A/N: I apologize for the lack of updates lately. Life has been, well, life, and I haven't been motivated as much as I have been. 4,799 words, enjoy!
___________
September 13th, 1773
After 2 days of travel, the group finally arrived back at the camp. It was the last day before the three days of the new moon when the Lycans would be at their most vulnerable, stripped of all of their wolven abilities. Fangones still refused to return, saying, "I fear what destiny has in store for me should I enter. My hour is near and I fear that if I enter, I will not leave alive."
Sworfitch was about to make further argument that he return from his self-imposed exile when the air reverberated with a loud THUD. A large silhouette blocked out the sun and the forest went utterly silent, save for the shaking of the trees in the thunderous blasts of wind created by the behemoth circling in the sky above the camp, searching for a place to land. A deafening roar nearly obliterated the surrounding forest as a concentrated stream of flame lit the fire pit in the center of the camp, a reminder of the sheer power held within the beast's frame. The dragon descended upon the camp, enthralling the occupants with its fearsome majesty. A small, diminutive figure soon became visible on its back: Petraeus, descending with a sack behind him, his beard flailing wildly in the wind. The beast landed on the edge of the camp with an earth-shattering crash, creating a minor earthquake that knocked the werewolves off of their feet, as they were still getting used to bipedalism again. Its iridescent red scales shined in the sun like fire, its brightness burning the eyes of those who gazed upon it, a creature majestic to behold yet terrifying to witness.
Then, to the amazement of those gathered, it spoke - a simple action that transcends one from mere beasthood. The deep bass tones in its - her - voice reverberated through the ground as if it were a drum. "We dragons prefer not to meddle in the affairs of other races - just as they should not meddle in ours, for they are crunchy and good with gravy - but when injustices such as these occur in the course of events, we come from beneath the Earth and under the sea to execute judgement upon the evildoers. Such injustices have occurred with the actions of three fallen elves - whose names must not be spoken - and their Lycanculler accomplices in their genocidal rampages across the land of the Virgin Mary. Thus, I have vowed to assist wherever I can."
Picking herself up off the ground and dusting herself off, Sworfitch looked around for Fangones, only to see that he had left the scene. Whether it was out of cowardice or self-preservation, she did not know, but she suspected it was a bit of both. Composing herself, she told the dragon, "We thank you, great dragon, for your aid to us, especially in bringing Petraeus and our supplies here so quickly. I must ask, however, what you wish to be called and how you exited Appalachia without causing collateral damage every time you left your cave."
Both of her questions were answered when the Behemoth vanished in a flash of light, revealing a woman in a red dress that glistened like a thousand rhinestones, her German red hair flowing down her backside like lava, and her marble-esque complexion showing just how much time she spent in the cavernous mountains. "Please, call me Ruby."
Sworfitch stared in awe at the woman before her. She possessed a striking beauty that would make many men fall for her, and it was then that Sworfitch knew how many a knight attempting to rescue a damsel from a dragon had met his demise, for the damsel was the dragon. Any further attempts would find no princess, nor the knight's remains or armor, but instead two dragons who did not appreciate having their nest disturbed. It was then that the full horror of the situation dawned upon her. "Petraeus, you're -!"
"I know, Sworfitch. I never had much interest in women before - my brotherly bond with my fellow warriors was more than that to me - but now... Now I can feel my skin bonding with my stuff and armor as my body grows more massive, scales growing where chain mail once protected me. I'm marked, Sworfitch, and I pray that the fire growing in my chest does not consume me. By the new moon's zenith, I will no longer exist as you know me, and the Dragon's mark will have branded me forever."
YOU ARE READING
The Otherkin Chronicles ¦ Book 1: Lycan
Tiểu thuyết Lịch sử"When he got bitten on the full moon, at first he felt nothing, then pain - only pain." Sean Hooke was the best Werewolf Hunter in colonial America. A fervent believer in their need to be eradicated after the death of his wife five years earlier at...
