From the heavens descended the king of kings, the god of the natural world, the dragon so great, so powerful, so both feared and revered that no man had ever thought of lifting a sword or nocking an arrow against it.
Even had a fearless man lifted a sword against this monstrosity, so large that a man would barely equal its talon, he would have done nothing more than left a mere scratch upon the creature’s black, thick hide—and that was debatable. No human, born without the capability of magic, could inflict significant damage upon the emperor of nature.
The creature sported multi-colored wings which covered multiple human houses. Red, purple, yellow, and black spots marked the beast. From its thick chest, two arms sprouted out with claws sharp enough to cut through humans like a man’s knife through a fat pig. When it lifted its chest, it showed its supposed only weak point, a soft, scaly belly also of black hide, but good luck to anyone who got past its magic, its fire, its claws, and its apocalyptic sharp tail.
And yet, despite the odds—or the certainty—of facing death, despite having never fought this demonic being before, one man had come to issue a challenge.
Reaching the mountain peak near where the dragon dwelled involved dodging a multitude of monsters and other smaller dragons. And that said nothing of the mental challenges, the fighting in the man’s own head, and the fear of what he had left behind and what he could not control.
It was all worth it. Facing what would happen if he did not climb was unbearable to imagine, let alone to witness.
So when he had reached the peak, before he saw the legendary creature, before he could hear the flapping of its thick, long wings or the battle roar of the angry monster, he smiled. Because no matter what happened here, even if death came, it beat remaining passive out of some misguided notion of peace in the face of a violent enemy.
The man swallowed, committed to his next action, and took a deep breath.
“BAHAMUT!”
Garo, a mage of under three decades, a man of strong natural build, deep brown eyes, black hair to his shoulders, thick eyebrows, and brown skin, a man who controlled magic like no other yet used magic almost less than anyone else capable, bellowed his cry. He wanted his roar to expand across the entirety of these mountains north of Mathos. He wanted every dragon, every bird, every boar, every human within visible distance to know that he had challenged this god to a fight. Most importantly, he wanted the empire and its leaders residing back in Mathos to hear his cry, to know he had reached the dragon they feared as a god.
But he didn’t see Bahamut as a god. What everyone else saw as the divine incarnate, a demon come to hold humanity in place, he saw as a monster ascribed spiritual terms to make sense of what was happening. Had a massive boar watched over Mathos, he imagined its residents would have seen it as an angry god.
At first, he heard nothing. But then, through the darkness, through several smaller mountain ranges, he thought he saw wings flapping. The size of the wings seemed impossible. How could a creature of that size exist? The stories did a disservice to its size. Garo swallowed, but his hand on his sword remained steady, and his other hand prepared to block any ambush attacks with his shield. He had encountered many dangers in his lifetime, and the most dangerous were always the ones from within, not external ones. Bahamut was only an external one.
But then he heard a bellow so great, the clouds above him spread, as if making way to allow the dragon king to descend.
When it did, Garo’s grip tightened. The monster was not a god. Surely, it could be killed.
But if the largest being in this world justified the ascription of “god,” then Bahamut not only had that title seized, it had no threats within the world of Hydor. Garo felt that taking on a war vessel of the empire would not have taken up as much space.
Then the wings suddenly spread, the wind produced by them nearly knocking him to the ground. But he stood steady, refusing to yield and refusing to lose his weapons and only way of surviving this battle. Once the wind died down, Garo rose back to standing straight up. He stared the monster in the eyes.
Bahamut sported evil red eyes, eyes which glared down at the human who had dared to utter his name. Bahamut leaned closer, his face growing larger and larger at a frightening speed. As a precaution, Garo raised his shield and prepared to cast his magic. He suspected Bahamut would lead with fire, which meant he had to defend with a water elemental spell, but if he guessed wrong and Bahamut unleashed an electric spell, the fight would end on a single turn—like most of the empire’s assaults on it.
The king of dragons stopped about ten feet away, cocking its head to the side. Garo’s mouth went dry, even as he swallowed more. His heartbeat accelerated. His hands became clammy, and he shifted his feet multiple times. Still, he reminded himself what he had come here for, and that no matter what he had believed in before, he had to engage in war now. He had to declare Bahamut his mortal enemy and slay him or die trying.
And the only way to do that and get out of his head was to begin the battle.
