9: To kill a god

            The morning air was brisk. A gentle fog rolled as the coals of the fire flickered in the wind that was blowing between the tents surrounding it. Muradin woke and noticed he was the first one up. He waddled through the grass and went to take a leak by an old lone tree. He nearly started his business, as he jumped at the sight of Bacon, standing like his usual creepy self, watching the camp.

            "Some day I will place a ring of bells on you." he grumbled. He turned and started urinating, looking back as the armored statue's head was now tilted just slightly in his direction.

            "Very disturbing indeed." he muttered to himself. Greg strolled to the nearest smell of breakfast, a small fire where the female troll was roasting meat of some kind. He approached, sitting on a log across from her.

            "So…" he started. "Nervous?"

            "No." she replied.

            "You didn’t give me your name." he reminded.

            "Xyddith." she said peering up.

            "Xyddith, that's Troll for Edith, the Elvin fable name that mean "she who walks among the fallen" there is an old legend about her, long story you probably know already."

            "Yes." she nodded. Greg nodded back, running out of smalltalk to filler between awkward pauses.

            "I'm just going to say it. I really like the bad-a*s look and I don’t see many women remotely close to my size or sturdiness, fewer still that don’t find me intimidating." he informed.

            "If you are attempting to flatter me with romance, before a battle is a poor choice of timing." she replied.

            "And when would be a good time exactly…before we met or after we get killed tomorrow?" he asked. She looked up without a good answer.

            "A flattering point. If we are to die, best die already tired from needless mating instead of arriving sooner to battle." she said sarcastically.

            "I find you interesting and attractive, I never suggested we go back to my tent and become familiar. My intentions are fairly open to possibility and not specific, let alone sinister, let alone rushed. Is it a crime or cultural insult to give a woman a compliment and hope for a bit of social levity before battle?" he asked.

            "I suppose not. You are unfamiliar with Troll customs." she sighed.

            "Well, you're half Troll, so I only have to be half-acceptable by those standards, and nobody knows what the hell I am, so I make my own customs. In my culture, when you compliment a woman, she follows with "thank you" and then informs him if she is interested or otherwise spoken for." he finished.

            "Thank you for the compliment, I am not spoken for. My interest, as of this moment, is the battle tomorrow." she said coldly. He nodded, almost getting up with a rejection bruise on his ego. "But if we survive this, I will let you know how interested I am." she said with a slight smile she was unable to hide.

            "Oh good, more reason to not die." he smiled.

 

 

 

 

            The camp rode by the cover of darkness to the far side of the clearing where the Castle of Ash was best viewed. Greg reviewed the plan in his head a few times as they gathered and prepared. Elora carefully followed a carriage that was leaving the gate and heading somewhere leisurely. As the gate swung shut and the guards walked away, she sprinted with her invisibility armor, sliding to the gate and jamming a pick in the lock to prevent the gate from latching. She opened it and slipped in, keeping the gate unlocked as she made her way past the guards and to the alley. She dis-armored and stuffed her things into a bag, hiding it under some hay for later. Greg and the rest waited by the gate patiently. He sighed to himself as they waited.

            "This is a stupid plan, they won't be fooled by it." Greg said with regret.

            "Trust me, Greggory…they will be." Muradin said watching Elora strut drunkenly out of the alley with her top almost fully unbuttoned.

            "What if they don’t like Dwarven women?" Greg asked.

            "It doesn’t matter, they will still be looking and distracted. Do you like Dwarven women?" Muradin asked as Greg began to deny it and found himself still staring at her cleavage as she wobbled and spilled her ale. "Tell me you are compelled to look away."

            "Okay that's a good point. Tits are tits." Greg nodded. Elora "tripped" and fell, spilling beer down her blouse and laughing foolishly.

            "Silly me, I've gotten myself lost." she giggled to the guards, who were fully distracted.

            "Miss, you not permitted out this hour." one informed.

            "I don’t remember where my room is, can you lads show me where the inn is located?" she slurred happily.

 

            Greg watched as the guards barely left their designated area to point and give her directions as they briskly squeezed through the gate and fanned out. The streets were poorly lit and getting to the castle was not difficult, getting inside may be. Elora scurried to the group as they waited for her to pick the main lock. The men took positions as Greg, Elora, Muradin, Bacon, Miranda and Xyddith entered the castle. It wasn’t a moment before they had to hide, as the guards strolled the main corridor in their shifts.

            "Damnit…" Greg sighed. There's no room to go around undetected and too many guards to take out at once."

            "I can give them something to follow." Xyddith said, grabbing a candle and darting out in the open.

            "That woman is suicidal." Greg sighed as she caught their attention and set fire to the banners. 3 guards chased after her as the remaining 2 were too busy putting out the fire to sound an alarm of any kind.

            "Good enough." nodded Elora, leading them around as her and Miranda fired arrows to silence the guards as their backs were turned. They looked around the room for anything useful before attempting the main stairs to the king's chambers.

            "The Prophesy said something about the Chosen Child needing the magic sword and the magic robes. All we have are normal weapons." Elora reminded.

            "Well, there's nothing here of any value." Greg shrugged "The prophesy is garbage anyway, with William dead, the robes nowhere to be found and the sword missing, we just have to do our best." he encouraged.

 

 

            The brave warriors entered the King's Chamber, ready for a battle. Greg lead the way, armed with his sword and out for blood. Theyren sat confidently as the team entered, giving zero signs of worry and fully prepared.

            "Ah, the famous Greggory who has caused me such grief these past few days."

            "You'll pay for what you did." said Elora, defending William's honor.

            "How many times I have heard that. What transgressions I have done to you is not particularly important." he said, strolling to his dragon and tossing it a raw chicken. It stared at her and growled angrily, recognizing her scent.

            "You're pet remembers me, why don’t you? I gave you quite a scar." she reminded. He scoffed and unbuttoned his shirt, showing no scar on his chest, further confusing her, since the wound was in his back.

            "You are not the man I attacked." she muttered.

            "How astoundingly clever you are. That Dwarven vision and a keen sense of revenge." he smiled. Greg yawned.

            "If you are a decoy, I suggest you spare your own life by going willingly and taking us to the King." Greg instructed. "If you are just a pawn, then you will be spared for your help, your master is the one I need to speak with." he added.

            "Oh I assure you, it is far more complicated than that. I owe this Dwarf a taste of my blade regardless, and I owe it to my vow to protect my empire from your kind." he said circling the group as the Dragon kept a close eye on Greg and Elora.

            "Either make sense or draw your damn sword…either way I plan to have your head rather than a game of riddles." Greg growled.

            "No, I don’t believe you will. You see…you are quite special, Greggory. Do you know what you are?" he asked.

            "Little of this, little of that, mostly unstoppable rage and good looks." he deduced.

            "Greg, you have been lied to, and tricked. You are one of us, you don’t belong to them. Why attack your own people in defense of these mortals?" he asked.

            "Greg, what is he talking about?" asked Elora.

            "He means I am one of the gods, and he is attempting to persuade me to be part of his empire, because he fears the younger gods and their power. That is why he killed off my generation, and why he fears me. It's a comforting thought actually, knowing when I saw his head off, I can watch the terror in his eyes knowing his worst fear is confirmed." Greg said, readying his sword.

            "You would betray your own kind…over a human that was not even your blood sister? A mother that was not yours, a father that merely claimed you by name? " he asked.

            "Well, when you tried to murder my entire generation, myself included, and killed the people who raised me like their own, I think you shifted the scales away from your favor. Blood means nothing to me when measured against intentions and actions. You started this bloodshed, and now you are going to bathe in it. You have one last chance to make sense, and if you impress me with your answer, I may kill you quickly instead of taking my time." Greg said stepping closer as the Dragon stomped closer as well to defend its King.

            "Your sister was not beaten or ravaged, she was rewarded. To serve the house of the gods is an honor. You think she would have had a better life fetching firewood in the cold wasteland, rather than fetching wine for the gods in a warm castle? You think being married off to a simple nomad as one wife of many, suited her better than a servant to a King? She slept on soft beds, knew little of hunger or sickness, and the labor she knew was far less harsh than what the tundra and nomads had to offer. Your sister, as you so stubbornly claim she was, suffered far less than those I left behind. You should be thanking us, and had you not been such a warrior at heart, you could have been raised in riches rather than living as a halfbreed blacksmith among those who judged you."

            "A well played point. It's difficult to say if you are lying or not, and it would be unwise to slay a man for reasons he is not clear about." He said, hesitantly approaching him, placing his sword on the table. Elora looked alarmed and outnumbered.

            "See Greggory, you are not a dumb brute as they say." he said with a smile and a hand outstretched to shake. Greg grabbed his hand to shake, suddenly yanking him close enough to ram a dagger through his flesh just behind his chin. Theyren twitched as the blade slid through his skull and out the top of his scalp. Greg leaned in close.

            "Maybe you shouldn’t have murdered my mother…" he whispered, tearing his head from his body with a harsh yank, drawing his sword and pointing it at the dragon for it's retaliation. The Dragon made a strange sound, almost like…laughter. Its scaly chest pulsed as it began to chuckle in a deep and thunderous form. Muradin readied his sword.

            "Greg…the dragon is amused, I don’t like this." Muradin muttered, the brave team slowly backing away with their weapons pointed, as Greg stood still, ready for almost anything…except what happened next.

            "Well played indeed." said the dragon, in a rumble of low tone.

            "It can talk?" asked Elora.

            "Oh foolish little things you are, so easily deceived by so little effort." it said, stretching and standing up. Greg didn’t look overly shocked, even slightly amused.

            "A very interesting set-up you have constructed." Greg noted. Let me guess…he was a halfbreed of sorts?" Greg asked.

            "He was nothing…just a man with 3 identical brothers who's family was willing to trade for gold. When we arrived ages ago, the mortals feared us far too much to listen to our wisdom. They called us dragons, the dreaded ones, in their native tongue. It took time to learn the languages of this world, and they had quickly reduced us to monsters, hunted us, and refused to hear our reason. Earth mortals are primitive, dull, and quick to anger…as I see you have learned as well. It became clear to us that they would only listen to something that seemed more familiar. There was some dispute on the tactical steps needed, but when the smoke cleared, it was obvious that this world operated not by reason, but by war and dominance…by deception and wealth. The 4 that survived, myself and my 3 brothers, took the mortal kingdoms a different way. We created the Prophesy stones, let the mortals think they had hope, and then we chose our decoys. Mortals are so fragile, even the slightest primitive alterations produced twins of identical form. In order to lead mortals, you must resemble one. In order to remain a god…you must live forever. He was number 3 of 4 brothers, and when this day ends, a new brother will be crowned and mankind will know nothing of his death. He means little to me but inconvenience. Now that man has accepted that the gods walk among them, accepted that someone who can tame a dragon must be intended to sit upon a throne… they have already been conquered. We need only allow this control to spread across the planet for these primitive beings to understand." The dragon explained.

            "And since you failed to kill me already, you figure why not use me as the new king…a new and more powerful generation of ruler, still bowing to you behind closed doors, but having the people's support. You created a story, whispered in secret, and when they made it legend, you tailored your next leader." he smirked.

            "Greg, don’t listen to its lies, you are not one of them!" hollered Muradin.

            "Of course you are…breath of fire, skin like armor, the ability to see and hear what others cannot. Tell me Greggory…what do the voices say to you? Do you hear them clearly or are they broken?" the dragon asked.

            "It varies with every drink" he admitted.

            "Impressive. We spent many years trying to re-create our technology, and just as much effort trying to keep it out of the hands of these mortal apes. The fact that you can hear the voices at all through the dampening magnetic field is fascinating."

            "So who exactly is talking to me?" he asked.

            "The Empire. There are millions of us, Greggory…there will be millions more by the time they arrive here to take this world from the stars. We were sent here to evaluate the species, and in 15 thousand revolutions of their golden star, the world will be ready to receive the gods."

            "Long time to sit and fiddle, you plan to be around when they arrive?" Greg asked.

            "I do, and if you wish, so can you. We were engineered to survive, adapt, and conquer, and we have done it flawlessly. Why can you not accept this reality?" it asked Greg. "Why have you adapted so differently, yet so resistant to social change?"

            "No idea…but you call mortals violent and primitive, remind me that my savage nature is from being raised among them…yet you don’t see your own hypocrisy. You don’t rule, you enslave. You burn villages, you kill women and farmers and take children to toil and bring you wine and meat. If the gods are as corrupt as you have become, then I would rather be mortal. When they arrive, if they wish to challenge me, I welcome the fight…and I don’t have thousands of years to wait patiently to find out." he sighed.

            "So you would rather die than become what you truly are. You would die for these mortals and their brief, meaningless lives?" it asked.

            "No, I would die for freedom and my honor. I am as much my own choices as my own blood, and if being a god means slaughtering innocent women and farmers and making children into slaves…then I'll kill every last one of them that arrives…and you get the honor of being the first." he growled.

            "Second." muttered Muradin. Greg paused and looked back.

            "Damnit, man…I had that speech perfectly timed and you throw in that technicality? Was it necessary to remind the walking dead-guy that I did this before?" He sighed. Muradin shrugged.

            "Well, you did slayed a dragon before you even knew they were gods, I think that deserves noting in this situation. Greggory has experience with your kind…his kind!" he hollered as Greg stewed in annoyance.

            "Yea, but it sounds far less dramatic this way. You dicked the whole vibe. Now I looked like some half-a*s noob-" Greg said interrupted by the backhand of a mighty claw driving him into the stone walls of the King's Chamber. The group fanned out, taking random positions for cover. Arrows bounced uselessly off the Dragon as his wings spread out and the fingers glowed the same eerie blue as Greg's hands when he smelted his steel.

            The dragon charged its wings with energy, and its limbs began to stretch, increasing its overall size and mass considerably as Greg realized this was a whole new level of beast. Greg's hands glowed with energy, readying his telekinetic powers and reaching forward to subdue the beast. Suddenly, he felt his hands lock into place as the dragon chuckled and twisted the energy strands around his claw, reeling Greg in closer.

            "You foolish groundling, you don’t even know how to fly." he chuckled. "What did you think your tendrils were for?" he added, displaying his wing and showing Greg that his telekinetic magic was no more than the energy conduits to a pair of wings that never really formed. "You have spent so many years on the ground that you adapted to being grounded and never even grew your wings." He said boldly, sending a massive claw overhand, severing them just beyond Greg's outstretched hands. Greg dropped with agony, retracting what short bits of energy tendril he had left as the claw backhanded him into the wall.

            "Fight it, Greggory!" encouraged Muradin.

            "Don’t expect those to grow back." snarled the dragon

 

            Greg shoved off from the wall, shattering his new sword over the beast's neck, realizing he missed the sweet-spot where he knew it was vulnerable. It then dawned on him that this was a much larger and better fed dragon than the last one, and he had no cave to collapse on it. The beast's jaw hinged wide and Greg's hands stopped it from reaching his head. They struggled to overpower one another. For a moment they seemed evenly matched, right up until Greg dropped to one knee under the weight as it braced itself against the ceiling with its wings. It roared, bearing down to crush him, charging its limbs with green light.

            "This is not a personal vendetta, help would be nice." Greg growled to his friends, his hands getting rather tired.

            "How?" the arrows don’t even stick into it!" barked Muradin, frustratedly throwing a sword and watching it twang off the shoulder and flail into the background.

            "Set it on fire!" suggested Miranda.

            "IT'S A DRAGON!!" Greg barked with irritation, sinking as the stone floor crumpled and his left arm began to crunch. He gave a sudden twisting motion, trying to break its neck, but only breaking the dead-lock they were in and sending everyone running to get out of its line of attack. Greg almost missed the walking suit of armor that was casually strolling out the door and down the stairs.

            "Screw you too, you chicken-s**t bundle of kindling." he grunted, his eyes glowing white.

            "We need you!" Miranda hollered, expecting him to turn around. Nothing. She Took aim and fired another arrow, in a stroke of luck, hitting the dragon in the left eye. It broke attack and clawed its face in anger, swatting the smoldering stick to the ground and turning towards her with a look of pure hatred.

            "Oopse." she muttered, sprinting to her right and knocking over Muradin as a wall of blue flames scorched the stones behind them. The flames seemed to stop just short and create a pocket of safety where they were hunkering. Greg stood in the inferno, eyes glowing and teeth extended, gripping the beast by the fangs and trying to tear them apart as the lower teeth clamped down on his hands. The dragon was sick of this close quarter combat. Its wings opened and the transparent webbing radiated with power,as the veins pulsed with blue energy like a heartbeat made of pure lightning. Suddenly the Castle shook with the detonation. A rather faint war-cry grew louder as Greg sailed up and back down into the courtyard, firmly imbedding into the stone floor. The peasants scattered as the dragon arced high into the air and back down, landing on Greg, sinking its clawed feet into Greg's shoulders. With heavy paced flaps, the beast made a reverse flying motion, using its energized wings to push down rather than lift, driving Greg further down with each motion.

            Bacon walked casually into the dining hall of the now cracked and open-topped castle, carefully admiring the suits of armor on display behind glass. He carefully inspected them one at a time, moving on after each look-over. He didn’t seem to be in much of hurry, but being a tree, he wasn’t known for his brisk pace regardless. Arrows pinged off his back plating as castle guards attempted to slay the intruder. He didn’t seem to care much, even on the rare arrow that hit wood between the metal scales.

            "The destroyer, slay him!" hollered the guards as more filled in the room.

            Greg bounced back and forth between stone and dragon snout, landing as many useless swipes as ones misses, while the beast pummeled him into the crater. He was losing pretty badly, sustaining damage faster then he could regenerate.

            "Everyone get out." hollered Muradin, trying to herd as many peasants as possible through the gates to clear the field of destruction. The screams of women and children, and the occasional man as well, echoed in the harsh rhythm of bass thumps as the dragon used Greg like a percussion instrument. South Elm soldiers and peasants of Ash filed out as equals, both concerned more with the destruction than who's side they were on. At that point, it was a war between gods and they weren't sure which side was best to be clinging to until the battle stopped. Miranda pushed through the Crowd, grabbing Muradin and spotting Elora as well.

            "Where is Bacon?" she asked.

            "I haven't seen him since he cowardly left the tower." Muradin grumbled.

            Xyddith looked for Greg, realizing he wasn’t in the crowd. He would be rather easy to spot after all.

            "Where is Greggory?" she asked Muradin, nearly tripping over him.

            "Who do you think is holding back a Dragon god?" he asked. She turned and shoved her way to the front of the line.

            "You can't go in there without getting killed." he warned.

            "I won't leave him to die." she said bearing her teeth and shoving over a random guard for his shield and helmet. Bacon found what he was looking for, reaching through the glass and shattering it as he pulled the armor out, letting it flop on the ground and retracting his hand with The Sword of Fate, still sharp as the moment Greg handed it to William and polished clean for display. He strolled calmly back towards the courtyard entrance, pausing for a moment as he noticed a rather disturbing reflection of himself in the mirror. He never saw his own reflection before and for a moment he understood why people feared him. The distraction was hard to ignore, but so was the sound of his friend being buried alive in solid rock, so he shuffled sadly along his path.

            Xyddith smashed through the wooden door like it was made of straw, letting out a tusked roar of rage as she taunted the dragon, trying to get its attention on her.

            Greg had stopped fighting back a while ago, taking a break to get pummeled to pulp until he heard the familiar roar. He tried to sit up, meeting the out-stretched clawed foot.

            "Do I detect an elevated concern?" the dragon asked with a sinister grin.

            "Nope, just rested up and ready for more." he wheezed.

            "You have feelings for this creature. Why else do you suddenly care about your surroundings, when moments ago your focus was entirely on me?" it said folding a wing and sending it down into a left hook to his face.

            "Just another peasant mortal to me." he said, trying to see straight. She rushed in and took a leap of faith, channeling every muscle into the axe she intended to sink into the dragon's back. The clank of fine steel chipping and sparking off the scales was followed by the dull thud of a winged backhand smacking her away like an irritating fly. Bacon spotted the courtyard from the second floor window and climbed through, hopping to the courtyard and landing on his face. He slowly got back up, grabbing his sword and lumbering along towards the fight.

            Greg saw Xyddith lying injured against the wall, completely missing Bacon approaching slowly. He couldn’t tell if she was alive or not, through the blurry movement of the pummeling. Something in him snapped. His eyes glowed unnaturally bright, his breathing intensifying. He grabbed the winged fist that was trying to drive him into oblivion and his forearm locked like stone. His mind burned with rage, realizing Xyddith probably wouldn’t survive the force of that impact, even if she was still breathing. The veins in his neck and arms glowed blue as his jaw crunched and the bones slid past one another, extending his jaws into a sort of snout. His ears tilted back and the hairs rose up like a wolf in the cold, ready to strike on its prey.

            Greg slashed it in the face, climbing its back and appearing to grow in size as he pried the winged arm back with him. The tendons pinged as he bent the wing out of natural position and the frantic struggling only enraged him more. Bacon stared at the mass of struggling energy and transparent muscle, and he could feel the temperature rising considerably. He looked over at Xyddith and changed his direction, He grabbed her by the ankle and started dragging her towards the castle, realizing something bad was about to happen and not understanding why. He spotted something in the rubble, a rather interesting blanket that seemed familiar. It had been hanging on the wall next to the dragon's bed, and despite being launched out with a few tons of scorched rock, it was unharmed. Something in his enchanted soul could sense the magic in the blanket. He made a decision, grabbing the blanket and draping it over himself. He stopped near the well and dropped the sword into it. He hunkered down, wrapping the barely conscious Xyddith in the remaining robe as he walked off the edge and sunk like a log into the dark water.

            Greg dug his claws into the dragon's neck, pinning it by the arm and suddenly losing all grasp of time and awareness. He could see his mother lying dead in the snow, his sister playing in the grassy fields as men in black armor rode towards their camp, then the image of Xyddith being placed atop a funeral pyre. He let out a sound that shook the ground and startled even the crowd that was hundreds of yards outside the city walls. The pale grey wood of the Castle exterior began to darken and creak under the heat. Muradin and the others stood helpless as the foggy daylight became bright with what looked like a second sun rising in the middle of the courtyard. The ominous blue glow was unnatural, frightening many to retreat even further back. As Greg's teeth and claws began to glow a dull red, the ground began to feel a bit spongy, sinking the dragon into the melting rock as it thrashed and flung globs of it in all directions. His instincts kicked in, and he sunk his teeth into the spine of the dragon, crunching the mass of nerves and draining its energy. He knew it was too much to control, and he didn’t care. His intentions were that of absolute vengeance with no regard for his own safety.

            He connected with the energy pulse and like a nuclear-powered vampire, he bit down and began draining every drop of energetic blood at a rapid pace.

 

            Muradin stood closer than anyone to the sight of the castle burning, trying to understand what, if anything, he could do. His options ran out as a bright flicker send his eyes slamming shut. The crowd winced and looked away, stunned and seeing spots. The ground rippled, knocking most of the crown over like dominoes as ears rung from the sound of a detonation. Muradin rubbed his eyes and tried to shake off the green spots in his vision to see what happened. In an alarming slow-motion, a cloud of smoke and vaporized rock curled up from where the castle was, now just a ring of partially flattened walls with a warm, red crater in the center, glowing dimly of its own heat. Charred Ash-wood rained down before the crowd, sending chills of premonition.

            "I don’t understand." Miranda whispered. Muradin, tears in his eyes, recited the line from the Dwarven Prophesy.

            "And the Castle of Ash will burn like the coals of hell, as the destroyer releases his soul to the world. Ash will feel the cinders of a second sunrise on the eve of its last day. And from the fires of hell shall come he who made it so." he said gripping his sword, waiting for a dragon to rise from the ashes. Bacon slowly climbed the well with Zyddith on his back, her lungs gasping desperately for air as the heat difference created a rather spectacular updraft. She coughed and held her side, as the oxygen slowly returned to the courtyard, now flattened to a pile of rubble surrounding a molten crater in the center.

            She coughed the best attempt to say the words "Help him." as Bacon placed her on the blanket. He carefully made his way along a path of rubble that was less scorching hot than others, winding his way past the smoldering charcoal and smoking debris. He made it as far as he could without injuring his roots, standing on the cusp of the crater and staring curiously at a mostly bare skeleton of a dragon, sunk partially into the glowing lava, and the second skeleton of human-ish shape sprawled out in its own impact crater. He didn’t quite understand the scene, but he knew getting any closer would harm him, so he stood silently, like he was known to do, and waited patiently. Some time passed and he gave up, almost leaving as he noticed the slight movement of the dragons carcass, trying to move under the weak strength of just bare tendons and bones, the muscles still unable to mend. Its wings twitched and tugged to free it from the mostly solidified stone. Its head rose from the molten puddle and one eye began to dimly glow…right before a 7 foot long sword severed it from the body. The light went out. Bacon stood still, holding the Sword of Fate and peering down at the head, now disconnected from the nerve bundle in the neck, thoroughly dead. 

            "Bacon." he grunted, walking back to where Xyddith was resting. She was lying back, tears in her own eyes, as Bacon returned with just his sword and no Greg. She felt the pain in her heart ache more than her broken arm or her numerous scratches and bruises she had received.

            Muradin and the other slowly approached the aftermath, still in a daze about what exactly happened. Muradin took on a pale look of disbelief, as if he had seen a ghost. Xyddith felt herself drawn to the same location, diverting her good eye to see what was silencing the normally chatty Dwarf. From the rubble, echoed a sound of claws scraping stone, and the sound of small pebbles and shards of debris crumbling and rolling down the incline. A humanoid Skeleton, now about 30 percent covered in translucent blue muscle was staggering its way to the top of the crater. Its luminous blue eyes tracked around as he shifted and tried to lift his balance point above all-fours. As it stood up, the filaments of meat creeped up the bones and knitted themselves to their designated spots. Patches of skin began forming as it dropped to its knees again, struggling to breathe and the hollow hissing sound fading to a more complete wheezing. The skin around his face finished knitting and from the smooth surface, a scruffy bit of facial hair protruded from the skin. Greg looked barely conscious, as if in some sort of automatic drone without a hint of intentional thought. He looked confused, lost, as if he had no idea who anyone was around him. He spotted Xyddith lying there, and a slight flicker in his eyes seemed to jolt his memory just enough to start grasping who he was.

            "What the hell happened?" he said, standing upright, still appearing to be in pain.

            "I cannot explain it." Muradin said in his own daze. "And yet even in death you achieve victory…and managed to render yourself completely nude in the process." he added with a smirk and a slight shaking of his head. Bacon strolled up to him and placed a wadded up piece of cloth with singed edges, on his head before walking away to stand somewhere for a while. He wrapped himself as best as he could, and approached Xyddith, who was already on her feet to meet him. He started to move his arms out for a hug and got an unexpected jab to the nose.

            "Don’t ever scare me like that again." she barked, hiding her concern as best she could.

            "Did you chip a tusk?" he asked, rubbing his nose. She blinked and felt her tooth.

            "Apparently." she sighed.

            "You just get more distinguished every day, don’t you?" he said wrapping an arm over her shoulder and hugging her so as to miss the injured arm.

            "Is it dead?" asked Muradin, kicking the dragon skull. Miranda gave him a look, as if to say something sarcastic without speaking. She adjusted her glasses to see no energy left. He got the hint. Greg cleared his throat of stone dust.

            "Sorry about the castle everyone, and the city and the homes and whatever pets and livestock you may have had directly around the castle…those are probably dead." he muttered as the crowd approached. A man with a look of shock on his face approached him, Greg waited for a punch or something thrown, at least a chain of profanity and blame.

            "You killed the King…and his dragon." he said with a hollow tone.

            "Found it unavoidable at the time." Greg defended lightly.

            "All Hail Lord Greggory!" he shouted raising a fist to the sky, followed by a good majority of the crowd, mostly the ones without homes near the castle.

            "No, no, not remotely happening. I killed a tyrant to let everyone live free and I killed a murderer out of pure selfish vengeance. The last thing you need is another of my kind on a throne, telling you what to do…probably somewhere in a new location obviously." he said looking back at the destruction.

            "How will we rebuild alone? We have no King, no castle!" asked someone else from the crowd.

            "Alright, so I'm leaving before this goes the way I think it's going." he muttered to Muradin and began moving towards the big hole in the east wall.

            "You are leaving us?" asked a peasant. "After fulfilling the prophesy?"

            "Okay fine, I'll stay a while and help you rebuild, but I'm not your king, that belongs to a man, not a god." he insisted. The crowd didn’t know if they should cheer or boo, or object. They gained their freedom and lost most of their infrastructure.

            "Greg…these people need leadership." Muradin reminded. '

            "Damnit." Greg sighed. "Can't I do one selfish deed and save a kingdom without winding up a damn hero?" he barked as the fallout snow began to drift down. The peasants laughed and cheered at the sign of prosperity, dancing in the nuclear ashes blissfully, as the thousands of diverse Gregorians almost literally bathed in the alien radiation of adaptive alien tissue. The warmth of the fires filled them with hope and the glowing sunset took on a pale green tint, as they started to rebuild under the admiration of their new king.

 

            Greg sat by a campfire under the full moon, watching the embers smolder as Xyddith retired to her tent to sleep. The wind flapped the sides of the rows of makeshift shelters as he pondered his next move. He could hear the sound of feet settling in the dirt beside him. A familiar scent approached.

            "Can this wait, woman?" he asked the darkness.

            "I'm a little surprised you knew it was me." said Athena, stepping into the light and taking a comfortable seat on a log, very much not headless.

            "I have the same keen sense of smell as you." he explained, taking a swig from his copper mug.

            "Not surprised I'm alive?" she asked.

            "I assumed you were, I missed the mark on your skull intentionally." he yawned.

            "Why" she asked.

            "You weren't after my friends or family, just me. I actually had a fun little romp." he admitted. "Now if you decided to be a problem and consider harming my friends, I can fix that mistake." he playfully threatened.

            "And you think I won't try and kill you because you spared me?" she asked, tossing a stick into the coals.

            "No. I figure you will give that your best shot at some point, and I figured we could discuss that situation like mature…whatever we are." he yawned again.

            "The last of our kind. I should thank you for that." she smirked.

            "I assure you it was entirely selfish intent." he said as her eyes glowed red in the darkness.

            "So what now…you rule an empire and have me imprisoned or executed?" she asked. "I will try and kill you gain, you know. It's too much fun to resist."

            "I don’t deny looking forward to that." he smirked. She grabbed his shirt and yanked him into a kiss that he didn’t quite expect, shoving him away quickly.

            "I'll see you soon, King Greggarious." she said, making her leave.