A Name Fit For A God

Mag stood in the midst of a crimson flame, pyres of the burnt red flowers swirling around her. An extreme heat radiated from all directions. The air reeked of cinder and ash. 

In the chaos of the flame, Mag's voice roared. "Forgive me, for this is the only way I could think to gain passage, oh Proastelor."

Once the name was said, the flames collapsed on themselves and into Mag, forming a tight sphere of glowing hot red. The area around her had been completely singed, the grass and flowers turned to ash and thin charcoal. Suddenly, the sphere burst like a cocoon being shed, releasing embers like fireflies in the night sky. There stood Mag in all her glory, gold and scarlet light took the shape of four wings that sprouted from her back. Her white dress and veil fluttered from the pressure she was emitting outward. Sections of her clothes where burning in steady embers. Horns of yellow and orange light floated just about her forehead. In the fiction of my old world, stories have always told that only dragons can kill dragons, and it seems that that was the case here too. Staring upon Mag's new magnificent form, I realized I was in the presences of a dragon burning with hatred.

Fesha widened her stance, readying herself for an attack, but Mag did not have her attention on her. Mag turned toward the aged dragon and took aim. The dragon had no reaction, like it was only aware of what to do if Fesha gave it the signal. The dragon sat there quietly as Mag stuck her hand out and a ball of red light charged in her palm. Fesha began running toward the dragon, realizing the error in her thinking. She whistled a tune that sounded like a bird call and on queue the dragon lifted its head as she jumped and gently landed at the top of its neck, grabbing one of its horns to stay steady. The dragon bellowed, and as Mag was about to take her shot, the dragon prepared for its own. The red energy in Mag's hand released itself, sending a wave of scarlet flame ahead. The dragon responded by sending a dense black fog back at the same speed. The two attacks collided, burning against each other and dispersing all throughout the air.

My legs lifted me from the ground. I was debating on whether I should step in or let Mag do her thing, forgetting that I was not in control of that decision. My legs started moving fast and toward the colliding forces. As my body ran around the blast radius of the heat and pressure, my eyes stared Fesha down with my sword ready to strike. Something about this scene of fighting Fesha head on felt familiar, though it was not familiar to me, but the man inside. My legs straightened and I was sent flying toward Fesha. She noticed and immediately positioned her glaive upward, still atop the dragon's neck as it roared black gas. As my arm swung my sword ahead, she hooked it on the curvature of her blade. She attempted to throw me, but my body twisted, unhooked my sword, and kicked off the shaft of her weapon. My body flew back and landed right behind my spear. My foot kicked it upward and my left hand caught it.

My body charged in once again and Mag and the dragon had stopped their attacks. Mag noticed my approach and prepared a new attack. Several pillars of light began to fade in on the inside of her wings. As quick as they came into existence, they shot up into the air and began arching downward. The beams' trajectories hit the peak of their arc and were now aimed right at Fesha and the dragon. Fesha directed her attention upward as the barrage descended. She skillfully deflected some of the projectiles, but there were far too many for her to hold ground. A series of explosions followed, their impacts shooting dust and fire into the air. The shock waves combined with the dragons roar of agony screeched through the air and echoed into the surrounding darkness. The dust and flame suddenly split in half as Fesha's blade cut through it, revealing her injuries. Crimson red had soaked through the sleeves of Fesha's free arm, which was now dangling as if she had lost feeling in it. Lines of blood trailed over her face and dull eyes. Into the opening of the smoke, my legs leaped once again, spear out and sword ready to counter attack. At the same time, Mag was charging another bolt. As my spear thrust forward, and Fesha jumped off the dragon's neck to evade. She flew backwards and Mag took her shot at Fesha. She attempted to deflect, but the bolt was too strong and her glaive was no longer in her hands. The sword in my hand struck and Fesha's arm was no longer attached to her body.

Fesha fell to the grass next to her glaive and severed arm. She picked up her weapon with her broken arm, fury and sorrow filling her eyes. The beautiful pale amber color I had seen in her one eye was now reduced to a dull gray. She was hunched over and looked like she was hardly holding on to herself.

Mag closed in on the immobilized dragon with her wings spread far apart. Fesha's attention turned to Mag as she vanished and suddenly appeared in front of the dragon, back facing it. She readied her glaive, seemingly ready to forfeit her life for the dying creature behind her. I thought about chasing after Fesha, but a sudden sense of admiration for her set in, almost to the point that I was willing to go against Mag and help keep the dragon alive. Instead, the man inside gave me back control and a feeling of sorrow for what could have been washed over me. I stared and watched as Mag, a force of fury wielding a god's power, and Fesha, a knight who has seemingly suffered for far too long, clashed for the last time.