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Wakamatsu surveys the skies for what seems like the hundredth time today. Clear. Very, very clear. The horizons are also devoid of flames and smoke, but according to the map the ruined town of Goa should be up ahead. The last town, Maestro, had given his shining suit of scales one look and laughed at his face. Sure, it isn't of very good quality, given that the over-sized lizards and cave-wrecking toads around his side of the country aren't exactly strong, but it still took a few weeks for Hori-senpai to finally give him the green light. The brunet had literally converted the sacks of materials, some of which were just bags of guts undergoing different stages of decomposition, into something resembling antique samurai armour. It's surprising that Hori-senpai doesn't have hunters and knights flocking to his forge throughout the year, though that may be attributed to the fact that he spends way too much time stalking down a certain blue-haired apprentice and dragging her back to the anvil to continue her training, reducing the reach of his advertising skills.
A raven croaks, flapping its wings discontentedly. Wakamatsu gives the black incarnation of disaster the evil eye. Though not necessarily part of a Black Crown, ravens are still seen as harbingers of misfortune, especially by hunters. He swings his naked blade at the raven, noting that it flies towards the mountain range, favouring the east as it coasts the thermals. Not much in that direction but some ruins and the rocky crags that separate the flood plains and highlands. Of course, that was also the destination for his god-forsaken quest. Might as well stop for a break. As good as Hori-senpai's workmanship is, the layers of hide and scales are killing him.
"So. You're the fod -- new guy." Really? Fodder? Every single villager he met in the refugee camp had either patted him on the back or whispered a depressed 'May the Deus-born guard your path' at him, refusing to raise their heads or meet his eyes. The innkeeper is the first exception, offering a conversation un-prompted, though he does get payment for doing so. "I'd be dining in the Halls of Elutia if I have a silver piece for every time I say this, but, how may I help you?"
"Just a brief recap of the drake's activities will be fine." He casually flicks a nub of reddish-brown metal onto the lacquered counter top, feigning disinterest as he watches the last of his graduation money enter the innkeeper's grimy pocket. "Though I'd take a bed and some hot dinner too."
"Two copper for meat. One only gets you information. Yesterday's leftovers are free of charge, of course." The grin on the burly man's face is as greasy as his hands. Wakamatsu finds himself nodding to the innkeeper's words, and before long he's nodding off on a sparse mattress of filthy hay that's hopping with fleas. The dazed fog from a week of trekking clouds his mind, but sleep refuses to sweep him away from this place.
He scans the faceless hunters around him. Though few in number, all radiate a thick enough aura that Wakamatsu, aura-reader that he is, is almost blinded the wavering tendrils that twine around their ridged plates. Most bear the steadfast silver of confidence, but some have been tainted with the sickly yellow of courage found at the bottom of the glass, while others nurture a bruised purple from noxious misgivings and doubt. Raising a hand, he resists the urge to brush it across his field of vision. 'You can judge others, you can peer into their hearts and uncover their darkest secrets all you want, but never ever use those eyes to look into yourself or at those you care about.' Nozaki-senpai had told him that one evening, after he ran crying to him about the crackling indigo that swirled around his father. He briefly wonders how his family is coping, alone in a city choked with smoke more toxic than the secret thoughts of any human, but dismisses it before he chokes. That's what this quest is for. Not to prove anything to anyone, but to get a bounty that will, at the very least, keep them clothed and provide his younger brother with another month of education in a sooty shed.
Nothing more, nothing less.
The mountain range is a labyrinth of bottomless valleys and towering cliffs. The base is relatively tame, with a gentle slope and shade from huge evergreens that cast the loamy soil in perpetual gloom. As the air thins the foliage gets thinner, the ground turning from soft mulch to wind-sculpted rock, the changes in gradient also becomes more drastic.
The days spent groping his way up the mountain to the hermits home should be sufficient for him to become acclimatised, but the cold blasts of air funneled into the shallow valley still chills Wakamatsu to the bone.
Couple months back our livestock stopped decreasing. But when we led them to the mountain pastures they'd slam their feet down and refuse to budge. If we cart them there they go nuts and try to rip us apart. Yeah, even the sheep! Some of the farmhands went exploring further up to check out the cave. Five went, only three returned, and in really bad condition too."
How bad exactly?"
"Covered in cuts and bruises, clothing ripped to shreds... That's not the worst of it though. They were all foaming at the mouth. Not red foam, but black. Gave 'em a week in the quarantine room to recover. First day, nothing. Second day, same as before. Third... Two corpses on the floor, covered with bite marks and with flesh gouged out. Mike was a-holding their hearts in his hands, not doing anything to them - just, holding.
When pulled him away, Mike started gibbering about a hell-sent angel. I can see it in your eyes: disbelief. Said it was a reaper in a cloak of white, with claws like scimitars as large as himself. It stared at them with eyes the colour molten fire. Just... stared. He claimed it shrouded them with a tangible shadow, and that's it.
Now, I don't know 'bout you but I'd be running back to my own backwater village right about now. To hell with the bounty on the beast's head. To hell with the woman the beast has captured. Better men have tried, but all returned naked and frozen to their y' knows. Huh? I didn't mention any 'woman'? Ah, I'm not in the best position to explain that. If you're dead set, emphasis on the dead, I'd recommend paying the hermit a visit. She's been there for years; knows the whole mountain like the back of her hand."
In the end, the lure of more information is too much for Wakamatsu to resist. He needs something concrete, something definite enough so he can formulate a plan to slay the drake. Which is why he's now standing, arm raised and fist cocked, in front of a heavy wooden door set into mossy cliff.
Wakamatsu fiddles self-consciously with the hilt, running his fingers down the waterproof wrap and around some nifty runes Hori got Nozaki to carve. Sharpness, speed, and accuracy. All knights learn the curve and whorls of the eldritch writing by heart, but hunters like him had to make do with the bits and pieces gleaned from tattered tomes that occasionally make the dilapidated library their final resting place. But regardless of your rank, regardless of whether you are a roaming mercenary or the king himself, only mages have the ability to imbue weapons. It's considered sacrilege for lowly humans to so much as speak the rasping tongue, with rumours stating that those who did so were scalded by the words of power, or sometimes reduced to ashes by mis-pronounced binding phrases. Little good the blade will do if this 'hermit' decided to curse him for disturbing her, for the runes are bound by channels of power, directing the imbued strength for use against monsters and other enemies of the king.
"You've been staring at the entrance for awhile now, are you alright?" The melodic voice cuts through his thoughts like the crystalline air.
"Ah... Yes. Definitely." Remembering his manners, Wakamatsu gives a quick bow. "Wakamatsu Hirotaka, graduated hunter for a year. The innkeeper from K'Thar told me about you."
The woman's brow knits into a frown. "Yukari Miyako. Roland told you about me? And you're a hunter too. Well, you are the first visitor in a long while so I guess it'll be fine." She mutters the last bit, then pushes back the door, hand waving at the house's interior. "Come in. You might as well stay for tea. Ryousuke! We have guests!"
Ryousuke steeples his fingers. The male is quite tall, and probably fit due to him living in the mountain. Though outwardly normal, Wakamatsu senses an aura of unease around him, a low thrum not unlike a subvocal growl. Miyako had happily explained that Ryousuke is a were-beast, and is her main source of information. He seemed to blush under the praise, both basking and cringing away from her words. "Among the forest creatures, the owner of the beautiful singing voice is known as Lorelei. They rarely venture close to the drake's cave so they can't say for certain what this owner looks like. Can't blame them, really. No sane being wishes to be stuck within the zone of desolation, especially if the cause of it all is a drake." He takes a sip from the cup, face momentarily wreathed by rising steam. The action is oddly dainty, but the glance Ryousuke shoots Miyako after swallowing is explanation enough.
Zone of desolation, eh? Which means the drake had turned from stealing cattle to hunting for its own lunch. From the description Ryousuke had given it is a couple kilometers wide, with a clear line of silence demarcating it. Local flora seemed to be no worse for wear due to its presence, but the animals avoid the zone like the plague itself. Surprisingly, for a drake voracious enough to warrant its own exclusive hunting zone, the ground is far from barren. In fact, due to the lack of herbivores the plants have apparently been thriving. The descriptions tick random check boxes for the various characteristics of monsters that Wakamatsu is aware of, making the beast a cross between the tyrants of the volcanic regions and the territorial wolves that call highlands like these their home.
Report complete, Ryousuke replaces his tea cup with a gentle clink. "Hearing all that, do you still want to hunt it down?"
"I don't recommend doing that." Miyako-san brushes back a lock of black hair, then returns them to their steepled position. Between them is a small tray, green tea cooling upon it. "Even dragons are a part of this mountain's ecosystem, despite the fear villagers have for them. Mind you, it may be better to leave this particular drake alone. The situation last year was a lot worse than it is now. Then, a crag serpent was inhabiting the caves."
The blond nods grimly. "Tunneled all over the place, that stupid thing did. Not a night passes without the ebon-scaled monstrosity carving a new trench with its tail, or leaving behind a slaying field. Made those scavengers' day, everyday." He shudders. "It ignored us since we were just out of range, but made its presence known well enough. Disemboweled wolves on the doorstep every few weeks, a large cracked skull hanging from a rib of a giant beast, the works."
Wakamatsu shrugs. He could always do menial jobs to feed himself, but with the astronomical price of rent in the city, he can't afford to be satisfied with that. The backstreet scholars demand a king's ransom in fees as well, so he really, really needs the money. Even if he does pass on this particular bounty, the nearest village in need of a hunter is at least a month's trek away as the crow flies, too far a trip. On top of all that is the threat the drake posed to a certain woman. He doesn't know much about chivalry and the related rules, but leaving a maiden at the mercy of a menacing beast is definitely wrong.
Dark purple eyes meet his steel-grey gaze evenly. She holds it unflinchingly for all of a minute. "Very well. Now, come over here. If you want an edge against the drake, the least you can do is to memorise the lay of the land. Rushing in with zero knowledge won't help anyone." She bustles into activity, pulling down a yellowed scroll here, a roll of parchment there. A fresh piece of paper is extracted from under a large tanuki paperweight, her quill flying across the paper as she re-drew the map, marking out key routes and notable landmarks.
"Stag Ridge is a two kilometer spine of rock running down in roughly a south-eastern direction. Strong quakes caused by the crag serpent had unbalanced the path at certain points, so an ambush point can be set up around here and here, as long as you position yourself away from the ancient glacial furrow..."
The forbidding peak looms before him.
The sky is overcast, storm clouds racing from one edge of the boundless horizon to the other, fleeing to a place only the gods will tread. What little light that seeps through the impenetrable veil carries with it hardly any of the sun's warmth. Tattered banners whip in the gale, harsh snaps an ominous undertone highlighted by the warning tinkle of tarnished wind chimes.
Generations ago, the elders had sealed off the caves in hopes of protecting their people. The worn boulder now lies in a pile of rubble, the braid of dyed cloth a pathetic noose around dust and cracked shards. Two spires of smooth rock with the texture of sand-rubbed bone stand guard over the entranceway. Faint runes rise to the surface when touched, commanding in whispered voices to stand aside and turn back. They knit themselves around his fingers and try to form a web of light around him. Wakamatsu pulls away. Even if they seem weak, runes have a nasty tendency to follow the original carver's orders even beyond the grave.
One step. He's beside the boulder.
Two steps. The forlorn pile is behind him.
Three, four, five steps. The cavernous maw howls into his face, speaking hollowly of death and unfulfilled lives.
Six steps. The darkness swallows him whole.
The darkness is aware. Wakamatsu feels its lingering gaze on him, feels the haunting pressure of the unknown. Pebbles crunch underfoot. Now and then a stray patch of feathery grass brush his legs, scaring the living crap out of him. His right hand tightens around the hilt of his blade, while his left squeezes itself snugly into the leather wrap behind his shield. They are poor guards against the unseeable, but provide some comfort nonetheless. He repeats Miyako's advice in his mind, mentally mapping out his current location. The words calm his fluttering pulse, a balm that sooths his frenzied mind.
Suddenly, the cave widens into an amphitheater of grass and rock. Harsh walls surround the arena, sloping upwards into open sky. For a moment, Wakamatsu can envision the faceless crowd leaning forwards to take a good look at him from their perch upon the wall. A couple of strides bring him to the centre of a patch of grass. Light splashes into his eyes. No, not light exactly. Overhead, the sky is still overcast, a furious mix of black and blues, so that means... The grass. Bleached stalks gently bending in a breeze that defies the raging winds above, a blinding white with just the tiniest bit of yellow. Unconsciously, Wakamatsu bends to cup a few in his hands, marveling at the way they take in even the smallest glow and reflect it to form a shining undulating sea.
"Grrr..."
His shield shifts forward. The drake, it's here. But where exactly? Another growl. This time, Wakamatsu focuses on a patch of shadows at the far end of the arena. No, not shadows. Not shadows but yet somehow a curtain of living darkness! The drake snaps its wings out, dissipating the darkness. The moment it does so, the sighing breeze drops. An anticipating inhalation. Wakamatsu feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand and adrenaline floods his body. He stares at the yellow, off-white beast, with brown claws sharper than his own blade. The drake, with its twining horns that accentuate its eyes - Mike was right. They really are like molten fire - stares back at him.
"Another one?" Gravelly. Deep. A voice belonging to one who knows that it is strongest; one who relishes in its dominion over others. The drake lifts a foreleg, padding around him. The image of a cat eyeing its hapless prey comes to mind, an image Wakamatsu quickly quashes. As it moves its muscles roll beneath its scales, a sea of bone and sinew. Each rise and fall of its shoulders makes the curious scales that take the place of a typical dragon's wing membrane flutter and reflect like a multitude of prisms and raises the claws cupping its shoulder joint. It fixes him in its amber gaze, rooting the hunter in place. "Will you put up a fight? Will you keep me interested?" If he doesn't know any better, he'd say that the drake is bored. But he can't say anything. The drake's eyes appraise him. What does it see? A fledgling hunter who can barely hold his own? A terrified man who will throw his life at it for the chance of slaying it? Whatever it does see must be satisfying, for its plated jaw curves into a grin. The sight alone is enough to send jolts of fear down his spine to join the freezing cocktail of desperation distilling within.
"Wh... Where's Lorelei!" The question comes out as a stammered command. "What have you done with her."
In response, the drake leaps into the sky. Its momentum sends it spinning upwards, a melding pillar of white and gold and light blue. Just as its spin slows, it snaps open the wings on its back. Light from the grass below glint off its wings, magnifying into a brilliant radiance. The drake hovers there, its strong arms spread and keeping it aloft. Its grin widens by a fraction, all angular teeth and demonic aura. "How 'bout a game then? He who keels over first is at the other's mercy. If you want to know, you'll have to entertain me!"
It swoops down. Dark claws dig into the barren ground, sending up a shower of cracked rock. Wakamatsu rolls away from the obvious feint that follows, going under the drake's guard. He barely manages to get off five stabs when it hops to the side, flicking its tail and knocking Wakamatsu off-balance. Thankfully, his gear is light enough that only half a second is wasted. By the time he is on his feet, the drake fires a dark orb in his direction, followed by two more in quick succession.
Wakamatsu slaps the first aside with the flat of his blade and shoves his shield in front for the next two. The small buckler barely holds up against the powerful attacks, warping slightly at the edges. What the hell? It's just a ball of shadowy stuff! How is it capable of dealing so much damage? Left arm smarting from cushioning the hits, he takes a quick breather. A screech gains his attention. Turning, he slides, narrowly avoiding the charging drake. Behind it once more, he takes the opportunity to slash at its legs. The first is merely a glancing hit, bouncing off the tough scales, while the next few manage to cut past the protective cover and bite flesh. Sparks fly as the flat of his blade rub against abrasive scales and draw blood.
It howls. Turning to glare at Wakamatsu, it slams a wing-claw into the ground a meter before him. A sharp jerking motion. Though the slam easily missed him, the upheaval of rock due to it doesn't.
Spears of grey tiles smash into his chest plate, punching the air from his lungs and him off his feet. Wakamatsu tumbles a distance, oof-ing as various body parts bump against rock. A rap to his chest confirms that on top of some very pretty bruises, he'll be sporting a cracked rib at the very least. That is, if he survives. Which he wants to. Definitely.
The drake charges again, clipping his elbow. The force is enough to spin him on the spot, but Wakamatsu uses the force to power himself forward. His blade bites again and again into the drake's softer light blue belly, inciting a long howl. It angles its head and attempts to snap at him, but he leaps aside, barely out of reach of those formidable fangs. Now he directs his attention at its tail, chopping at the ridge of spines running down it. Golden shards and brown pieces of spikes break off, scattering to lie in the pool of blood around the drake. A beat of its wings sends him tumbling away. Yet again, the drake soars into the sky. This time, the freezing rain drops smack against its sleek body and drips down as a diluted mixture of water and gore. The wind causes its wings to flutter, scattering the reflected light. It resembles a true god of legend; a true reaper clothed in blinding robes that sway with their own rhythm in the storm. The phrase Wheel of the Heavens comes to mind, unbidden, from that silent place where all fragments of childhood impressions are stored.
The drake locks gazes with him and oh fuck it's pissed. Black mist collates around its mouth as charges up in a split second, hissing from the inhalation before it blasts a wave of shadows at the hunter, cackling as it explodes in his face. Wakamatsu leaps behind a large boulder, using it as a colossal shield. He peeks out, only to dart back a beat later as the drake glides down with jaws agape, claws digging into the ground for purchase as it slides in a brief u-turn to face him. Following that is a rapid burst of jabbing claw slams. Even as he dodges one the next seems to anticipate his movements and punch at the exact place he was supposed to dodge to, prompting him to pivot on one foot and evade it. The curving hooks are deadly, and with the force of who-knows-how-many tons of muscle behind it Wakamatsu really doesn't want to be on the receiving end of one of those punches. The last few catch him unawares, so he slides his buckler around to deflect the worst of the hit.
They continue for the next few minutes, exchanging blows and wounds until the ground runs red from both their blood. The arena echoes with the drake's frenzied shrieks and cackles as well as Wakamatsu's own screams. It is as if the very gods are spectating this match of strength, howling with a divine glee that sends gusts of rain-filled air splattering at the two.
The drake leaps backwards. Its harsh pants echo in the arena, a surprising likeness to Wakamatsu's own gasps. Each heartbeat sends spurts of coppery liquid splashing from various deep cuts, running through the grooves between prism-like scales before pooling onto the ground. Its claws are nicked from gouging the ground, yet its twin flames still rage with an unrivaled emotion.
In contrast, from the outside Wakamatsu seems no worse for wear. Inside is a whole different story. A network of soreness covers his entire body, aching with every movement. Given enough time he swears he can make a mental map linking all the bruises together. Worse than the bruises are the fractured and broken bones. Each breathe takes its toll on his stamina. He isn't too sure how much more he can handle. On one hand, at any time a fragment of sharp bone may pierce something vital. On the other, to stop would mean certain death. The layered scale of his own armour have started to chip off (won't that send Hori-senpai into a fit), and the gilded edges outlining the shoulder guards are banged out of shape. His blade is dull and in need of both a good sharpening and some oil (and cloth, and water, and detergent) while the matching shield is as good as scrap materials.
"Ready to, give, hah, up?" Wakamatsu asks, his voice rasping in his throat. No, he will not acknowledge the small smirk that forms beneath his helmet. The intelligence of the drake puts it on a whole different level than the other monsters. Each attack is a carefully calculated part of a whole, strikes linking to form a coherent tactic that is beyond what the smaller dragons are capable of. Fun, that's what this is. Insane, irrational fun.
The drake merely cackles in response. Rolling its head in what might be to loosen its tense muscles, the shining dragon raises its right wing-hand, elegantly arching a brown claw in what can only be the universal gesture.
Fuck you.
"Well, hope you have some new tricks then. I'm not going to go down without a fight." False bravado. What else will keep him standing in the face of his death? Maybe some naive part of him believes that the drake will just throw in the towel and admit defeat despite the overwhelming odds, but that part is just that. Naive. As if that'll ever happen.
So imagine his surprise when it rocks back onto its legs, wings maneuvering to tuck themselves under its body. It inhales, the crackling noise that it makes immediately puts Wakamatsu on his guard. What's it planning now? A beam of exploding darkness? Another orb of roiling shadows?
Apparently, the answer is neither. But Wakamatsu barely has time to register the is that Lorelei? that flits through his mind when the world turns into harmonic darkness.
Wakamatsu stretches. Steam tinged with just a hint of sulfur wreaths his head. The water started out too hot, but after soaking for a few minutes the heat begins to ease his aching muscles. "Say, Seo-senpai,"
"Yeah?"
"Why'd you spare me?"
He hears her shift to a more comfortable position. Though a natural partition of slick rock (which he insisted on) blocks his line of sight, it's probably difficult to misinterpret the sound of a giant reptilian beast flipping herself over even if he hasn't been visiting her often enough to mentally visualise her every action. "Don't know really. I guess... You were the most interesting hunter in a while. It'd be a shame to kick you off the mountain just 'cause you passed out when I sang." Wakamatsu keeps silent. Seo-senpai, as a rule, is quite direct. No, sketch that, she is very direct. Blunt to a fault, even. He can't count the number of times she handed him various things while saying stuff like: "Your clothes are dirty. Change. Now." or "Have it. The gem's the colour of your eyes. I've got lots more so don't sweat it." As a result, whenever she tries to hide the truth or, gods forbid, lie, Wakamatsu picks up on it immediately.
"Seo-senpai..."
Another splash. "Fine. You were the first who didn't go all 'IT'S THE DEMON FROM HELL! HAVE AT YE!' When you saw me. We even had a conversation." He decides not to point out that she was the one who taunted him, while all he could do was gibber in place. "To be honest, that sense of chivalry you displayed was kinda cool. And you were pretty cute."
His mind grinds to a halt. Cute? Demanding (pleading) a dragon to spare someone's life is cool, he can accept that. But how is nearly pissing his pants even remotely cute? Okay, so on hindsight it might have been just the slightest bit amusing and, dare he say it?, adorable that he didn't shout threats at the towering drake. It's not his fault that he turned into a quivering wreck when he looked into her eyes.
"Aww, you're turning red." Wakamatsu flips around, sending up a spray of water. Bad move. Seo-senpai is a hairs-breadth in front of him, the familiar curl of her jaw jerking upwards. He spends all of a minute drinking in the mysterious allure of those small amber flames before he pulls away.
"S--Seo-senpai!" Why is his voice about ten octaves higher? "What do you think the partition is for?"
"To let me lie on?" She hums. True enough, the drake is lounging on the wet surface, her entire form draped over it as if it is no more than an odd-coloured sofa. She nudges the cowering boy. "Easy there, Waka. If you tense up too much the hot springs won't do their job."
"But -- You're a girl! You're not supposed to see me naked!"
"I'm a dragon, Waka." She deadpans. "In case you haven't noticed I'm always naked. Who the hell makes clothes for dragons anyway? Though, armour is a distinct possibility..."
A quick peek over his shoulder confirms that Seo-senpai has not budged an inch. "It's the principle of the matter!" The definite statement comes out as a strangled whine. She huffs one last time into his hair before retreating back to her side of the hot springs. Getting ogled at by a female, regardless of their species, was not something Wakamatsu wanted a repeat show of. He sincerely hopes the glint in her eyes earlier was a trick of the light. If not, he'll have to start placing shock traps around his bed before sleeping. "So. Umm... What happened to that crag serpent?"
"Crag ser -- Oh! Okada!" Okada? "I chased him out. It wasn't too much hassle. I mean, the boy is just a couple hundred meters long. Nipped him a few times along his spine then flung him to the far side of the mountain range." Did she say a couple hundred!? This Okada must have weighed a few thousand tons at least! How did he even stand up to this monstrosity? "I think Ryousuke said he's currently at some place called Bo-staff Peak or Spear Mountain."
"Wait, you know Ryousuke?"
"Of course! He's my brother."
"Brother!?"