[color=6ecff6][center][h2]W a t c h   T h e   S k i e s[/h2][/center][/color]

Darius rode along the waters edge, whispering the words of his daughter.

But what he did not know was that she was not the only person to wake screaming that night.  All across the world, everyone from nobles to knights to farmers found their dreams vexed to nightmare.

And though none of them could explain why, they knew deep in their hearts that something was terribly wrong.

They were right.

Darius spurred his horse onward into the dark night, the glowing lights of the castle, and sanctuary, still so far away. Sweat rolled down his horses neck, and yet he did no cease his urging. The still lake shone like glass in the moonlight. The trees swayed with the evening breeze. The stars shone in infinite splendor tonight. So why was his heart was sick with dread?

Though no wind blew, a ripple passed over the surface. It passed over the shoreline and through the land, and as it passed by him, Darius could feel it in his bones. His horse whinnied in a frenzy and reared up. The lake’s water boiled and bubbled, then turned an inky black.  The churning mass of blackness suddenly let out an echoing boom, and the liquid spiraled into a whirlpool leading down into someplace dark and horribly deep.  The smell of sulfur burst up and out of the portal, followed by bellows of fear and screams of pain from within.

Trees around the lake began to wither, their leaves crumbling to dust and their branches rotting away.  The grass turned grey and brittle before it was carried off by the wind, and the rocks beneath were stained black by the vile liquid that splashed and roiled out of the water. Somewhere miles below, a figure climbed out of the lightning-streaked depths. It was something misshapen, something vile, something that had no place in this world. The light of the moons illuminated its shape as it pulled itself free of the steaming pit.

What happened next would haunt Darius's dreams for years to come.

The pit shuddered, slick black oil tumbling down the sides like miniature avalanches.  Another shudder; a large bulge rose up, as though something was pushing its way out to freedom.  Then something burst out of the water.  Something huge and gleaming white, spotted with ash like the dapple gray of some horses’s coats.

It towered over the lake, and the sight of long phalange-like digits brought a touch of dread to Darius’s thoughts when he finally recognized the sight.

It was a wing.  

A gigantic, skeletal wing.

Another wing emerged from the well, and then the skeleton was pulling itself free, ashes falling from the pale bones like snow shaken from a branch.  Frozen in shock by the impossible sight, his eyes crept over the long tail, the strangely avian body, serpentine neck, and finally the predatory maw lined with dagger-sharp teeth. It may not have resembled anything he’d seen in books or pictures, but there was only one thing it could be.

A dragon.

The fleshless jaws opened, and a deep shuddering roar filled the countryside.  The skeletal head dipped, convulsed, and then vomited a torrent of boiling blood.  The sanguine waterfall poured over the ashes with a hiss, crimson steam billowing up and around the dragon’s wings.

He watched, horrified as the bloodstained ashes floated into the air.  Glowing like fiery snowflakes, they clung and stuck to the dragon’s bones.  When each burning flake met another, they gave a combustive flash and fused, creating a patchwork of tissue over the skeleton’s form.

[i]‘This is impossible,’[/i] he repeated over and over in his head.  [i]‘Absolutely impossible.’[/i]  There was no way that this thing could be real.  There was no way that this collection of bones and joints could be alive, could be regenerating before her very eyes.  It just couldn’t be happening!

He looked back at the dragon.  His body had fully reformed, the last scales fusing into place along his black hide.  From the sharpened point of his snout to the spear shaped blade at the end of the tail, every inch of his body seemed to be designed for evisceration.  He looked over the sculpted gleaming spikes that ran down his back, noticing the cutting edges that accompanied the dagger-sharp points, then the great scythe-like claws that tipped the digits on his feet.  Every inch of the dragon’s body seemed capable of being used as a weapon.  In fact it would be more accurate to say that the dragon itself was a weapon.

And it wasn't alone.

The sanguine tide pooled with the darkness in the water and it grew. Like its parent, it too began to take shape. A nightmare lifted itself from blood and shadow.

It was like nothing ever seen before.  It resembled a dragon, if only in the way it walked upright, but any similarities ended there.  Its arms were too long, wrists too powerful, claws too narrow, legs jointed wrong, torso too thick, toes oddly splayed, neck elongated, head misshapen, face monstrous.  It moved with a hunched, loping posture that seemed to radiate violence and danger.  Its eyes surveyed the world with cold intelligence, with malice and utter disregard for life.

Four more times did the dragon vomit forth blood of his body, and did four more sons answer his call. But by then, Darius had already fled, his horse galloping swiftly behind him along the lake's edge.

Racing for the Bastion of the Order

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The fury of the night was nothing compared to that of the knights.

They had long since left the tranquil depths of the shrine behind and descended into the forest. It were moving now, ducking in and out of the treeline in an attempt to reach each other.

Arcon and Regulus had to think faster than the imposter did, because he could move faster. They had to strike truer, because he could strike harder. And they had to stay together, because apart he could destroy them in a minute apiece.

All things considered, they were doing an admirable job.

[i]Tightening left leg. Tensing right foot.[/i] Arcon's thoughts were not vocalized in Regulus's mind. He could hear a fascimile his Knight Commander from when they had once trained, the old lessons coming back. [i]He's about to round on you, blade high.[/i]

Arcon's call was right. Clarent wheeled on Regulus in the split second it took him to register the thought, and found that he had already ducked under half of [i]Regent[/i] and thrust [i]Zealot[/i] into his chest. His blade sank only centimeters into Clarent's flesh, but the wound bled around it. Clarent pulled himself away and struck out again.

Regulus's strike had only been a drop in the bucket, but that was enough. If they kept fighting like this, kept being careful, this imposter would weaken and die. They knew it was possible. They'd seen it happen a thousand times over, to a thousand different souls.

Regulus felt Arcon's mind run through each of the man's actions, taking in changes in his stance and expression so small and minute that he wouldn't have noticed them at all. His teacher had always been one to over-think things. Regulus had not. It was exactly his nature to rely on instinct, which was why he was so quick in reacting to the Knight Commander's observations. Between the two of them, they'd eliminated their greatest weaknesses.

The jewels that ran the length of [i]Regent[/i] sparked, and the blade split into two lengths and came to rest at Clarent's sides. Sheet lightning ripped its way across the sky in the far distance, crossing from one horizon to another in three strokes, arcing around rim of the world. The sound of thunder layered atop itself was nothing to the whisper of his voice.

“Pathetic,” he said.

They converged on Clarent simultaneously, coming at him from both sides to bring their blades down upon his head. A shower of incandescent white sparks erupted from [i]Zealot[/i]’s edge as it met [i]Regent[/i]. Clarent held Arcon’s and Regulus’s blades still, parallel to one another. It seemed that even in combat, he was meticulous.

At half its strength, the legendary weapon [i]Regent[/i] was stronger than either of their’s, but it was not a tremendous difference. This was a winnable fight.

Still, Clarent’s advantage meant that he had command of their blades. He threw them back with a contemptuous flick of [i]Regent[/i]’s halves, then rounded on Regulus as Arcon was sent staggering.

Regulus ducked under a swipe with his fumbling grace, then caught another on [i]Zealot[/i], his blade ringing like a bell as the spinning blades locked around the jewels as he pivoted it back into position. He had always been the better fighter. It had made him Dame Nightshade's favorite.
It didn’t matter. In the second that it took for Arcon to throw himself back at Arcon, Clarent’s blades buffeted against Regulus’s defenses like the storm in the distance, crashing against [i]Zealot[/i] again and again. Each impact put Regulus another inch out of his footwork, another step off his guard. At last he batted [i]Zealot[/i] away and drove a fist into the Heirophant's chest so hard it tore the breath from his lungs
Then he rounded on Arcon, and it was all the Knight Commander could do to hold his ground. He rolled out of the way of deadly swipes, blocked his blades with repulsions of pure magic, stalled his approach with [i]Keeper[/i], and threw himself away from sword strikes that could shatter boulders.

Regulus burst from the trees beside them, and they met Clarent’s next onslaught together, catching the halves of [i]Regent[/i] on the weapons of steel and obsidian. Regulus and Arcon had the advantage of numbers, but they struggled to maintain the advantage of position. They ducked under and flipped over the diamond blades, used shards and even their cloaks they worked in tandem to keep him between them.

It was difficult. Clarent whirled and stepped out of every one of their assaults, using the momentum from one strike to carry him into the next. He was the center of a shower of magical power, and he forsook grace and subtlety for pure technique and power. His blows hammered against Arcon’s defenses. His maneuvers broke his martial composure.

He struck with speed, power, and precision; he never seemed to be out of position or caught off guard by their tactics; he never resorted to misdirection. Clarent’s apparent plan was simple: he would wear them down. He’d simply fight them until they ran out of power and then claim another victory with their heads.

The legend moved with absolution, fought with the knowledge that he was unstoppable amongst men. The more Arcon found himself beaten back by the terrifying strength and will behind [i]Regent[/i], the more he felt his sense of Clarent’s indifference ebb a feeling of hubris rise. As he threw them away again and again, like a school bully playing king-of-the-castle, the more it became apparent that Clarent was very, very good at this.
Which meant he only thought he was unbeatable.

[i]Right eyebrow quirked. Left leg tensed. Duck and stab at mid-rib.[/i]

Arcon ducked before Clarent's strike ever came, stabbing out to catch him in the chest with [i]Keeper[/i]. He brought the second half of [i]Regent[/i] up to divert his blade.

[i]Left shoulder loosening, both legs tightening. He's about to throw him away and turn on Regulus.[/i]

Clarent thrust forward with both his blades, and Arcon was sent reeling back. He spun to face Regulus, but [i]Zealot[/i] skimmed itself in his forearm as he stepped neatly out of the way of the diamond blade. 

[i]Shoulders set. Legs spread. He's preparing to meet both our blades in parallel. Feint and roll past him.[/i]

They led with their blades in tandem, points first, then ducked at the last moment, rolling under Clarent's blocks to flank him once again.
[i]Regent[/i] met Arcon as soon as he'd tucked his legs and relinquished any possibility for escape. It dug into side, shearing away a large chunk of flesh with a shock of intense pain. His roll failed, and he tumbled forward into the dirt. Before he'd realized what was happening, shards of [i]Regent[/i] had pinned him to the ground through his robe.

It was simple, Arcon realized. He'd been analyzing Clarent's every move and incorporating his reactions into their combat strategy, just like he had with every foe. Slowly, they'd taken initiative and started to win.

But Clarent's style of fighting hadn't changed at all. If the stories were true, he was a master at bladecasting—why hadn't he shifted his methods?

The answer was obvious. He'd waited, collecting all the data he'd need. But not to improve his effectiveness in battle, no—Clarent was just going to kill them. He wasn't making a gamble when he knew he'd win. He was just collecting his chips. He would kill  Regulus and make Arcon watch every moment. And only then would it be his turn.

This was how Clarent Coquelicot won his fights.

That was when he heard it—or rather, felt it. The sound came to them from the ground, a deep, faint rumble that was like two boulders being ground together. Regulus barely had time to wonder what it was before leaping back into the fray, ducking under a shard of [i]Regent[/i].

Soon, however, the sound came again, much louder than it had before. This time [i]Regent[/i] recognized what it was: a roar.

“Stop!” Arcon ordered to him. “Hold!”  He needed to know what was going on before he could throw himsef back into combat, but he had a feeling it wasn't good. To his credit, Clarent had also lowered his sword, a most peculiar look upon his face. All three knights stopped and began to turn away across the lake. 

[i]Thump.[/i] A wave of sound hit them, like the beating of an impossibly large drum. The roar sounded again.

[i]Thump.[/i] That was when Regulus saw the missing stars. An entire piece of the sky was gone. Or rather, something was blocking it from view.

[i]Thump.[/i] Something enormous and perfectly black. “Dragon,” Regulus whispered. “That's a goddamn dragon.”

[i]Thump.[/i] The roar he let out was now deafening. The knights covered their ears.

[i]Thump.[/i] “But there haven't been any...” Arcon began.

[i]Thump.[/i] “Fafnir. That's Fafnir reborn.” Clarent looked into the sky.

[i]Thump.[/i] The force of his wing beats stirred their robes, and another, smaller form began to take shape against the night sky. “Sivek,” Clarent whispered.

Backlit by the light of the moons, the new dragon was bone wrapped in glistening sinew and smoke. Slender for a creature so tall, his wings spanned out behind him, a set of thin white fingers clawing at the air around him.  Smoke spewing from the prison of white gave him the semblance of shape, with tendons and muscles expanding. All of his flesh was bloodless. He had no eyes, but they still burned, two pinpoints of light in the dead sockets of the skeleton monster.

[i]Thump.[/i] Sivek stretched his wings wide to glide toward their position. He was massive—as big as the great hall of the Bastion.

“Well damn,” Regulus said. “That's not fair at all.”

The dragon dipped along its course, diving low toward three knights. It bore down on them with a terrifying speed.

“Move!” Arcon shouted.

Its path was clear. The dragon unfolded its wings just before it hit the ground, and they caught enough air to halt its fall and bring it into a sweeping line. The knights were thrown to the ground by the passing beast’s undercurrent, and Regulus and Clarent were pushed back by the wave of wind it made when it landed. Arcon rose from the ground as [i]Regent[/i]'s shards were knocked free, hands grasped firmly on [i]Keeper[/i] embedded in the ground. “Well, boy? You’re the one claiming to be Clarent reborn.”

Clarent picked himself up off the ground, then frowned at the scattered fragments of [i]Regent[/i]. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The dragon fixed its eyes upon them, then picked up an enormous claw and began to walk towards them. [i]Thump[/i].

“Clarent killed dragons,” Regulus said. He thought that one was obvious.

Clarent assembled his sword infront of him, eyes flickering between the dragon, its brood, and his fellow knights. "When I fought Grael, I cost me half my face. When I fought Fafnir... I died and that lake used to be a mountain."

[i]Thump.[/i] Clarent moved to stand beside Regulus, his mouth a rigid line as he looked up at the approaching dragon. “So how about this,” he said, taking a shaking breath, sword at the ready. “If I give you [i]Regent[/i], will you kill him for me?”

The petrified look on Regulus's face made his answer clear as day.

"Right..." Clarent said, as he broke apart his sword. "I was afraid you'd say that."

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Groaning in frustration, Lilith relinquished her hold of the second sapphire. Try as she might, she could not add it to her first and wield it half as effectively. She could levitate it, making whirl around her and move... but she couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out how to use her telekinetic grip as efficiently as Regulus or his squire could. There had to be something else to it than sheer levitation.

It still didn’t feel natural to her, as some of the other trainees had alluded. Still, she endeavored. [i]‘Dame Nightshade has been training me very well,’[/i] Lilith thought, concentrating through the motions of practicing with her sapphire. [i]‘But I don’t know if I can get more than one sapphire to work... it feels... weird.’[/i] She sighed in frustration. [i]‘Is it that the material is wrong for me? Maybe I shouldn’t be using gemstones... maybe metal? Or something else? I don’t get it.’[/i]

The concept itself was simple enough; enchant stone, a metal or crystal, bind it in an incredibly tight form of telekinesis and use it as a weapon. The more you could control, the more deadly you could become. But there was something missing from hers. She didn’t feel like she was wielding a weapon, any more than she felt like she was just waving a stone around and risking poking someone’s eye out. Possibly her own.
[i]‘I think that’s the problem,’[/i]  she mentally harrumphed. Regulus had left the castle in a hurry, pushing Lilith off to a elderly Dame by the name of Nightshade, a woman at least a decade older than Regulus.  

She sighed and looked from the hovering sapphire to the one on the floor. She was about to envelop it in energy when she jumped to the side, barely avoiding two shards of the squire’s blade cutting the floor where she had stood just a moment ago, instincts kicking in just in time. [i]‘How did I even do that?’[/i] She dodged again, this time by jumping back and glaring at the squire. She couldn’t see Nightshade at all, and the other acolytes seemed more scared of what was happening than willing to help.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?!” she shouted, lowering her stance. “You could have hurt me!” 

A sapphire shot out with the force of a crossbow.

The squire jumped, but the floor where he stood cracked as a sapphire penetrated into it. The squire’s blade formed in front of him, all bright green gems clearly visible to her.

“Enough.”

The squire spun around, only to find Lilith was but a few footsteps behind him. His eyes widened and he took a step back, clearly not expecting her to be so close.

Lilith managed to catch the hint of a snarl on the squire’s face, which disappeared faster than she could reclaim her sword.
Dame Nightshade, Martial Trainer of the Knightly Harmonic Order of Coquelicot, only laughed. “Well that was interesting. Why didn’t you strike, Acolyte Lillith?”

Lillith sighed. “I-I didn’t want to hurt him.”

The squire looked affronted at the idea of the little girl actually managing to land a hit, but schooled his reaction, awaiting Dame Nightshade's comments.

“You wasted an opportunity, Acolyte. He will most likely not fall for that again.”

Lilith looked down, scratching the floor with her boot heel. “I... did manage to nick his robe... a little.”

“It does look a bit torn,” Nightshade acknowledged, “But he could have taken a lot more,” he added, looking at her sternly. “You can’t be afraid of striking even in practice, Acolyte Lilith!”

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Dame Nightshade watched as her newest student twisted and turn in circles about the fellow she had been paired with, side-stepping attacks, distracting him with bursts of magic, using the area around her to dominate the battle and position herself for easier and more effective attacks against her opponent.

Clearly her combat style was not intended for direct confrontations. Yes, it worked as a dueling style, but it emphasised guile and quick reactions rather than strength.

She smirked. It was an ideal mix for bladecasting. Then she frowned. That was if she managed to work her way up to using a second gem for it, and more importantly put her head into it. It was hardly a blade with only one gem after all, although for an untrained beginner she had grasped the concept of how bladecasting worked incredibly quickly... But as long as she hesitated and shied away from harming her opponent, she wouldn’t be doing anything more than simply holding a gem in front of her.

Regulus's squire kept his eyes on Lilith as he walked back over to Nightshade, idily fingering the tear in the hem of his robe. “She’s certainly doing well against the other rookies.”

“She’s still no match for a trained acolyte,” the martial trainer stated. “Unless she killed without prejudice, she would be quickly overwhelmed by any competent fighter. She doesn’t have that skill yet... and still...”

The squire remained quiet, knowing that the Dame would let him know what he was thinking soon enough.

"She's a bit of a natural."

The squire raised an eyebrow, then turned to look at Lillith with carefully concealed curiosity, doubtlessly trying to figure out what Nightshade had noticed. She was fast on her feet, but many young girls were. And her magical training certainly shone through, allowing her to keep her balance and weave in and out, almost like a dancer, but what the Nightshade had said didn't quite ring true: the squire could have demolished her more than five times already. The only thing that allowed her to continue was the element of surprise. In a week, with Dame Nightshade's current training regiment, that may later have been a different story... but for now...

The ground began to shake beneath them.  The tremor forced the younger squire to one knee, and even Nightshade found herself setting her feet to keep balance.

The rumbling ceased, and Nightshade raised an eyebrow. An earthquake? Here?

She searched for some sign of disturbance in the mountains, perhaps an avalanche or rockslide, but the skies above them were as clear as before, and the only sound was of footsteps racing up from the city.

“Dame Nightshade!”  She turned to see a Knight hurrying towards them, the man’s bald head damp with sweat.

“Everall!  About time you showed up! You were suppose to relieve me an hour ago," she chided.

“Forgive me, Nightshade,” he panted.  “But… have to… tell you… quickly…”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the dame said, hiking a thumb at the shaken Acolytes.  “I’m a tad preoccupied doing your job as it is.  Whatever news you have, it needs to wait.”

“But-b-but,” Everall protested.  “This is an emergency!”

“Then come back when it’s a catastrophe!”

The ground rumbled once again.  This time, the stones beneath their feet began to crack, and the castle shook on its foundations, walls shaking and windows shattering. Nightshade hurried to the eastern battlements, and felt the blood run cold in her veins.

The view from the spiraled down towards the western coastline of the lake, until finally she was looking down on the village of Langcort, the closest of the small hamlets that dotted the valley.

The town was in ruins.  Buildings aflame, inhabitants either fleeing for their lives or motionless in their own blood.  Dark shapes moved across the scene; massive, crocodilian beasts and black-skinned demons that took to the sky, raining fire on everything.  They continued their rampage, but the Dame's attention had moved on, drawing her sword as the bells of the castle rang in alarm.

"Enemies at the gates! To arms! TO ARMS!"

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A black shape loomed above them, a nightmarish specter of spikes and blades.  Eyes blazed, lips curled back over fangs in an unmistakable sign of aggression.  Sivek was ready to kill.

“SIVEK, SCION OF FAFNIR,” Clarent shouted, raising his own voice, "FLEE OR KNOW MY BLADE ONCE MORE!”

The dragon reared back, apprehension flickering in his eyes.  Then he was darting forwards, mouth opening wide.

Clarent cursed and fed his power into his sword, spinning away from the razor teeth throwing a sharpened diamond.  It caught Sivek in the chest, lifting the shadow dragon off his feet and smashing him into the forest.  The trees and soil cracked under the hit. 

The dragon was barely winded.

He was dumbfounded.  That strike had been a killing blow; a mixture of his own raw magic, and the finest diamonds in Grael's horde.  It was strong, far stronger than anything in this world could survive. He had struck right atwixt the heartscales, or at least where they would have . 
And Sivek had shrugged it off.  For a bladecaster who represented the very concept of killing, seeing his powers fail was more than a bit unsettling.

The dragon was up and advancing.  [i]Regent, Keeper,[/i] and [i]Zealot[/i] struck again, more out of reflex than any conscious action.  The air rippled with the magic, and Clarent lended his magic to his fellow knights, and together they loosed a hailstorm of razor shards. Each mark could have blown a hole through six inches of solid steel. An entire platoon of armored knights would have been ripped to shreds. They struck Sivek’s etheral hide and shot out the other side, leaving only burned patches of flesh and bone in their wake.  But the dragon stumbled beneath the assault; collapsed to the floor. A leg severed.

Clarent felt hope.  If he could just subdue him, just keep him down…

Sivek’s tail lashed, his wings beat furiously.  The dragon gave a snarl and struggled to rise. The ash that clung around the dragon began to refill the holes of their attack. Its limb began to melt back with the tendrils of smoke that reached for it.

“STOP RESISTING,” Clarent yelled.  “SLEEP IN DEATH AND YOU SHALL SUFFER NOT!”

Sivek’s only response was a bloodcurdling roar.  He charged once again, easily pushing through the last, needling shards the knight was able to fire.  It was no use.  The dragon was too enraged to be reasoned with, too powerful to stop.

The dragon before them was easily twice as large as a cottage and covered. It glared at Clarent, Regulus and Arcon with an intelligence far surpassing that of a simple brute as its claws tore furrows of earth in the ground. With a sound very much like a rush of steam from a blast furnace, it opened its mouth and began to suck in air.

“Fire!” Clarent shouted. It was unnecessary; Both the Knight Commander and Heirophant could practically read his movements anyway. They were moving before he was.

Clarent ran alongside Arcon, as they fled into the wood. They took the left, Regulus took the right, flanking their opponent as it drew in its fire. When they were level with where its wings met its shoulders, it exhaled.

The world was set aflame with emerald. It billowed and curled out from the dragon's maw in a roaring inferno, turning the small amount of foliage into ash and setting several of the sparsely placed ancient trees alight. It swiveled its head toward Clarent and Arcon, and more of the ground vanished in fire. 

Clarent's bare feet pounded against the damp earth as he ran from the fire. Heat built behind him, the temperature rising to almost unbearable levels.

And then nothing. The dragon had run out of flame. 

And only the dragon had to get close enough to them.

[i]Regent[/i] burst into its fourteen fragments and whipped through the air, a glimmering storm of weaponized magic. The dragon wailed as the diamonds tore through its sinewy limbs, then crashed to the forest floor, its own inert magic quickly trying to repair it. The knights were leaving it far behind as they stumbled towards the distant castle.

After a minute, Regulus collapsed, the wound Clarent inflicted ripping open once more. They paused for but a moment to tear a strip Clarent's cloak and bind the leg.

Arcon didn't bat an eye as he heaved Regulus to his feet and threw the knight's arm over his shoulder. “Can you help him?”

Clarent slowly ran a hand across the tears on the Heirophant's flesh as he watched it rise and fall erratically with his breathing.  He had done his job too well. “No,” he whispered. “I don't know anything about medicine, magical or mundane. I can kill a man in the space of a heartbeat a hundred different ways, and I don't know how to heal.”

“I'm still alive,” Regulus groaned. He turned to Arcon. “I'm going to need you to keep me upright. If I die, I'm going to die standing... or ripped apart by a undead monstrosity. One of the two.”

But Clarent had eyes only for the dragon of flesh and blood, who circled around the castle of the Order, rending towers and keep in his wake. "Blood of my blood," he whispered in realization, as Sivek's undeath knit his body back together. 

He had an idea.

It was suicidal.

But he had already died once. What was a second death?

"Is there a way into the castle that we won't be seen from above?" he asked, hurrying alongside the Knight Commander. "And can we access the armor from there?"

The elder knight sucked great lungfuls of air through clenched teeth. "A tunnel at the foot of the mountain that leads into the lower cellars. Why?"

He told them of his theory as the rest of Fafnir's brood flew overhead. 

They skimmed low over the treetops, stripping leaves and breaking branches with each downbeat of their wings.  The sky around them was beginning to darken, the dry wind carrying the scent of blood and metal and smoke.  The lakeside was lit with an unearthly glow, the light pulsing like some monstrous heartbeat. Columns of flame erupted in the distance as entire villages were reduced to ash in moments.

Regulus was afraid to ask, but he did nonetheless.  “What if you're wrong?”

The words were cold and blunt.  "Then he will burn your world down to the rocks and bake the rocks until they glow.  He will melt the poles, grind the mountains to dust, boil the oceans and set the very clouds aflame.  We will all die."

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If Sivek was a giant, then his father was a [i]Titan[/i].

The dragon broke through the low clouds like some ancient god descending upon the wicked. Its bronze wings stretched hundreds of feet across the sky, blotting out the clouds and sun both. A head larger than a cottage trailed smoke from between its jaws, which yawned wide to reveal a hellish light within. The world shook again as it roared, and a river of fire erupted from its mouth, bathing the castle below. The squire had only just managed to shove her behind an arch, before a wash of flames engulfed them. He vanished before Lilith's eyes.

The ringing in her ears faded, replaced by a faint buzz. Her vision began to go gray around the edges. So fast. The dragon flapped its massive wings and began to wheel around for another pass.

Another roar broke through her paralysis, and she stumbled forward. [i]Movemovemovemove![/i] She tumbled forward, dodging debris and piles of ash. All that mattered was to keep moving. Behind her, she felt a rush of heat as the dragon passed near. The snow around her evaporated instantly. The walls steamed.

[b]I see you.[/b] She heard its booming voice echo in her mind. She trembled beneath the force of its terrible will; the sapphire shook as she raised it again, and her second shot veered wildly off course, sailing into the distance. The dragon’s laughter resounded in her brain.

[b]So little.[/b] Lilith dove from the pillar, landing in a jumble of limbs and robes a bare moment before the column erupted in flames as the dragon passed overhead. The stone melted.

She pulled her sword back to her, frantically searching around for a place to hide. The courtyard was a battleground; hundreds of knights ran in every which direction, some attempting to hold off the dragon, or put out fires, or carry the wounded. The dead, or rather, the ashes that remained of them, blanketed everything like sickly snow.

Too late. The dragon blasted through the plume of smoke that shrouded the sky. Nearly half the forest around the lake was in flames. Its mouth opened again, revealing the furnace that burned within its breast.

It was moments from exhaling on her when a large spear, nearly a lance, flew through the air and slammed into the dragon’s side with a crunch that sounded for miles. The beast bellowed in pain and flipped in the air, tilting its wings to change course and face the new threat. Lilith lowered the jewel, and turned to see where the spear had come from.

The Knight Commander Arcon and Knight Hierophant Regulus had returned, and stood in the middle of the courtyard with an unfamiliar knight between them. Five spears, each with a large leaf carved diamond for a head, swung in a slow orbit around the trio. As Lilith watched, Regulus thrust out his hand and spear closest to him shot through the air with a loud crack toward the dragon.

Her breath caught in her throat. [i]"He can hurt it!"[/i] She thought to herself. [i]"He can hurt it!"[/i]

Just as quickly, her hopes were dashed. The dragon reached out with a scaled arm, intercepting the spear with a casual backhand. The wood shattered against its hardened scales; fragments rained down on the courtyard in a stinging hail that drew tiny lines of blood on Lilith's arms. Apparently deciding the three was the greater threat, the dragon inhaled deeply, and sent another blast of fire into the castle. The three knights scattered, diving for cover as the flames licked at their feels.

Fafnir reeled back in pain as yet another spear embedded itself into his left leg. 

The dragon's head snapped down, eyes slitted in fury as the flames from his mouth turned white-hot. [b]Foolish wretch! May whatever god you revere take pity on your damned…[/b] His eyes finally settled on the knight in black with the diamond sword, and his murderous fury increased.

[b]Clarent.[/b]

[center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center]

“Alive for less than an hour already trying to kill stuff again,” the Kingmaker asked in surprise.  “My, but you’re a violent little bastard aren’t you?”

[b]I am a dragon, he said. I burn. I eat. I kill. Destruction is my way, and you are prey. I once sat atop a black reign of fire that spanned the whole of the Tear, a terror to all your kind. Then came you with your stones and slew my sons.[/b]

Sivek alighted over head, landing with a earth shattering thump onto the castle walls. Twin pinprick's of light glowed from his unearthly skull. Another form dropped, and another. 

[b][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFfIEenip_A]But now I live. Now my sons walk upon your land. We are the hunters. You, the prey.[/url][/b]

D'jac pounced, tearing up masonry from the wall as the drake lunged at Clarent. The knight had to throw himself backwards to avoid to the razor talons that shredded the air around him. A skull filled with teeth brought itself dangerously close, opened to devour him.

Two gleaming shafts made up of ten diamonds each took their place on either side of its neck, then twisted its head off with an explosion of bone and ash. Clarent threw himself to his feet, swearing as another of Fafnir's children swung into view as he rejoined the blade. A flurry of obsidian met the dragon, clipping its wings and felling it from the sky, if but for a short while.

Embolden by the return of their Knight Commander Arcon, many of the remaining knights threw themselves back into the frey. Metal shards and gemstones were fired at the dragons by the hundreds. The dragons lept and clambered over the forces, melting flesh with emerald flames. 

Fafnir roared, seeming to forget about Clarent, and rounded on another knight. It opened its mouth, and that dreadfully familiar sound filled Clarent's ears again. By now it seemed to drown out every other noise in the castle, despite not being very loud in and of itself.

It beat its wings, buffeting Clarent with a thunderous wave of air and rearing up on its own hind legs, the gibblets falling to the ashen floor. Clarent watched the dragon, reassembling [i]Regent[/i] as he searched for a weak point. There had to be somewhere he could strike.

Regulus made to throw his final spear at Fafnir, and was thrown to the ground, and as the dragon came down it slammed a claw into him. Dirt exploded outward as the Heirophant was pinned to the ground by the razor claws. He started to try and wrest his way free.

Too late Clarent realized that he was too absorbed in analyzing the creature, and as a result he'd overlooked two important facts.

First, Fafnir had the Knight Heirophant pinned to the ground and was about to unleash a torrent of fire. There was no question with Regulus—he simply wouldn't survive the inferno. Clarent needed to hit its head, or its claws, or something to save him. And that would cost precious time.

Second, he'd forgotten about Fafnir's tail.

It hit him square in the side, and Clarent lost all semblance of orientation as his feet left the ground. He was vaguely aware of a second impact, on her other side, before falling to the ground in a heap. If it hadn't been for the robe's enchantments, his spine would have snapped like a match stick. His ears rang and pain stabbed along his sides. His mouth tasted odd, almost metallic.

His kights were still in mortal danger. He needed to come to his senses and get up. He needed to help them, somehow.

A shatted column entered his field of vision—or maybe it had been there all along. Yes, Clarent thought, that was what he'd struck while in the air. He rolled his head to one side, trying to get a view of the dragon.

For the next several seconds, Clarent watched. He saw Rhesk, and D'jac, and Bomlac and Sivek, and Jahken; each of Fafnir's children was coming toward him to take a quick kill. Past them, the dragon still had Regulus pinned to the ground, and fire poured out of its maw in a poisonous blossom of heat and death.

But it never reached Regulus. Clarent barely noticed the blade drawn out of the air opposite of him him and throwing it forward in another shatter. His shards gripping the dragon by the lower jaw and pulling its head toward the ground was Arcon, screaming as flames flowed like liquid over his feet and standing in a pool of molten glass. What he did notice was Fafnir's wing, coming down and obscuring the Knight Commander from sight.

Fafnir breathed out with the roar of an erupting volcano, and the inky black flames poured forth to fill the space between his wing and his maw. They doubled, then redoubled, heating the enclosed space past the point that would boil iron. Fafnir kept going, heating stones a dozen meters away from the flames to incandescence. 

It wasn't a scream that Clarent ever wanted to hear again. Not a despairing wail of suffering and pain. It was defiance and rage. Endurance and tenacity. Clarent watched Arcon save Regulus's life, and grit his teeth, brandishing [i]Regent[/i] anew.

Clarent had always been somewhat defenseless. Fafnir was nearly invincible, but even King Solom and Sir Morgant could evade almost any attack. Clarent had only the blade, which was more often than not too busy on the offense to be put on the defense. He'd always needed his speed to protect him, but such was the nature of bladecasting.

Strike hard, strike fast, strike first. It was one of the first things the king had taught him. Bladecasting was the most efficient form of killing there was. Even the gods relied on the mortal weapons to kill their enemies.

He had been old when Fafnir, the Uncrowned King of all the World, and his children threatened the realm of Ynys Mons. He had been old, and gray and tired. To sacrifice the life of an old knight, his life, to stop six dragons had been more than easy to make.

But now Clarent was young. And the sacrifice had already been made.

The Kingmaker threw himself to his feet, ignoring the almost crippling pain that sliced through his sides. A skeletal drake pounced, aiming to hit him before he'd regained her balance, but even as he came to his feet he sent a single diamond through its mouth to burst out the back of its head. He rolled under the massive undead corpse, and every dragon between him and their father turned to face a Knight Commander of the Knightly Harmonic Order of Coquelicot.

A claw was sheared lengthwise in two as it tried to strike. Another dragon took a diamond through the eye. Clarent spun through them in a shower of blood and splinters, never losing his place.

Six seconds of flame ended, and the dragon snatched Regulus up in its jaws once more. It shook its head once, not bothering to draw in breath for fire, then pitched the knight into a nearby cart. Wood shattered as Regulus fell to the ground. Four more diamonds rained down from above to devastate the ghost-like Jahken. Clarent sent three more to new targets, then used a fourth for leverage, springing off it and over the swipe of the nearby D'jac. He landed, facing forward, just as the dragon’s other claw was torn away with a wet splash. It pitched forward as its throat followed. By then Clarent had moved on to other targets. His footwork was perfect, his form divine. He split his focus between each of his assailants, delegating the proper amount of diamonds to each even as he moved through their ranks. He incapacitated them all.

Until at last not a single foe stood in his path and he faced the dragon itself. Or rather, its tail.

Fafnir looked down at the unconscious Hierophant, then raised its other claw. Four deadly talons gleamed.

Four fragments of [i]Regent[/i] gleamed a little bit more.

Clarent reached the dragon’s tail just as his blade reached its outstretched claw. He leapt onto the sinuous limb as each talon was sheared away to tumble off into the night. The dragon shrieked, rearing its head back, and whipping its tail up.

Clarent let go.

He was flying, soaring through the night air with his bloodstained robe fluttering about him. His blade had gone past the dragon's maimed claw; he called it now, drawing each of the pieces toward him.

His aim was true. 

Clarent landed against the base of the dragon's head just as [i]Regent[/i] assembled before him. He braced his impact with muscles built over years of training and wrapped his arms around the spines of its crest. The dragon reared its head, trying to throw him off.

His hair flew back in its loose curls, his bloodstained robe flowed around his form, and [i]Regent[/i] gleamed as he thrust it into the base of the dragon's skull. He screamed, because that seemed like the appropriate thing to do when slaying a dragon, and he felt his blade slide into the dragon's brain. It split into twenty fragments that tore the inside of the dragon's skull into mush.

A tremendous crack rang out over the lake as a skull as thick as a tree trunk shattered into thousands of fragments. Gore and shards of bone exploded from a hole in Fafnir's head, and the flames coming from his mouth ceased. He collapsed, the light in his eyes dying like fading embers.

Clarent rode the beast to the ground, feeling the thud of its impact reverberate through his body. All around the courtyard, the wraiths of Fafnir's brood gave a last wailing shriek and collapsed into bones and ash, dissipating upon the ground.

Silence. 

He could feel his heart threatening to tear itself from his chest, and with none to shaky hand Clarent pushed himself then clambered to his feet and stepped out onto the dead dragon's head. The remaining gathered around the fallen dragon, looking up at their founder. The courtyard was filled with the wounded, the dead, and the incinerated, with shattered stones and bodies strewn everywhere. Towers and villages burned, and the blood of Fafnir soaked into the castle ground.

The knight gave a tremendous sigh, and brushed the ash from his arms. A whisper brought [i]Regent[/i] to his side, a weary, almost delirious smile on the knight's face.

He still had it.