A Wyrm, not a Worm (3)

Strange, thought Ol-Lozen, resheathing the Tankbuster blade, I imagined that, once I had won a great battle, I would feel the need to collapse from the overwhelming joy of it all. But instead I stand, wanting more.

One cleave was all it took to fell the great beast. All that remained was a crumpled husk, a feast for the carrion birds soon to descend. They would eat their fill that day, and every day proceeding, until the battered meat started to rot. One crow already bounded towards it, a little Mouse in her wake.

“For the record,” Ol-Lozen started, once Daigay was near, “I held it back. You were both…in…” He stopped, voice trailing off as Daigay passed him without so much as a glance. “Interested elsewhere. I see.”

“You can tell me.”

He looked down to find Mouse. While he would have much rather spoke with the woman who doubted him… the girl would suffice. “You both were in range. This blade is not a weapon to be used recklessly. I would have annihilated you and the dragon, both.”

“You mean the wyrm.”

“Let’s agree to call a beast, a beast.” To Daigay he cast his gaze. “Will this satisfy our royal pain in the rear?”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“Fantastic. What now? Bring the dragon’s head as proof of victory?”

Mouse uttered a noise that sounded like dry heaving. “Nothing so gory, I hope.”

Daigay strutted closer to the dead wyrm, and had to shout to be heard. “He will learn of this deed in time. Of who accomplished this feat, I doubt he’ll know. At first. But when he hears the damage inflicted and considers the grand army he sent, he’ll understand an Orkan aided his people. The seed of change we planted will quicken; someday we might reap its rewards.” She ran her hand along the still flesh, feeling ever jagged point through the leathery hide, the fleeting warmth of its flesh. “Impressive,” she whispered, “truly impressive.”

Content, she meets Ol-Lozen’s eyes, her own alight with brilliant sparkle, and she misses what slides out the dragon’s leg: yellow tendrils, black pitted scabs.

“Grandmama…” Mouse whispered. Her words trailed in Ol-Lozen’s wake. His sword was drawn, steel song whispered along its edge.

With a wet, slopping sound the tendrils writhed from the mass it was into the rough imitation of man. Two legs, two arms, a torso, a head, two five-taloned claws of scab, and two pairs of bright yellow wings mimicking those of angels. Pieces of scab like broken eggshells, or shattered continents, floated across a slithering pale-gold sea. Daigay’s stride was unbroken, continued unbeknownst of the creature that loomed behind.

Ol-Lozen’s face was a rigid mask of determination. His muscular legs ate up meters, but the creature was a quarter of the distance from the magus. It took one step, then a second, but its third made clear it had become accustomed to its new form, and it leapt at Daigay with preternatural agility.

“Demon, save Grandmama!”

I’m not fast enough. I won’t reach her. If I only I were… just a hair faster.

The creature’s talons arced towards Daigay’s head, and would drive a tunnel through if allowed to land.

I can push myself faster. What good is this body if it falters when I need it most?

Around Ol-Lozen’s neck, the collar of runes took on an unearthly blue hue. Time itself seemed to slow, as if the world had taken interest in events unfolding. He had heard of battle thrill from tales of war passed down through generations, how in the fraught moments between swords clashing and encroaching formations of assailants an Orkan could live a lifetime, their finger keeping still the minute hand of their life’s clock. Ol-Lozan felt as if the air had turned to viscous liquid. His mind’s commands were out of sync with his muscles. He imagined running, but his legs were leaden.

I can beat this creature – I must – for I am chained to this life.

I must succeed!

The alien metal of his blade tore an explosive path through the creature’s mass, splattering the soil with yellow smears and chunks of boiled scab, backdraft preserving the blade’s purity as well as its owner’s. A nostalgic scent of petrichor pervaded the air. Blood pounded in Ol-Lozen’s ears.

If the creature rattled out a last gasp or final word it went unheard, lost to time, for a bubble of prideful laughter traveled up the Orkan’s chest. What mattered to him then was the creature’s destruction; not how it chose to confront the end, only that it did. In that, he had succeeded. Upon resheathing his weapon, Ol-Lozen became aware of footsteps softly crunching towards him, and turned around to find Daigay.

Daigay – behind him.

Further behind her was Mouse, small in the distance. She stood still with an unreadable face, her hand alight in dim blue. Daigay held a knife in hers, picking through the emulsified remains of the creature’s body with its serrated blade.

“Ah, here it is,” she said. “Come over and look.”

Ol-Lozen obeyed. His mind’s static thwarted attempts to do all else. Daigay stabbed at a deflated sac of worms roughly the size of a cantaloupe. Impact from the Orkan anti-tank weapon had sheared it nearly in half.

“This,” she started, “is the cardinal organ allowing the creature you saw to arise. It will fall apart to this when the organ is destroyed. It is the creature’s fatal flaw. An exemplary tool, your sword, one would be forgiven for assuming it was made for this precise purpose.” She snapped her fingers rapidly. “Ol-Lozen, are you awake?”

“You should be dead.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed now.”

“That thing was faster than I could ever dream. I killed it. I saved you. I do not understand how.” He drooped his head down at pressure encircling his waist. Mouse had wrapped arms around him, her arms straining with the strength of her embrace. “Tell me what has happened, magus.”

Daigay wore a knowing smile.

“Arguably the most pivotal discovery of our age, Orkan. You see, these are the demons. The true demons. And you, Ol-Lozen, Mouse, have tasted your capability to see this world to salvation.”