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Did a prophecy count if it wasn’t for you? Words overheard, promises of fate through a thin, cheap door; Saitama knew he wasn’t meant to listen, but adventure was adventure, even if stolen.
All it said was a young man. It didn’t use names. And compared to the old lady giving the speech, he was pretty young.
Now he was here, and wished he’d listened to the details. Something about a dragon and an epic battle. It sounded cool, so he’d gone, but all he saw was an empty field.
The sky was turning gray. Thunder rumbled far too close by. Saitama grumbled and stared around with his hands at his hips. Something cool needed to happen soon, or the greatest thrill he’d get was being struck by lightning.
He wasn’t technically an official adventurer. All he had was a knife meant for cooking, and the rags he’d fixed up into passable clothes. But he’d been training for a while and was decently strong, so he had more faith in his fists than any weapons he could have bought with gold. So normally he didn’t care that he wasn’t part of a guild.
Saitama shivered at the chill of oncoming rain. As said, normally he didn’t care; but at least the guilds provided decent cloaks.
The ground shook. The lightning had to be close. Saitama looked around for shelter, maybe a lower patch of earth to lay on until something happened--
But then the ground shook again, harder this time. Saitama looked wide-eyed down at the rumbling earth.
The dirt cracked beneath his feet. Saitama lifted his foot to watch as it deepened. For a moment he was too entranced to think of what it could mean.
When it started to glow he woke up enough to jerk back, running backwards out of the way as the field split in half. A flash of blue spilled into the edges of the open earth.
The light pooled at the center and shot up like a firework, lightning crackling around its shape as it escaped from the depths of dirt. As Saitama’s eyes adjusted he could trace the soaring figure: a slim body, a sharp face, a blue, electric mane.
“The dragon,” Saitama gasped, and even as he realized it he was running forward, following the edges of the sparking fault.
The bolt of blue lightning was slimming down. It had reached the tail. Saitama pushed himself to run faster, barely avoiding the newborn cliff.
As the last spark moved for the sky, Saitama grabbed hold--and the spark held true, taking him up with it towards the thundering clouds.
The air rushed over his face and his hand burned. There was a smell like smoking meat mixed with something sharp and chemical. Bracing himself to ignore it, Saitama fought against the wind to raise his other hand, grabbing hold of another spark.
His eyes fought to stay open against the oncoming wind but all he could manage was a squint. Saitama followed the blue light as he climbed, one handful of electricity after another.
Unaware of its passenger, the dragon flew higher and higher into the storm. It broke through the gray with a roar that echoed amongst the thunder.
It opened its mouth. Between its fangs, lightning pooled, a massive blue orb that sparked between its teeth.
The dragon fired.
Something above it screamed.
Harsh rain was flung back from the spot of impact. Saitama gasped as water whipped at his face. He held on tight to the electric mane, struggling to not lose his grip at the aftershocks of the blast.
The dragon had stopped midair. Saitama could see around them now. Its blast had left a sphere of empty air around them, bordered on all sides by the massive gray clouds save for a spot of sun high above.
Then the sun moved.
Saitama grit his teeth and kept climbing as the bright light flew towards them. The dragon snarled as the thing swung, and Saitama barely avoided a swipe meant for the dragon’s tail as he pulled himself up towards its head. He had to stop and duck at another swing, and Saitama hissed the blue light burned his ear.
The dragon twisted itself around in the air as the moving star flew below it. Gray storm clouds were pooling around them again. The star dropped beneath the gray, effectively disappearing as the thick clouds blocked its light.
With sudden fury, the dragon roared again, whipping its head left and right to look for the thing. Saitama had gotten up to the neck and yelped at the sudden movement. For a horribly long second he was flung right off, but Saitama swung his arms through the air and grabbed hold again to pull himself back down.
He shuddered at the residual feeling of the open air. Nothing against him, nothing to hold on to, only the weightlessness and the threat of the drop.
But he had no time to linger.
The dragon had heard him.
And with its long neck it had twisted itself to look at him, eyes wide and alarmed at the thing on its back.
“Nice dragon,” Saitama said weakly, “Trying to help.”
It still stared. Its mouth opened. Whatever it intended to do, it had no time to do it, whipping its head back around as the clouds suddenly parted in a flash of white light.
A burning lance was flung towards the dragon’s throat and the dragon jerked up towards the atmosphere. The vitals were spared but the lance struck its chest, and the dragon howled in pain. Saitama’s ears rang at the echoing scream, his head spinning from the sudden lurch.
The star dove back into the clouds. And as the dragon started to fall, Saitama climbed desperately higher, reaching the sharp horns at its head as it plummeted back down to earth.
Saitama locked his jaw hard, grabbed hold of the horns, and pulled.
It shouldn’t have worked. It was a stupid idea, something on instinct that only half made sense. But the dragon’s head jerked up with the tug, and it was flying again; or at the very least, no longer falling.
The dragon made an odd sound, something like an indignant whine. But Saitama jerked hard again and it moved with his lead to fly back up into the rumbling clouds.
Saitama couldn’t see where the star had gone. At the back of his mind was only the start of a plan, but he clung to it. Get above the clouds, and maybe then they could see it; or the star would have to come to them.
He tried to shout his plan, but the dragon was roaring again, either in pain or aggravation. Still it followed his lead through the storm, until at last they broke through and everything was a pristine blue.
Saitama gasped for breath. The air was thin. He was sure he could make it, he had to make it, but already dizziness was starting to prick at his brain.
Without Saitama’s guiding tug, the dragon jerked its head around, searching for the white spark within the thunderstorm. Saitama sat up and scanned his eyes across the horizon.
For a moment he was struck by how surreal it was, sitting on the back of a dragon, looking out above the clouds.
It was interrupted by dark spots in his vision. Saitama took a deep, gulping breath.
The dragon’s eyes caught on something Saitama didn’t see. A low growl rumbled down its throat, and Saitama took the warning, holding on tight to the dragon’s horns.
Its jaws opened wide and blue lightning curled together between its fangs. With less wait than before the dragon shot its blast into the clouds, and the orb cleared a space and dissipated long before hitting the ground.
No scream. The blast had missed. But both the dragon and Saitama saw the dart of a glowing tail, and the dragon dove hard for it, baring its teeth.
Tears streamed from Saitama’s eyes, flying up behind him. Electricity burned what wasn’t yet numb of his fingers. And as the dragon latched onto its prey, yet another scream shot through his ears and made him nearly black out.
Maybe if he survived this, he’d know later if he’d enjoyed it.
The living star jerked in the dragon’s grip. And here, up close, Saitama could see it for what it was; a twisted, veiny monster, like something from a dissection table with a glow as bright as sunlight.
Something crunched as the dragon bit down harder. Saitama almost thought to celebrate, but even squinting as he was he could see the creature twist, raising its lance to strike at the dragon’s head.
Saitama’s hand shot to his belt. He grabbed the kitchen knife and stood on the dragon’s neck, running down its nose to the monster.
The dragon made a gruff sound as Saitama raised his hands and swung. The knife cut through with such ease that it was obvious it made no difference, but as his curled fists struck the looming white, the creature screeched.
Cracks cut through its mangled head. Saitama screamed with it, pain shooting up his arms, but he raised his now empty fists and swung down again. Another crack split halfway down its middle.
The dragon flipped up its head, knocking Saitama off, and bit the monster’s neck.
Saitama could hear nothing but the wind as he fell. The dizziness and the pain and the lack of oxygen was all catching up through the adrenaline, dark spots across his eyes taking over all he could see. But he saw as the star split into pieces. He saw the dragon dive.
He was just conscious enough to feel himself held, scooped up in something oddly soft. In the bits of light that cut through the black he thought he saw the shape of fangs, carefully held open around him.
When they reached the ground the soft feeling faded, and he thought he felt arms beneath him, so human that he had to be out of his mind.
The blue light faded. The man above him shouted. Saitama lost consciousness with a hand on his face, smacking him fruitlessly to keep him awake.
Definitely a thrill.
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