Wings of Fire: Nightfall

Part One: Hamartia

Act One

For most dragons, there was little more alarming, more humbling, than watching your own death unfold before you. His body it may be, his scales, his claws, yet he was but a mere spectator with no say in what came next. 

Claws reached hungrily for his face, desperate to sink beneath his scales and drain the vitality from his veins. He watched as the flesh was ripped from his bones, blood pouring from jagged wounds, the spark of life fleeing from his very eyes. His mortal shell collapsed in a puddle of its own viscera, the macabre centerpiece of a wet, sanguine tapestry splattered on the cave floor. The last sensation the mangled, corpse-adjacent would ever know was the shadow of the artist looming above them. What emotion was sketched on her face? Was she horrified at what she wrought? Jubilant? The corpse would never know. Soon, all was darkness. His existence was snuffed out, and his future erased. In a world torn asunder by war and rival queens, a fate so grisly was hardly uncommon. For most dragons, such an end was inevitable.

Starflight was not most dragons.

The vision of his own demise rang with caution as he snapped his focus back on the present. His attacker lunged in a replay of the premonition he just witnessed, those same claws extended towards him, genuine in their homicidal tangibility. However, with the knowledge of what was to come came the ability to react.

Starflight dropped at the last second, and the sharp talons swiped over him, tearing only through empty air. Movement in his peripherals signaled the follow up. He planted his feet, and sprung backwards, feeling a cutting wind brush his face as a thick, blue tail whipped inches from his snout.

More visions filled his mind. Roll right. Feint left. Duck again. He danced to the tune of death played a hundred times over in his head. Each gruesome end faded into nonexistence with each step, but for all the fatal outcomes he dodged another would spring up in its place. The other dragon was relentless in her attacks, a ravaging maelstrom of teeth and claws that virtually mocked any of his attempts to counter. It was all he could do just to stay out of her reach, and though he wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed, such comfort could hardly be indulged while fighting for your life, he was all too aware of the protestations his limbs made the longer the battle dragged on. He was slowing with every movement, the burning of weary muscles spreading throughout his entire body.

Fatigue won out in the end, for though the timelines screamed its warnings clear there was no avoiding the crushing blow that planted itself square into his gut. A pained oomph escaped him along with the breath from his lungs. He felt his ribs crack, and his chest seized, refusing to draw air. He staggered backwards, his concentration fragmented. Looking from the outside, he seemed certain to lose. 

Yet death did not await him in any future. All immediate visions of fatality vanished completely. Perhaps a misstep, or a moment of hesitation befell him within the most obscure possibilities, but victory was otherwise assured. The corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly upwards. 

His opponent reared up on her hind legs, preparing for a powerful downward strike that would crush his spine should it land. Just before the other dragon came down on him, Starflight shot a plume of fire directly into her exposed underbelly, finally regaining control of his breathing. Furious roaring filled his ears as his assailant scrambled away to avoid the flames. He wasted no time while her guard was down, launching forward despite the agonized screams of his legs, and snapped his jaws over her shoulder, driving his teeth into her scales as deep as they would go. A shriek of rage tore through his mind upon contact, craving his defeat and demanding he let go. As blood flowed over his tongue and filled his mouth, he could see from the corner of eye his opponent's own jaws lunging towards his neck. Had the ever present factor of the unpredictable finally laid waste to his plans? But no premonitions of his jugular being ripped from his throat manifested. As always, the odds were in his favor.