REYN

The Dragon King.

Heavy crowns and heavier titles, and when death passed its judgment, he was no dragon, but a man. A man set upon a pedestal, the perception of power in his hands. His bloodstained one stretched out as a crystalline blade pierced through Fenrer's side — the man whose family treated him as one of their own when his father thought him a failure, less than a dragon. Less than a person. Weak. Worthless. Fenrer's knees caved in, and he slid off the blade of the hooded figure to hit the ground below. Blood slipped down the crystal, feeding into its power. Reyn rushed forward when they raised their blade aloft, bringing his own to bear. Lightning slammed through the edge, and they grunted when he parried their death-bringing strike. At his feet, Fenrer remained still and limp, his hand cupping the new wound. Fenrer.

Praised words and faulted actions.

He brought his sword into high point at another rustle, with the attacker having dived back into his advantageous shadows. Rust filled his mouth, and he spat out some blood, tasting it on his lips. His foot nudged Fenrer, who gave no response. His fingers tangled with the small metal strips hidden in his armor. Runes within his hollow guard filled bright, electric blue. Each one slipped forward, loaded to pierce through the runes along his blade. Fenrer's chest rose and fell beneath him. No, for when it's not death, I'm the judge, and you're not supposed to die in the mud protecting a king. You're a Storm Warden, this world needs you more than it needs me. Sword in high-point at a whistle, he tossed one of the metal strips into the dirt, where it stood straight, shuddering. Where are you? His fingers dug deeper into the hilt, training all his focus on staying awake.

Arcs crackled along his blade when he inched it down at the build-up of magick pressure, becoming visible with each-passing moment. His metal strips sank into the ground, and he tensed when a Derelict oozed itself out of a broken roof. He slid his foot into the hook of Fenrer's crescent blade. In the distance, glyphs shone, with one swirling underneath Erikur. His heart dropped when tendrils slid out of the ground and crushed the body, feeding upon it. Reyn dropped his gaze, out in the open, too much in danger. He dropped to his knees to grab Fenrer with a weak, shaky hand. As the ground rumbled, he pulled him into a small dip in the wood, placing him upright against the wall as his eyelids fluttered open. "...Yuven?"

Reyn took out more metal strips, slamming them into the dirt to the point it pierced his palms. His blood dripped down to the tips, and he fed it his magick. Arcs circled around Fenrer, and he anchored the ward with one last push into the ground. It burned his blood, but he pressed his hand against Fenrer's wound. Rainwater slipped down his hands, weaving through the deep cut, holding the blood flow at bay. Saphir... go to him. Keep him away from the bridge...

"There is poison in your blood, little dragon."

I know. Reyn hauled himself to his feet, tugging his sword out of the dirt as mist wrapped around Fenrer when he slumped. He set his crescent blade closeby, shifting the dawnblade in turn. He gasped when his skin bubbled the moment he touched the hilt — the proof of its oath. Only a Pyren could wield it, and he was a Kolis. He pushed himself through his woven barrier. As long as I can live... Saphir might be able to stabilize Fenrer... but until then, I must keep them away from Fenrer... and let death judge me as I am. A man.

He returned to the open street of Sungrove, a heavy layer of crimson set upon the cursed town. Sword at his side, crackling with lightning, he stopped, his knees threatening to wobble out underneath him. In the darkness, a couple hooded figures deigned to reveal themselves, their blades crystal red. Around him, Derelicts moaned, roared, and screeched with twisted, malcontent glee at the feast. He dropped one more metal spoke behind his back, using his foot to block its view from the hooded figures, faces hidden in shadows. How many are there now, the ones I can't see? He tensed his posture when one came into the light, their blade dragging along the surface of the cobbled stones. Tendrils dug out of the touch, a forced infestation, ripping through the flow.

Not going to talk, are you? That'd be too naive to expect. Reyn lowered his sword to the ground, causing the hooded figure to stop just before his circle of spokes. The Derelicts weren't so intelligent, weren't so full of expectations. One leaped off the ground, and Reyn sent his sword through the air, and the spark whistled off the tip to drive into the spoke. It slammed upwards, a lightning strike from the ground to pierce the Derelict, incinerating it into black dust. If they were hunting for my blood... that means they know what I'm capable of. Which means I might have just enough time before I... lose consciousness and that's that. But, if it's a fight they want... I'm still a giant.

Reyn raced forward, kicking up the sparking spoke. It tumbled to the feet of the cultist, who jumped back when it exploded into several shards. One sliced into the shadows, lighting up a hidden cultist with a screech. One. So many more. Reyn pressed his advantage, past the pain, to slam himself into the cultist who dared to approach him. His sword slid against their crystal carved one. Defensive in his aggression, he slid down its length, loading another hollow in his guard. It flicked, and he carved the glyph with his strike, before sending the point into its center. The glyph screeched, and went flying down the road. It blew out windows. Spread embers. He was setting Sungrove aflame all over again.

The cultist rushed forward, but he ducked out of the swing, though not fast enough to dodge their own glyph when it smacked him in the chest. His unwanted burdens dug deeper, the barbs along the shaft tightening in his insides. Quick footsteps sounded behind him, and he switched on his heel, taking out another metal spoke to drive it into their throat. Blood pooled over his fingers, but he sent his magick through it. It singed the air, and the smoke settled on burnt meat. He kicked them away, ducking out of another slash. He tangled another spoke around his fingers, filling it with more magick than it could contain. He threw it aside, bringing his foot down on the cultist he electrified, crushing their blackened nose underneath his heel. A Derelict licked at his and the cultist blood. Tendrils grew out of their formed body as they feasted. Flesh squelched between their maw, and Reyn backed away as appeared to ignore the living cultist.

Ancients damn it. Worms crawled along his vision, Saphir's presence gone to someone else. He unlatched the rest of the metal spokes until they clattered among the stones. Shit. He swallowed blood, and brought it to bear in his hands when the world set itself alight with stormclouds. Sword pointed upwards, a glyph widened, leaving him open, a taunt, a dare. Blood slipped down his chin. I'm sorry... Soren, Fenrer... Here I was, stouting that I never wanted a repeat. Energy gathered in his bloodsoaked hand. It curled around his fingers, and he gripped it as a Derelict dared to tread the line of the storm. Strikes fell down from glyphs, slamming into the spokes, over and over — the lie that lightning never struck the same place twice. Its energy tugged at the formless beings of the Derelict, settling a fuzz over them. One blasted apart, but the cultists remained out of reach. Not for long. Reyn brought the weight of the storm down to Aztryxer. His body screamed, the shafts of the arrows splintered, and the roar of thunder slammed into his ears as rainbow light curled around him.

It slammed into buildings, sending splinters of wood over the ground, though none hit him, the center of destruction. It refused to settle, using his blood as a source of energy. It arced. It curled. It crawled over the ground. One last electric pulse burst through the world. Glass cracked in his ears, and the world darkened, a terrible quiet. Knees cracked and burning, he tried to pull himself up when a cultist came forward, dropping an electrified glyph before it burst apart. He spat blood at their feet as the sword raised, and he looked upon the execution.

The air grew thick and heavy.

As the sword came downwards, another pierced the heart.

It blazed with fire, soaking up the blood. His eardrums burned as the ground rumbled. Lampposts glowed, set aflame, before he tried to get a better look at his executioner. The fiery blade twisted deeper as the cultist choked, impaled for their insolence. Reyn tilted, trying to keep himself upright as they slid off the sword, dead at his feet.

Fenrer, burning as strong as a pyre. His green eyes gone to a cloud of smoke-filled flames. Glyphs of the morning stretched out of his hand when one Derelict tried to flee. It swept forward, gripping onto it, and he crushed it from afar. Underneath the soil, the flames raised higher. What in the Obscura Hells... Reyn tucked himself back when Fenrer turned to him, empty, clammy, but on two feet, bleeding from his side, but walking as if uninjured. He overturned the dawnblade, where the sunstone turned into magmatic fire. Magma dripped down to the tip, setting the ground on fire. It grew into a glyph, stretching along the town's cardinals, bright, blinding. His head screamed, and fire followed the lightning.

It slammed into the spokes he made, creating pillars of fire. It came to life, a roar of fury as it swallowed figures with screams. Fenrer remained unmoved, but when Reyn went to get up, he froze when Fenrer slammed the sword into the ground. On the outskirts, the walls became flames, an endless wave of heat, at fever pitch.

Sungrove had turned into a pyre.

People burned, unable to escape the fury of flames.

Derelicts screeched and writhed, smoke bursting out of their tongues as they became nothing but ash.

It ran throughout Sungrove. Waves upon waves of a molten crater. "Fenrer..." Reyn rasped.

It fell silent.

The light died. Mounds of flesh broke apart to reveal what took shelter inside. The dawnblade slipped to the ground, and Fenrer followed after it with a soft sigh. Reyn jolted, trying to get onto his feet when one of the cultists approached, but the numb poison swept through his legs, and when he tried to crawl for him, a sharp crack sounded through his leg. Confusion settled on his brow, and he turned around. A hooded figure slammed their foot into his leg.

Oh.

His blood mixed with Fenrer's on the scorched stone.

How...?

Sweat rolled down his brow, and he refused to look away, trying to gather what little strength he had as a shadow flew overhead. It dove closer still, and a golden blade jumped off the saddle to slam into the cultist hovering over him. A ghostly mirage followed into the other drawing closer to Fenrer. Magick tugged at his soul, and he grunted when he was tugged out of reach of what remained of the desolate wasteland.

He raised a hand, his skin translucent.

"...Traye?" Reyn whispered.

Yuven stared down the cultists. "You've overplayed," he called to them, then sent a wave of ice downwards. Misty glyphs wiped at the blood. "Couldn't get enough of me the first time?" He sent his gaze down to glare at him. "Good luck, Royal Chair Warmer."

"What?"

Two spheres of pressure gathered in Yuven's hands. One of the cultist's jerked, as if realizing what was happening. Another brought out a bow, creating another blackened arrow, pointing straight at Yuven's heart. Reyn flinched when Yuven dropped the spheres of pressure, his insides screaming when the world swirled out from underneath him, and he sank into a bed of twilight stars. Water filled his lungs, tasting of blood and carrion. It drained in his ears, and he tried not to scream when it dragged him deeper, through the rest of the world.

His back hit wood, and he groaned.

"Reyn!" Gustul's voice said, sounding far more alarmed than he thought his brother was capable of.

"Fenrer!" Adara screamed, and all he had left was not a crown, but his duty to his people as he let himself close his eyes, the rain sliding down his face like tears.