~ 35 ~

Unequal Hate

It was as though every time he blinked, he was somewhere else, engaged in a different motion, slaughtering another monster. Nothing remained within. Feeling or thought. Not even an aching sensation to define the form of his body.

Zinnine operated on nothing, and his body moved on its own, for once its flow was done, it all would be over. It was a pointless fight. Nothing could be done to make right of anything. No amount of killing would bring back those who had died. Those he murdered would be replaced. There wouldn't be an escape, either.

But he murdered out of spite.

You are... different... from the rest.

Zinnine continued to fight, but most of his focus was locked inside his mind. A dying voice spoke inside his mind, a reverberant voice, prolonged in its accentuation. Who are you?

Both of our... times... are nigh... on done.

Together... however... we can reverse... the waves... of fate.

You have the... blood... of a hunter.

Your family... felled my own.

Zinnine finished a slash that returned his sword to his side, unsure of when he had lost his clubs for a pair of blades again. Looking around, he saw the crowd had thinned by the smallest degree. Many watched and cheered. At the front of it all, Tul'mor examined the field and, with a flick of his hand, decided how many more were allowed to throw themselves into the show.

A dragon... here?

Shall I... come to question... how you came to stand atop... the bodies... of your family?

Then what do you want?

The same... as you... to spite... them.

How?

Find me... and together... we'll burn... these children...

Zinnine dashed to the left, tossing aside a sword, to a clump of cages gathered against the pit wall. Confusion struck many for a second—before the cries of cowardice called out. But Tul'mor held up a palm while watching the man run. One that burned in a frenzy doesn't get chills at the last second.

Some tried to advance, but Tul'mor watched Zinnine climb the cages, rising halfway against the round wall. Atop the heap of silver, he turned to the underside of a cage still hanging. He jumped forward, catching the bottom of the cell, forcing himself to climb around the round enclosure, starting to swing it forward and back.

Everyone watched him swing forward and back. Those in the stands, without weapons, started to charge to the ropes holding the contraption. Below, the combatants threw daggers and axes, some trying to hit Zinnine—others to strike the cord holding the cell.

But after a few swings, he leapt from the cage, landing into the stands. Some remained still while others moved away. Few tried to advance upon him—and were taken down with ease. Zinnine carried up the seats to the final row, which wrapped before the many cavern exits. The heat he felt within, he also felt outside of him, trailing out from the cave behind Tul'mor's throne.

Zinnine dashed through the crowd with ease, cutting down those who opposed his path, while the giant watched on, amused with the sudden direction in the frenzied man. He let the Laleen escape, granting him moments of freedom. Then, in rising from his seat, he commanded a hand to the cavern—and all were set upon it.

The tunnels spanned forever in the dimness, branching in winding paths that rose and dipped, some just a spin that's exit led back to its entrance. It would have been a trap for anyone else. But as Zinnine ran, he did so in a stumble, unable to breathe, barely keeping his footing.

The fire within thinned, but as the head that guided him grew stronger, it also infused him in exactly the same way. Zinnine passed between sporadically placed torches, long stretches of darkness, interrupted by overhead flames.

The fires grew, bleeding into the colour red as he ran, washing down the tunnel in a scarlet hue. Zinnine saw a great, white light ahead, shining from an opening in the wall. He turned in his sprint, dashing into the entrance.

To find himself standing in a colossal, open area, of towering, arched stone walls, with various bumps that led upward to tear in the ceiling. In the area loomed a beast beyond size, a looming dragon of unending red scales. Its colossal head laid forward and flat on the ground, the bulk of its muzzle, clasped in a metal lock, the size of a thick, giant halo.

Zinnine slowed before the beast of everything that had built inside of him... vanished within a moment. In seeing the titanic beast, chained and locked, from chest to limp, to the ground and across the sloping walls. Instinct clicked within the Laleen. An ancestry of vanquishing that which laid before him now.

Lazily, the dragon's eyes opened, each the size of a pond, as the pools of its iris settled onto Zinnine. Amusement crossed the beast's expression. A hint of a smile from its muzzled face.

You... really are a dragon... but... why would you...

My hatred of... humans... is not equal.

Footsteps echoed from the tunnel.

Are you... ready... to enter into a sacrilegious act... that'll disown us both... from all?

Zinnine stepped forward with a clenched fist.

Then let us be united in our spite.

Before you do... you're an Old Dragon, aren't you? Your kind has denied human rights since the start of time. You'd really break it now out of spite?

The time... of the Old Dragons... has ended. And our breed... already... is corrupted.

What do you mean by—

There is no more time.

Are you... ready... to die?

Zinnine nodded. He walked to the mouth of the beast out of intuition. Behind him marched endless footsteps. An uncountable number of men and numankos flooded into the area, with Tul'mor, undoubtedly, somewhere behind them all.

Zinnine turned to face them all, spreading out his arms, as the head of the chained dragon rose. All watched the spectacle, but after hearing the chain flexed, knew that no more movement was possible. The dragon looked down at those that had beaten him, captured him, imprisoned and tortured him. Seeing the faces of those that tore away his scales, one by one, cutting at his flesh, letting him drink only the water that fell from the sky.

Then his eyes fell to the Laleen, the one meant to vanquish him and, in a way, carried on his family's right. Exhaling steam from being reduced, the dragon opened its mouth quarter-way, revealing chipped, missing fangs.

Its tongue slithered out next. It floated out into the air, winding like part of an incantation. Pieces of its tongue had been hacked away, slices across it, missing. The tip of its tongue found Zinnine, slapping against his body, lazily, coming to curl around him, winding him within the dried appendage.

Nobody dared to intervene as the dragon tilted its head downward, raising the man wrapped inside his tongue, who looked up into the dragon's face as the two saw each other for the final time. Then, in a slurp, the tongue retracted into the dragon's maw. Its mouth closed shortly after.

The red dragon then tilted its head back, testing the strength of the chains once again, revealing the throat of all those who were watching. With a single gulp, he swallowed the Laleen, a bulge appearing against his throat, one sent quickly to the center of the monster.

And all waited for what would happen next.

While the red dragon licked his lips.