𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄

Pt. 35:...Just Kidding

Kingston scrunched his eyes shut, waiting for the death blow. But it didn't come. Slowly, he opened his eyes and found that he was surrounded by a bubble that was slowly cracking with the pressure of Tiamat's monumental weight on it. The bubble morphed shape, plopping out from under his paw, and rolled away from Tiamat, causing the dragon to snarl in annoyance.

"That's right. Run away, Little Wolf," he said. The bubble made it to the other end of the street and collapsed in front of Griffith, who then collapsed himself, falling to his hands and knees. Sweat beaded his brow, evidence of the exertion the spell had taken, and his usually shiny eyes were dull now, the excited sparkle gone. The spring storm they usually were had gone grey. Flat, dull grey, the colour of the sidewalk surrounding them. He was having trouble just holding himself up on his arms, which were shaking so hard he looked like he was holding the world balanced on his back, not just trying to hold himself up. Tiamat watched them like a cat with a wounded bird. "I could kill you now," he hissed, "but you can't win. And you'll suffer that much more knowing every death I cause is on your heads!"

With that, he turned to black smoke, which disipated in the fitful breeze, the strange silence in the ruined block of the city almost deafening after the destruction.

The Atlantean dropped to the ground, rolling onto his back and half-closing his eyes, shivering as though cold. Kingston placed the back of his hand on his forehead; he was the opposite of cold. He was feverish, sweltering with heat that radiated from his battered body.

"His Core," the librarian gasped. He began undoing Griffith's coat, but he didn't need to see his Core to be able to tell that the ice had spread considerably, covering his neck like a turtleneck sweater. It had spread tothe wound from Tiamat's monster as well, making it look like he was wearing a shirt made of ice underneath the t-shirt. The endling grabbed his wrist, looking up at him tiredly.

"D-don't...don't try again," he pleaded in a pained whisper. "He'll kill you."

"I have to try again," Kingston replied quietly. "Unless someone else can take the sword, but nobody can. I have to do it, Griffith." The Atlantean let go of his wrist, closing his eyes for a moment and exhaling softly.

"Don't die," he said quietly.

"I'll try my best," the librarian promised. "You need to rest. Go find a safe place with Quentin, underground maybe." He helped Griffith up, then took Skoteinias up in his arms again. Looking up, he noticed smoke rising from behind a line of buildings. Griffith hesitated as the elf began to guide him away, fingering something in one of his pockets. Kingston couldn't quite see what it was from where he was standing.

As the elf and the endling disappeared around a corner, dread suddenly settled over the librarian. Why had he taken the sword? He wasn't a knight trying to save the kingdom, or anything remotely similar. He was just Kingston Lewis. A librarian. He leaned against a building, the sword dangling loosely at his side. He should have let Griffith compete for it. Griffith knew what to do with it, he knew how to kill Tiamat. Kingston looked down at the sword, suddenly angry. He hit the ground with it, and to his surprise, it went through the cement. He didn't care very much about what the sword could do, though. The world was about to end and it was his fault, because he had made a stupid mistake and had tried to be noble instead of rational. He looked up when he suddenly heard footsteps.

"Griffith, you shouldn't —" he stopped. It wasn't Griffith.

It was Atharian.

"Sir, you shouldn't be out here, it's dangerous," Kingston said as the middle-aged man came and sat down next to him. "What — what are you doing here, anyways?"

"I told you, I travel a lot," Atharian replied, leaning against the wall next to the librarian and the sword. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"Are you kidding?" Kingston exploded, incredulous and upset. "The world's about to be destroyed and it's my fault, just because I made one simple mistake!" Atharian listened intently as Kingston ranted on about the stupid things he'd done, about how he was mad at himself, and that he wished he knew how to kill the dragon when he could barely get close enough to him to impale his paw. When he was done, the man nodded in understanding, then wrapped his hand around the sword hilt and pulled it out of the cement. He laid it down between them. Kingston hadn't taken the time to really look at the sword before, to notice how ornate it was. Intricate patterns swirled down the white hilt and blade, a large blue gem in the rain-guard, where the hilt met the blade. The sword itself seemed to be glowing.

"Do you know the story of Skoteinias?" Atharian asked. Kingston shook his head. The sculptor leaned the back of his head against the brick wall, nudging the sword toward the librarian. "The sword was originally forged with the intention of killing Tiamat. It is called the Darkslayer, but in reality that is the person who wields it. It was made for a man, but he wasn't powerful, or strong. He was just as ordinary as you. He wasn't a sorcerer. Most versions of the story say that he was a common wood worker, in fact. The dragon swallowed him whole, and he stabbed Tiamat from the inside out, which is why he has a long scar on his stomach — a weak point."

"How come he didn't kill him?" Kingston asked. Atharian smiled.

"I believe Tiamat retreated without giving him the chance," he replied. He lifted the sword, placing it in Kingston's hands. "You have a dragon to kill, Kingston." The librarian swallowed nervously, standing up with the sword in his arms. He looked away to where smoke was still rising from the skyline, then looked back to Atharian only to discover that he was gone. Kingston frowned; he'd wanted to ask him about the statuettes.

"Maybe he's some kind of ghost," he muttered. He began to walk toward the smoke, expecting to be crippled by fear, but his terror had subsided considerably. It wasn't very hard to find Tiamat, considering his size and the destruction he was causing. Kingston marched forward, the dragon turning to track his movements as the little sunlight that penetrated the gloomy cloudcover glinted off the sword.

"Oh, you decided to come back for a rematch," Tiamat cackled. "This time I will not allow you the mercy of a quick death." His black lips curled back in a smirk. "And no fish to protect you, either. Come on, come at me with your toothpick! I'll devour you and then use the sword to clean my teeth of your bones."

"I'm not afraid of you!" Kingston shouted. Tiamat's cruel smile broadened.

"And that is your fatal mistake," he said. "But, I like games, so I'll play. Come and find me!" Black smoke suddenly poured from the dragon's nostrils, enveloping Kingston in a cloud of darkness, blinding him. "Isn't this fun?" Tiamat's voice said from everywhere. Kingston swung blindly at where it seemed loudest, the Darkslayer hitting nothing but air. He began to panic, trying to find the dragon when he was suddenly hit in the back with the chaos being's talon, knocked to the ground. He rolled a few yards, springing to his feet to avoid being impaled like a kebab. He'd expected his left arm to be useless, but the wound was already healing. The lycanthropy, he realised. It's making my healing process faster.

Hearing something approaching from behind, he whipped around, sinking Skoteinias into Tiamat's flesh, putting all his weight behind the motion. It was like cutting a watermelon, hard on the outside, squishy on the inside. Tiamat shrieked, pulling away. There was a flapping of wings and the smoke cleared, revealing the dragon with a missing paw, black blood dripping from the wound like ink from a bottle.

"I'll rip the skin from your body!" he screamed. "I'll flay you alive and make your friend watch!" He thrashed his head, trying to gore Kingston on his horns. The librarian jumped, landing on the charging dragon's face, his legs stronger. He clutched the sword in his hand, falling forward. Tiamat ground to a halt, flailing to get the librarian off his face when Kingston suddenly knew what he had to do. He stumbled forward.

"Why do you persist in this insanity? Do you really think a bug like you can defeat a cosmic being?" sneered Tiamat. The librarian ignored him, continuing to clamber laboriously forward. He looked down at the dragon's black and gold eye, then lifted the sword. Momentary fear came into Tiamat's eye before —

Kingston plunged the sword through.

The chaos beast roared, a bellow so loud it wracked Kingston's whole body, pushing him into a silence of ringing ears. White light exploded from the sword, making Kingston squint. Grunting with effort, he shoved the sword further into the eye socket. Lifting his good paw, Tiamat smacked the librarian from his face. Kingston flew through the air, hitting a cement wall with a sickening crack. He crumpled to the ground, agony spiking from his back, yet twisting to watch as the sword continued to work its way deeper into the dragon's eye, entering his brain. The light streamed from his other eye and through his jaw as Tiamat screamed, thrashing his tail and clawing at his face. The light grew brighter and brighter, melting the beast of darkness from the inside out.

Movement down the ruined street drew Kingston's bleary gaze, as three people came toward him, wary of the dragon in its death throes. One was leaning on another — Griffith and Quentin, so the smaller silhouette was Vexx. Sunlight broke through the clouds, cascading down on the dying dragon and making his scales smoke.

His body collapsed, and he fell down, twitching and convulsing in the grip of death.

And then he was still.