First Link in the Chain (AU - England+Romano+Sealand+Spain)

Arthur Kirkland stood and surveyed his work, wiping the sweat from his brow. The temperature was cool at this altitude, but the thinner air did not ease his labors. He continued, walking in a carefully set pattern, trailing a chalky white powder in the grass and drawing an intricate circular design. The powder slipped between the blades, nearly hidden, but Arthur could still tell where it lay. He was deeply focused – precision was absolutely necessary. He tread cautiously, careful not to disturb the power. This was not a process he would be able to repeat. He could ill afford any mistakes. They could cost him this opportunity as well as his life.

It had taken him long enough to find this location. Arthur had been scouring the rumors of sightings for months and they had finally led him to this mountainside. He’d spoken to local villagers and had looked for the signs himself. He’d confirmed it. The creature lived near here and it was still young from the looks of things. It would be brash. Inexperienced. This would be the best shot Arthur would have.

The circle completed, the sorcerer stepped away, critically examining it and finally nodding slightly in approval. It was roughly 40 feet in diameter and was composed of dozens of swirls and symbols, mostly hidden by the grass, but he knew it to be perfect. He had precious little of the powder mixture left. And he would likely need it. It contained only two ingredients, but both were difficult to obtain and taboo to use. He turned from the circle to scan the horizon. He was on a smooth grassy patch of land, rocks jutting up here and there, blemishing the green expanse. The vegetation rippled in waves with a strong breeze. It was deserted, peaceful… One would never suspect such a dangerous creature lurked here. Nearby, its lead seemingly tangled in the shrubbery, was a young sheep Arthur had purchased from a herder. It bleated piteously, as if knowing its purpose for being there.

The sky overhead was dark with clouds that were pregnant with rain. They would not hinder his mission, though. He knew because he was the one who conjured them. The enchanted cloud cover served a dual purpose. They were part of a spell that helped shield the smell and sense of magic from detection, which was necessary or else his prey would never show. They also kept the air most and would provide a ready source of water if only Arthur would give the word. Very handy if your opponent was a being of the flame.

Everything seemed to be in place. It was just a matter of the final preparations. He withdrew what appeared to be a stick of finely carved wood from his cloak. He held it in his outstretched hand and felt the weight of it increase as it glowed and grew, taking on its alternate form. He pointed the sword at the horizon, speaking an archaic string of words. A low, heavy mist rolled in. The air became heavier and damper still, and the white opaqueness shrouded the hillside and the surrounding area. Arthur felt he could safely assume that anything viewing from above would not be able to see the circle, nor him, though the smell of a man and a sheep would still permeate the air. He did not want that shielded, no not at all… The animal was not the only bait here.

Arthur pulled his hood over his head and took a seat on the lee of one of the large craggy stones, the hilt of his sword remaining tightly gripped in his hand. He waited, listening…waiting for the sound of large leathery wings or the stamp of heavy clawed feet. From its spot by the shrubbery, the sheep continued to cry, the sound of it echoing over the hills, lonely and almost mournfully piercing the fog.

Arthur had been sitting there on the cold earth with his back pressed against the rock for a little over five hours, leaving that position only to stretch and keep himself limber and ready to move. He was quite prepared to stay there longer, days if need be. He knew this was part of the creature’s territory based on its hunting range as reported by the local sheppards and farmers. But it was miles of mountainous land and there was no telling when the beast would be out hunting. Arthur had done a great deal of planning for this venture, but unfortunately still relied a good bit on luck, a fact the wizard was not happy about but couldn’t do much to change.

He was just about to stand for another stretch break when he heard it. It sounded almost like wind whipping through the sails of a distant ship, though he was nowhere near the sea and the sound was approaching much faster than any ship could. The same spell that masked his magic somewhat masked the magic that approached, but if the wizard closed his eyes and focused, he could feel it. It was magic with an ancient feel to it, older even that the creature itself. It was some of the world’s earliest magic, almost universal in quality. Extremely useful and exceptionally valuable.

The wizard scoured the sky but couldn’t see the creature yet through the gloom. He could approximate it’s direction from the magic he sensed, but it wasn’t as precise as he would have liked. Sword in hand, he began to climb the rock he had been leaning against. It jutted roughly fifteen feet into the air, and was not the easiest to climb, particularly one-handed, but Arthur managed, crouching at the top, his cloak blending well with the moss that clung there, helped slightly by a quickly uttered spell of concealment. He saw the sheep through the fog below him, still bleating and tugging at its lead, now sensing the danger that approached it.

The sound grew louder, wind through large leathery sails and then he saw it, looming in the white mist. A shadow, growing larger by the second. It was moving fast, in a dive. The wizard cursed. If the beast intended to swoop in and simply take off with the prey without ever landing, then that did not afford much time. He was going to have to be quick. Precise. No room for error.

Sword held tight in his hand beneath the cover of his cloak, he waited, licking his lips in anticipation.

And it was there, huge and dark and menacing. A flash of claws and teeth and glowing golden eyes and scales black as midnight. Had he been able to afford more time to take in his foe, the wizard may have been intimidated by the imposing form. But he had faced a creature like this before, and he knew the last thing he should do was allow the danger of his task to sink in while the monster was so close. Quick and sure, Arthur leapt from the rock just as the dragon became parallel to the ground, sword held high in both hands and ready to strike. The was a gust of wind and a scream from the sheep and the wizard’s sword came down, all his weight behind it, slashing at the gigantic black leathery wing that was still in motion.

Arthur felt the sword connect, felt the resistance as it sliced through the dragon’s wing. He heard the creature’s pained roar the instant before hitting the ground and rolling to avoid injury, keeping the sword in hand and above his head where he wouldn’t feel its bite. To let go of it, even for a second, was not in the plan.

Climbing quickly to his feet, the wizard faced the direction the dragon had crashed, sensing it but unable to see it through the fog. He peered through the whiteness, sword poised and ready in front of him. He was certain he’d successfully grounded it, but now it would be confused and enraged and even more dangerous than it had been in flight.

The air was still around him, without a breath of wind. He could hear the beast moving, shuffling up after its collision with the ground. If Arthur was lucky, he may have crippled it beyond its wing, but he couldn’t count on that much luck. He remained still and on edge, waiting for the dragon to make its move. He tensed as he heard the low growl and he knew the dragon had smelled him. But he wasn’t concerned about that. Let the beast pick up on his scent. It did not yet know what it who it was dealing with.

Arthur saw the bright orange flames blossom through the fog and he acted quickly, swinging the sword in a circle before him. The mist around him was drawn in rapidly, condensing before him and forming a shield of water which billowed into steam as the flames contacted it. Arthur kept it up, swinging his weapon and bringing more water to meet the fire until the stream finally died away, heavy clouds of steam hanging in the air, but the fog itself considerably less thick than before. The heat drifted away and Arthur could just make out the huge outline of the beast through the remaining mist. It was a disappointing distance away from the circle where it needed to be. Arthur was going to have to herd it into place. But first, that fire had to be dealt with.

He hastily muttered a protective spell over his circle to prevent it from being washed away and then pointed his sword skyward, shouting a one-word spell. He felt the first drop of precipitation upon his brow. And then another. Within seconds, he could hear the patter of the raindrops all around. Satisfied, he began to take steps towards the beast, sword outstretched at his side and cloak billowing out behind him as he pressed through the mist.

The beast loomed huge in the haze, though not especially big for one of its kind. Arthur was fairly certain the last one he’d faced had been bigger. But then, that one he’d just killed. Catching one alive was quite a different matter.

He could see it better the closer he approached, the fog giving way to reveal it more clearly. Its black scales glistened from the settled moisture and its golden eye gleamed with rage. It growled and threatened with its spiked tail, hunched over defensively. Typically dragons didn’t have to defend against anything; there were few things in this world that could challenge them. Unfortunately for this one, Arthur was among those. It probably didn’t even suspect just how much trouble it was in.

The magic circle was behind him, leaving the wizard with two options if he was to get the creature where he wanted it. He could play it defensively, luring the animal towards him with a feigned attempt at escape. But that wasn’t quite dignified enough and the beast might get suspicious if he retreated so soon after initiating the attack. No, a more direct, offensive approach would be best. The wizard licked his lips in anticipation of battle, a confident smirk settling on his face.

He was close when he halted, cautiously staying out of range of tail and claws and teeth, sword at the ready at his side. He watched closely for a moment, sizing up his opponent, looking for any obvious openings or weaknesses. His grin widened to see the injured droop of the dragon’s wing, dark blood dripping from it. He’d been right on target there. The dragon wouldn’t be flying anywhere.

The beast roared, the sound of it reverberating within Arthur’s core. He didn’t flinch or falter, though. He refused to. It wasn’t like he’d expected the thing to be silent, after all. He did feel he should respond, however. Smirking darkly, he lifted his sword slowly upwards until it pointed at the darkened sky above. A single word left his lips, spoken casually with neutral tone and volume.

“Líget.”

In that instant, a bolt of lightning crashed down, hitting one of the tall, jagged rocks near them, the flash of it nearly blinding and the rock cracking under the impact, fragments tumbling to the ground. In that same second, the thunderclap came, exploding in the air with dynamite force, deafening, its echo lingering on the hillside before the quieter and calmer patter of the rain replaced it. Arthur was confident that he had successfully upstaged that little roar.

Was he showing off? Perhaps. But intimidation was half the battle.

The wizard’s eyes remained locked on the dragon during this whole display, watching it, trying to read its reaction. Of course, it wasn’t like such a creature could clearly wear its emotions on its face. If you could call what it would experience “emotions.” But in due time, if everything went according to plan, the beast would find itself in a much more expressive form. Really the animal should thank him for this gift that Arthur was set on bestowing. Whatever strings may be attached to it.

The beast seemed to hesitate for a long moment. Had it been plotting? Planning for escape? Contemplating the end of its life? Such a thought amused Arthur. Such a mighty, divine creature so in fear of him. Like any other man or animal would be. A member of a supposedly mighty race, about to be brought down by Arthur’s own hand. His ego swelled to think about it.

He had always been taught growing up that dragons were the epitome of magical creatures, more ancient and majestic than any other. They represented the blending of magic and life before man’s involvement tainted both. They were to be respected or feared or both. Killing one had been the ultimate act of rebellion against all that he’d believed prior and was one of the few things he could have done that there was absolutely no coming back from. Not that he had ever planned on coming back when he had set out for that task. No, that hadn’t been the plan at all. In fact there had been no plan. He had left home with naught but his wand and his spells. Arthur had in part expected not to survive the encounter; he’d thrown his life into fate’s hands and he had not cared what the outcome would be. Either he was meant to carry on, or he was not. Evidently, he had been intended to see another day, but the man who had entered that fight had not been the man who emerged.

Some would say that killing the dragon with no cause had left a permanent stain upon Arthur Kirkland’s soul. Whether that was a curse of magic or a psychological trauma is anyone’s guess. The end result of either case was that part of him died with the beast. Arthur thought that was all tripe and denied that the change within him was influenced by anything but his own choices. Besides, if something within him had ever died, it would have occurred before he’d even set out after the damned dragon.

Arthur didn’t much care if the dragon before him was supposed to be sacred or respected. To him, it was just an animal that was a bit more intelligent than most. Though it wasn’t like he held especially high value for human life either. He’d killed men who had stood in his way before and he had been hired for several assassinations. Once he’d set his eyes on a target, no man nor beast was going to keep him from it.

The wizard watched closely, eyes following every movement as the great black lizard lowered into an aggressive, but still defensive display, claws raking across the ground and leaving trenches in their wake that were already collecting the rain water. The claws could easily rip him apart; of this, Arthur was well aware. That huge jaw of razor teeth could chomp him in two and if he got too close, even the rain would not be able to save him from the fiery breath of the dragon. And he would likely have to get closer to the creature than he would have preferred to complete his task. It would be trying, that was for certain. But he would have victory. He was sure of that.

The obsidian giant moved again and Arthur surged forward, believing it to be running away, something the wizard simply could not allow. He stopped short, taking a few cautious steps backwards as his foe suddenly changed directions and sprang right at him. The claws and fangs didn’t quite reach him, but now that deadly spiked tail was coming right for the wizard. The beast was officially on the offensive, which was fine by Arthur. Enraged, aggressive beings didn’t focus so well and were so much easier to manipulate. He jumped backwards, swinging his sword to block while he moved out of range. He heard the sharp clang of impact as his enchanted sword struck the boney spikes, sending a shudder up his arm that nearly made him lose his grip on the blade. He could not deflect the tail swing; he simply wasn’t that strong physically, but it did buy him the fraction of a second that ensured he missed being impaled, though it was much too close a call for Arthur’s comfort.

He took a few more steps back, putting more distance between himself and the creature, and of course, closer to his magic circle. He couldn’t dawdle too long, or it would become apparent that the circle was the only area of the mountainside not growing muddy and running with water. That would surely cause the dragon suspicion. Pointing his sword skyward again while the dragon’s back was still to him, the wizard shouted his spell once more. “Líget!.”

The bolt he summoned struck the ground in front of the dragon and the thunderclap clashed around them once more. He had wanted to strike the beast directly for its daring attempt at an attack, but he didn’t want to injury it too terribly. This one was smaller and younger than the last dragon Arthur had faced, and the wizard himself had grown more powerful since that time. He didn’t want to accidently kill it. That would be a waste.

Besides… even if it wasn’t a direct hit, he was sure, with all the water that was around, the dragon no doubt got a good sting as well as a fright out of it. In his own rubber-soled boots, Arthur was quite safe from such misfortunes himself.

Arthur caught the change in the dragon’s eyes in the second before the beast charged, but it was sufficient enough warning for the wizard to prepare to run. He turned on heel and made for the circle, running at his top pace to keep ahead of the dragon’s long strides, but knowing there was no hope of holding the distance between them. He was not nearly fast enough for that, but thankfully there was not far to go. He had to get the beast in the right spot as quickly as possible. As his boots struck the ground within the circle, the wizard cursed to himself. The contrast between the muddy ground and this area of dry mountainside was drastic. It was the one thing as of yet that he had not foreseen. It was a stupid error, a foolish thing to overlook, but there wasn’t much to be done about it currently. He would just have to count on the beast being enraged beyond noticing the suspiciously dry ground.

But that was not to be. He heard the pounding footsteps stop abruptly behind him. Arthur stopped as well, turning sharply on the spot and frowning when he was the dragon was only halfway within the circle. That wouldn’t do. He had to be completely within for it to work properly. The wizard stood staring at the dragon from just outside the dry circle, thinking hurriedly. He needed to provoke the creature, needed to piss it off enough that it would put attacking him ahead of its caution. But Arthur’s train of thought derailed as the dragon did something…peculiar.

It was biting itself. Arthur cocked an eyebrow curiously. He hadn’t the slightest clue why it would do such a thing. Was it mad? Rabid? He tried to recall the things he’d read, but the only possibility that came to mind was the idea that maybe the dragon was trying to bring out the deep magic that flowed in its veins to use in its defense. The wizard braced himself, trying to prepare for anything.

He was surprised by the fire and his eyes widened, stepping quickly backwards away from it instinctively. How had the dragon strengthened its blaze? And why was it such an oddly deep color? Had it used the blood and fire mix to create napalm? But even the stronger flam faltered and fizzled in the rain, Arthur only catching a burst of heat, steam and…something else. Something that stung his eyes and made his nose burn. He felt suddenly lightheaded and sank to a knee on the ground, his sword digging into the mud.

Poison, The damned beast was poisonous.

The toxin was in the air around him. Arthur quickly covered his mouth and nose with his cloak, glaring at the dragon through his stinging, watery eyes. Another unexpected bump in the road, and if the dragon succeeded in knocking him out, it would be the last. He needed to get away from the poison before it was too late. But his body was already starting to feel heavy as if each limb was weighed down with lead.

His options growing more and more limited, he had a sudden stroke of inspiration. Keeping an eye on the great dark creature, he dropped a hand to the mud before him and drew a quick series of symbols on the ground, muttering ancient words under his breath and focusing on his task through the growing fogginess of his mind. He spoke the last words of the spell, his volume increasing in his urgency, and he drew the final symbol, an arrow pointing in the direction of the dragon. The writings in the mud glowed with a pale green light that reflected off the wizard’s face and shone off his angry eyes.

There was a sudden cold gust of wind that came sweeping up from behind him and blew passed in the direction of the dragon. The stinging of his eyes lessened and he dared to pull his cloak away from his mouth and nose. He still felt a bit hazy, but the wind seemed to be blowing the gas away from him and hopefully to the dragon. He waited, watching his foe closely for any reaction. A few moments into the spell, Arthur approximated that the time was right and he brushed his hand over the symbols in the mud, erasing them. Immediately the wind died away. He’d wanted to clear it away from himself, but not from his opponent. With luck, the creature wouldn’t be immune to its own toxin.

Arthur cursed to himself as he saw the dragon relatively unaffected by the gas, at least not to a terribly useful extent. Of course the beast would not be susceptible himself. Does a serpent die if it ingests its own venom? Of course not. This creature was no different. At least the wind he summoned had served to clear the air around him of the toxin, but he was finding himself slow to recover from its effects. His vision was slightly blurred as if his eyes were having difficulty focusing and he was finding it difficult to think as he struggled to form a plan as to what to do next.

He slowly got to his feet, balancing heavily upon his sword which sunk deeper into the mud under his weight. He glared at the dragon through his hazy eyes. What now, what now…?

And then the dragon charged into the circle and towards him.

This had been what he had originally planned for. All along he had been trying to provoke the beast into stepping into the magiced area and then staving off his attack while activating the spell. But doing such was much more difficult in his current state. In the few short seconds as his foe approached, the wizard first tried to pull his sword from the mud to deflect the blow but he didn’t have the strength, it was sunken too deeply, held tightly by the vacuum-like seal the mud had around it. A shield, he needed a shield. He began hastily muttering the words but he was stumbling over them, finding it even more difficult to focus with the dragon fast approaching. There was no time, no time…

He had only one choice left. He would have to cast the spell before the dragon could kill him. It was the only way.

The great black beast was yards away when Arthur ran his palm over the exposed blade of his sword. He hardly noticed the pain for the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Cold rainwater mingled with the warm blood now pooling into his hand.

It was a single stride away. All of its clawed feet within the confines of the circle with one reaching now towards him.

It all happened so quickly, yet for Arthur it was as if time had slowed down, as if he was watching the scene from the outside. He flung his injured hand forward and his blood splattered in droplets upon the circle in which the dragon stood. The circle that had been drawn with the powdered bones of the being it was and one it would become. The dragon’s claws slashed forward. He tried to fall back but was too slow. The circle glowed with a powerful white light, the symbols clear now upon the ground where he had draw them. Pain, intense and blinding, emanating from his chest. The light grew brighter still. He could feel his spell weaving, each part of it building upon the previous in quick succession. Crimson blossomed upon his clothes and he began to fall backwards. He could see nothing but the light, hear nothing but the creature’s roars which were morphing into something else entirely.

He hit the mud and now the light was dying down. The wizard lay upon his back, staring up at the stormy sky.

The rain stopped.

Arthur grit his teeth tightly, growling in pain. He couldn’t tell if any of his vital organs had been hit but he did know that he was bleeding profusely and that would be enough to kill him if he didn’t do something about it. He couldn’t see the beast from where he was but he could sense that a change had occurred. He could feel his magic spun into a tight web and something contained within. He outright refused to die after successfully casting the spell. He would not win the battle and lose the war.

He brought his injured hand to his chest. He had to stop the bleeding. Shutting his eyes to calm down and help himself concentrate, he began whispering a fresh spell. A golden glow came from where his palm met his mangled chest. He had never healed an injury this severe before. The principle of the spell was the same but it would take more time and energy for something such as this and neither was something the wizard had to spare.

If he could only stop the bleeding. That’s all he needed. He could deal with a half-healed injury if he needed to.

His eyes screwed shut more tightly as he fought through another wave of pain but stubbornly maintained his casting. Gradually, he felt the pain lessening. He could no longer feel the hot fluid oozing between his fingers. His skin was rough and sensitive, but the wound appeared to be closed. He fell silent and the golden glow disappeared. He took a few deep breaths, trying to determine if there was anything beyond the surface injury. His breathing came without great difficulty, so his lunges were unscathed. The claws had not gone as low as his belly, so his guts were intact, too. It could have been worse. Much, much worse.

He slowly and carefully rose, still clutching at his chest. His head was bowed as he worked to collect himself, rainwater dripping from his tawny hair which was now dirty with mud. His shirt was in shreds, stained with blood and dirt. He looked a mess but he was alive.

He raised his green eyes from the ground and finally settled them upon his creation which was now where the dragon had once stood.

There was a young human male, naked as they come, prostrate on the ground within the circle where the dragon had once been. Arthur had not been entirely sure what the final outcome would be. He had deduced that the form his spell would create would be derived from the bones he had gathered to make the powder. He had taken them from several old grave sites, the unknowing donators having been dead for quite some time. Old bones made for much finer powder. But it seemed they had combined into a not unattractive form. The dragon now had the body of a young man, olive skinned and brunette, no larger than Arthur himself. But there were subtle hints that told the wizard that the spell had not worked perfectly. That odd curl was a bit too similar to the horns that had once been there and the eyes were far too golden to be anything a normal human would possess. He gave a critical snort as he looked on at his creation. The dragon had not been completely enclosed in the circle – its claws had extended past when they struck the wizard. That had to be the explanation as to why the transformation was not a hundred percent. He hoped that the dragon traits stopped with what he could see.

Judging from the scream that still echoed in his ear, the transition had been quite painful, for which the wizard was glad, particularly as he climbed to his feet, wincing from the pain of his partially healed wounds. He hoped the dragon suffered every second of it. His own legs were weak and wobbly beneath him. Though the claw marks had been closed, Arthur had lost a fair bit of blood and his nerves fired with every breath he took as his expanding chest stretched the injury and sent fresh pain through him. The one plus was that his head was clearing of its earlier haziness caused by the dragon’s toxin.

He maintained a hard, cold expression as the dragon reacted to his new form in an almost comical way, trying to run and plummeting straight onto the ground at his first effort. The man beast tugged at its hair and clawed its skin, screaming and whining pathetically as if being human were somehow worse than being the monster it had been. Arthur had no real love for humans – he no longer even counted himself among them – but he still saw them as at least a step up from being an animal. But he had not turned the dragon into a man as a gift or act of kindness. He did it because he knew more about them. They were smaller, easier to manage than a dragon would be. And he knew for a fact that all his spells and potions worked on humans. He was also more familiar with human anatomy. He knew were the blood flowed close to the surface and how much he could take without bringing on death. He knew the limits of human strength and how much pressure to apply to break a bone. And all the sensitive spots he could target to make even the most obstinate human submit. Oh yes, a human that still carried the blood of a dragon was a valuable thing to possess indeed. And never, to his knowledge, had such a catch been made. His potions were going to be among the most powerful possible.

The dragon maintained its animalistic behavior as it finally turned its attention back to him, leering as it crouched on the ground, trembling and snarling like a cornered cat. Had his mood not been soured by his injury and the imperfection of his spell, Arthur would have likely laughed at the image. A naked young man crawling in the mud and wet grass, trying to look threatening while shivering was rather absurd.

The wizard tilted his head in mild interest as the beast spoke. The first words uttered from its human mouth and they were rather crude. He supposed he didn’t really expect anything better. He should probably be impressed that the dragon was able to form words at all with its new tongue. Arthur considered not acknowledging the words at all. He owed this creature nothing. Do you explain to the lamb why it is going to the slaughter? This was hardly any different as far as he was concerned. Except this beast’s harvest would go on indefinitely. But the wizard was in a sour enough mood that his felt inclined to lord his victory over his foe.

“Isn’t it obvious what has happened to you? You have become a man. A human. Susceptible to all the things mortal man is vulnerable to.” He gripped his sword once more and this time was able to pull it free of the mud. He took a few paces closer, his steps sure and unwavering despite his injury, which took some effort on the wizard’s part. He glared down his nose at the quivering former dragon, his green eyes completely without pity. He pulled off his wet, burned, and blood stained cloak and tossed it at the beast. “Cover yourself. You aren’t as useful if you become ill and you would make travel difficult in this state.”

The wizard lifted his sword and pointed it at the beast, even his determination unable to prevent it from shaking slightly in his grip. “You are coming with me now. You can either cooperate, or I will force your compliance through whatever means necessary. It’s your choice how painful this has to be for you.”

He narrowed his eyes further as the beast swatted the cloak away with apparent revulsion. Even here, in this remote mountainous area, he could hardly get away with traveling with a naked man without drawing a lot of unwanted attention. What he now possessed was very valuable indeed and other magic users would give their right hands for it. A dragon in a manageable form, one that could be kept alive and regularly harvested for its precious blood. All one could want for one’s own potions and plenty of excess to sell and barter with. He could climb the ranks and become one of the most powerful and notorious wizards almost overnight. If he could just get this fool creature home.

At least the beast seemed to understand that Arthur was not playing around. It eyed the sword the wizard had leveled at it, knowing full well what it was capable of and that Arthur would not hesitate to use it. Of course, it kept protesting, kept up with its crass language and useless pride. Arthur had to smile with amusement at the futility of it. Even in his weakened state, even though physical strength was never his forte, Arthur held the clear advantage now. The dragon didn’t even know how to use its new body yet. The best it could hope for was to be a nuisance to the wizard, and after all he had gone through to get to this point, Arthur wasn’t going to let a little lack of cooperation keep him from completing the task.

It would be a problem if the dragon put up too much of a struggle, though. And judging by the stubborn resistance etched obviously into the face it had not yet learned to mask, the beast was not yet ready to give up. Arthur had no qualms with hurting it if he needed to, but he needed the creature able to walk if he was going to get it down the mountain. He also had to keep it from doing anything stupid and wasteful like trying to take its own life when it realized that fighting was useless. His magic had only been semi effective against the beast’s other form. The thick hide and enchanted skin had protected it from all but the most powerful of spells. But it no longer had those advantages.

Arthur had prepared for this situation in advance. He had learned from his last battle with a dragon that they are a stubborn, resilient race that would fight to the death before giving up. He had assumed that this would not change simply by the addition of a human form. Tucked away in the satchel hidden by the rock where he had first waited for the dragon was a small vial of crystalline liquid with the appearance of molten lead but very cold to the touch, should anyone be foolish enough to touch it directly. It was a mixture of mandrake broth, tears of the siren, bluebell nectar, crushed oleander blossoms, bat spleen, and powdered unicorn bone, boiled together for 5 hours on a winter’s new moon. Essence of Despair. A single drop on the tongue was enough to give any man a feeling of such utter hopelessness that they readily accept whatever fate has presented to them, be it imprisonment, torture, or death. The affected person had no will to fight, no will to resist, and that absence of will meant that they more readily took orders. One had to be careful, though, for too much of the potion had a paralyzing effect and the enchanted would have no will to even move. It was still a very useful potion that should take the fight right out of the beast.

His mind had been on how best to get the dragon to take the potion when the creature launched its counter attack. The wizard felt the sword jerk in his hand as it was slapped to the side. The movement was so clumsy, so uncoordinated, that Arthur almost didn’t recognize it as an attack at all. The dragon, not knowing how to do anything else, had essentially thrown itself at him and now had its arms wrapped around his legs, holding on and trying to drag Arthur to the ground. It almost succeeded, as the battle had left the wizard in less than perfect condition. He flailed for a moment trying to hold his balance and then sturdied himself by sinking his sword into the mud beside him for support. He felt a pressure upon the heel of his boot and then the flailing of limbs beating at him with all the strength they could muster. He was kit several times by the awkward punches and kicks, his flesh bruising under the assault, before he had recovered enough from the utter shock of it to counter. Steadying himself with the sword, he wrenched one foot from the creature’s grasp and brought it swiftly down, heel first upon the beast’s face. There was a yelp and a flash of blood beginning to stream freely. Arthur scowled as he pulled himself completely free from the clawing hands. What a waste…

He stepped a few feet away from the reach of the flailing limbs, limping slightly on his assaulted legs and scowling. He hoisted his sword from the mud and pointed it the dragon again so that the point was directly between those unnaturally golden eyes.

“It is not my goal to needlessly spill more of your blood,” he said, his voice low and threatening and his eyes glaring down without a trace of pity or mercy. “But you will be coming with me. That is a certainty. And you will cooperate, damn you, even if I must leave a limb or two of yours behind on this God-forsaken rock side. “

‘Damn, stubborn beast’ Arthur thought as the dragon rolled over, seemingly resigned to a fate of death and still unwilling to come along quietly. Arthur had hoped that the animal’s will to survive would have kicked in at some point, but no such luck from this creature. Just as had been the case of the last dragon Arthur had dealt with, the dragon was not giving even an inkling of submission to him, even upon threat of its life. It lay there upon the mud, miserable and pathetic, face streaked with blood and unmoving. And still there was a measure of defiance in those still hauntingly golden eyes, something of a threat. A bluff, the wizard was certain. In this state, the dragon could offer no real challenge. He could be an annoyance at best.

Years before, his own actions would have disgusted him. He was doing nothing short of torturing the dragon, with continued plans to do so. All for the power it would bring him. It was a feat that proved his vast skill as a wizard, provided him with a rare and powerful potion ingredient, and would bring in enough money that he would never have to accept petty or demeaning magical jobs again. No more protective spells over ships, no more youth spells for spoiled noblewomen, no more curing colic in squirming brats (a job he can’t believe he once enjoyed). Arthur would be able to pick and choose how he would spend his days. More research, more developing new spells and potions.

This dragon’s capture represented his own freedom.

He permitted a smile as the dragon spoke, amusement clear upon his face as the dragon spat out a last attempt at opposition. “You will move, you will walk, you will dance if I so command it.” His smile twisted into a sneer. “You no longer have any say in the matter.”

Arthur’s eyes did not waver from the beast, his sword did not shake in his grip despite his own fatigue. He would not be caught off guard again. Gradually, he saw the final flames of resistance die in the dragon’s eyes. Whether it was due to acceptance of defeat or mere blood loss, Arthur did not know nor care for the end result was still the same. As the dragon closed its eyes, the wizard permitted his sword to lower to the ground, a small sigh of relief escaping him. The hard part was done. The dragon was transformed, defeated, and subdued. Even without it’s willing cooperation, getting it down the mountain and home should be easy in comparison.

He waited for the beast’s breathing to become steady and even, hearing the distinctive wheeze of a broken nose in its breath. Even now, it was still bleeding. Its blood was far too valuable to be wasted needlessly.

Arthur took a step closer to the dragon, extending his sword out to his side, golden glow reflecting off of his face and the form of the unconscious dragon below as the blade shifted to its smaller, more manageable form. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned his satchel to him from where it had been resting by the rock. It flew effortlessly through the air and into Arthur’s outstretched hand. He opened the bag, pulling out the small, tightly closed vial of potion and tossing the sack aside. Crouching low over the form of the dragon, Arthur took a moment to examine his handiwork. Aside from that strange curl and the golden eyes, there were no visible traces of the form he had once had. Ignoring those details and the bloodied and slightly skewed position of his nose, he was a perfectly normal in appearance. A man as far as anyone else would be able to see. Soft brown hair, a hint of olive tone to his skin, slight build. He might even be attractive to the eye if he were cleaned up. Arthur smiled to himself, impressed by his own near-perfect spell. If he focused, he could sense the dragon’s own magic buried underneath layers and layers of his own, but he suspected one might not even recognize it as dragon magic if they didn’t already know that’s what it was. Another magic user that happened upon him might just take him as a normal – though cursed – human being. A useful thing, as Arthur was sure that any other wizard or witch would be keen to take his prize away from him.

He rolled the dragon onto its back, watching the slow and easy rise and fall of its chest, mouth agape so that it could breathe through the blood. Carefully, very carefully, he unscrewed the cap of the vial, which extended into a long, thin piece of glass into the container which acted as a dropper. A single, delicate drop of potion gleamed with a metallic looking sheen. He brought it to the dragon’s open mouth and with a small shake of the hand, the droplet fell, landing on the creature’s tongue. The wizard sealed the vial once more and tucked it away in his satchel. He then extended a hand over the dragon’s broken and bloodied nose and chanted his spell of healing. It was out of no concern for the dragon, only out of a desire to preserve as much of the precious blood as possible and not draw excess attention once he had him among the population. Standing with a wince, he made his way back towards the rock where he had waited before, taking a seat and making himself as comfortable as he could, quietly muttering spells to hasten the healing of his wounds, though at the moment, only time could help with his blood loss.

For now all there was to do was wait until the beast woke.

Arthur was very much ready to be away from that mountain side. He felt exhausted from the expenditure of battle and the blood loss from his wounds. His clothes were soaked and the chill in the air was becoming very bothersome. He’d conjured a fire to help with the situation and the magical green flames danced before him, hovering above the wet ground with no apparent fuel source. He’d thrown his cloak against the rock next to him and both he and it were beginning to dry out.

He sat there, staring at the flames for a long while, their crackle and the steady breathing of the dragon the only sounds to be heard. He attempted to keep himself busy planning out the next steps – how he would get the dragon home, what he would do with him once there, how he would experiment with its blood to determine its potency and then how he would make it known amongst the magic users that he had dragon blood available. But the wizard had already thought through all of this and the details were already planned out, leaving him with not much to do but wait. Arthur didn’t like to be idle. His mind wandered when he was idle.

He stared at the ghostly flames, the green light flickering hauntingly over his pale face. He was vaguely aware of a sound buzzing in his ear. Just his mind making up for the lack of noise. The buzz seemed to transition into a hum when he wasn’t paying attention. The hum into a song. A lullaby. A familiar one. Before him the flames danced to the melody, twisting and spiraling and changing shape. A face. Long flowing hair and eyes that matched his own, glowing emerald in the fire. What would she say about his actions?

Mother.

He shook his head to clear that thought and the imaginary sound was gone. The flames were just flames. He cursed silently to himself and turned his eyes from the fire to look at a blank patch of grass. Now was not the time for sentimental drivel. In fact, there was never a time for such nonsense.

He looked upwards at the sound of the moan and saw that the creature had awoken. He was more grateful for the excuse to not be alone with his thoughts than he would admit, even to himself. He stood, bracing himself against the stone and wincing as his body protested the movement. His shirt was still horribly ripped and bloodied, but there wasn’t anything to be done about that. He would just have to change when he returned to the shabby inn where he staying.

He took the mostly dry cloak from the stone and walked over the beast, glancing down as it wept pathetically. Arthur took this as an indication that his potion had done its job. Its sobbing was still preferable to its screaming and cursing and would certainly draw less attention. He held the cloak out at half arm’s length, the clawmarks upon his chest still too tight and painful to allow him to comfortably extend his arm the whole way.

“Stand and cover yourself,” he ordered. “We are leaving this place. It will go easier and with less suffering if you comply.” He chose his words carefully, trying to manipulate the effects of the potion to get the dragon’s cooperation. If it worked properly, and there was no telling if it would given the dragon’s own natural magic, then the creature should opt for the path of least resistance. It would still fear, still feel pain, and not hold out the hope that fighting would do it any good. Which was how Arthur wanted it, at least until they were down the mountain. From there he had many more options as to how to transport the beast. He wouldn’t need it to be cooperative. Or conscious, for that matter.

The dragon heard the footsteps as they approached him, and the dulled fear at the back of his mind pulled at him urgently in warning. Lovino ignored it. There was nowhere to run and no other options remaining. The prideful voice inside of him killed the panic before it could take hold of him too strongly, before it could force him to do anything he would hate himself for later. It left him feeling useless and empty, but unafraid. He stared back at the figure above him with weary eyes that glinted in the dark, settling his gaze on the black skin he held out. Much to his disgust, he nearly reached for it. Lovino was cold, and the rank covering was starting to look slightly less repulsive when he thought of the small comfort of having his body warmed again, but the dragon still didn’t want it. It was a dirty, human thing. He refused to even touch it.

Stand? Impossible. The dragon had no desire to try again while the scrape still stung painfully on his chin from his first attempt. He may not have been feeling as rebellious as before, but Lovino wasn’t eager to put forth that much effort just to please a creature he hated. The dragon had serious doubts in his own ability, anyway. How did a human balance so long on just two legs without even a tail to keep from falling over? Lovino had seen humans move surprisingly fast on two legs without stumbling. He doubted he could do such a thing himself, however. He had walked on fours legs his whole life. Lovino refused to believe himself capable of toddling around like a fool on these awkward limbs. He was not a human. He wouldn’t act like one. Not a human… If he kept denying it, would it eventually become true?

The dragon closed his eyes, choosing not to respond to the wizard. His tightened, mud-streaked skin shivered against the cold, and he let out a violent cough, still feeling sick to his stomach and reluctant to move from that spot. Who cared about pain? The weaker part of him still trembled at the thought of more suffering than he had already experienced that night, but the dragon within him pulled Lovino away from that fear and forced him to accept the fact that this was an inevitable part of his future. No escape…

Would he die, then? Lovino questioned this more out of curiosity than dread. Had he lived almost two and a half centuries for it to end like this, trapped in this foreign form, with not even the will left to save himself anymore? He would have never stood for it if he had been feeling normal, but Lovino’s rage had been doused by his defeat and whatever magic was affecting him now, leaving him to reluctantly acquiesce in the fate he had been dealt. When had he become so subdued? He wished he could at least know when it would end. The wizard was still playing with him, putting off his death for whatever purpose he had planned before that. Lovino didn’t give a fuck about what happened to him anymore, but he still didn’t understand what this human wanted to keep him alive for or why he kept insisting that they leave the clearing.

Lovino opened his eyes again, but didn’t look up directly at the man. Instead, he stared at the feet covered by the tough hide he hadn’t been able to bite through. Such a useless struggle that had been. What could he possibly do in this body? What kind of life could he hope to have even if he escaped somehow? His wings, his flame, his power had all been stripped from him, and he had been left bare and powerless here, just the way the wizard wanted him. So much trouble- for what?

“Why turn me into one of your own kind, dammit?” he murmured absently, still mulling over it. “What are you going to do with me…?”

He couldn’t think of any purpose for it that wouldn’t be better served by a natural-born human. He doubted it was for companionship or mating. What, then? A slave? The elders had said humans did that sometimes- treated their own species like the animals they kept as pets or the ones they raised to feed on. Was he to become prey? No…like his own kind, humans weren’t cannibalistic as far as he knew. There was no point in trying to solve this bizarre mystery. Lovino would have been content enough not to know if only it meant he could drift away again and never be forced to find out through the more unavoidable means.

The wizard felt the last of his patience drain away at the dragon’s refusal to take the cloak. His eyes narrowed dangerously and his lips formed a tight frown, feeling nothing but contempt for the foul creature at his feet. The potion had not worked as he intended. Clearly, the dragon had retained enough of its own natural resistance to spells as well as enough of the pride of its race to resist the full effects of Despair. For a moment, he considered administering more of it, but he dismissed that thought quickly. Risking overdose wasn’t worth it and it could just as easily be further waste.

Very well. They would go about this the more difficult and troublesome way. But Arthur was sure he would find some personal satisfaction in it as well.

He pretended as if he had not heard the question and did nothing to acknowledge it. He merely stared down, considering the creature and working out the next course of action in his head. After an exceptionally long moment of silence, he finally broke it with a scoff, his voice deathly cold as he spoke. “You would have done so much better to simply follow my orders. I suppose it my fault for believing you to be intelligent enough to have determined your new place. No matter… If you insist on being a stubborn beast, I shall break you in as such.”

The first blow came with no further warning. The wizard brought his boot back and then kicked the dragon mercilessly in the ribs. He did it again. And again, forcing the beast in the direction of the mountain base by the sheer force of the impacts. “MOVE!” he roared, enraged and maddened that he had needed to resort to such extremes. When the dragon didn’t move to his satisfaction, Arthur aimed his wand at the creature and shouted, “Lígetung!” A bolt of lightning shot from his wand tip with a flash and struck the dragon upon its shoulder. This was a weaker form of the lightning the wizard had previously summoned from the sky, and he had every intention of using it like a cattle prod to get the damnable creature moving. The air around him crackled with electricity and perhaps with the force of his own rage.

He glared at the pathetic beast with the utmost loathing. “Walk with an ounce of your pride left to you or crawl about on your belly like the reptile you are, I no longer care. But you will move even if I must beat you every step of the way. But I will not be killing you, oh no, I am not that kind. I will break you, then heal you, then break you again before I ever let you taste the release of death. So get it through your skull. You will be coming with me and the degree of suffering you experience on this trip is entirely in your hands. Heed my orders or there will be no end to the pain I deliver you.”

The sound of ribs cracking brought the wizard a great deal of satisfaction. The bruises and cuts and breaks that now adorned the naked body of the former dragon were his rage made tangible and nothing less than the dragon deserved for his impudence. This could have been over already. They could already be at the base of the mountain, heading back towards England and the Wizard’s home. But instead they were still upon this cursed hillside with night looming in the distance and very little progress made since he’d brought on the dragon’s transformation. The beast would pay for wasting Arthur’s time.

Finally the creature began to move, snail’s pace that it was, but it was at least the first sign that Arthur had put enough fear into the beast for it to see it had no alternatives. His eyes remained hard and cold as he watched the pathetic movements of the half crippled dragon. Once convinced that the animal was accepting of his fate enough to be trusted to move, the wizard would heal him. But not a second before he earned it which, judging from how quickly the dragon slumped back to the ground, would not be any time in the near future. In another life, Arthur would have felt sorry for him. But in that same life, Arthur would not have believed that he himself was the cause. Now he only saw the dragon as an obstacle to be dealt with. Just one more piece that had to be moved into place for the goals he had set for himself to have been accomplished. His power would soon be known throughout the magical community and beyond and he would be a force to be reckoned with. This dragon’s blood was the key to all of that.

The wizard eyed the prostrate form before him, powerless and pitiable thing that it was. The coldness didn’t lift from his expression. Once more, he did not acknowledge the dragon’s words. The beast was not his equal and he would not converse with it as if it was. He kicked the creature in the side again, and when that failed to accomplish anything, he gave a low growl of frustration and reached down, grabbing the dragon by his deep brown hair and lifting him by it. He ignored the sounds of pain and protest until he had the dragon at eye level with the beast upon his knees. The wizard was staring harshly at him as if he could force his will by gaze alone.

“If you can breathe with your new lungs and speak with your new tongue, then you can walk with your new legs. An injured arm should not impede you. Even a toddler a fifth your size can walk. Are you that inept that you can’t even do that?” He released the hair roughly and returned to his full standing height. “Now get up.” For added motivation, Arthur pointed his wand at the ground near the dragon and cast his spell again. The miniature lightning bolt struck the ground, which burned and sizzled, steam rising from the instantly evaporated rain and scorched leaves of grass, and a mild shock no doubt sent through the dragon’s unprotected legs.