~ 36 ~

Transformation

Winds carried beneath the feet of those who lingered in the cave, watching the immense beast's head lower. It looked across the many ready to strike a defenceless dragon. It smirked. And didn't have last words.

"Hmm."

Then the implosion occurred.

It struck like a snap and blinded like a flash. A blinding hue of scarlet that scarred into the psyche. Cracks broke across the stone walls, a slashing of winds in the air, everything sucked inward. There was screaming. A vial cry of a man burning alive on the inside.

Few opened their eyes to the cutting winds; they caught the barest view. The dragon laid forward, raising a chained arm. It held up its claw—only for it to inverse, shooting into his wrist, a bugle travelling inward. The stump receded inward.

Its tail, half-removed, arched into the air freely, slipping from its chains. The dragon tilted its muzzle upward, opening its mouth slowly, inhaling its last breath. Then it roared like a wolf howling at the moon. The humans planted their palms against their ears. The numankos dropped to the ground, rolling, unable to cage the sound.

Then it was done.

Everything condensed inward to the epicentre of the dragon, its scales and flesh, burned inward, lathering a floating sac. The disconnected stomach throbbed. The lights flared red, disintegrating the remaining meat, holding a floating body within the magical sphere.

Until the energy phased inside of him.

The suspended man dropped to the ground. His feet created craters in the stone from a weight ceasing to be his own. His head was tilted downward. Despite his small size, his essence consumed most of the area.

"All this talk... about strength..." Zinnnine's head shook upon lifting a hand, curling it into a fist. "It never was fucking about. You fuckin' pests cheated. You wanted to get off to family killing family. There was no greater reason than that."

Men stood motionless in confusion at seeing the eaten prisoner reappear.

While some, stepping forward, bashing axes on shields, yelled.

"That's how it is when you're strong!" a pale giant smacked a hand on his chest. "Pitting people to death is nothing to us."

"Yeah!" another joined, content to mock the hopeless man. "Nothin' more than a show! Lil bit more for the people below." He chuckled to the flock of warriors behind him. "But everything seems big when you're weak. There's some mind-stuff behind that, y'know."

Zinnine stepped forward, awash in white light from the tear in the ceiling. The ground cracked behind his feet. The air above and behind tingled with invisible energy.

Everyone felt it.

And most neglected it.

"That's not strength." Zinnine raised both of his hands while looking down, nearing the spread of foes. The line held, men flinching at the front, wanting to charge but unable. The lone figure continued without breaking his stride. "The men that died nobly in that ring? That takes true strength. Anyone can step on an ant."

One of the giants tilted back his head while, at either leg, two numankos rattled in place. The man snorted, turned, and spat. Crossing his arms, he spoke to the approaching figure. "An' just what would you call ours slaughterin' of your men?"

Two black, massive cuffs lay on their sides. Zinnine stopped next to them, raising his head to glance at each. Then his focus slowly returned to the ants in front of him. "Power. Not much is required to obtain it. And its pursuit creates men like you."

Zinnine looked up to the light showering him. "I thought I would regret inheriting a dragon's power." He looked back at them. "But not when I get to use it on all of you." Zinnine pumped a fist to the air, a flame flaring with the strike, which burned into the boulder-sized shape of a claw.

It kept alight in the air. Zinnine stood beneath it, hair blown back, legs spread, his own eyes, normally blue—now ablaze in red. His fist swung forward, and the burning claw fell, slamming through the middle of the group.

Men raised their weapons to the downward fall of the claw. It fell, swallowing their weapons, burning them to non-existence upon contact. Then it phased through them next, glowing skin, flesh, and bone to nothingness.

The claw connected with the ground without a trace of anything beneath it.

Zinnine swung his arm to the right, and the claw flew toward the wall, removing a spread from existence until Zinnine threw his arm left, and the last survivors ran from a red, fiery palm that passed right through them, leaving no remains as it touched the other wall.

Shouts and screams carried from behind.

Zinnine glanced over his shoulder to see the oncoming wave of those once threats. Nothing further was required. Out from the back of his waist, a vast circle flared in the air, enlarging as a tail of a dragon winded out from it.

Another wave came from behind, from the other side of the cave. The tail both sensed and smacked down onto them. It bounced against the ground and the people, its reverberations removing a few more from life. The tail then flicked left and right, spreading further each side, each time. Some charged it with an attack; others sprinted for their lives.

Then, the powers ceased.

"So... the legends weren't a lie..." a voice spoke from the cavern, drawing Zinnine's attention, who saw Tul'mor stepping out from the darkness. The giant ducked into the grand space, returning to his towering height. "Devouring a dragon. It's a possible feat. Was it within your power? Or did the dragon will it?"

Zinnine glared at him.

"But, of course, that is not an answer you will not give me." Tul'mor lifted the side of his top lip. "No matter. The power is already yours." He drew a long axe from over his shoulder, a weapon of weight and height that could only be tied to a man such as himself. "And in your torture or death, it shall become mine. Killing humans is a sport."

Tul'mor cracked his neck, taking the wooden pole of the weapon with both hands. "But huntin' and swallowin' dragons? Now that's a whole other level."

Zinnine slumped forward, heaving a breath, holding but a hand up. He'd spent a good chunk of the dragon's power—the already dying dragon's power. He hadn't known the parameters of its abilities.

But he still didn't fear shit.

"Is that the desire you hope to acquire?" Zinnine asked. "Taking down the next most powerful thing? That's what gives your life meaning?"

Tul'mor shrugged. "Nothin' else gives me the same thrill. I've killed, plenty, and fucked more than I've slaughtered. But it's like you said with the ants—anyone can do it. But reducing your noble, ideology-fed people to mere primates? That gets me going."

He stepped forward. "Taking down the legendary Red Dragon? Another shock of bliss." Tul'mor's head shook. "The monster was already dead before we found him. The fight... tickled a possibility of what could be."

Tul'mor continued in a stride. "I'll hunt the dragons of legends—once I'm done with you." He cleared his throat, only a couple of strides from the middle of the space. "From their power, I'll try my luck with the gods and goddesses. An' then, after them? Ah."

He stopped several feet before Zinnine, looking up to the light in the ceiling, inhaling whatever fresh air had wafted downward. "There's more than just this world, I reckon. Things beyond our imagination—but not our slaughter. I'll see to all the great things that I can kill."

Tul'mor looked down at the panting Zinnine. "I've always hated great things. Supposed stuff beyond our incapable touch. But once you've killed a king and broken a nation—you filter out such uselessness."

Zinnine spat at Tul'mor's feet. "My people... just... wanted to live... better lives..."

Tul'mor nodded, crouching. "I know."

The two looked into each other's eyes.

"But men like you will never find peace," Tul'mor spoke earnestly, "when men like me exist."