The plains were bare, save for the occasional lone tree that broke the horizon. These were the few strong survivors, able to stand against the strong winds that came in from the southern coast. The salt normally carried by the ocean gales couldn’t reach this far to kill the vegetation, of course, but it still seemed like a lifeless scene.

This was an illusion, of course. The plains, and the tall grass that was the dominant feature, were home to a wide variety of wild animals, some prey, some predators. The latter was gone, however, scared away by the tramp of almost a hundred pairs of armored feet. The small army was marching purposefully across the plains, intent on bigger prey than any animal the plains might hold.

At the head of the group, wearing the robes that marked him as Champion of Bahamut, Bora Bora kept up a brisk pace. He was unarmored, but he had his signature weapon, the great scythe clutched in his right hand. He moved with the driven sort of purpose that only a truly loyal man could know. He cared not that they’d walked dozens of leagues to get here, nor that his men were beginning to slow down. It was only when one of his attendants, a broad-shouldered warrior in chain mail, cleared his throat to get Bora Bora’s attention.

“My lord,” the man said apologetically, loathe to intrude upon his thoughts.

“It is noon. Time for the midday break.”

Bora Bora looked around in mild surprise, as if he hadn’t expected to find anyone else nearby. “Yes, I suppose. Let’s take a break.”

The sighs of relief were muted, but present. Bora Bora chose to pretend he hadn’t heard that, as he knew that keeping the men’s morale high was of the utmost importance. Tiamat was rumored to have many fierce followers with her, and so the body of troops was needed for the brunt of the fighting. In addition, they were the main sources of labor, carrying the tools and food that they needed for a campaign.

Firepits were dug quickly, and large swathes of long grass were cut to create a sitting area. Bora Bora lent his aid to this task, using the long blade of his weapon to clear great sections at once. The men thanked him profusely for the consideration, and he offered his most reassuring nod.

“Eat up while you can,” he said quietly, again and again. “You’ll need your strength before long.”

Again came the gratitude, which he shrugged off. His consideration for their health did not come from a sense of concern, but logical reasoning. If they were exhausted and out of shape when they reached the final destination, they’d be as useful as bags of rocks to him. Let them rest whenever it was possible, and they’d be fresh, and make a great deal of difference when they were needed.

“How much longer now, my lord?” One of them asked, just as he was passing a small cooking fire. “Will we reach the Tyrant’s den soon?”

“At least three hours now,” One of his attendants said, freeing him from the inconvenience of replying. “Mount Murgan is visible now.”

At this, all eyes turned to face the mountain on the horizon, even Bora Bora. It was a daunting landmark to be sure, the only break to the clear blue skies. Mount Murgan wasn’t the tallest in the nation, but, being so close to its base, it was hard to believe that anything could beat it. Even from miles away it loomed above them, a forlorn peak with a constant stream of smoke drifting out over the plains. It was a volcano, home to Bahamut’s greatest enemy.

Bora Bora clutched the staff of his scythe more firmly as he stared at the peak, knowing deep inside that his prey was inside. He’d spend the last twenty years of his life training under Bahamut’s guidance, gaining incredible power and prestige as a follower. His bloodlust, even at a young age, made him stand out among his peers, and his near-perfect track record marked him for high office from the start. He’d been made Champion at the young age of seventeen after he succeeded in killing the previous Champion of Tiamat, who had attempted to destroy several temples in Milagre.

He didn’t know much about the previous Champion of Bahamut. It had been another of the Ancient dragons, who had retired after hundreds of years of faithful service to her lord, leaving the post open for Bora Bora. Nobody had seen her in nearly fifteen years, as she was rumored to have retreated to a cave in the countryside to rest and enjoy a few decades of peace. Bora Bora hadn’t complained, as he’d wanted the title of Champion more than anything.

He’d known from the very beginning what was expected of him. The wild nature that lived inside him had appealed greatly to Bahamut, who sent his best personal warriors to train the young boy. He was expected to be the best, the most elite warrior. He was trained to kill their order’s greatest and most ancient enemy, the Elderdrake, Tiamat. He cared not for the religious fervor of his peers. He wanted only the blood and challenge of battle. Bahamut granted him both with ease, and in return, he continued to give his loyalty to the god.

After making his rounds to confirm that the spirits of the force were good, he seated himself a fair distance away. At once, an attendant rushed over with a plate of food for him, and he tucked into the dried meat, bread, and cheese in silence. It was simple fare, but nourishing, and the meal allowed him time to think of the approaching battle. He wasn’t sure what his life would be after this battle. Of course, he would continue to seek out new challenges, but perhaps Bahamut would have other plans for him.

Either way, he thought, he’d have to go elsewhere to pursue the next stage of his life. The soft King had banished him, after all, which meant that, if he returned to the capital, he’d be arrested. He did not doubt that he could contest with any such attack, but a bloodbath in the capital might anger important people, which would cause problems for his fellow followers. That was a situation best avoided at any cost.

He called the men to march once more after half an hour had passed. With long sighs and sounds of metal being collected, they set out once more. There was tack to be adjusted on the horses, water to be drunk from a skin, and tools to be collected. All told, the break took the best part of an hour. Bora Bora paced impatiently as the men gathered themselves, resisting, with some difficulty, the urge to race on ahead and get the fight started on his own. He forced himself to be patient. It was only a few hours away now. Then he could have his fight.

The column of men made good progress in the last stage of the journey. Feeding off of Bora Bora’s own eagerness, the men quickened their pace, their own excitement for the coming battle building. They were hard men, trained in a hard school by him personally. They even shared his thirst for fighting, though none could compare. Their fighting spirits were roused, and they were ready. In their excitement, the remaining three hours passed in a blur.

The massive mountain was already teeming with activity as they arrived at the base. Hundreds of small to medium winged creatures were circling in the air, shrieking in hunger as they sighted enemies. For the most part, they stayed high above, though the occasional lone creature would swoop down to try and snag one of the men. Each was shot down with ease to come crashing onto the plain, screaming in agony before warriors converged on it and fell silent.

Bora Bora paid no mind to the drakes as they attacked intermittently. His men were trained to fight the lesser dragons and suffered each engagement without injury. It was the initial moments of the fight, where he wasn’t needed for much. His job would come soon when the greater threats appeared.

There they were now, he noticed. They’d appeared suddenly, a little higher up the slope, evidently exiting from some cave. They were armed to the teeth and dripping with bloodlust. So they had expected them after all. That was for the best, Bora Bora thought. He didn’t like sneaking upon his enemies. He much preferred an all-out conflict, where his life and the life of his prey were pitched in. The true hunt.

He tore his robe off with one hand and cast it aside, to make sure that his arms were free. Then he was off, sprinting away from the protection and hindrance of his men, charging up the slope with his weapon held high. Two drakes dove for him at once, and he cut them down with two massive sweeps of his weapon. They hit the slope with more screeches, rolling down to the base where they were swiftly dispatched.

Another swarm of five swooped down, and for a moment, he was lost in a blur of leathery wings. The cousins of dragons couldn’t use fire, but they had razor-sharp talons and teeth that more than made up for the weakness. That is if they were allowed to strike. A golden shell of light formed around Bora Bora in the last possible instant, repelling his would-be killers. Then he went to work, spinning his scythe back and forth.

Just as he broke clear of the surge of drakes, he was confronted with yet a new monster. Much larger than the drakes, with bright red scales and foot-long talons. A red dragon. It lunged at him, massive jaws open to swallow him whole. He narrowly ducked under its maw, having to throw the scythe to the side as he rolled forward, under its scaly belly. Then he threw himself to the side as it slammed its feet down, and ducked the wing as it flashed around to try and clip him.

The danger with Tiamat’s dragons, as he had learned before, was their complete lack of fear. They attacked with their entire bodies, unperturbed by the chances of injury. This made them fierce enemies, wild animals who could move in a lethal ball of spikes and claws. Bora Bora was forced to run to the side as it continued its assault, ducking and jumping just in time to avoid each attack. He weathered the assault willingly, knowing that it was moving too fast, and would tire quickly.

With a short whistle, he summoned the scythe back to his hand. It nearly cleaved two of the human followers it zipped past, and he caught it by the staff, spinning on the spot. The blade slammed into the dragon’s head just as it opened its jaws. It didn’t pierce the thick scales, of course, but there was just enough force to knock it to the side so that the large jet of flames missed him by inches. It also served to daze the beast, allowing him time to jump back.

With a powerful twist of his upper body, arms, and wrists, he threw the scythe. It spun in a blur, slipping under the dragon’s neck, and scoring a long, deep wound along its stomach. The roar of rage and hunger had a sudden note of terror in it now, and it took to the skies in an attempt to escape. Bora Bora let it go, knowing that it didn’t have long, and rejoined the fight.

The army of Tiamat’s followers had descended the slope by now and entered into a melee with his men. It was a fierce stalemate despite the difference in the numbers. His force had formed a solid defensive square with the archers and mages in the center, keeping up a constant hail of death that punched great holes in their enemies’ ranks. Yet their defense was not perfect, and more than a dozen had fallen already. Bora Bora rushed forward as fast as he could, throwing the scythe once more.

The horizontal disk of razor-sharp metal carved out a decent space as it struck down half a dozen cultists, and before they could recover, he’d called it back, only to throw again. He was unprotected as it sliced through their formation, but he ducked and rolled around their retaliatory attacks, unable to be pinned down. He was a whirl of black tattered clothing and flashing silver steel, cleaving down any who foolishly attempted to cut him down.

His efforts lessened the burden on his men as the enemy turned to face him, and he knew it was time to withdraw. But not for long, and only to pull about half of the cultists away from the safety of their lines. He heard the shout of their leaders attempting to pull them back, but their battle rage was too loud in their ears as they pursued him, and they paid no mind. Then arrows and fire rained down from the back of his army, crashing upon them and sending them flying in an explosion.

Bora Bora danced away, laughing at the screams of impotent rage at his trickery. In war, there was no etiquette. There was only the smart and the strong. He ran in a wide curving path, fighting off two more drakes to rejoin his comrades. The High Priest, located at the dead center, grinned fiercely at him as he appeared.

“Excellent work, my lord!” He shouted. He was only in a cordial mood amid battle. “Much more of that, and we’ll crush the heathens without fail!”

“Perhaps,” Bora Bora replied. “But why hasn’t she appeared yet? I’m sure she wants to crush us as quickly as possible.”

That thought hadn’t seemed to occur to the High Priest. He frowned thoughtfully even as he cast another barrage of spells. “Perhaps she is not here?”

Bora Bora didn’t reply for a few seconds, turning to face the massive volcano. “She’s here. I can sense her, even if it is faint.”

“Birds of a feather?” The High Priest asked.

“Hardly. She rules on rage and fear. She has no bloodlust because she’s never had an adequate challenge.”

“Until you.”

“Until me.”

He blinked. Was it just him, or had a section of the mountain just moved? He blinked again. Sure enough, a large section of the mountain, perhaps thirty meters in length and twelve in width, was shifting. It disturbed the earth around it, sending a huge wave of rubble crashing down the mountain. The creature was on its feet faster than he could blink, each massive step of its feet sending waves of shock throughout the land.

“Oh, dear,” The High Priest’s face was white as snow as he glanced fearfully for the source. Once he spotted the creature, his mouth dropped open in horror. “Mathadiel.”

“Tiamat’s servant?” Bora Bora asked, clutching the staff of his scythe more firmly. “How? I thought he would be asleep.”

Both forces paused as the earth trembled around him, and the fighting came to a standstill as all eyes turned to face the monster. Even from a distance, it was massive. It lifted its head and shook its body to clear away the rest of the earth, then its wings flared out, casting huge shadows across the plains. Its roar ripped through the air, terrifying both armies. The followers of Tiamat immediately turned to run back up the slope.

“We need to withdraw!” The High Priest shouted. “Fall back! We’re getting the hell out of here!”

“No!” Bora Bora said, grabbing the man’s arm to stop him. “We can’t outrun him. We have to kill him.”

The High Priest was already shaking his head. “It cannot be done. We can defend against him as we run, but no more.”

“This is what I have trained for!” Bora Bora snapped. “To be able to kill-”

The High Priest turned on him, his face steeled. He shouted over Bora Bora, a rare example of authority. “You are trained to kill Tiamat! You cannot take Mathadiel! Now go!”

Bora Bora’s training asserted itself then, and he turned away from the mountain, tearing his eyes away from the ancient dragon that was now preparing to lift itself from the mountainside. The High Priest was correct, even if he didn’t want to believe it. He was equipped with specific training and magic to kill Tiamat, but none of that would work on Mathadiel. It was an elite even amongst dragons, with the power to rival the Tyran Queen herself. His loyalty was ensured only because of her sorcery.

“It’s the Tyrant!”

Bora Bora spun around once more at the shout, just in time to see a flash of light from the top of the volcano. A huge cloud of rubble was sent flying into the air, and a burst of fire ruptured the air. Even from here, they recognized the multi-colored scales and rainbow fire. It was Tiamat herself. She wasn’t as large as Mathadiel, but she still commanded a presence like any other.

It was time for him to do his job, Bora Bora thought. Even as Mathadiel leaped into the air, aiming for the retreating group of men, Bora Bora was racing up the slope. Tiamat would take several minutes to gather enough strength to fly, he knew. Channeling as much power into his body as he could, he strengthened his legs, pelting up the slope.

He made it just in time. It was just his luck that Tiamat would feel the need to scream at him as he raced forward, batting away her jet of flame with his spinning scythe. “You foolish mortal! You dare attack my home? My brother will pay for this transgression with his life!”

The threat was all he needed for more motivation. He reached the peak of the mountain, burning his energy recklessly, and leaped as high as he could. The blade of his scythe, reinforced with magic, slammed into her front right leg and stabbed deep, giving him an anchor as she leaped into the air. She howled in rage and pain and turned her great head towards him to unleash more fire.

He was already up the back of her leg, and on her shoulder, dodging the fire. Calling the scythe to his hand, he began hacking away at her scales there. He opened large wounds after a few seconds of effort, ignoring the fact that she was carrying him far away from his men. But then she twisted in mid-air, and, having no balance, he was thrown off. He plummeted down to the ground, filled with impotent rage as his target flew away. It was all over.