Rose yelled out some profanity, and grunted as she stuck her hand into the final hold, and hoisted herself up, not easily.

"Are you sure we can find the right dragons here?" He asked, looking around skeptically.

"You wouldn't be here if they weren't, and you know it." She replied, sitting on a rock, taking off her pack, and taking out a water bottle, drinking half of it in three gulps.

"I suppose..." he trailed off, sensing something hidden in darkness. "Who's there?" the man called out, and a winged beast came out, its talons and teeth bared.

He cursed loudly, and drew my sword, as the thing bore down on him. Damnit, I didn't want to fight until we found the proper dragons. Crossed his mind, as it dove at him, barely dodging.

The beast suddenly hit the ground, and Rose sheathed her saber. "You get rustier in old age Zeig." She smirked, and set her foot on the corpse of the beast, its head lolling to the side.

"Whatever, I was just testing it." Zeig said sheepishly, sheathing my blade as well. In truth, he had just not cared to fight it, and was going to let it kill itself. He never was a big fan of killing… but it was needed, and he’d fight and kill if it meant humans would no longer be subject to the Winglies domination.

“The Darkness Dragon was spotted on this mountain just a fortnight past. If we can corner the beast, I can plunge my sword into its breast, allowing myself to extract the spirit.” Rose said, standing up, and wiping the thick sheen of sweat from her forehead.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We’ve gone over this. But.” Zeig passed for a second, and then went on. “Are you sure we can even kill a Darkness Dragon? They are, after all, the strongest of the dragon’s, and do not heed to magic nor armour on their hides.”

“Everything will work out.” Rose said simply, walking ahead, motioning Zeig to follow her. Without a word, he nodded at her back, and followed. She was sure enough for the both of them.

Shirley strode out of her hut, stretching lithely, and smiling at the steadily rising sun. Her life was simple and interesting, the Winglies so far removed from her quiet part of the world. She hadn’t seen one in years, and they never cared about such a tiny village.

                “G’mornin’, milady.” An old man from the village passed her and waved. She smiled brighter, nodded to him, and the man continued on his way.

                You could easily call Shirley’s life perfect, except she still knew how much the other humans all over suffered. Two people she had known while growing up had run off to help the cause, and hadn’t returned in years, though there was talk that even reached them about their exploits. Lord Diaz himself was rumoured to have talked to them, and send them on a mission.

                But sadly, her life was going to be changed irrevocably on that very day. She felt a slight prickling in the back of her mind, warning of impending danger, though it made no sense.

                As she went about her daily chores, she kept feeling more and more uneasy, as if she was getting a warning, but in another language. She thought she even heard a strangled voice once, but when she asked another woman of the village if she had heard it, there was nothing.

                “Shirley?” Came her mother’s voice, and she snapped around, attention drawn.

                “Yes, mother?” She asked in a casual voice, which shocked even her.

                “Are you all right?” Her mother asked, holding her hand to Shirley’s forehead. “You’ve been acting funny all day.” She pulled her hand back. “You aren’t feverish at least.”

                “I’m fine, mother. Just got a headache.” She said back, feeling more impatient than she usually would. “I have more chores.” She walked off quickly, grabbed a large basket of clothes, and took them to the washing well.

                It was then a loud cry rang through the village, followed by a gurgle, as if a thick liquid had entered the crier’s throat.

                Quickly, a panic roared through the town, as shouts and cries of pain filled the otherwise peaceful mid-summer afternoon. “What is this?!” Shirley called out, as three Winglies appeared, wielding swords, and cutting people at random down.

                “So you thought this village would be hidden forever, did you?” A Wingly said, levitating above the people in the square, shouted harshly.

                The mayor stepped forward, though he was visibly scared, and stared up defiantly at the Wingly. “We weren’t hiding at all. This village has been in this location since my father’s father settled him and a dozen other families here, decades ago.” He said.

                “Irrelevant. This village is in violation of Penal Code #54614 and is under order to be exterminated.” The Wingly replied back, fire erupting from his hand, engulfing the mayor, who screamed loud enough to wake the dead. “Do not let a single human survive.” The Wingly shouted to his cohorts, and they began casting magic on the citizens as well.

                Shirley screamed as her mother’s skin turned the colour of pale blue, and she froze in place. “Mother!” Her strangled words called out, even as she felt strong arms wrap around her shoulders, and pull her away. “Let me gooo!” A large hand clamped over her mouth, and she was thrown into a ditch, and a large body piled in on top of her, with a muffled apology.

                The two stayed there for a good hour, as the carnage and destruction grew louder, and the screams of her villagers became more desperate. Shirley could not even scream, let alone help them. Finally, though, she felt the oppressive grip on her lax, and she leapt up from the ditch, and ran to the town centre. The entire thing was bathed in blood, as if a gigantic painter had dropped his brush on the centre. “Where is everyone…?” She asked, looking around, slowly going numb.

                “We could only save a handful of your people.” A gruff man’s voice replied to her rhetorical question.

                Murmurs followed her, and were immediately followed by gasps of shock and horror, and mostly, disbelief. No one, like her, could believe the carnage that had taken place. “Why didn’t you fight them?” Shirley screamed at the man who had held her in the ditch, pounding her fists into his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.

                “If we had tried, everyone would be dead, including us. It was hard enough to follow those three through countless small forests to here. We weren’t even sure how many we could save.” The man said, not moving, and letting Shirley cry on him.

                “But if… if you hadn’t grabbed me… I could’ve saved my mother!” She screamed again, and tore herself away from the man. Though her eyes will blurry from the tears, she quickly found her mother, though the older woman was nothing more than a corpse, not even warm as the others. The spell that had caused her demise was one of the worst, an ice spell, which had frozen her insides first, as she lived. It was a despicable thing for any being to do, but practically expected from a Wingly.

                “She and you would’ve died, just like every other villager my men didn’t grab.” The voice shook Shirley enough to bring her out of shock.

                She cleared her eyes, and looked at the man for the first time. He was taller than her, massively taller, head and shoulders and chest above her, with short curly brown hair, and a very large body. “I know… I know I would be dead. But I cannot help but feel as if I did nothing to save them.” She could no longer look at her mother’s corpse, and stood up, walking slowly to the man. “What is your name, and how did you follow Winglies?” She asked.

                The man put a hand on her shoulder, and nodded slightly. “All in good time.” And called to several of his men, who lumbered towards him, a dozen in total, though more than twenty had initially come. “We’ve suffered losses as well.” His smile was pained, as he looked at how many children had been killed in the attack. He lead Shirley to the only standing building in the small village, and the rest of his men followed, with the villagers they had rescued, and he asked them all to stay there for the time being, at least until they could gauge the damage done.

                In truth, they knew the villagers would not be willing to do much, the shock of what had happened to raw in their mind, like an open sore dripping into the unclean mud of a wind-swept, cold night. The blood would probably be there until the next hard rain, already drying in cracks and the dirt, but they least they could do was prepare the bodies for the final journey, though the souls were already in Mayfil, undergoing whatever further degradation was required of them.

                “Sir.” The man who had rescued spun around as she hailed him, and walked to her swiftly. “You could at least tell me your name?” She said when he reached her.

                “Of course, milady. I am Belzac.” He smiled and bowed slightly.

                Shirley faltered a moment, and then attempted a smile, however much it failed. “Thank you, Belzac. My name is Shirley.” She opened her mouth to say more, thought better, and bowed back at him, in the same manner, retreating into the building.

                “Hey boss. You ready to do this?” One of his men called out, and Belzac nodded. He hated this part of the job most of all, the clean up.

“Your soul is mine.” A man said, his teeth bared, a human in his grasp, that man’s eyes wide and filled with fright. He tried to strangle a word before his lungs were completely crushed, but the deep-rooted terror that enveloped him would not even let a peep out of his mouth. His head lolled to one side as the two fists plunged into his body crushed bone and sinew, ribs snapping, and organs crushing.

                The victim was dead, just like that. The attacker dropped him, and he limply landed on the ground, blood spilling onto the otherwise clean earth. “Kanzas? Holy Mother of Night, man! Do you always have to go to such an extreme to finish the job?” His team leader came up to him, colour quickly draining from his face.

                “If I don’t feel the blood dripping from my hands, I don’t feel the excitement, and that’s the only thing that I desire.” Kanzas replied, hardly paying the man any attention. He was fixated on his hands, covered in the filth of the inner body, blood and pieces of organs. It never failed to fill him with awe at what the body contained, and how much he could rip out while someone was still living.

                “I don’t see why the boss employs you.” His team leader stalked off, trying not to wretch in Kanzas’ field of vision. He had already received enough flack from the violent man, and he didn’t need to hear it anymore.

                “Because I get the job done…” Kanzas replied to air, not noticing the other man had already left.

                The only thing that could draw his attention from the blood covering his hands was the prospect of more death. That was exactly what presented itself within moments, but first Kanzas allowed himself to take out his hunting knife, a full eight inches long, serrated to cut through bone, and remove the man’s spine, encasing it in a pocket on his saddle bags, so he could take it with him to make into a trophy.

                Rustling directly in front of him caught his attention, and he looked up, expecting someone from his own group, but instead, a Wingly floated in front of him, faced filled with gloating and arrogance. “Savage beasts you humans are. Next you’ll be eating the meat raw.” He laughed at his private joke, and unleashed a spell on Kanzas, expecting to see the man burn.

                Kanzas, though, was having none of that. He bared his teeth once more, a steely grin on his face, and leapt at the Wingly hands outstretched in front of him, going right through the attack and not caring that the clothes he wore were fringed with fire. He grabbed the Wingly about the neck, and squeezed with all his might. The Winglies’ eyes bugged out, and he gasped once, no more air coming through. Kanzas felt heat lick his arms, as the Wingly tried to force him to let go by burning him, but he hadn’t had the pleasure to drain the life from a Wingly in a long time, and nothing would stop him now.

                “Kanzas, we have to move out!” His team leader called to him, as the Wingly that was flying fell, his vision dimming from the lack of air.

                Kanzas gave a feral growl, and ignored his team leader, instead letting go of the Winglies neck, and made his hand into a fist. Growling like an animal once again, he began battering the Winglies body with quick punches, intended to cause great pain without great effort; a skill Kanzas was an expert at.

                “Kanzas, if you don’t move out now, you’ll be left behind!” His team leader tried to plead with him. The orders were to never leave a man if he could breathe, no matter what.

                “Fine.” Kanzas said back, his fun cut short. He ended it quickly, grabbing the Winglies neck with two hands, twisting swiftly, and breaking it. Taking out the hunting knife, he makes quick work of the spine, and puts that in the last pocket as well. “It isn’t often I get a meal of Wingly.” He said to his team leader, who shuddered and grimaced, though Kanzas did not notice. His mind was on impaling the Wingly with his hands, watching the blood dribble down his arms, removing his entrails and showing it to him, and finally crushing his heart, and watching the last fitful seconds of his life in extreme pain.

                “You’ll get more, the boss has received word from Diaz himself to head to the capital. You are to go, and you know what it’s about when it involves Diaz.” His team leader replied back, and Kanzas’ eyes instantly sparkled. Diaz was always tied up with Winglies, and if Kanzas were to get involved, he could face enough to kill a room with Wingly trophies.

                “I guess this wasn’t a total loss after all.” Kanzas replied, an evil smile on his face. His team leader shivered again.

Syuveil straightened his glasses, and picked the book up once more, intent on finishing it and three others before he turned in. His research on the two Wingly cities, Mayfil and Crystal Palace, was breaking new grounds for humans, who were for the first time beginning to understand nature and the way life works around it.

                “Sir Syuveil, can I ask you for a favour?” A young woman came to the door of the study, and rapped on the door lightly.

                He looked up from the book once more, sighed good-naturedly, and beckoned her in. “Of course, of course. Tell me what you need.”

                The young girl nodded, and walked into the room, shifting nervously where she stood. Syuveil smiled, and motioned her to a chair with the nod of his head and a swift sweeping motion. “Thank you, sir. I was sent here by the chief librarian, who has asked you to journey to meet him, and correspond with him.” She finished talking, as Syuveil poured her a cup of tea. “Thank you again.”

                “Not a problem, not a problem. Did the librarian leave a message with you specifically for my ears? Also, your name?”

                “He did not, sir, though he seemed very eager at the prospect of you journeying to meet him.” She smiled, and continued. “My name is Mary.”

                “Well, Mary, it has been a pleasure to meet you, but I must continue with my studying. Tell the head librarian that I would be honoured to meet him at the Great Library, but it will sadly have to wait at least two weeks. I have much work to do.”

                Mary stood up, and bowed. “Of course, Sir Syuveil, I will surely inform the librarian. He will be happy to hear of this.” She exited the room, having only entered a moment before. Syuveil was happy that she was gone, however much her news was good. His work couldn’t suffer a second longer from being manipulated.

                Putting his book in front of his face once more, Syuveil relishes the breakthroughs that are literally just around the corner. Another week, and he’d have everything figured out. If only he could get closer to the two cities more often, having only been inside Mayfil, and only once. The Winglies were very stingy when it came to their cities. No humans were ever allowed in them, not alive or free, at least.

                His studies were interrupted once more, and this time, permanently. Screams rang throughout Syuveil’s home. He had been lucky to have servants, and their families lived on his plot. They were completely defenseless. “Sharon!” He yelled, darting out of the room. Half of his home had caved in, and the other half was on fire. His head servant was nowhere to be seen. “Damnit!” He swore, leaving the house, and stopping, aghast.

                The entire courtyard of his house was filled with dead bodies. It was a total massacre. Whatever had attacked his place had literally dragged people there, and slaughtered them. He could tell that, for there bodies were covered in blood that dripped onto the ground, and not with blood only on their body. “You there! Are you the owner of this domicile?” A harsh female’s voice roused Syuveil, and he looked into the sky from which it came.

                He stared in disbelief. She, and three other Winglies, all floated above his head, with bloody swords in their hands. They are the ones who destroyed my friends. He realized, grating his teeth. “Yes, I live here.” He said in strangled voice.

                “You are in violation of Article 13 of the Separative Species Act; Owning a domicile large enough to house more than your immediate family in relative wealth. That is classified as a Wingly-only designation. You and all in this building are to be terminated.” The Wingly female dove down, her sword out in front of her, and dug the blade deep into Syuveil’s abdomen. “Humans should understand that they are inferior beings to us Winglies.” The woman said into his ear, a cruel smile on her face.

                She removed the blade, and cut him across the back, deep, blood gushing from the wound, completely covering his night robe. Syuveil looked up in shock and pain at the Winglies. “How could such a species be so disgusting?” He said, as unconsciousness slipped over his awareness, and the cold embrace of nothingness engulfed him.

“Stop! I didn’t do anything!” A young girl’s voice erupted from the group, holding her hands over her head, as small pebbles collided with her body. “Why are you so mean?!” She dropped to her knees, tears filling her red-rimmed eyes.

                All around her, children younger and older stood, each holding a small handful of rocks, throwing them, giggling and not even caring that she was crying, and that several contusions and bruises had already developed. After all, there is no such cruelty, as that of a child. There was no real reason that they were doing what they were, except for the girl was special; she was different from the rest of them. Not profoundly different, but out of the norm for them. She wasn’t entirely human, and even though this shouldn’t be any big deal, the children had been raised their entire life to fear other species. This girl was half mermaid, her mother being of the sea, and her father being from the coastal village where she resided in still.

                “It’s ‘cause yer a freak!” One of the older kids yelled, two years older than the girl, practically with his man’s height.

                “Enough! Darcy, you’re grounded!” A man came up, and smacked the kid who’d called the young girl a freak. He was the Darcy’s father, and when he was reprimanded, the kid went running towards his home. He turned his attention to the girl who was crying in a heap on the ground. “Damia… sweety, are you okay?”

                Damia looked up, bleary-eyed, and nodded slightly. “I-I-I’m okay. Just a few bruises.” She responded, getting up.

                “That’s good. Your father is asking for you, and with that virus he’s got, we didn’t allow him out of the hut.” Damia nodded, and followed him to the hut she shared with her father, which was right next to Darcy’s fathers.

                “Da… are you all right?” She asked, dropping to the side of his bed, and looking into his pained eyes. The virus that plagued him was practically incurable, at least in the meager hands of the humans. Along with her father being on his deathbed, her mother had died when she was a mere child.

                He swallowed twice before answering, his face pale as death. “Yes, Damia… my dear, sweet child. I will live past this.” He said, in a strangled voice, giving lie to the words he spoke of her.

                The Village Council had never seen anyone survive through the illness, and Damia’s father was in the advance stages of it, ensuring he’d be dead before the next full moon.

                “Okay da. Is there anything I can do for you? I wanna help.” She smiled, but the smile was removed in a moment, her father shook his head faintly.

                “I just wanted to see you one more time before I…” he paused a moment, swallowing hard, “go to sleep.” His arms were thin, as he reached up to hug his daughter.

                Damia recoiled, tears coming to her eyes again. She knew from the look in her father’s eyes…he didn’t expect to wake up again, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell his daughter that. Sighing softly --clenching her eyes tightly—she leaned forward and hugged her father gingerly, and kissed him in the cheek. She nodded, and stood up to leave the room.

                “Damia, everything will be-.”

                “I don’t care what you have to say!” She suddenly shouted, cutting off Darcy’s father, slapping his hand viciously from her shoulder. “I understand everything. I’m not a child.” She wiped tears from her eyes, and stood her ground. “I’m leaving, and I don’t think…I don’t think I’ll ever come back.” Without even waiting for him to speak again, she started sprinting away from the hut, and straight towards the forest, which backed the village along with the sea.

                Even though Damia knew it was the only decision she could’ve made, she was not happy with it. Running blindly through the forest, her eyes clenched tight to ward off tears, though failing terribly was not how she envisioned her leaving the village. It would certainly make the other kids happy, seeing her so miserable. “I won’t stop, ‘cause I’m not afraid of them!” She shouted, running faster, finally opening her eyes, to face the future…

Rose looked around, surveying the area with her keen eyes. Red rimmed her dark brown eyes, from lack of sleep, as her black hair cascaded down her back, all the way to her butt. The black armour she wore was more of a formality than a necessity, showing more skin than it covered. Both legs were completely armour-less, though her shoulders and midsection were clad in it. “Zeig, hurry up. I can smell the beast.” She said, as Zeig rounded a corner of the mountain, and grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He said, brushing blonde hair out of his light blue eyes. Zeig’s armour was much more practical, spanning his body from neck to foot, and dyed blood red. His long blade hung against his back, always ready for a quick draw. It was different from most blades, as it ended with what could easily be called a spike. Without a close inspection it looked like a thin axe. Rose wore hers at her waist, and she carried a rapier, unlike Zeig.

Rose made a quiet motion, and Zeig snuck up beside her as quiet as he could, not disturbing a broken branch, or anything. He looked at what she looked at, and he gasped before he could stifle the noise. “The Darkness Dragon.” He said, receiving another motion from Rose for quiet.

The dragon reared its head up, and looked around, swathed in black curls rising from its body, almost as if it were on fire with some black flame. The features it had were blurry, barely discernable as anything at all.

Rose breathed her words at Zeig. “I was reading in Diaz’s library that the Darkness Dragon’s armour was practically impenetrable. Neither sword nor shield could break it. We have to coax it into using a specific attack. Once made, we only have a second or two to lay the attack down. You draw its attention, and I’ll sneak closer. See if you can force it to use what the books called ‘Darkness Blast.’” She finished, and motioned to where Zeig should go. He nodded gravely, and swallowed hard. It wouldn’t be an easy task.

Standing up, he drew his blade and charged straight east, yelling and kicking as much dirt and rocks about him as he ran. The dragon’s head shot up, and looked right at him, eyes burning red. Good. It’s moving. He thought, as the dragon unfurled its wings, and roared in challenge to Zeig. He attempted a roar back, but it came out feeble in comparison.

He was doing such a good job; Rose didn’t even have to sneak like she expected to get behind the beast. She sat there patiently, waiting for either to fly after Zeig, in which case she’d chase after it and attack, or use the attack the book spoke of, and then she’d land the only blow that could kill such a powerful beast. It didn’t take long for it to happen, as a moment later, she felt the air around become colder. Heavy magic was about to be used, and it was sucking the warmth from the air around it. That could only mean the Blast was coming. Rose only hoped Zeig would have the foresight of not getting hurt. She’d have to kill him if he did anything of that sort.

A surge of extreme power and might suddenly leapt from the dragon. A two foot wide, darker than night energy beam shot from the dragon’s chest, right at where Zeig stood. He sword loudly, and threw himself as far as he could from the radiance of the attack. Rose nodded to herself, and swiftly moved to the dragon. The attack had ended, and she could see the exposed flesh where the tender under armour had moved to allow the blast through. She thrust her rapier into that flesh, and felt it slide easily deep to the hilt.

The dragon reared back, a throaty cry ripping from its mouth, and knocked back Rose a good ten feet from where she stood. Dazed and in pain from a twisted ankle, she stood shakily and limped backwards a few steps. From the liveliness it was exhibiting, she was no longer sure the book was correct in how to kill such a dragon. It just seemed to be pissed. “Zeig! It doesn’t look like it’s dying!” She shouted, as the dragon’s nostrils flared, and glared at her.

“That could be bad Rosey!” He yelled back, brandishing his sword and running at the dragon.

But, just as he reached the beast, it’s red eyes lolled back into its head, and it slumped to the side of itself. The final moments of the dragon’s life had been of pain. For this Rose was saddened, but it was not a choice of her own. She needed the Dragon spirit from it, so she could become one of the much fabled Dragoon; a Dragon Knight. “I am sorry we had to destroy you, Darkness Dragon. But this is the only way for us humans to survive.” She said, stroking the dragon softly, sadness deep in her voice.

“Rose…” Zeig said, walking up and standing next to her.

She nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes, and she plunged her blade right into the chest of the dragon once more, and carved out the jewel in it. The jewel dropped to the ground as the dragon slowly crumbled on itself. “It’s…real. I always expected…well, I always expected we’d come on a wild goose hunt.” She said, amazed.

“I trusted in you, if that counts for anything.” Zeig whispered into her ear, putting his chin on her shoulder. “I’ll always trust you, my love.”

Rose turned her head, and looked at him, smiling. Zeig always amazed her, and how he could behave like such a juvenile, and yet tell her the most sincere things. She looked back at what was left of the Darkness Dragon, and all that sat there was a small dragon, mewling like all babies do, and the jewel that was the spirit. She walked over, and picked the spirit up, and as soon as she did, it glowed with its own internal light. “The jewel is accepting me…that means I was meant to rule dragons.” She said, to no one in particular.

“Can we leave now? I never liked being on this mountain…” Zeig said, looking around, as Rose began to notice the near-perfect quiet that had taken the mountain in the last few moments.

“That would be a good idea, I am sure. This pseudo-dragon here, though…we must bring it with us; he will be the forefront of our assault on the Winglies. He is of the darkness persuasion, after all.” Rose said, and Zeig nodded. “He needs a name. How does…Michael sound?” She looked at him.

“I like it fine. Suits such a cute lil’ critter.” Zeig smirked mockingly, and Rose ignored the remark.

“Yes, Michael will do fine.” She said, and picked him up, as the pseudo-dragon began moving around furiously. But in Rose’s hands, it stopped, as if it accepted her as master as well. “I think we have yet a chance…” She said to no one in particular, as her and Zeig began the trek back to civilization.

Rose yelled out some profanity, and grunted as she stuck her hand into the final hold, and hoisted herself up, not easily.

"Are you sure we can find the right dragons here?" He asked, looking around skeptically.

"You wouldn't be here if they weren't, and you know it." She replied, sitting on a rock, taking off her pack, and taking out a water bottle, drinking half of it in three gulps.

"I suppose..." he trailed off, sensing something hidden in darkness. "Who's there?" the man called out, and a winged beast came out, its talons and teeth bared.

He cursed loudly, and drew my sword, as the thing bore down on him. Damnit, I didn't want to fight until we found the proper dragons. Crossed his mind, as it dove at him, barely dodging.

The beast suddenly hit the ground, and Rose sheathed her saber. "You get rustier in old age Zeig." She smirked, and set her foot on the corpse of the beast, its head lolling to the side.

"Whatever, I was just testing it." Zeig said sheepishly, sheathing my blade as well. In truth, he had just not cared to fight it, and was going to let it kill itself. He never was a big fan of killing… but it was needed, and he’d fight and kill if it meant humans would no longer be subject to the Winglies domination.

“The Darkness Dragon was spotted on this mountain just a fortnight past. If we can corner the beast, I can plunge my sword into its breast, allowing myself to extract the spirit.” Rose said, standing up, and wiping the thick sheen of sweat from her forehead.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We’ve gone over this. But.” Zeig passed for a second, and then went on. “Are you sure we can even kill a Darkness Dragon? They are, after all, the strongest of the dragon’s, and do not heed to magic nor armour on their hides.”

“Everything will work out.” Rose said simply, walking ahead, motioning Zeig to follow her. Without a word, he nodded at her back, and followed. She was sure enough for the both of them.

Shirley strode out of her hut, stretching lithely, and smiling at the steadily rising sun. Her life was simple and interesting, the Winglies so far removed from her quiet part of the world. She hadn’t seen one in years, and they never cared about such a tiny village.

                “G’mornin’, milady.” An old man from the village passed her and waved. She smiled brighter, nodded to him, and the man continued on his way.

                You could easily call Shirley’s life perfect, except she still knew how much the other humans all over suffered. Two people she had known while growing up had run off to help the cause, and hadn’t returned in years, though there was talk that even reached them about their exploits. Lord Diaz himself was rumoured to have talked to them, and send them on a mission.

                But sadly, her life was going to be changed irrevocably on that very day. She felt a slight prickling in the back of her mind, warning of impending danger, though it made no sense.

                As she went about her daily chores, she kept feeling more and more uneasy, as if she was getting a warning, but in another language. She thought she even heard a strangled voice once, but when she asked another woman of the village if she had heard it, there was nothing.

                “Shirley?” Came her mother’s voice, and she snapped around, attention drawn.

                “Yes, mother?” She asked in a casual voice, which shocked even her.

                “Are you all right?” Her mother asked, holding her hand to Shirley’s forehead. “You’ve been acting funny all day.” She pulled her hand back. “You aren’t feverish at least.”

                “I’m fine, mother. Just got a headache.” She said back, feeling more impatient than she usually would. “I have more chores.” She walked off quickly, grabbed a large basket of clothes, and took them to the washing well.

                It was then a loud cry rang through the village, followed by a gurgle, as if a thick liquid had entered the crier’s throat.

                Quickly, a panic roared through the town, as shouts and cries of pain filled the otherwise peaceful mid-summer afternoon. “What is this?!” Shirley called out, as three Winglies appeared, wielding swords, and cutting people at random down.

                “So you thought this village would be hidden forever, did you?” A Wingly said, levitating above the people in the square, shouted harshly.

                The mayor stepped forward, though he was visibly scared, and stared up defiantly at the Wingly. “We weren’t hiding at all. This village has been in this location since my father’s father settled himself and a dozen other families here, decades ago.” He said.

                “Irrelevant. This village is in violation of Penal Code #54614 and is under order to be exterminated.” The Wingly replied back, fire erupting from his hand, engulfing the mayor, who screamed loud enough to wake the dead. “Do not let a single human survive.” The Wingly shouted to his cohorts, and they began casting magic on the citizens as well.

                Shirley screamed as her mother’s skin turned the colour of pale blue, and she froze in place. “Mother!” Her strangled words called out, even as she felt strong arms wrap around her shoulders, and pull her away. “Let me gooo!” A large hand clamped over her mouth, and she was thrown into a ditch, and a large body piled in on top of her, with a muffled apology.

                The two stayed there for a good hour, as the carnage and destruction grew louder, and the screams of her villagers became more desperate. Shirley could not even scream, let alone help them. Finally, though, she felt the oppressive grip on her lax, and she leapt up from the ditch, and ran to the town centre. The entire thing was bathed in blood, as if a gigantic painter had dropped his brush on the centre. “Where is everyone…?” She asked, looking around, slowly going numb.

                “We could only save a handful of your people.” A gruff man’s voice replied to her rhetorical question.

                Murmurs followed her, and were immediately followed by gasps of shock and horror, and mostly, disbelief. No one, like her, could believe the carnage that had taken place. “Why didn’t you fight them?” Shirley screamed at the man who had held her in the ditch, pounding her fists into his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.

                “If we had tried, everyone would be dead, including us. It was hard enough to follow those three through countless small forests to here. We weren’t even sure how many we could save.” The man said, not moving, and letting Shirley cry on him.

                “But if…if you hadn’t grabbed me…I could’ve saved my mother!” She screamed again, and tore herself away from the man. Though her eyes will blurry from the tears, she quickly found her mother, though the older woman was nothing more than a corpse, not even warm as the others. The spell that had caused her demise was one of the worst, an ice spell, which had frozen her insides first, as she lived. It was a despicable thing for any being to do, but practically expected from a Wingly.

                “She and you would’ve died, just like every other villager my men didn’t grab.” The voice shook Shirley enough to bring her out of shock.

                She cleared her eyes, and looked at the man for the first time. He was taller than her, massively taller, head and shoulders and chest above her, with short curly brown hair, and a very large body. “I know… I know I would be dead. But I cannot help but feel as if I did nothing to save them.” She could no longer look at her mother’s corpse, and stood up, walking slowly to the man. “What is your name, and how did you follow Winglies?” She asked.

                The man put a hand on her shoulder, and nodded slightly. “All in good time.” And called to several of his men, who lumbered towards him, a dozen in total, though more than twenty had initially come. “We’ve suffered losses as well.” His smile was pained, as he looked at how many children had been killed in the attack. He lead Shirley to the only standing building in the small village, and the rest of his men followed, with the villagers they had rescued, and he asked them all to stay there for the time being, at least until they could gauge the damage done.

                In truth, they knew the villagers would not be willing to do much, the shock of what had happened to raw in their mind, like an open sore dripping into the unclean mud of a wind-swept, cold night. The blood would probably be there until the next hard rain, already drying in cracks and the dirt, but they least they could do was prepare the bodies for the final journey, though the souls were already in Mayfil, undergoing whatever further degradation was required of them.

                “Sir.” The man who had rescued spun around as she hailed him, and walked to her swiftly. “You could at least tell me your name?” She said when he reached her.

                “Of course, milady. I am Belzac.” He smiled and bowed slightly.

                Shirley faltered a moment, and then attempted a smile, however much it failed. “Thank you, Belzac. My name is Shirley.” She opened her mouth to say more, thought better, and bowed back at him, in the same manner, retreating into the building.

                “Hey boss. You ready to do this?” One of his men called out, and Belzac nodded. He hated this part of the job most of all, the clean up.

“Your soul is mine.” A man said, his teeth bared, a human in his grasp, that man’s eyes wide and filled with fright. He tried to strangle a word before his lungs were completely crushed, but the deep-rooted terror that enveloped him would not even let a peep out of his mouth. His head lolled to one side as the two fists plunged into his body crushed bone and sinew, ribs snapping, and organs crushing.

                The victim was dead, just like that. The attacker dropped him, and he limply landed on the ground, blood spilling onto the otherwise clean earth. “Kanzas? Holy Mother of Night, man! Do you always have to go to such an extreme to finish the job?” His team leader came up to him, colour quickly draining from his face.

                “If I don’t feel the blood dripping from my hands, I don’t feel the excitement, and that’s the only thing that I desire.” Kanzas replied, hardly paying the man any attention. He was fixated on his hands, covered in the filth of the inner body, blood and pieces of organs. It never failed to fill him with awe at what the body contained, and how much he could rip out while someone was still living.

                “I don’t see why the boss employs you.” His team leader stalked off, trying not to wretch in Kanzas’ field of vision. He had already received enough flack from the violent man, and he didn’t need to hear it anymore.

                “Because I get the job done…” Kanzas replied to air, not noticing the other man had already left.

                The only thing that could draw his attention from the blood covering his hands was the prospect of more death. That was exactly what presented itself within moments, but first Kanzas allowed himself to take out his hunting knife, a full eight inches long, serrated to cut through bone, and remove the man’s spine, encasing it in a pocket on his saddle bags, so he could take it with him to make into a trophy.

                Rustling directly in front of him caught his attention, and he looked up, expecting someone from his own group, but instead, a Wingly floated in front of him, faced filled with gloating and arrogance. “Savage beasts you humans are. Next you’ll be eating the meat raw.” He laughed at his private joke, and unleashed a spell on Kanzas, expecting to see the man burn.

                Kanzas, though, was having none of that. He bared his teeth once more, a steely grin on his face, and leapt at the Wingly hands outstretched in front of him, going right through the attack and not caring that the clothes he wore were fringed with fire. He grabbed the Wingly about the neck, and squeezed with all his might. The Winglies’ eyes bugged out, and he gasped once, no more air coming through. Kanzas felt heat lick his arms, as the Wingly tried to force him to let go by burning him, but he hadn’t had the pleasure to drain the life from a Wingly in a long time, and nothing would stop him now.

                “Kanzas, we have to move out!” His team leader called to him, as the Wingly that was flying fell, his vision dimming from the lack of air.

                Kanzas gave a feral growl, and ignored his team leader, instead letting go of the Winglies neck, and made his hand into a fist. Growling like an animal once again, he began battering the Winglies body with quick punches, intended to cause great pain without great effort; a skill Kanzas was an expert at.

                “Kanzas, if you don’t move out now, you’ll be left behind!” His team leader tried to plead with him. The orders were to never leave a man if he could breathe, no matter what.

                “Fine.” Kanzas said back, his fun cut short. He ended it quickly, grabbing the Winglies neck with two hands, twisting swiftly, and breaking it. Taking out the hunting knife, he makes quick work of the spine, and puts that in the last pocket as well. “It isn’t often I get a meal of Wingly.” He said to his team leader, who shuddered and grimaced, though Kanzas did not notice. His mind was on impaling the Wingly with his hands, watching the blood dribble down his arms, removing his entrails and showing it to him, and finally crushing his heart, and watching the last fitful seconds of his life in extreme pain.

                “You’ll get more, the boss has received word from Diaz himself to head to the capital. You are to go, and you know what it’s about when it involves Diaz.” His team leader replied back, and Kanzas’ eyes instantly sparkled. Diaz was always tied up with Winglies, and if Kanzas were to get involved, he could face enough to kill a room with Wingly trophies.

                “I guess this wasn’t a total loss after all.” Kanzas replied, an evil smile on his face. His team leader shivered again.

Syuveil straightened his glasses, and picked the book up once more, intent on finishing it and three others before he turned in. His research on the two Wingly cities, Mayfil and Crystal Palace, was breaking new grounds for humans, who were for the first time beginning to understand nature and the way life works around it.

                “Sir Syuveil, can I ask you for a favour?” A young woman came to the door of the study, and rapped on the door lightly.

                He looked up from the book once more, sighed good-naturedly, and beckoned her in. “Of course, of course. Tell me what you need.”

                The young girl nodded, and walked into the room, shifting nervously where she stood. Syuveil smiled, and motioned her to a chair with the nod of his head and a swift sweeping motion. “Thank you, sir. I was sent here by the chief librarian, who has asked you to journey to meet him, and correspond with him.” She finished talking, as Syuveil poured her a cup of tea. “Thank you again.”

                “Not a problem, not a problem. Did the librarian leave a message with you specifically for my ears? Also, your name?”

                “He did not, sir, though he seemed very eager at the prospect of you journeying to meet him.” She smiled, and continued. “My name is Mary.”

                “Well, Mary, it has been a pleasure to meet you, but I must continue with my studying. Tell the head librarian that I would be honoured to meet him at the Great Library, but it will sadly have to wait at least two weeks. I have much work to do.”

                Mary stood up, and bowed. “Of course, Sir Syuveil, I will surely inform the librarian. He will be happy to hear of this.” She exited the room, having only entered a moment before. Syuveil was happy that she was gone, however much her news was good. His work couldn’t suffer a second longer from being manipulated.

                Putting his book in front of his face once more, Syuveil relishes the breakthroughs that are literally just around the corner. Another week, and he’d have everything figured out. If only he could get closer to the two cities more often, having only been inside Mayfil, and only once. The Winglies were very stingy when it came to their cities. No humans were ever allowed in them, not alive or free, at least.

                His studies were interrupted once more, and this time, permanently. Screams rang throughout Syuveil’s home. He had been lucky to have servants, and their families lived on his plot. They were completely defenseless. “Sharon!” He yelled, darting out of the room. Half of his home had caved in, and the other half was on fire. His head servant was nowhere to be seen. “Damnit!” He swore, leaving the house, and stopping, aghast.

                The entire courtyard of his house was filled with dead bodies. It was a total massacre. Whatever had attacked his place had literally dragged people there, and slaughtered them. He could tell that, for there bodies were covered in blood that dripped onto the ground, and not with blood only on their body. “You there! Are you the owner of this domicile?” A harsh female’s voice roused Syuveil, and he looked into the sky from which it came.

                He stared in disbelief. She, and three other Winglies, all floated above his head, with bloody swords in their hands. They are the ones who destroyed my friends. He realized, grating his teeth. “Yes, I live here.” He said in strangled voice.

                “You are in violation of Article 13 of the Separative Species Act; Owning a domicile large enough to house more than your immediate family in relative wealth. That is classified as a Wingly-only designation. You and all in this building are to be terminated.” The Wingly female dove down, her sword out in front of her, and dug the blade deep into Syuveil’s abdomen. “Humans should understand that they are inferior beings to us Winglies.” The woman said into his ear, a cruel smile on her face.

                She removed the blade, and cut him across the back, deep, blood gushing from the wound, completely covering his night robe. Syuveil looked up in shock and pain at the Winglies. “How could such a species be so disgusting?” He said, as unconsciousness slipped over his awareness, and the cold embrace of nothingness engulfed him.

“Stop! I didn’t do anything!” A young girl’s voice erupted from the group, holding her hands over her head, as small pebbles collided with her body. “Why are you so mean?!” She dropped to her knees, tears filling her red-rimmed eyes.

                All around her, children younger and older stood, each holding a small handful of rocks, throwing them, giggling and not even caring that she was crying, and that several contusions and bruises had already developed. After all, there is no such cruelty, as that of a child. There was no real reason that they were doing what they were, except for the girl was special; she was different from the rest of them. Not profoundly different, but out of the norm for them. She wasn’t entirely human, and even though this shouldn’t be any big deal, the children had been raised their entire life to fear other species. This girl was half mermaid, her mother being of the sea, and her father being from the coastal village where she resided in still.

                “It’s ‘cause yer a freak!” One of the older kids yelled, two years older than the girl, practically with his man’s height.

                “Enough! Darcy, you’re grounded!” A man came up, and smacked the kid who’d called the young girl a freak. He was the Darcy’s father, and when he was reprimanded, the kid went running towards his home. He turned his attention to the girl who was crying in a heap on the ground. “Damia… sweety, are you okay?”

                Damia looked up, bleary-eyed, and nodded slightly. “I-I-I’m okay. Just a few bruises.” She responded, getting up.

                “That’s good. Your father is asking for you, and with that virus he’s got, we didn’t allow him out of the hut.” Damia nodded, and followed him to the hut she shared with her father, which was right next to Darcy’s fathers.

                “Da… are you all right?” She asked, dropping to the side of his bed, and looking into his pained eyes. The virus that plagued him was practically incurable, at least in the meager hands of the humans. Along with her father being on his deathbed, her mother had died when she was a mere child.

                He swallowed twice before answering, his face pale as death. “Yes, Damia… my dear, sweet child. I will live past this.” He said, in a strangled voice, giving lie to the words he spoke of her.

                The Village Council had never seen anyone survive through the illness, and Damia’s father was in the advance stages of it, ensuring he’d be dead before the next full moon.

                “Okay da. Is there anything I can do for you? I wanna help.” She smiled, but the smile was removed in a moment, her father shook his head faintly.

                “I just wanted to see you one more time before I…” he paused a moment, swallowing hard, “go to sleep.” His arms were thin, as he reached up to hug his daughter.

                Damia recoiled, tears coming to her eyes again. She knew from the look in her father’s eyes…he didn’t expect to wake up again, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell his daughter that. Sighing softly --clenching her eyes tightly—she leaned forward and hugged her father gingerly, and kissed him in the cheek. She nodded, and stood up to leave the room.

                “Damia, everything will be-.”

                “I don’t care what you have to say!” She suddenly shouted, cutting off Darcy’s father, slapping his hand viciously from her shoulder. “I understand everything. I’m not a child.” She wiped tears from her eyes, and stood her ground. “I’m leaving, and I don’t think…I don’t think I’ll ever come back.” Without even waiting for him to speak again, she started sprinting away from the hut, and straight towards the forest, which backed the village along with the sea.

                Even though Damia knew it was the only decision she could’ve made, she was not happy with it. Running blindly through the forest, her eyes clenched tight to ward off tears, though failing terribly was not how she envisioned her leaving the village. It would certainly make the other kids happy, seeing her so miserable. “I won’t stop, ‘cause I’m not afraid of them!” She shouted, running faster, finally opening her eyes, to face the future…

Rose looked around, surveying the area with her keen eyes. Red rimmed her dark brown eyes, from lack of sleep, as her black hair cascaded down her back, all the way to her butt. The black armour she wore was more of a formality than a necessity, showing more skin than it covered. Both legs were completely armour-less, though her shoulders and midsection were clad in it. “Zeig, hurry up. I can smell the beast.” She said, as Zeig rounded a corner of the mountain, and grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He said, brushing blonde hair out of his light blue eyes. Zeig’s armour was much more practical, spanning his body from neck to foot, and dyed blood red. His long blade hung against his back, always ready for a quick draw. It was different from most blades, as it ended with what could easily be called a spike. Without a close inspection it looked like a thin axe. Rose wore hers at her waist, and she carried a rapier, unlike Zeig.

Rose made a quiet motion, and Zeig snuck up beside her as quiet as he could, not disturbing a broken branch, or anything. He looked at what she looked at, and he gasped before he could stifle the noise. “The Darkness Dragon.” He said, receiving another motion from Rose for quiet.

The dragon reared its head up, and looked around, swathed in black curls rising from its body, almost as if it were on fire with some black flame. The features it had were blurry, barely discernable as anything at all.

Rose breathed her words at Zeig. “I was reading in Diaz’s library that the Darkness Dragon’s armour was practically impenetrable. Neither sword nor shield could break it. We have to coax it into using a specific attack. Once made, we only have a second or two to lay the attack down. You draw its attention, and I’ll sneak closer. See if you can force it to use what the books called ‘Darkness Blast.’” She finished, and motioned to where Zeig should go. He nodded gravely, and swallowed hard. It wouldn’t be an easy task.

Standing up, he drew his blade and charged straight east, yelling and kicking as much dirt and rocks about him as he ran. The dragon’s head shot up, and looked right at him, eyes burning red. Good. It’s moving. He thought, as the dragon unfurled its wings, and roared in challenge to Zeig. He attempted a roar back, but it came out feeble in comparison.

He was doing such a good job; Rose didn’t even have to sneak like she expected to get behind the beast. She sat there patiently, waiting for either to fly after Zeig, in which case she’d chase after it and attack, or use the attack the book spoke of, and then she’d land the only blow that could kill such a powerful beast. It didn’t take long for it to happen, as a moment later, she felt the air around become colder. Heavy magic was about to be used, and it was sucking the warmth from the air around it. That could only mean the Blast was coming. Rose only hoped Zeig would have the foresight of not getting hurt. She’d have to kill him if he did anything of that sort.

A surge of extreme power and might suddenly leapt from the dragon. A two foot wide, darker than night energy beam shot from the dragon’s chest, right at where Zeig stood. He sword loudly, and threw himself as far as he could from the radiance of the attack. Rose nodded to herself, and swiftly moved to the dragon. The attack had ended, and she could see the exposed flesh where the tender under armour had moved to allow the blast through. She thrust her rapier into that flesh, and felt it slide easily deep to the hilt.

The dragon reared back, a throaty cry ripping from its mouth, and knocked back Rose a good ten feet from where she stood. Dazed and in pain from a twisted ankle, she stood shakily and limped backwards a few steps. From the liveliness it was exhibiting, she was no longer sure the book was correct in how to kill such a dragon. It just seemed to be pissed. “Zeig! It doesn’t look like it’s dying!” She shouted, as the dragon’s nostrils flared, and glared at her.

“That could be bad Rosey!” He yelled back, brandishing his sword and running at the dragon.

But, just as he reached the beast, it’s red eyes lolled back into its head, and it slumped to the side of itself. The final moments of the dragon’s life had been of pain. For this Rose was saddened, but it was not a choice of her own. She needed the Dragon spirit from it, so she could become one of the much-fabled Dragoons: a Dragon Knight. “I am sorry we had to destroy you, Darkness Dragon. But this is the only way for us humans to survive.” She said, stroking the dragon softly, sadness deep in her voice.

“Rose…” Zeig said, walking up and standing next to her.

She nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes, and she plunged her blade right into the chest of the dragon once more, and carved out the jewel in it. The jewel dropped to the ground as the dragon slowly crumbled on itself. “It’s…real. I always expected…well, I always expected we’d come on a wild goose hunt.” She said, amazed.

“I trusted in you, if that counts for anything.” Zeig whispered into her ear, putting his chin on her shoulder. “I’ll always trust you, my love.”

Rose turned her head, and looked at him, smiling. Zeig always amazed her, and how he could behave like such a juvenile, and yet tell her the most sincere things. She looked back at what was left of the Darkness Dragon, and all that sat there was a small dragon, mewling like all babies do, and the jewel that was the spirit. She walked over, and picked the spirit up, and as soon as she did, it glowed with its own internal light. “The jewel is accepting me…that means I was meant to rule dragons.” She said, to no one in particular.

“Can we leave now? I never liked being on this mountain…” Zeig said looking around, as Rose began to notice the near-perfect quiet that had taken the mountain in the last few moments.

“That would be a good idea, I am sure. This pseudo-dragon here, though…we must bring it with us; he will be the forefront of our assault on the Winglies. He is of the darkness persuasion, after all.” Rose said, and Zeig nodded. “He needs a name. How does…Michael sound?” She looked at him.

“I like it fine. Suits such a cute lil’ critter.” Zeig smirked mockingly, and Rose ignored the remark.

“Yes, Michael will do fine.” She said, and picked him up, as the pseudo-dragon began moving around furiously. But in Rose’s hands, it stopped, as if it accepted her as master as well. “I think we have yet a chance…” She said to no one in particular, as her and Zeig began the trek back to civilization.

Belzac practically crawled into the hut, exhausted and feeling dirty down to his marrow. He’d done that same deed at least a dozen times, but every time he felt his soul become that much thickly covered in grime. Every time he was forced to do this work, he feared he’d grow an affinity with the grisly business, and it scared him deep to his core. That day would someday come, he knew…once you’ve lived a life long enough even in direct opposite of how you feel you begin to consider it your life, and not the work that needs to be done. He just hoped that moment was a long way away.

                Falling onto the ground, he took off his overcoat that was covered in filth, and tossed it away from him. Even if he were forced to do the work, he would not relish the thought of having his clothes sullied with it and on his person.

                “May all those souls rest in peace?” He asked whatever entity rules the universe, and sank to the ground and drifted off into restless sleep.

                He was woken less than three hours later, as an explosion rocked the building, sending straw and other materials down on his head. “What the hell is going on?” He asked, and noticed no one was in the hut with him, though it had been filled with half a dozen of his men when he’d passed out.

                A strangled cry from outside made his blood cold, and he cautiously approached the door, and peaked outside. A single Wingly stood in the middle of the carnage from earlier, blood oozing from its body. Most of it probably human, but from the look in its eyes, and the deep shuffle it used to walk, the Wingly was probably deeply injured; close to death, even. In the last few strangled moments of the Winglies life, it decided to punish humans, for no accord.

                Belzac’s blood instantly boiled, a feral growl escaping his lips. He felt his face turn red with anger and intense want of destruction that flooded his senses. Ignoring the obvious rule of never confronting a Wingly no matter how injured, he picked up his oversized axe and ran at the Wingly, teeth bared.

                He was on top of her—the gender obvious up close—in a moment, coming completely in surprise. The Wingly didn’t expect a human to attack directly, and alone, so she was unawares. His axe bit deep into her chest as he plunged it down, grunting with the exertion. Her eyes widened in shock and pain, perplexing Belzac with the last vestiges of his understanding. As her eyes became dark voids of nothing, his sense returned to him, and his entire body felt numb.

                The Winglies inert body struck the ground at the same time as Belzac did. In all his time under Diaz, he’d never taken another life, and he’d never planned on it, either. Now he’d foolishly broken his own commandment, and for no real gain. Looking around, he saw not a single person injured beyond what they’d received earlier in that day from the other attack. This Wingly was just frightened and afraid, and near death. Belzac had let his rage overcome himself, and turned him into the beast he’d feared for more than a year.

                “Mother of Night…” he intoned, mimicking his father in his prayer to whatever deity he’d worshipped. He looked right into the eyes of the young woman from earlier. Shirley…she was forced to witness my savagery, what kind of human am I to force that onto another human? He asked himself silently, and received no word back, condemning himself.

                She looked at him as if he were as bad as the Winglies. The disgust and contempt on her face was brighter than the moon overhead. “I…had no choice. She, she was…she’s a Wingly! Don’t look at me that way!” Belzac yelled, looking away from her, to hide his face in dismay. Even as he wiped the tears from his face, which has streamed down his face, the look on her face was stuck in his mind.

                “Who killed this beast before I had a chance!” A loud, brisk voice shook the deathly quiet town. “I’ve been hunting this beast for two days, and you have the audacity to kill it!” Belzac turned his head, and looked at a large man in purple drab, a necklace of…human around his neck, though Belzac could not tell from the distance he sat at.

                “I killed her just now…though I did not want too.” He looked around for Shirley, but she was not around. His words for her more than anyone, but since she was not around, they would suffice for the man who looked at the dead Wingly woman as a lost prize.

                “You bastard! I should kill you where you blubber like a baby and take you as my trophy.” He glared at Belzac, grimacing. “But you’re so pathetic, you’d sully my other hard-earned trophies. You don’t deserve to be adorned with some of the warriors I’ve fought.” He spat on the ground, and looked around at the rest of the people.

                He shook his head once more, and kicked the corpse of the Wingly, sighing softly. “I was to hunt this Wingly and then find a man named Belzac, on order of Emperor Diaz.”

                Belzac’s throat tightened as he gaped at the man. Could he be Kanzas, the man Diaz spoke of before leaving on this mission? That isn’t possible! Belzac reeled back, but was too shocked to speak.

                “Did he die in this attack? If so, who was his second-in-command?” Kanzas looked at the people again, and again was met with silence. He growled, and shouted, “do I have to beat it out of you people?!”

                Belzac stood up, and coughed. “I am Belzac. Emperor Diaz said he was going to send a man after us, by the name of Kanzas, before we left the capital. Are you he?”

                Kanzas reared back, roaring with laughter. His eyes shone with amusement, and his entire body quaked with it. He laughed for a good five minutes before calming down. “At first I thought you joked, but from the determined look on your face, I know this not to be the case. So you are General Belzac, right-hand man to Emperor Diaz along with General Zeig? Your pathetic resistance needs me more than I ever thought, if you can be a leader.” He laughed again.

                Belzac said nothing, even as Kanzas laughed again, and mocked him openly. He sneered, and walked towards the hut that Belzac had designated as the momentary base of operations, until they moved from the village and took the people to the capital.

                “Aren’t you just a pretty little thing.” He heard Kanzas say, and immediately sprung to his feet, stalking after the man.

                “Leave me alone.” Shirley said, looking defiantly at Kanzas, who stood before her, an amused grin on his face.

                “Leave her alone.” Belzac said, his jaw set, and his eyes determined. Kanzas chuckled more, and put his hands on his waist.

                “I can take care of myself.” Shirley said practically spitting on Belzac as she shoved him and Kanzas aside.

                “Fiery little she daemon, wouldn’t you say?” Kanzas said, poking Belzac with his elbow.

                “Don’t touch me. Anyone who hunts another person is nothing more than garbage to me.” Belzac spoke vehemently.

                Kanzas grabbed Belzac with an iron-tight grip. “Listen to me, and listen good. I won’t hesitate to gut you like a fish should you get in my way.” He face and voice spoke of no amusement at all, only cold calculations. “I really hope you give me a reason to do so.” He let go of Belzac, and walked into the hut gruffly.

                Belzac sighed deeply, and sank to the ground, leaning against the hut, and closed his eyes. He didn’t think sleep would ever come to him, but even before he had fully formed that thought, he was unconscious.

                Shirley looked back at the two men, and snapped her head back around just as quickly. No better than ravenous beasts. She said to herself, and grew angrier she had no choice but to rely on them. Winglies could attack at any moment, and she’d be defenseless like last time. I vow to here, forever, and myself I will never be helpless again! I will become strong enough to defend myself! She took out her small dagger that almost all women carried, and cut a nick into her palm, and smeared the blood all over her hand. Clenching it tightly, she closed her eyes and prayed to the Mother and the Father, to give her strength.

                The night was cool all around her, the air already forgetting what occurred in it less than a day ago, and the death that monster Belzac has caused less than ten minutes past. But Mother Nature was always like that. She never let anything ultimately pervade her majestic world. And Father Time always erased the damage done by the beings that scuttled about the planet.

                Shirley gave a pained smile, and let her long red, flowing hair down, and shook her head once. Even in the twilight her pale grey eyes shone like two stones set deep in her skull. Her features were magnificent, marking her a rare beauty. She had a haunting smile, which left people in a daze when she gave it. The wind swirled around her, tossing her hair around, and it cooled her fevered soul. She could barely breathe she felt so dirty. Her mother had died and she hadn’t done a thing to save her…nor had she been able to do anything to save her. That was the worst part of all. Even if she had tried to save her, Shirley would’ve ended up another singed or frozen corpse that Belzac and his team had to clean up.

                That thought gave her shivers. Mother…your death will not be in vain. Even if I must desecrate everything you stood for and destroy your killers, I shall do so, and consider their penance light! She twirled slightly in the wind, the wind caressing her, sending shivers down her spine. It was as if she could feel Mother Nature around her, breathing on her back, tickling her neck with soft tendrils.

                Dropping to the forest floor, the grass comforting her, she drifted off to sleep to thoughts of her mother.

Syuveil’s eyes fluttered open, and as they did, he realized he wasn’t dead. How is that possible? He asked himself, reaching gingerly to his stomach, and felt the ripped cloth but no gaping wound like he expected. His vision was blurry at best, so he could not make out where he was, except it was a room, and he was on a soft bed.

                “Hello?” He called out weakly, hoping someone would hear him. No human voice greeted him. No noise at all did.

                Getting himself into a sitting position, he rubbed the back of his hands into his eyes, trying to clear his vision. A small candle in the corner lighted the room, which was not surprisingly very close. It was a rather small room, albeit cozy. He felt light-headed, and somewhat groggy; stood nonetheless, and walked to the candle, which sat on a weird apparatus. “What…is this?” He asked the air, not expecting a response.

                “A teleporter.” The male voice, strong and arrogant, resounded from somewhere behind him, and Syuveil snapped his head around and looked eagerly all around.

                A lithe man, taller than Syuveil, practically materialized out of the shadows. He wore the garments of a high-class Wingly, or at least what books described would be the garments of one. His hair was the characteristic white, cold blue-eyes staring at Syuveil with barely contained contempt. “Why am I here?” Syuveil asked, pressing himself against the wall.

                “We were told to bring you here. Even among us Winglies, your primitive human intellect is known about.” It seemed to pain him to admit Syuveil was anything but a simian. “There is information that you know, that no Wingly does. Elder Grandee wishes an audience with you immediately.” His words left no room for argument, though Syuveil did.

                “How is my wound gone without even a scratch? I clearly remember being impaled by that Wingly at my home!”

                The Wingly before him scoffed, and said, “you humans, not even understanding any inkling of magic. Even a novice Wingly can heal a wound like that without much effort.” He walked to the apparatus that Syuveil stood next to, with the candle, and touched the side of it. “Repeat exactly what I say.” The Wingly told him. “Western chamber, Elder Grandee’s private room.”

                A green light enveloped him, and he disappeared into a small green-white ball of light, and careened away from the apparatus and through the walls. Syuveil dropped to his knees, eyes widened in shock and surprise.

                So this machine is the one mentioned slightly in Artifacts of Magic, amazing! If I were able to study it, my life’s work would be complete! He stood up and pressed his hand against it softly, feeling the hum of pure magic coming from it. Within a second of touching it, though, he felt something else. It was as if he were connected to all such creations in the entire palace. And a palace it was, the shear amount of apparatus that he could feel; hundreds of them. He could get lost for days with ease.

                The Wingly had given him instructions on where to go, and that was enough. Closing his eyes and reciting the words verbatim, he felt himself being contracted into a small green ball, with no pain at all. He tried to open his eyes, but found he could not move himself at all, and for a split-second he panicked.

                That feeling of panic ended when his feet touched down onto hard ground. Now he opened his eyes, and looked into an expansive room that was filled with artificial, magically created lights. “Amazing!” was the only word that could escape his lips.

                “Mundane, actually…but you humans are such simple creatures, that of course a simple lighting fixture would put you into shock. Come forward, and don’t make me force you.” An old man’s voice came from the distance, not dissipating with movement down the corridor.

                Syuveil walked down it slowly, turning often to gaze up, or left, and right, and a few times even down. It was as if he walked on air. “How can you say this is mundane?” He asked, pointing to the floor that could not be seen.

                “If you were a Wingly, you’d understand.” Elder Grandee said, and motioned for Syuveil to sit down in a chair at the end of the table he already sat at.

                Syuveil nodded, and seated himself, and looked at the Elder. His hair was even whiter than most Winglies, and his eyes were dull grey. His advanced age was apparent, except in his voice; which was loud and booming still. “Perhaps that is the case, but Elder Grandee, I am not.” Syuveil said, his tone light.

                “Yes, you would not be here if you were a Wingly, that much is apparent.” Grandee said, coughing once, and continued. “A close acquaintance of mine brought it to my attention that you had one of the most comprehensive libraries known to man, and that you might even know secrets that we Winglies do not.” He had put emphasis on the word had, to signify he no longer had any such library. “This is, of course, practically impossible, but I had to investigate the matter further.” He said quickly, as if it bothered him a human might know anything more than he, which probably did.

                “It may be possible. But I wouldn’t know without first being told what information is needed.” Syuveil answered smoothly, without even so much as lifting an eyebrow.

                Grandee nodded, as if he expected it, and the Wingly who had been where Syuveil had woken up stepped forward carrying a large tome. He handed it to Syuveil gently, and the man took it as softly as possible. He knew an old book when he saw it. Touching the binding, his mouth quickly worked its way into an O, as he realization came to him.

                “This is…no, it cannot be! This is The Tome of the Unkempt Kings! This only had a single passage in all the books I’ve ever gotten my hands on!”

                Grandee nodded again, gravely this time, and at Syuveil. “Then you even know more about it than us. My assistant here only found it two weeks ago, buried so deeply in the library in Kadessa I’m not even sure what he was doing down there.” His assistant reddened slightly, for he really did know, but that would never be mentioned. “He brought it back to me, showed it to me, and then brought one more piece of parchment to my attention.” Grandee rifled through the papers that sat next to him, and pulled out a very familiar single sheet of paper.

                Syuveil knew what it was before Grandee said a word. It was the letter he had sent to the Head Librarian six months past. In it, he had referenced three books, one of which was The Tome of the Unkempt Kings, all of which he had read about in other reference books. He had been vastly interested in reading them, but the librarian had not a single one of them.

                “So he never received that letter, did he?” Syuveil asked, angered slightly.

                “Oh, he received it.” The assistant said, “but I killed him half a moon past, and found the letter on his person.” He smirked as Syuveil gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

                “What do you want me to do then?” Syuveil asked.

                “Tell me the single passage you read, and what it said about that book in your hands.” Grandee answered.

                Syuveil nodded, and began to speak. ”In the beginning, there was only a single village of every kind of species on the planet. The Winglies and Humans lived together peacefully, and were ruled together by two kings: Effel, and Ryahimut. Neither was Human, nor were they Wingly. But this peace did not last. Those amongst the Winglies felt they were better than Humans, and due to this, massacred the Human villages; King Effel and Ryahimut could not stand for this, and thus set out to destroy all those Winglies who had participated in the killings. They were shocked when they found out only the children had been excluded. Every single Wingly had tried to destroy the humans. The two Kings wept at this, and they banned the Winglies from ever talking to Humans again, and to forever to never be in their presence again.” Syuveil finished.

Grandee sighed, and looked at Syuveil. “I feared it was something like that.” He then looked at his assistant, and whispered into his ears, not audible enough for Syuveil to hear.

“It will be so.” The assistant said, grabbing Syuveil under the arm, and carrying him away from the place where he had sat.

“What is going on?” he asked, feeling nervous and excited all at once. If that book back there detailed what had caused the schism between humans and Winglies, it would be a great day indeed.

“None of your business.” The assistant said, dragging him to the transporter. “Repeat my words exactly. Interior, steam room, section A.” He was engulfed by the magical green ball, and disappeared again.

Syuveil did as he was told, and spoke the words exactly. He reappeared in a room with a large hole in the middle. “This is…?” He asked, but did not finish.

“Go. Leave now, and never return. Consider yourself lucky to be alive. Never be seen by another Wingly again, and you might live a long life. I have told Grandee you will be back. Your interest in that Tome is higher than your interest in life.” He shoved Syuveil, who fell into the hole, and landed in dirt ten feet below.

“But wait!” He called, futilely. The door had already clamped shut as he had passed through it.

Looking around, he realized where he was. I am in Kadessa itself! He was shocked, dismayed, and overjoyed at the thought. He would be dead quickly if he was in the Wingly capital, for Grandee had probably issued a law to kill him on the spot.

But at the same time, he was in Kadessa. No human had ever stepped foot in this place, except those who were imprisoned. And they were always dead or injured beyond help, and never able to give much information anyway.

He looked around, and marveled at the city, in its entire splendor. Hard to believe it was created by anything less of Soa himself. “I have to, this is not something I could pass up!” He said, but before he made it five feet, an alarm went off in the palace behind him. Already he could hear the robotic foot soldiers infamous for stealing humans. Maybe I’ll be leaving now, after all. He told himself, and sneaked down into a crevasse, as two armies of robots went past, one hundred in each.

Now I only have to figure out where I am, and how to get out…He said to himself once more, looking out to see if more foot soldiers were around…

Damia fell down, and cried out from the pain. Her hair had bramble all in it, and her clothes were tattered. Her face had several bruises on it, and her body faired no better. She’d been lost and wandering in the wilderness for what felt like forever, though it was only about three months. She could hardly remember what a cooked meal tasted like, having nothing but fruit and raw meat since she left. Once again, her thoughts turned to her own foolishness. What was she thinking? A girl with no survival skills couldn’t survive in the wilderness, she was just insane! Why did I do this to myself? She asked, not for the first time.

Picking the wild berry plant in front of her, she sighed, and grabbed a speck of her tattered shirt. In another few weeks, probably, all of her clothes would be falling off, leaving her embarrassed and naked. She hoped she found some sort of civilization before that. But she feared that would not happen, as every sign of it so far had only been remnants of people, the village or town abandoned.

The weather was also changing. Even though it was mid-summer, she was slowly getting colder and colder. She couldn’t understand it; nothing like it had occurred in her life. Perhaps she was going crazy. She did not know.

Damia took three more berries and popped them into her mouth, and then took a few steps, resting softly against a fir tree. Looking around once more, she let herself drift off to sleep, and once more, she had the same dream as the last two weeks – one of two people, man and woman, coming to save her just as she almost died. It was a futile and sad dream, always waking her up just before she threw her arms into the woman’s arms, crying and calling out. It always felt so real to her…she never was sure it wasn’t real until the moment she was jarred away by the ache.

The man wore nothing but blood-red armour, but he had a kindly face, one that spoke the opposite of the savagery his armour sang. The woman wore all dark armour, a dark and dangerous look on her face, and a small bundle cradled in her arms. She had always placed it down softly when looking at Damia, and spoken, “Well, I’ll be…a little girl. Are you all right, little girl?” She would always ask, and the man would also say the same thing as well. “Rosey, my dear, I do believe she needs assistance!” And then Damia would stand up, tears ringing her eyes, and say to the lady, “ma’am…I’m lost and have no place to go. Where is somewhere I can survive?”

And every time, the woman would put her bundle down, and offer her arms out to Damia. “Come child, we are close to a small village.” And Damia would throw herself into the ladies arms, and just before contact, she would wake up.

The dream came, and she sobbed once realizing the dream was happening again.

Zeig stepped over a bush, and cursed softly, as it dug into his leg; a thorny nettle one. Of course it was…his luck dictated he’d try to step over nothing else. “Rosey, would you stop dawdling?” He said to Rose, and leaped over the rest of the bush, not wanting to further cut himself.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Michael is very fidgety.” She walked clear around the bush without a second’s glance, and looked at Zeig quizzically as he rubbed his thigh. “You walked through it again, didn’t you? I swear, men! You never do things the easy way.”

Zeig nodded and grinned wolfishly. “You wouldn’t want me any other way.” And he reached up and gently pushed aside hair that had fallen into Rose’s face.

She frowned to hide a smile that came unbidden to her face, and pressed on, putting distance between her and Zeig. Stopping, she looked at a little girl, curled up against a tree, breathing softly and looking at her feet. “Well, I’ll be…a little girl. Are you all right, little girl?” She asked, as the little girl jumped, and then her face went sour.

“Rosey, my dear, I do believe she needs assistance!” Zeig came up behind Rose, and looked at the little girl s well.

The little girl sat up, and sobbed, as if something was evident to her. Sighing dejectedly, she said, “ma’am…I’m lost and have no place to go. Where is somewhere I can survive?”

Obviously the child had been wandering through the forest for months on end, judging by her clothes and thin bones. Putting down Michael, Rose smiled warmly, put her arms out, and said, “Come child, we are close to a small village.”

The little girl stood up, and gingerly walked towards Rose for a few steps. Throwing herself into Rose’s arms, and gasping as she made contact. Wrapping her arms around the little girl’s shoulders, she said, “Everything is going to be all right, I promise. We aren’t far from the base of operations.”

“That isn’t why I gasped.” The little girl said, crying and laughing at the same time now. “I can’t believe you’re real!” She looked up at Rose admiringly, and hugged her again. “I’ve dreamt of you two for a month, and every time, I woke up with nothing, and now I wake up and find the dream as finally come true!” Her happy sobs racked her body, but she didn’t seem to care at all.

“You…dreamed of us?” Zeig asked, peering over Rose’s shoulder, and looking at the little girl.

“Yes, I did…so many times. I can’t believe it actually happened…” She responded. Letting go of Rose, she stepped back, and bowed deeply. “I am Damia, and I thank you both with a life-debt for saving me.”

Zeig chuckled, and held out his hand. “No need for a life-debt, child. My name is Zeig, and this fine lady here is Rose.” Rose offered her hand as well, and Damia shook both with much glee.

“Oh, but I insist! I cannot do anything for myself, so I hope you two can do something with my life!” She seemed too eager to be doing as such.

A life-debt is giving yourself into the service of those who rescued you, or saved you, or some other manner. One does not leave the one(s) who they give a life-debt to until either is dead. “I don’t want you to rush into something that hasty, Damia.” Rose said, and picked up Michael, who had wandered a few feet from her.

“It’s not hasty, Miss Rose. I’ve thought about it ever since the first time I dreamt of you two. Please, let me do it!” A look of sudden sadness overcame her face, and she visibly drooped.

“Okay…Damia. If you truly wish it…” Zeig said, and pulled out a dagger from his belt, and handed it to her.

Taking the dagger, Damia made a tiny cut on her palm, and clenched it, handing the knife back. Zeig did the same, and shook hands with Damia, mixing their blood together and making it legally binding between the two.

“Now, let’s get you into a village with some food, you look half-starved!” Rose said, and the three of them set off to the village less than three miles away.