AuthorPalt
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A Gamer's Guide 360
🕑 Added 2025-06-13 10:52:12 +0000 UTCSmoke, now. I smell it. It’s artificial, oddly enough, like what I’d imagine burning paint to smell like.
“What is that smell?” Glyph asks from the back of another drake. Her sword is drawn, even though the church is still many kilometres away. I could answer her, but right now, I don’t want to talk. I don’t even want to be here, honestly. Why didn’t I stay with Lett? Why did I have to go off and try to face the stupid herald alone? Of course it was going for Lett, am I really so egotistical as to think I’m the only possible target? Do I hate myself that much? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The sky is empty. Had it been cloudy, I don’t think we would have been able to navigate the road this effectively. Rice, I and Sythe are at the front, closely followed by the riders who were kind enough to bring Holly and Glyph along. We know the road. Sometimes, it’s difficult to navigate, but the final bit is straight. So, when we turn the final bend and spot light shining at the end of the road, it is only pure routine that we keep moving, not freezing up in shock.
Fire. Yes, now that the forest is no longer shrouding everything in oppressive, looming shadows, we can see the church, burning like a well-stoked hearth, belching thick, black plumes of smoke and ash into the great starry sky. The boards that used to keep the broken windows shut have burnt off and now the whole building is staring out from within, fire in its dozens of eyes, the front porch charring in such a way where it looks like a great big toothed mouth, depressing into a frown.
A shadow wavers behind it. Massive enough to dwarf the church, with a pair of peering purple eyes and five crown-like horns.
Through the smoke, a clawed hand—no, a wing—reaches through, clutching onto the roof of the church. Another wing stretches out, heaving itself on top of the burning church. Even though we’re several hundred meters away, I can clearly hear the groaning of the church’s foundations, the whimpers of the house, even over the loud, blistering crackle of the cruel fire. It raises itself—like the very shadow of the church coming to life—above the burning building, making it crack and whimper further, and now we can truly see it. Lit by the flames caressing its chest and neck, we can see the dry, cracked skin, as black as that of a mummified corpse. We can see the slacked-open jaw, working mechanically. And we can see the two silhouettes atop it, one floating, one standing.
My blood, heavy and congealed, turns to thick mercury in my veins.
Where is he? Where’s Lett? Where—
The monstrous herald rises further, the muscles in its necks and jaw bulging. And then its neck starts to swell, starting far down, slowly moving upwards, almost as though it’s preparing to expel a massive torrent of thick vomit. Then, I notice the way the back of its throat is beginning to glow.
“INTO THE FOREST!” I cry, my voice cracking. “ESCAPE INTO THE FOREST RIGHT NOW!!”
Rice bucks to the left into a shrub, only barely avoiding a full-frontal collision with a felled tree with Gecko and Holly following soon after. Sythe is slower, though only because he himself raises his rapier to the sky, shouting, “Into the forest!” to the rest of the soldiers, quickly after ducking into the woods on the right.
“Further,” I hiss at him. “Further away from the—”
The world explodes into purple light and burning searing heat scorches my back, though I’m not dead, not hurt, but… The light abates after a few seconds. Sythe has no time to look back. I do. And behind us, I can see the path we were running only seconds ago having expanded several times in width, the trees that used to be there having either turned to ash in an instant or been lit aflame by the sheer heat left by the flames. Now, they danced with purple light, and the woods were so much brighter. That chemical smell again, now burning my nostrils, so much closer than before.
Is Rice okay? Are Glyph and Holly alright?
I shake my head. There’s no time. Behind us, a hundred or so soldiers have successfully joined us, not killed by the flames. I can’t tell how many died just now. In the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I turn to Sythe, knowing that it’s up to me to guide us the final way. “To the right, about fifty meters, you’ll find a path. It leads to the garden behind the church. It’s our only chance.”
In truth, it would be best if the soldiers split up right about now. Had I been in control of that dragon, I’d be making it spew that fire all over the place, trapping the soldiers with no escape. We’d eventually die from the fire. If we split up, we’d have a greater chance of arriving alive.
But they don’t know the way. I do. And the forest is too thick to reliably rush through without following a path. There’s no choice.
Then again, even if they all die, I’ll still be alive. Right now, they are nothing but body shields. Barely even that. Useless.
…What a waste of lives.
“There,” I notice, and Sythe obeys, bringing his drake onto a well-trodden path, usually used by the children to reach a small clearing further away. As soon as he gets onto it, his drake increases in speed, no longer having to fear the various obstacles the forest presents. “Quickly,” I urge him. “Before it’s too late.”
Through the path, followed by hundreds of panting drakes, across the forest, we finally emerge into the garden behind the church.
It’s all burnt down. The hedges have turned to ashen skeletons, the flowerbeds have melted into cinders, the shed is nothing but a pile of bone-like foundations, and the stump of the old tree has been crushed entirely. Even the grass has become black and dead. I hop down from atop the drake, feeling how the charred grass turns to dust beneath my bare feet.
…I see. So this is how it ends, then? I wonder what I did wrong this time. I really thought I was doing good this time. But now everything is on fire and Lett is gone and—
There’s a mighty CRASH and a rush of hot, dry air strikes me hard enough to force me a few steps back. Forced to look away from my dead garden, I watch in confusion as the dragon stands atop the squashed, smouldering church, lumbering and hunched and awkward, its truck-sized head moving as smoothly and coldly as a robot towards me.
Even though the eyes are completely glazed over in purple, I can tell that the dragon isn’t looking at me. I know at a glance that it is blind, deaf, and closer to the dead than most corpses. And yet, I can tell that I am being watched. From the dragon’s direction, atop it, almost shrouded by the thick, dying smoke of the church, a gaze has turned to me. Now that I’m close enough to feel the throat-parching heat of the dying church, I can see them. The silhouettes are more than shadows atop the dragon’s head. They are people, and I recognize one of them very well.
“Lett,” I breathe. He’s up there. Then, the one next to him… Green-skinned, earless, with a nose as long as my foot, clad in regal yet oddly ridiculous clothes, is the god of kings. I know it’s him. I can’t say how, but I just know. Maybe it’s all the purple. Maybe it’s the context. Or maybe it’s that same voice that’s nagging at the back of my head, asking why is Lett standing?
A tongue of fire lashes close to them and suddenly I can see their faces; the god of kings grinning madly, and Lett…
Is he dead? Did the god of kings kill him and use him to make a herald? Oh God. Oh God. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. This isn’t—
Lett goes down on one knee, bowing to the god of kings. But it’s robotic. Like the movements of the dragon. Is he still in there? Oh, God. The god of kings’ lips are moving. He’s saying something. A warning? A greeting? I don’t know. I can’t tell. Behind me, I can hear the heavy breathing of the soldiers, and Sythe, muttering something I choose not to hear. And then, with play-pretend grace, like a child imitating the characters on TV, the god of kings crowns Lett with what I think might be air, or maybe smoke. It’s like a pair of kids putting on a play for mommy and daddy. Except when Lett is crowned by nothingness, his skull erupts, and five horns split from within, up like a thorny crown, and now Lett’s eyes are glowing purple. Both of them.
Does that mean it’s too late? Was I too slow? Did I choose the wrong option? Can I still save him? Oh, God, please, I don’t want him to die. I couldn’t handle it. Not now. Not after all his.
My eyes feel hot. The fire crackles and the bones of the house in front of me whine.
Above, so high above, atop the drooling dead-eyed dragon’s head, the play is finished with Lett kissing the god of kings’ foot. And then the god of kings disappears. Or maybe he was never there to begin with.
The play is over. Lett turns to us, and gravity multiplies around us, pressing us down, forcing me to my knees, making the soldiers tumble off their crying, yelping drakes, the snow in all nearby trees stripped off and splatting to the ground in one great big PLAFF. Had there been breath in them, the weight would surely have pressed a gasp from my lungs. Now, instead, there is nothing. I raise my head to Lett, breathless.
He’s up there. The fire has been crushed by the pressure as well, and the building is groaning. Even the dragon, dead though it may be, is trembling. Then, it all comes crashing down.
“LETT!” I cry, but in vain. The church has been demolished into nothing but rubble and smouldering cinders. The dragon is kneeling atop it, almost fully squashed into the ground, but Lett hasn’t fallen. Up there, where the dragon’s head had been mere moments ago, remains Lett, fixed in place. It almost looks comical, like a mime pretending to stand on nothing. But there really is nothing.
He’s up there. We’re down here. The soldiers behind me are breathing only barely, wheezing little breaths puffing down their throats. The drakes are panting and terrified. I’ve risen, but I’m not moving. All I’m doing, and all I can do is look up at him. In return, he does nothing more than look down at me, eyes gleaming in hazy purple. I know he’s looking at me. I can feel it. Not the soldiers, not the drakes, not even the dragon kneeling at his feet. No, all his attention is on me.
I still don’t know if he’s in there. I still can’t—
There’s a whizz and a thunk and suddenly I’m lighter, the soldiers gasping for full breaths, and I can only fathom what just happened by the fact that Lett abruptly turned away, clutching at his arm and screaming so loudly that I can hear it even down here, a hundred meters away. Echoing the movement, the dragon suddenly bucks to the side, clutching its wing even though it hasn’t been hurt. Only then do I spot the gleam of the weapon used.
An arrow, I think. Someone shot an arrow at Lett. And against every rational sensibility, this thought, this simple realization, fills me with a deep and festering rage the likes of which I haven’t felt in years.
Someone hurt Lett. Someone made him scream. Someone…
My eyes, desperate to find a perpetrator, search the vicinity of the forest only to find the attacker over to the right, hiding like a damned coward in the shadow of the forest.
Rice gives me a thumbs up, and motions for me to attack.
I bristle.
