With a primal scream, Bastian let the fire consume him. Flames burst from his skin, enveloping his body, and in his fury, the entire mountain path ignited into a sea of fire. The elves stepped back, their faces filled with shock and terror. The once-cautious spellcaster had become a force they couldn't have predicted.
It was too late for regret. Too late for hesitation. The mountain blazed, and with it, so did Bastian's fury.
And as the flames licked at the sky, the Son of the Red Dragon unleashed his wrath on those who had dared to destroy everything he held dear.
Rage. Roar. Tear.
The beast's fury filled the air, and its deafening roars echoed off the cliffs like the wails of a forsaken god. Fear surged through the mountainside as the sharp cries of the desperate mixed with the frantic begging of those who dared to stand against the crimson beast.
In the creature's cold, amber, snake-like eyes, there was nothing but primal rage, the purest expression of bloodlust and cruelty. It had long since abandoned all rational thought. A knife? An arrow? A sword? None of these could sate its hunger. Only the feel of its claws rending flesh, tearing through muscle and bone, could quell its thirst for blood and vengeance.
Elf arrows whizzed past. Spells crackled in the air. But on this narrow, treacherous mountain path, there was no time to act when the beast was already upon you, its red bulk blocking any means of escape. Close quarters combat with such a monstrosity left no room for strategy. It was too late for anything but desperation.
The old shaman's prophecy had only half come true. Blood was spilled, yes; but it was not just from the tribe's enemies. The ground, once pristine and blanketed in snow, was now stained crimson as the children of the tribe exacted their first toll of revenge for their slain kin.
Finally, amidst the carnage, the beast collapsed. Flesh and blood were scattered in a grotesque tableau, and the once-mighty creature let out a pitiful whimper.
"You… go on ahead. No, wait. It's not safe to go alone… I need a moment. Just… just a moment." Bastian's voice was weak, broken, as he sat slumped in the snow. His breath came in ragged gasps, each exhale a testament to his exhaustion.
His appearance was something out of a nightmare. Barely recognizable as human anymore, Bastian was an abomination, a grotesque patchwork of elf and dragon. His once handsome, elvish features were twisted; on one side of his face, his smooth skin and sharp cheekbones were still recognizable. But the other side; his right, was something else entirely. Scales, red as fresh blood, stretched across his jaw, and where once there had been an elvish mouth, now protruded fangs more fitting for a dragon. His face was caught between two worlds, distorted and terrifying.
His body was no better. Parts of him remained as they always had been; slender, graceful, elvish. But other parts had overdeveloped grotesquely. His right shoulder bulged unnaturally, as if something was trying to burst free from within, and from his forehead sprouted a burning dragon's horn. A twisted, stunted wing jutted out awkwardly from his back, a grotesque remnant of his dragon blood. He was a chimera, a creature that shouldn't exist; a living testament to the curse of his mixed heritage.
To the elves, Bastian was an abomination, a bastard child of elf and dragon. His blood was the legacy of two powerful races, but instead of merging into something greater, his two halves fought for dominance, leaving him warped and deformed. Most days, he appeared as an elf, suppressing the dragon within him. But when his control slipped, when his rage consumed him, the dragon blood in his veins overwhelmed him, transforming him into the monstrous creature now gasping for breath in the snow.
Bastian struggled to pull himself together, forcing deep, steady breaths to calm the storm raging inside him. He wanted to bring his dragon blood back under control, to reclaim the elvish grace he so desperately clung to, but his bloody claws still trembled with the violence of the beast.
"Children… give me just a little more time," he rasped, his voice so hoarse and guttural that even he barely recognized it as his own. He couldn't tell if it came from his elves side or the dragon.
The children didn't answer. They just stared at him in silence, their wide, sad eyes reflecting his monstrous form.
Bastian sighed, his breath misting in the cold air. He understood. They feared him; this twisted version of him, neither fully dragon nor fully elf. This was the reason he had always rejected his dragon blood, always fought to remain in control.
But when he looked up, he saw something unexpected in their eyes. Not just fear, but a deep, quiet sorrow.
One of the children, a giant in comparison to Bastian, knelt down beside him. The child's hands, much larger than Bastian's own, gently took hold of his bloodied dragon claw. Without a word, the child began bandaging Bastian's wounds. Nearby, two other children were digging into the frozen ground with their bare hands. They were preparing a grave for their fallen uncle, the one who had died protecting them.
No one spoke. The silence was thick, filled with unspoken words and heavy grief. Each child knew what the others felt, but none dared break the fragile stillness with words. The mountain wind howled, and the snow fell silently, covering the bloodstains like a shroud.
Though they were still children by the reckoning of giants, tonight, those children would grow up far too quickly.
Bastian inhaled deeply, forcing the swirling, chaotic thoughts from his mind. Now wasn't the time for nostalgia or sentiment. They had to survive.
He glanced back at the narrow mountain path, noticing the small, hastily constructed sandbag shelter tucked away beside the trail. It wasn't much of a resting spot, barely large enough for a man to lie down comfortably. But there was no time to complain about comfort. Not now.
"We need to move. Before the pursuers catch up," Bastian urged, his voice steady but firm.
Snow was falling heavily, concealing their tracks in the icy wilderness. The fugitives, a small, ragtag group, pressed forward, their footsteps muffled by the snow-covered ground. The silence hung heavily between them, a shared understanding of the danger they faced.
As they rounded a corner in the path, Bastian paused, casting one final glance behind him. His heart clenched. The figure of the kind-hearted giant, their fallen comrade, was fading, swallowed by the swirling snow and biting wind.
That final, simple smile; the genuine, joyful one that the big man had given Bastian just before he fell, stabbed at his heart like a blade. He turned away with a helpless sigh.