Wyverns

 Jesse

My hands find the weapons toggles automatically. The servos whine, and Tyur’ma’s main gun swivels with a steady, mechanical grace until it’s pointed skyward. My screens flicker with targets: twenty-six fast-moving dots, closing in from the north.

Wyverns.

“Cayti,” I say, already sliding on my headband and slamming the hatch shut above me. The world outside is cut off in an instant. “How much soul does a wyvern have?”

She tilts her head in thought. “About a cannon shell and a quarter each.”

Not much. For creatures that size, they must be all muscle and instinct - brutes with wings, not minds. Good.

I flick the weapons system over to AIR mode. The display reconfigures, swapping to a familiar layout of radar sweeps, lead reticles, and fire solutions. Every button under my fingertips changes purpose, but I’ve memorized it all - every control, every sequence. The radar hums to life, and I thumb a target. A green square snaps around the lead wyvern, locking it in.

“Just making sure,” I mutter, “they don’t have an alpha, do they? No leader?”

Cayti shakes her head firmly. “No. They’re equals. Like a storm. No one leads the wind.”

I nod once. That makes things simpler.

The targeting computer crunches the numbers. A green reticle blooms just ahead of the wyvern, pulsing steadily. It’s fast - one hundred and fifty kilometers per hour, three kilometers out, closing hard. Hitting something that size at that speed, at this range, should be impossible. But Tyur’ma makes the impossible routine.

The gun shifts, aligning to the projected path. My headband vibrates once - RDY.

I exhale slowly. The trigger hums under my finger, waiting.

Bang.

The entire cabin lurches. Tyur’ma roars like a thunderclap, hurling a dart into the sky. Two seconds later, the wyvern folds like paper, its organs liquefied by a slug traveling at Mach four. It doesn’t fall so much as crumple, dead before its wings can even twitch.

The autoloader clatters, precise and merciless, slotting the next round into place. Another lock. Another reticle. I squeeze.

Bang.

The wyvern’s wing shears clean off. The creature cartwheels through the air before smashing into the forest canopy, leaving only a twisted smear of movement below. The smoking shell casing clinks and rolls across the sloped armor before tumbling down into the grass.

The rest of them finally realise. The formation scatters in panic, wings flaring, shrieking so loud I can hear it faintly through the armor. Now it gets messy.

I order the autoloader to refill its drum from the storage rack even as it feeds the breech another round. It acknowledges with a metallic clack as the countdown ticks on-screen.

I pick a target diving toward us, wings tucked back like a hawk stooping for prey. But it's still far, far out. The fire solution updates. Bang. Another tracer streaks into the heavens. The wyvern jerks mid-dive as if an invisible hammer crushed it, tumbling end over end until it slams into the dirt far short of us.

“Three,” I murmur.

The next one comes in low, skimming the treetops with reckless speed. It thinks speed will save it. Fatal mistake.

Bang.

The tracer slashes across the horizon. A heartbeat later the wyvern’s head simply vanishes, sheared clean away. Its body coasts another hundred meters before it plows into the forest, snapping trees like matchsticks.

“Four,” I count.

Twenty-two left.

My grip tightens on the controls. This isn’t going to be a fight - it’s going to be an execution.

They’re getting close now.

Another three fall before crossing the one-point-five kilometre line, but the rest press on undeterred, wings carving through the twilight air. My brow drips sweat as I try to steady my breathing, hands trembling on the toggles.

Beside me, a faint glow blooms. Cayti’s hands shimmer as she drinks in the souls of the fallen wyverns, pale wisps curling into her palms. But her expression is sharp, calculating - she knows what I do. At this pace, we can’t possibly kill them all.

She snaps, urgency in her voice.

“Jesse! Disable the autoloader. I’ll make the shells directly inside the breech. Then you can fire almost non-stop.”

For the first time in minutes, hope surges through me.

“Okay.”

I flick the sequence, bypassing the autoloader’s cycle. The next target flashes across my scope. I yank the controls high, clearing the windmill blades, and squeeze. The wyvern pitches from the sky, spearing into the fields below.

The breech clatters open - empty casing ejected - and in less than a heartbeat Cayti’s hands blaze with soul energy. Wisps twist, solidify, and a fresh shell snaps into place as though conjured from thin air. The RDY symbol flashes green almost instantly. A new reload time blinks on the screen: 1.8 seconds. Nearly triple the speed I had before.

The next wyvern barely registers on the radar before the gun booms again. The dart rips through its chest, and it unravels mid-air in a storm of blood and scales.

Then I fall into rhythm. My mind races three targets ahead while my body operates on instinct. Lock. Squeeze. Impact. One by one, they crumple and spiral from the sky, bodies exploding across the fields and treelines.

Now there are ten left.

But these ten are smarter. They flare their wings wide, angling down toward the village. My gut twists. We cut two from the sky before they can land, but the others vanish behind rooftops and walls. Out of my reach.

I grit my teeth, helpless, staring at the silent radar. Seconds bleed into minutes.

Then - movement. Wings rise over the rooftops. I don’t hesitate. The instant I see its spine, I squeeze, and the wyvern slams back down behind the wall. Another two try to lift away. I catch one in mid-climb, its body folding like paper. The second clears the rooftops, claws clenched around a struggling horse.

They’re bigger than I thought.

Doesn’t matter.

A dart tears through its throat, and both monster and prey plummet, vanishing in a cloud of dust.

Behind me, the pile of casings has grown into a small wall of brass, smoke curling from each still-hot cylinder. The floor is slick with oil and powder. But retreat isn’t an option, not until the last one is dead.

Another wyvern lurches into view, wings snapping open. I fire. It dies before the thought of escape even reaches its brain, body obliterated by the one-oh-five millimetre dart travelling at Mach four.

Then - silence.

My finger twitches on the trigger, expecting another. Nothing.

Cayti breaks the stillness, her voice low but steady.

“Maybe the villagers got them.”

I exhale shakily, chest heaving. The tension seeps out of me like water draining from a cracked jug. I slump back into the seat, hands still trembling from the recoil.

Cayti tilts her head, then nods once.

“Yup. They got them. I just received the souls. Should we go back?”

I nod slowly, the weight of the fight finally lifting. The engine still hums beneath me, waiting. I ease the brakes off, and Tyur’ma rolls forward, down the hill in no rush at all.

The village, thankfully, is mostly untouched. A few thatched roofs sag from broken beams, tiles scattered in the street like discarded scales. Smoke drifts from one smouldering pile of timber, but the flames are already out. Villagers move through the chaos with a strange mix of relief and exhaustion - bandaging wounds, lifting rubble, carrying the injured toward the healer’s hut. There are cries, both of pain and of joy, but the air feels alive rather than ruined. For all the terror of the wyverns’ assault, the village has survived.

The group of beastmen from earlier spot us and wave us over, beckoning toward the road’s center. A wyvern’s corpse sprawls there, its body grotesquely large compared to the narrow street. Its neck is pierced by a crude arrow that juts out almost comically against the beast’s armored hide. One massive wing drapes over the edge of a roof, tiles crushed under its weight. The villagers wear grins that don’t match the destruction around them, the raw satisfaction of victory overcoming fear.

I bring Tyur’ma to a halt, the engine growling low, and pop my hatch. The rabbit beastman steps forward, ears twitching.

“Was that the holy weapon making all that noise?”

I nod, wiping sweat from my forehead.

“Yeah.”

The dog beastman perks up, tail swishing side to side like he can’t contain himself.

“How many did you get?”

I glance back at the trail of smoke still rising in the distance, the mental tally etched into my skull.

“Twenty-two.”

Their jaws drop. Eyes widen. A collective gasp spreads through them.

“Twenty-two!?”

They stare at me like I’ve just declared I felled the gods themselves. Their expressions search for even the smallest crack of deception, but they find none. One of the cat beastmen finally breaks the silence with a shrug, his voice calm but his eyes sharp with awe.

“Well, that’s the power of a holy weapon for you.”

I nod once more, trying not to let pride creep too far into my chest. Before I can say anything else, they all break into broad grins. The leader steps forward, his cat ears standing proud upon his head.

“Well, I suppose all we can do now is thank you.”

I open my mouth, ready to protest, but the rabbit cuts me off, hopping closer with irrepressible enthusiasm.

“Yeah! Not only did you save our village, but you also brought us so many fresh wyvern corpses! We’ll be rich and well fed for ages!”

I blink. Wyvern corpses. Right - back in Kaunis, Agnar had mentioned that only one meat surpassed doom tortoise: wyvern. And now, scattered across the fields and ridges, lie twenty-six of their hulking bodies. Some are mangled beyond use, but most are intact. Enough to feed and enrich this place for months. The realization sinks in, and a small smile tugs at my lips.

“Well, I’m not going to keep any of it,” I say at last, raising my voice so all can hear. “So feel free to share it amongst yourselves.”

The words hang in the air. Then the rabbit’s ears flick, and his eyes soften.

“You’re kinder than I thought, Jesse.”

A new voice cuts across the street before I can respond.

“Kinder indeed.”

The tone is steady, calm - familiar. My heart jolts, and I whip around inside the hatch.

Kalla stands behind Tyur’ma, her posture proud yet relaxed. Her tail sways lazily left and right, the movement almost hypnotic in its rhythm. Her smile and motherly figure is warm enough to disarm any tension.

“Jesse and Cayti,” she says, her voice carrying authority and ease in equal measure. “You are hereby temporary members of Masuda Village.” She pauses, the smile lingering even as her eyes narrow slightly. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to be highlighting the ‘temporary’ a lot. We don’t want to risk anything.”

I nod and return the smile.

“We understand. And thank you.”

She dips her chin in acknowledgment. My gaze drifts to Cayti - still seated beside me, her hands faintly glowing as the last wisps of soul energy settle. She looks up, meeting my eyes. For a heartbeat, nothing else matters. We share a quiet smile, the kind that needs no words.

And then the cheering begins. It rises first from the beastmen gathered around the wyvern corpse, then spreads outward until the whole village seems to vibrate with it. My head fills with images of Kaunis. I don't want a repeat of that place.

But as I listen, as I see the beastmen embracing, their laughter genuine despite the broken roofs and bandaged limbs, a fragile hope pushes against the unease in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, these people will prove more adaptable than humans ever were. Maybe this place can be different.