Eireinzen
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Eireinzen's story does contain violence and gore and general disturbingness; if such things displease you, please do not read.
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For a better idea of what's going on, visit the DNA dragons of the Unknown World
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Adopt? Me? Who told you that I needed to be adopted, human?
... The scientists? I don't trust them. They say they're on my side, but they've given me no reasons to believe them. Their kind made me what I am, and I hate them for it. They say that they wish to help me, but I'm only an experiment, someone's experiment gone horribly wrong, to them, something to be studied. They don't understand. For all their cold, critical knowledge, that's one skill they don't have.
And I don't care. I don't give a vayshing c'tzek about them. I can't care less if they live or die. Well... I would be much happier to not care about their deaths.
I hate them. They know it, and they fear me. They, too, would be all too happy to destroy me, but they fear the wrath of my race, and so they must simply find a way to rid themselves of me.
And they told you to take me home with you. Maybe they told you I'd be a nice pet. Perhaps they said I was very friendly.
They lied, human. They lied.
I'm not nice, human, and I'm no pet. Shall I tell you why? I'm a war machine, created by them to destroy, to kill. And I'm c'tzeking good at it. So good, in fact, that they discovered all too late that they could not control their creations.
And I like it. But it's rather hard to destroy things, you know, in a steel-barred cage like mine.
Too bad you opened those bars - they're here for a reason - to claim your pretty little 'pet'. Too bad you hold the key, even now.
Let me tell you something else. They don't like to come near me; they stay as far away from me as possible. I'm a c'tzeking monster, after all, so why not?
But they can't hear you. They're not even going to come looking for you, if you don't come back. They don't care.
Do you understand, yet?
Yes, human, this is my escape, and I thank you for your stupidity in providing it. What? you don't think I can let you go, after what you've heard? You think I don't know you'll go squealing to them?
No, I don't think you're going anywhere, human, mortal. But not yet - so enjoy your last minutes. Is your life flashing before you eyes? It must be c'tzeking boring.
I think I'll tell you a story, first, because you're a funny little human, even though you do keep quivering in fear. Be still! and enjoy yourself! Understand? You'd better c'tzeking enjoy my story, because I'm going to kill you if you don't.
So enjoy the rest of your life.
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"Do you think it's safe?" The woman gestured towards the translucent vats, each containing the huge dark, clouded shape of its occupant. "I mean... What if something goes wrong?"
"Then you probably won't live long enough to care," the male voice told her, taking cruel enjoyment at her discomfort. He knew that she feared him, and feared the things that he dealt with; then again, he wasn't immensely fond of her, either, and only tolerated her up to the extent that she paid him. Stupid woman - just because she'd ordered some stupid beasts didn't mean she had to barge into his laboratory to watch.
His client gulped audibly. "But... you do know what you're doing, don't you?"
He peered around his consule to glare at her. "Obviously." His fingers did not cease their constant movement; he didn't need to watch the screen to complete the program, for its symbols were burned into his brain.
"I don't see why you have to clone them, anyway," the woman continued, petulantly. Something in one of the tanks moved towards her, and she backed hurriedly away.
"Because your family wants a c'tzeking army to kill their neighbors with," he spat, meager supply of patience exhausted. "Because you're willing to pay for one. Because we obviously need more beasts than we have on hand, but the dragons are definitely starting to notice that they're disappearing, and they wouldn't exactly love us for taking the thousands that you want. Because we already have a dragon, and it's a whole c'tzeking lot easier, not to mention faster, not to mention easier to clone the others for you!"
Angrily, he typed in the final code that would initiate release, hitting the final keys for emphasis. There was a deafening roar from the nearest tank; its contents churned, and then burst free, shattering the glass. He sighed, for the vats did not come cheap, but his annoyance was much alleviated when the still-dripping black dragon promptly ate the woman. Maybe he'd make a few extra beasts for himself...
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A dragon screamed, and his cry was echoed by his brethren. He snarled angrily at the mocking answer of his stony prison, and then fell silent, focusing his efforts of fighting the bonds that held him. The hot metal seared into his skin until his movements ceased. To fight the chains was to be burned; it was agony.
He was still for a moment, and his prison threw no more dangers at him. But the faceted eyes narrowed further in red suspicion, and the strong body tensed, wary. He stared fixedly at the doorway. If anyone entered to pain him further, neither bonds nor pain would stop their immediate death.
But the room moved with a mind of its own. Metal arms sprung suddenly from the walls, clamping onto fragiler wings, and pulled back, forcing him to extend his wings. The grip was not painful, but firm, and when he tried to fight it, his wingsails tore. He roared pain and anger.
And then the ceiling opened, and a hot, burning liquid rained down upon him, somehow avoiding his body but searing through the membranes of his sensitive wings. Unbearable agony flooded through his body, and, heedless of the bonds, he twisted until his jaws closed upon the bone of one of his wings. A quick jerk of his head, and the bone snapped; he gnawed relentlessly through hide and flesh, and then the burning pain was gone from one side of his body, replaced by a duller ache. The other wing came away more easily, but it hurt more, for his body had begun to respond to the self-inflicted wounds.
But anything was better than the burn of the acid.
When they came to open the operation room, they found the dark dragon standing wingless but pushing away pain and fatigue to remain defiant. Slim bones littered the floor around him, and ichor oozed from his shoulders. Two of the leg-restraints had been snapped, and when the door opened, he broke the others in his wild charge at the white-garbed scientists. Five were ravaged, torn apart in his frenzy of bloodrage, before someone found the tranquilizer gun.
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Folds of thin but impossibly strong metal fell around his shoulders in a silvery cape that whispered when he moved. The wings spread and folded once more, and he delighted in his new body.
Wings... There had been something about wings, but that was in his past. Or had it ever happened? It did not matter. He was stronger, now.
Gold bands gleamed at his neck and round his tail: a appendage tipped by a double-bladed ax whose silvery surface reflected light. Experimentally, he raised it, ran one edge lightly along one leg. He studied the thin line of ichor the metal had created objectively. The cut was so fine that it did not pain him.
His forelegs were somewhat stiff with newness, but when he stamped them, metal claws brought forth a resounding clang from the stone. Powerful jointed of steel moved smoothly as he flexed them.
It was a good body, and he roared his pleasure, tossing his silver-helmeted head, and the sound was multiplied a thounsand-fold. He became aware of the others, perfect replicas of his own body, who stood around him, but his gaze did not linger long upon him.
For his eyes had caught a movement on a balcony far above, and were riveted upon the white-clad figures who stood there, commanding. And he remembered, as pleasure turned to overpowering, resentful madness, remembered his old body, and what had been done to him. He could not forget, now, and he would never forgive.
Narrowed eyes reddened with hatred, but he stood still. There would be time.
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He picked his way through the fallen dead, glaring distastefully at ground turned muddy with rain and blood. His own legs bore rusty streaks, he observed regretfully; with sudden vanity, he paused to lick blood from his claws before abandoning it as a lost cause. The scars of battle that marked both his more metallic parts and his black hide were testimony to the battles he'd fought, but he rather regretted the loss of his former black-and-gold splendor. He liked pretty things...
If other lives still continued on the battlefield before him, none had the strength to rise - perhaps, the survivors had the prudence to wish to avoid his redoubled attack - and that thought amused him, lips pulling back to reveal needle-sharp teeth in a grotesque imitation of a smile. Still laughing quietly, he turned slowly away from the fallen...
And behind him, the standard of his side, his employers, or more truly, his masters, still flew; tattered and faded but refusing to fall, though it had slipped almost to the ground in the near-stagnant air.
His smile widened; slowly, metal joints grating slightly, aggravatingly, he advanced on it, extended one forearm up to reach it - and pulled it from its pole, grinding it into the mud until colors were obscured and his claws had shredded it out of recognition.
Then, just as slowly, he turned to his staggering general, mud-spattered but victorious, shocked by his fighter's disrespect, and tore him methodically into tiny pieces, until only a pink-grey paste lay under his feet.
He'd never enjoyed the endless battles he'd been forced to fight, but he laughed now - laughed, picking bone fragments from his teeth.
He liked pretty things... and surely blood was the most beautiful of all the colors...
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Blood... yes, and I'm hungry, did you know that? they don't bother to feed me, maybe they think I'm just a machine, I need no sustenance. But I do; I do need food, and I need revenge.
I've taken it already on those who made me what I am - oh, maybe they hushed up the fact that every scientist in the abandoned lab they found was dead. They don't want to scare you, after all. Me? I couldn't care less. You're far too easily frightened; a human with any sense would have fled by now. It wouldn't have saved you, of course - I'm faster that you'd dream.
But you're just lying there, huddled in the dust, rocking and rocking and not looking at me. Look at me! or your last sight will be the ground you're so intently staring at.
Look at me, I said!
Oh, did I do that? Well, it doesn't matter; you didn't really need that hand - just stand up, stand up, you still have your legs! Come on, it's only blood, haven't you seen it before?
Not your own blood, before, trickling down your arms and staining your clothes gorgeous crimson, and your skin's so white, you think you're dying?
Smart, human. Smart.
You're looking at me now. See, that wasn't so hard, was it? I wanted to be the last thing you see, and I will be.
Now, where is it? The key? I know you have it - little silver key slowly dripping blood, jewel-like and gleaming and probably the most important thing you've ever touched, because it means the beginning of my life and the end of yours.
Yes, there. Just give it to me...
What? idiot, you can't stand up to me - actually, you can't even stand now, though I don't think I hit you hard enough to break your legs. I can't stand your species, you're so weak, you can't take care of yourselves.
You die too easily.
Hard to hold it from me when you no longer have fingers, isn't it? I thought so - mine now, I hold my freedom and your life.
Watch.
A burst of flame and it's melting now, isn't it, silver droplets hitting your skin and pooling on your chest and oh - stop screaming, it'll be over soon. I told you, I'm really rather hungry.
Pity that you don't have armor like mine; your skin's so fragile, my claws have barely touched you when it breaks, leaking blood. And your eyes are dull and sightless now - maybe you're in shock. But your heart's still beating even as I lift it in my talons.
Few things have the virtue of being both beautiful and delicious.
I'll give your regrets to the scientists, shall I? I think I'll be passing through...
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I don't bother talking to the first scientist I meet, or the second - I don't usually make a point of talking to my food. Guess you were special - don't you feel honored? You'd better.
Besides, the scientists know exactly what they did to incur my anger. And I wasn't angry with you, especially... You were just another stupid human, like all your race.
Stupid creatures shouldn't live, but I don't have time to exterminate them all, not now, not when freedom's most important.
I linger a little longer over my third kill, savoring salty-bitter blood still hot, a treat that distracts me from the man bearing down on me, until his fast, nervous breaths alert me to his presence. I raise my head, blood dripping slowly from my lips, and snarl, tailblade whipping around to cut him down. But just before I strike, he raises the object he carries and aims at me - and the world explodes in light that shatters around me like broken glass.
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Sand gives way to make my landing relatively soft; I'm on my feet again quickly, wary, but no further attacks are thrown at me... and when I take the time to check, I realize that there are no humans here. But a strange scent on the air, attractive as blood...
A shower of sand falls from my wings, whispering over thin metal, as I turn: a sound suddenly loud in silence I hadn't previously noticed. But a waiting silence - someone is here -
I see her then: draconic in form, but nearly as twisted a representation of that species as I am. No - that's not right. True that her body has the sheen of armor, that her wings are torn, that her limbs seem almost skeletal. But her form is not tortured, but alien; beautiful but strong.
Perhaps this is a true beauty that lasts, that does not seep away like blood into sand, fleeing pain... And if in this race I can find what humans lack... then my freedom is more precious than even I told you.
Of course, since the your life was the price and the prize of this freedom, I guess you don't care too much, do you?
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I don't need to be told that the clutch is hatching; I can feel it, taste restlessness and violence on the air. I don't even bother with the others who dare to venture onto the sands. They're unworthy, maybe, but that judgement is the clutch-mother's right, and I won't waste time on theme when this, this clutch that smells like feel and longing and beauty is hatching...
The first of the hatchlings, even, do not interest me; not what I seek, not mine, not right. But a pair of younglings who burst forth alert, and turn instantly on each other, armor-shelled bodies black and gleaming and strong...
A young queen of their clutch breaks them apart, and they wander over, one darkling with burgandy-touched armor pausing before me, to tilt her eyeless head curiously up. Not so fierce now, but, somehow, I can't scorn her. What power is this that she holds, that she can change me? And something in me rears up in anger. No... no! I will not be controlled...
But Eireinzen... she whispers, tentative, so anxious to please and nervous that she hasn't at once that I step back, unreasoningly afraid I've hurt her. Since when do I care about who gets hurt? not my problem if they're stupid, not mine...
But mine she is, and stupid she most certainly is not, and I do care, I have to care. And why wonder where that thought came from when there's love and uncrushable confidence in her voice now. You've seen me, haven't you? I remember you somewhere...from some dream. Does she? have I? I can't tell, impossible to think of a time now when this beautiful creature wasn't with me.
You'll take me with you, won't you? I'll never let you be hurt again. There's a soft sigh in her voice; then, with a little leap, she scrambles up one metal plated leg and seats herself between my wings, her own dusky purple spread proudly. Though I think there'll always be that quiet seriousness buried within her, she's happy now. And... am I? Strange to realize that I can't tell. Have I ever been?
But first, I need food, she reminds gently. Of course... I turn from the sands, her pleasant weight between my wings.
She is Liadiss, her mother tells me as we leave, and I laugh softly. How could she think I don't know? ... I know.
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The background image comes from FreeStockPhotos, and is used with permission.
Serpent's Reach Isle
