yanked from tribesmen.
The moment before the bird crashed, everything was silent, as should be; an ear-splitting explosion blew a crater bigger than its body, dust and rock and a blood curtain, scattered limbs and mangled corpses. The creature there stood, maneuvering its beak to swallow tiny small lights. Mid-air, the woman pirouetted and reduced her speed, pulling the charred tome that floated at the side.
Dakra, the Cold Flame: A named beast, one of its kind. There is a large difference between an unnamed creation and an named one, the latter sharing a fraction of the God’s original powers, having the capacity to grow, and a better understanding of the creator’s nature. At some point, it lost contact with Mandriella, and the souls it found, it decided to eat.
Dakra, a freezing nightmare, relished in devouring their humanity, appetite insatiable; distracted, the warriors were freed from cold grasp, war resumed with their blades, but not a dent on its sturdy feathers. The woman plucked a spear and ran around its humongous body, feet on a mound, she jumped and threw it close to his nape. Dakra wailed a low cry, shaking its head and dropping off the spear, turning around; slanted his short neck, he repeatedly pierced the ground with his beak, killing the men one by one, arcs of dripping blood.
The woman bit her lips, strength on her grip, and jumped over the crater, a mere flea climbing on his durable feathers. The tribesmen did not stop hurling weapons at the creature, sometimes reaching out for her; in his flesh she sunk spears deep, each time a pained cry and Dakra attempting to shake her off. Holding tight to the weapon, skin ripping apart, she endured; the puny humans diverted his attention. She planted another row of spears.
A deafening cry, the woman closed her eyes and boxed her ears; slanting up, the beast set flight, she slid down his body and jumped to the edge of the crater, a cloud of dust on her wake. Cold once more took over the warriors, pulling them towards the animal’s beak. A white light formed onto his puffed belly and quietly traveled up; a frosty breath of stench most foul, its touch left withered the stain of life, rotten soil unable to bear. The gale sat briefly on the surface, to sap their souls a poison cloud. Those that could yet find the strength failing, picked their tools and uselessly fought.
Dakra finished his corrupting breath, preparing for another mortal dive; another explosion, borders a dome of fresh blood. The woman rushed to his location, putting any sharp thing in her pouch, jumped on the monster’s back and climbed the spears; she planted another row, and Dakra, impatient, slapped her down moving his feathers. His feet stomped madly, yanking chunks of soil, she rolled and jumped and climbed his leg.
A wave of heat the field engulfed, fire in a torrent like a ray of blinding light; it struck Dakra’s wing and split to the eight directions, disappearing alongside his cries. The beast took flight with the woman perched, she timed her jump and dropped to safety. On the opposite side, another firestorm from thin air surged, in the middle two figures, one wearing a robe known; waving his hands and slicing the air, the flames twirled and above they danced, volatile flesh of a firebird. Screeching, the conjured creature, to Dakra equally fierce, flew and crashed on his gloomy feathers, quickly sucked into its beak.
-May Thul swiftly teleport me. RUN!
Tackling the robed man, the other figure dashed through the land, escaping its corrupting breath. Another wave of scouts, equipment shabby and clothes torn, graced the battlefield; at the fallen they stared, frozen or blown apart, hollow and lifeless, if anything left. They noticed the woman running behind the monster and clenched their teeth, ready for death.
Dakra finished his attack and held his eyes below, feeling a small heat beneath his tail; as he turned, a barrage of spears struck his gut and he saw red. Another shrill cry, he razed their ears and sent them tumbling, dead on his feet as they stood. On his back, the woman climbed to the last spear; she jumped the handle before Dakra rose, flying up to his nape and on it pummeling a hole.
Dakra cried sharply, falling a short distance in the air; shaking his head fiercely, he flew low and crashed into the trees. Holding the handle, the woman clenched her teeth, pointy branches grazed her skin as she maneuvered around, leaves flesh slicing, trees an open threat. Gradually losing speed, the woman freed her left hand and pulled the sky shard, waving it to reach for the hole. Bloody gashes formed as Dakra moved around, on the back of his neck shallow slits.
The beast stopped a minute later, finding ground to walk on; the woman sucked in a large breath and climbed to his head, shard held up high into a decisive move. Dakra nudged his head sharply, the woman tumbled back as the weapon landed, carving his flesh; an enraged cry, he stood weakly and failed to flap his wings.
Dakra dived into the mud; propelled forward, she was thrown. Curling her body on the shard’s thick, she braced herself on a tight hold. A meteoric fall, her body crashed onto the feathers, her cheeks deep sliced by the shard; it dug into the bird’s skull and slid down swiftly. With a horrid cry, it whimpered and flailed about, body sapped of all strength.
On the ground lay Dakra. Perfectly still.
