38

A low groan, and then a twig cracked under a boot. Hamasa whipped around to see Mureno struggle to his feet. There was a fine trickle of blood from his lip, and half his face was puffy and bruised. He fell to a knee again, staring towards the bloodied, frenzied Merciless.

Hamasa stared at his fingers digging into the dirt, body shuddering and overheating as he heard Valerius—Emerens—groaning in pain. Taste-scented blood mixing with his own in his mouth and the lingering bite of wintery frost against his lips.

“You keep struggling, but you’ll lose in the end, Kana’iro. You’ll take all your pathetic believers down with you. The poor little girl you Chose put her money on a bad gamble,” Mureno panted, taunting across the clearing.

Hamasa bared his teeth. A bad gamble. Was it her gamble that failed? It hadn’t been a gamble! It hadn’t even been her Choice.

She had been just a girl with sad, blue eyes framed by black hair falling like a waterfall of silk around her tiny shoulders. There, in her eyes, he had seen every unnameable emotion that had filled him. When her tiny, soft hand had touched the smooth plate of his snout, she had smiled. We’ll do this together, Hamasa. We won’t just be Shield and Sovereign. We’ll be family.

Teeth grinding, Hamasa shook all over, a quaking that began so deep inside him he hadn’t been sure there had been anything left in there to quake. It rose up, hot and bright, burning through the darkest, most frightened parts of him, ripping that wound larger, a chasm inside him. My friends’ lives are not at the whim of a bad cast of the dice.

“No.” It rasped and wavered out of him. He licked his lips and looked up into that single green eye. “No. My Choice was not a gamble. My father’s had not been a gamble.”

Mureno frowned, but the Merciless laughed, acid dripping from their jaws and sizzling around their claws. Thick, viscous, ruby-red blood pooled on the dirt and shined on bony scales.

“Strong words, mouse.”

Hamasa got to his feet, eyes shining a bright gold, two tiny suns, pupils slitted like a snake’s. Like a dragon’s.

The Merciless, the Beast carrying the shadow of his father’s death, lifted their head. The green eye gleamed poisonously and oozed blood, and the lipless mouth pulled back to bare nearly every single fang in a parody of a grin. The snakelike tongue darted in the air and that laugh came back—grating and harsh and jarring. Heat rippled from every inch of Hamasa’s frail, human body. The edges of his clothing began to smolder at the heat shimmering around him once more. It washed over them all, a wave of heat that made the grass crackle and burn and the hoarfrost melt into soupy muddy puddles.

“That’s it, little Hamasa, son of Abdolla. Show me your killing rage!”

The words boomed and shook the forest. The Merciless stood rampant and spread their wings, ignoring the blood that continued to trickle from their wounded arm and icy cuts and spilled from under their eye.

“I don’t want to fight!” Hamasa shouted. Sparks flickered in his hands and the very air around him glowed, a soft flickering yellow slowly getting brighter and darker. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want my friends to die. I don’t want to kill you, either. So just… leave me alone!”

Both his hands rose and opened, the flat of his hands aiming towards the Merciless, the Great Beast.

The fire roared out of him, a wave of crimson flame met by a wall of green gas. It hissed and crackled and popped, a noxious fume rising before the fire completely overwhelmed the poisonous vapor. There was a shocked and pained bellow. And a living blanket of flame covered the Merciless’ immense body. Twisting and writhing, flames scattered and flung to all sides around them, burning the trees, catching on every leaf, the very dirt.

A small figure of gold and crimson darted forward.

He flew through the fire like it meant nothing, swatches of his clothes burning to ash as he yelled wordlessly. When he raised his hand, it wasn’t a human’s fist. Gold claws glittered, so sharp their tip was too fine to be seen by the eye. He thrust his claws forward, throwing every bit of himself right where Valerius had struck. Dragged his golden talons through the bloodiest part underneath the foreleg. The shriek that tore from the dragon’s throat had Hamasa’s skin prickling with bumps and his hair rising. Mureno struggled to his knees, gasping and arms wrapped tight around his bruised ribs.

The Merciless rose and fell backwards, black scales burning and front leg hanging uselessly. It buckled under their weight and the dragon thudded to the ground, hissing and wheezing as the flames ebbed. Hamasa shone bright red, eyes a brilliant gold, until he stepped back and stumbled. His arms hung in front of him, fingers black and pain so deep it was painless sizzling up his arms.

“A Red that can be burnt,” the Merciless croaked in amusement, fire smoldering over their body and the terrible wound pouring. A large, dark patch spread over the ground that had Hamasa’s stomach rebelling.

“A Black that can kill their own kind,” Hamasa retorted harshly, panting.

The Merciless shuddered and shifted, forcing themself to their other three legs. Hamasa stepped back, jaw clenching and eyes flashing in warning.

“I’m not done, Red.”

“If you make me kill you, your Chosen will die. You will die. Just surrender!” Hamasa croaked.

“The fool has served its purpose. I wanted only to find you,” the Merciless snarled. “I’ll finish what I started. Death is nothing to fear.”

Horror and disgust had the ground reeling under Hamasa’s feet.

“Fight, mouse! Kill me now or I’ll kill you!”

“No,” Hamasa gasped, voice shaking.

Roaring with fury, the Merciless rose, wings stretching wide. Hamasa blinked, eyes burning but skin too hot for tears to fall, and raised golden claws and burnt black arms, flames flickering as acid bubbled in the Merciless’ throat.

Impossibly, Valerius ran forward. Emerens. His ruined chest guard gone, his thigh and shoulder guards as bright as Grey dragon scales, his black hair a banner streaming behind him. He planted his feet and he threw. The trident flashed, bronze lightning streaking through afternoon sunlight, and pierced where Hamasa had clawed the Merciless open. It pierced deep, its prongs sunk out of sight, and the Merciless screamed. Mureno screamed with him, his hands clawing at his chest, eyes bulging. The Merciless’ head lowered, acid spraying, but Valerius had already lifted the shocked Hamasa off his feet and flung them both behind a tree.

“Valerius—” Hamasa gasped, staring up at him. His torso was soaked red, his kimono torn to shreds, but the wounds themselves weren’t as deep as he’d feared.

“Finish it,” Valerius muttered, wincing and holding an arm around his abdomen.

“I can’t. I can’t just—” They both cringed, flinging forward onto the dirt as the tree they hid behind was ripped in half by the blow of a spiked tail.

Hamasa crawled around the stump, staring at the dragon curled around their leg that was barely a leg anymore. The tail whipped again and Hamasa flung up a wall of flame. He skidded over the dirt, and the flames scattered into sparks, but the tail fell back harmlessly.

“I won’t kill you! You can’t make me be you!”

The Merciless roared, shaking the trees. Hideously, horribly, they tried to rise. Teeth gritting, Hamasa raised a hand and flames flickered at his fingertips.

And then, to both their shock, an arrow blazing bright yellow whizzed between them.

The arrow struck the Merciless on the shoulder at the wing joint on the mostly uninjured side. The scream of rage and pain knocked Hamasa to one knee while the Merciless spun towards the source. Only to topple once more to the ground on their bad leg.

Hamasa glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Valerius staring at him rather than anywhere else. Through the trees, Hamasa saw them. Cabadonas, holding up their swords and spears, pointing their arrows from every kind of bow. They ululated and whooped, the cacophony of their voices echoing around the trees. Arrows glowing a myriad of colors whistled through the air like the dazzling fireflowers of old Osekai. All aiming for the Merciless’ massive black body sprawled over the ground. Dozens of shining colors striking deep and dangerous into the Merciless’ hide.

“We have to go!” Mureno exclaimed, running and stumbling towards his dragon.

“We must fight,” the Merciless said. They forced themself to their three good legs, facing down the horde coming their way. Hamasa almost respected the utter audacity the Black dragon had.

“We’ll lose this fight! We have to go or we’ll fail the mission,” Mureno argued hotly.

The Beast rumbled in displeasure. “Your mission, human, not mine.” They opened their mouth wide and sprayed the newest barrage of arrows with caustic yellowish green slime. A few made it past, striking their body so solidly the Merciless slid back.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Hamasa gasped, stepping forward.

“You can’t even lift your arms, fool,” Mureno spat at him.

Hamasa hissed through his teeth, eyes flashing and fire flickering at his fingertips. A movement caught his eyes, and suddenly Mureno was yanked back. Valerius was behind Mureno, one arm around his throat, his other hand behind Mureno’s head, pulling back so Mureno’s chin raised, effectively pinning the man against Valerius’ unyielding chest and cutting off most of his air.

“Which of you will die first?” Valerius rasped.

Hamasa gaped. A rumbling growl broke his shock and he looked back to the biggest problem. The arrows had not stopped raining down, and the Merciless’ wing swiped over their head to guard the dragon. They dragged themself forward, snarling with pain and spitting frothy bubbling acid towards the cabadonas that had begun to spread out to surround them.

Hamasa panted hard and raised his burnt hands. His vision was fuzzy, all the reds and yellows dull and faded. A single shaking finger raised and the golden claw glowed red. Lines and dots traced in mid-air, flickering the same weak yellow of a candle.

“W-with fire I hold y-you,” he stammered and slapped his palm over the hovering words.

The Merciless turned, wings snapping to their full span, knocking trees aside and roots pulling up from the ground. But it was too late. The words had sunk to the bloodied ground at the Merciless’ feet. Flames, scarlet and gold, sprang from the embers glowing among the black scales over the Merciless’ body. The flames leapt high to wrap around every limb and yanked. The Merciless screeched, thrashing and bleeding and burning, but pinned by the flaring scarlet flames.

A low whistling sound shredded the air. It took too long for Hamasa to realize it came from him, the rasping of his too fast, too high breaths through his burnt and battered lungs and throat. The chains of fire flickered wildly, barely reining in the Merciless’ increasing struggles. Bile surged in his throat, choking him, but he held his fists tightly. His knuckles whitened where his skin wasn’t charred black and his golden claws dug into his cracking, burning palms.

“Don’t let go,” he whispered fiercely. “Don’t let go.”

Cabadonas surrounded them with stamping hooves and tossing manes. Bronze chest guards, arrowheads, and swords gleamed, none of them with the bright flash of something new or ornamental, but with the dull sheen of weapons well-used and kept always at the ready. And every point aimed at the tied-down dragon. One large figure was coming straight for Hamasa. When it got closer, he could see it was actually a horse, shaggy-furred and small, and on its back: Marya. Beside her, of all things, Nerva the mare. He blinked, wondering if perhaps he had lost his mind.

Marya’s hair was as wild and free as a horse’s mane, curling in every direction. Someone had given her a bronze chest guard, a new spear, and boots. Her grin beamed like a beacon through the dust and ash and drifting greenish vapors.

“Asa!” she whooped, whirling her spear over her head. Hamasa’s lips trembled upwards.

Goosebumps beaded the back of his legs and up his spine and arms. Every hair on his head stood at an icy chill. White caught the edge of Hamasa’s eye and a gasp tore from him.

The tip of an icicle, glassy sheer and wet from heat, pointed at the pounding pulse in Mureno’s throat under Valerius’ elbow. At the other end was a tanned brown hand, fingernails deadly white claws.

“You’ll give me… the rohh. Or you’ll both die… before you can blink… ape,” Arash seethed through fanged teeth.

“Arash!”

A small, flat, black gem appeared between Mureno’s fingers. At a distance, the jagged edges and smooth, uneven surfaces made it seem a mere chunk of obsidian. But Hamasa could feel the power emanating from it even where he stood. It fell from Mureno’s hand into Arash’s waiting palm.

Hamasa’s shoulders slumped, raised hand dropping. He was falling with no way of catching himself, his fists clenched so tight golden claws snicked bone and blood dripped down his knuckles.

“Hamasa!?”

“Catch him!”

A roar shredded the air. Wiry arms and the familiar smell of dirt and sweat lingered on his tongue. The Merciless roared again, their one eye rolling madly as they twisted and writhed, craning their long neck to snarl and snap. At Mureno. Ashen and pale, Mureno was only saved by Arash and Valerius’ last minute reflexes pulling him away.

Acid sprayed, burnt to useless sizzles by the fiery chains Hamasa held.

“How dare you! HOW DARE YOU, wretched filth! How dare you live and hand away my soul!”

Arash blew over the emblem in his hand, disgust in every line of his face. The roaring ended abruptly and a frozen wind lashed through the trees. Mureno slid unconscious to the ground at Valerius’ feet.

His fists opened uselessly. Gold eyes flickered to brown, then rolled to the back of Hamasa’s head. A quiet exhale left him as his mind slid blissfully into nothing.