Chapter Four: Maybe It’s Friendly

Dragons aren't known for their friendliness, but you know what they say about assuming. It makes an a*s out of you and oh my God it's at his throat

Victor screamed as the dragon dove for his throat. He clenched the writhing creature in his fist and slammed it on the ground. He tried to stomp on it, but the creature dodged and snaked its way up his leg, its claws raking along his calf and thigh. Charlie pulled out one of his books from his bag and hit it with it, as if it were some kind of common household pest. Lance swung his club downwards onto the creature’s back, its wings making a disgusting crack as their fragile bones snapped.

The small creature cried out in pain, flames spewing from the creature’s maw. It lunged for Lance, its sharp fangs clicking as they futilely yearned for the flesh of Lance’s jugular. Lance’s grip on the beast’s writhing form was the only thing keeping it from sharing its newfound agony with him.

Victor seized a nearby rock from the edge of the trail. He needed to get the monster off of Lance before it wriggled out of his grip. He chucked the stone directly at the his friend’s impossible attacker, and watched as it rocketed through the air and smashed directly into the creature’s eye. Before Victor had time to react, the small serpent was on his chest, spewing orange flames inches from his head.

Panic erupted in Victor’s mind. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t survive an explosion to die to a monster that shouldn’t even exist. Victor groped helplessy at the ground around him, his fingers eventually stumbling onto another smooth stone at the edge of the path. He wasn’t going to die. He was going to live. He refused to die to some dumbass lizard with an ego. He swung the rock for the dragon’s head, knocking it off of him and cutting off its persistent stream of fire.

Victor jumped to his feet and dove for the injured monster. He pinned it against the trail’s jagged, gray rocks with his knee, and brought the stone down upon its head. Black blood flew from the creature’s face as Victor smashed the rock down upon it again. And again. And again. It wasn’t until Lance grabbed his arm that Victor realized that the monster’s desperate flailing and screeching had stopped. It was finally dead.

“You okay, man?” Lance asked, carefully taking the stone from Victor’s trembling fist, “Let’s take a break for a few minutes before we go for the rifle range, alright?”

Victor shook his head slowly. “No. We’re almost there. It’s just around the bend.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to give you a gun right now.” Lance admitted, “You couldn’t even stop bashing the damn thing, I doubt that you can be trusted with a rifle.”

Victor looked down at his clothes. The pale blue of his jeans had been spattered with the monster’s black blood. His shirt had rips and tears from its violent writhing and clawing, and he could see deep red outlines starting to form around some of them. Charlie looked shellshocked, his thin body trembling like an abandoned puppy in the rain. Victor put up his index finger to silence Lance, and calmly turned around to the edge of the trail. He fell down on his knees, bent over, and began to vomit.

---

The rifle range always had a lock on the shed that contained the rifles, but whatever blast that happened the night before had knocked down the shack completely. Lance picked up the only two undamaged rifles, and Charlie stuffed half of the ammunition into his daypack. Victor stood silently, still processing what had happened to them.

Charlie sat on a nearby tree that had gotten knocked over. He pulled a large, brown and red hardcover book from his duffel bag and flipped through it until his hands found whatever he had been looking for. Worried and confused, Victor watched as blood drained from his friend’s face, its muscles seeming to give up hope in trying to keep Charlie's horror from making itself known to the world. Victor hesitantly crept over to Charlie’s stiff, rigid form, and peeked over his shoulder. What he found within the confines of the old, hefty tome raised more questions than he wanted answered.

Large, bold letters formed the word “Wyrm” at the top of the page. Underneath was a seemingly ancient depiction of snakelike dragon with small wings jutting like spikes from its twisting back. Its reptilian form was ensnaring leg of a knight, whose sword was swiftly coming down upon the creature’s throat like a handheld guillotine. The realization sent Victor’s heart plummeting down into the pit of his stomach. The dragon in the picture was almost exactly identical to the creature they had just defeated, down to the most minute detail.

Author's Note

Again, keep an eye out for spelling and grammar errors. Bit of a weakness of mine