by Aaron Crash
Dillyday Everjewel flew like an eagle diving, going from Winkle to Verum just in time to save Professor Lola from a fall that would’ve killed her.
But both might already be dead anyway.
“Magica impetim!” Unger roared, throwing orange bolts of energy into both fairy queen and the professor, scorching their bodies, punching holes into their wings, even burning off parts of their hair. Professor Lola was already unconscious. Queen Deedee let out a scream of pure agony and then succumbed to the pain. Both of the Fayee were out of the fight.
Unger laughed. “Four fairies dead and their duszas in me. Took me millennia to learn to convert the energy, but it was worth the centuries of study. I get their power. I’ll kill the other two just to fill me completely.”
Ymir got to his feet, scooped up his ax, sped under Unger, and drove his melting blade into the throat of the thing. Black blood covered him. Ymir spun and sank his ax into the dragon’s front leg.
The dragon batted Ymir away. That claw shattered Ymir’s armor and ripped into his left shoulder. Blood coursed down his chest as the pain took away his breath.
“Magica Cura!” the dragon howled. The gashes, the burns, all of them were gone in a flash of orange light.
Jacinta and Anny were still fighting, but not for long. Anny turned Verum, grabbed Jacinta in her Winkle Self, and threw the bodyguard into the dragon’s mouth.
Unger merely closed his jaws.
There was a flash of pink light, then the sound of bones grinding. Unger’s orange eyes glowed as he drank in more power. The dragon replenished himself by killing.
Ymir had his own way of refilling his power, but his harem wasn’t with him, and he was left alone on the battlefield. He was soaked in sweat and his melted armor. His shoulder screamed with pain. He couldn’t drain his dusza completely. He had to keep defensive spells ready in case Unger used that crackling energy breath again, that rainbow of cold, fire, lightning, and death.
Anny flew toward him, her glowing green sword arcing over her head.
Unlike her master, Anny Prettytoad had a dusza, and Ymir drained it with the Crystal Null Ring.
Anny dropped lifeless to the stones. Or so Ymir thought.
Unger’s laughter rang out again. “Your little rings are wonderful, up to a point, little man. You can’t kill the future mother of my children, Ymir. No, I need that little bitch. Let’s make her a bit more than she was before.”
Unger’s eyes glowed a diabolic orange. He made a fist with a giant claw. “Animus to dusza. Flesh into clay. A chain enchanted. Flesh forged.”
Anny let out a cry. She shuddered.
Ymir didn’t pause. He sped forward—his speed enhanced by a Moons spell. With the Winter Flame Ring, he created an ice spear while at the same time freezing shut the dragon’s mouth again. Ymir rammed that spear home into the breast of the dragon, right through his scales, and if the Axman was willing, into Unger’s heart.
The Axman wasn’t willing. Unger grabbed Ymir and tossed him toward the Sea Stair.
Ymir didn’t end up a bloody smudge on a wall only because of the Moons magic. He floated there a second until Anny Prettytoad hit him before tossing him to the ground.
She was a hulking orange and green monster now, twice as tall as Ymir. Her face misshapen, toad-like, and not pretty at all. Dirty green hair covered her scalp, hardened orange scales half covered her green body. And she had a tail now. Her green sword had grown to be as big as she was, and she whirled it around with two hands and went to cut Ymir in half.
“Jelu jelarum!” He hit her with a torrent of water. She went staggering back.
Just as Unger opened his mouth to breathe out his crackling breath of total destruction.
Ymir staggered away, hit the steps, and iced them over so he could go sliding down on his back as the front row of Flow apartments turned to ash in the destructive power of crackling light. Any scholars huddled inside would be killed. That would only feed the dragon’s power.
More specks of Glow Rain vanished or drifted off into the fog. The place was still bright with the sparkles, though there were fewer and fewer. Ymir could only hope at least one would survive.
Debris from the dragon’s hellish breath clattered against other buildings as it rained down on Ymir and the rest of the Sea Stair buildings. A shadow passed overhead. Unger, on the wing. The dragon breathed ShadowFire down on the Sea Stair Market. Inns, shops, apartments turned into molten rock as any wood immediately caught fire. There were screams of fear, shrieks of sorrow, cries of anger. Already, those who knew Flow magic were drawing water from the air and water to extinguish the inferno.
Ymir staggered into an alley. Thanks to the Yellow Scorch Ring, there was the flash of noon as he dissipated the next blast of ShadowFlame, but he was nearly drained.
He needed his harem to use the Gather Breath Ring. And to complete his plan. Where were his wives?
More roaring laughter from above. “This has been entertaining, barbarian, but I would like my ring now. I suppose I’ll go in and get it myself. Fucking Della always did take her sweet fucking time. That bitch, always such a pain in my ass. Her dusza is sweet, though. I will enjoy devouring her mind, body, and spirit.”
Ymir sped out of the alley and started up the steps. Anny Prettytoad came out of nowhere and swung her giant sword into him.
He lifted hands made of ice to block the blow. The ice shattered, the blade cut into his palms, and then the monster fairy—such an ogrish thing—drove a knee into his gut.
He fell to the stones, on his knees, bleeding, broken, breathless.
Unger was above on the Flow Courtyard. The dragon was refueled after his murderous flight over the Sea Stair Market. He would have plenty of power to reduce the citadel to a smoking crater.
But then Unger roared in fury. A golden light lit up the night.
Ymir grinned, though he was fairly sure that Anny Prettytoad was about to cut him in half. Della might be a pain in the ass, sure, but only Ziziva Honeygood could make Unger that mad.
The visions of the fairy had come true. She was the only thing stopping the dragon from ripping through the Librarium Citadel to get to the Flesh Steal Ring.
Speaking of which, what was taking Della so long?
Chapter Forty-Three
ZIZIVA COULDN’T STOP giggling, couldn’t stop crying, as she staggered naked out of the Zoo. She was in her Verum Self, but no one was around. If someone did sneak a peek, she’d use her Scintilla Dust to wipe their memories.
She giggled at the ridiculousness of what had happened. She’d given birth to the countless wogglesparks, and the specks of light had found their way out into the world through Tori’s fountain. They’d emerged from various drains to go floating around the campus.
They would cause lust and chaos. Queen Deedee would have her killed now for sure. There hadn’t been many occurrences of what the outsiders called the Glow Rain, but there had been enough. Ziziva remembered fifty years ago, when a fairy gave birth in Kingwater, on the edge of town, but close enough that some of the wogglesparks found the well at the center of the city.
It was one of the reasons why magistrates tried to keep their subjects from getting their glimmertime, because of the strange nature of the wogglesparks, and how they worked.
Ziziva wept for every one of her sparkles that died. She knew, logically, that only one of the specks of light would become a wogglebaby, but every bit of light still felt sacred to her.
And she cried because she was alone—Jennybelle had run out to get Ymir, and then Gatha had come barging in. Tori and Lillee had left with the she-orc to get Ribby, to help Ymir, to stop the dragon.
The idea of a dragon made Ziziva giggle more. It was silly that dragons were real. She would’ve expected the demon conqueror to come storming their gates. No, the demon conqueror was still on Reytah. Hopefully King Shapta would stay there. If not, she’d get Ymir to kill the demon meanie because they had xocalati products to sell.
At the thought
, Ziziva cried more because she was worried for her man. She loved him. And she hoped he loved her as well.
She didn’t know what time it was, or what was happening. All she knew was that she had to get to the Flow Courtyard. There was this damn vision of her saving the Librarium Citadel. The fairy girl had to do her part.
Ziziva giggled because she was so tired, so torn up on the inside, that the very idea of fighting anything bigger than a frog seemed silly.
Then she wept more because she would fail, she would die, and she didn’t want to die. She wanted to love her baby, she wanted to love Ymir and his harem, and she wanted to be free of the Fayee hierarchy. It wouldn’t happen. She would die. The only good thing about her death was then that bitch Gatha would have to love her forever.
Ziziva heard the cries of battle, saw the flash of fire, and then something bright and more troublesome lit up the night. It was a cold brightness, as cold as death.
Death. So stupid. She giggled more and finally found a bit of her strength. She flew in her Verum Self past the Chapel of the Tree, over the feasting hall, and onto the Flow Courtyard.
She couldn’t see Ymir, but she could see the glimmer of green and orange Scintilla Dust on the Sea Stair. Such ugly colors.
Ziziva landed on the courtyard in front of the Librarium Citadel.
Not a second later, the dragon came crashing down on its back legs, its tail slithering like a spiked snake behind it. The mythical beast let out a roar of pure rage. It thought it could go right into the citadel. Nope. She wasn’t going to let it.
Ziziva giggled and found herself spouting the silliness of the Winkle Tongue. “What a big ol’ garden snake! What a stupid, silly worm. It thinks it’s quite the squirmy squirm, quite the bugaboo. Such a big body means such a big poo!”
She stumbled a bit toward the thing, almost tripped, but kept her feet, just barely.
“Caelum armatus!” Golden armor covered her, a bit of Scintilla Dust, a bit of magic, a bit of armor, and then she laughed. “Almost forgot my sword-y sword. I need that. Can’t die all heroic without a weapon-y weapon.”
She summoned her golden blade, and it was curved like the prokta blade, a Gruul blade, only this one would cut, and cut deep. She almost felt brave.
The dragon laughed. “Good. You know you’re going to die. This makes this far less awkward.”
The beast went to strike. Ziziva put up a hand. “Wait. Before you attack, do you know how good you smell? You smell like a spicy swirl and a campfire and so sweet, dragon, such a sweet little dragon you are.”
“Little?” the beast bellowed.
It came for her, and she threw herself into the air on her whirring wings. She gripped her sword in both hands and sliced up its side. She went so fast that she avoided the gush of blood that spouted out. Those scales weren’t so thick.
It lashed out, but Ziziva was already flying away.
Which was good. Lillee, Tori, and Gatha were coming with Ribby. They were going to throw the mermaid into the moat. All they needed was a bit of time. They weren’t coming from the Sea Stair—they would be using Moons magic to fly from the ocean, right up the cliffside, to get to the citadel.
All Ziziva had to do was lead the dragon on a merry chase before it killed her. Sure! How fun! It would be a simple game of tag that could murder her at any moment.
Fire shot out from behind her and singed her a bit. Her armor held. Gatha had made sure she could fly armored.
The dragon whirled around, giving up the chase. It smashed into the side of Librarium. It was going to exhale more of that nasty fire, but that would destroy books, and Gatha would be very angry if she lost books.
Ziziva held her sword in her left hand and flung magic arrows with her right. “Jelu prolium!” The golden shafts struck the beast across his body. Ziziva giggled. “Threw five shots. Got five hits. Hits and shots, shots and hits. Big ol’ dragon takes big ol’ shits.”
With a roar of fury and pain, the dragon turned away from the Librarium.
The fairy let herself drop, and when the monster breathed his next breath, lightning this time, she shifted back into her Winkle Self, though that meant dropping her armor and sword, which was fine. She wasn’t going to be able to slay this dragon. She merely had to fuck with it, and Ziziva was very good at annoying things.
She flew around, found a crack in the Throne Auditorium buttress, and let the dragon fly over her. She then tossed more of the prolium arrows. Right into the back of the beast.
The dragon turned and let out another stone-cracking roar. Most of the windows in the Librarium Citadel shattered. It tried to use some sort of magic attack on her. She could feel fingers reaching for her dusza, but the fairy girl was too fast to catch.
Ziziva went racing through the night with the dragon right behind her. It was throwing spells, throwing fire, but she was faster, she was better, and she dodged lightning, fire, and what felt like a blizzard trying to bite her butt.
She saw her little wogglesparks still in random alleys and streets, but many were winking out. They’d lived their little sparkle life, and then they were gone. One would live. One would be raised by Ymir and so many mommies that loved her. And the little wogglebaby would love the mommies right back. Gatha would be strict, and Jennybelle might be apathetic, but Tori would be such a happy mommy, and Lillee would be so kind and loving, and even Della Pennez would be there to rock the little wogglebaby to sleep. Ribby would teach the little baby to swim in the ocean and to love deeper than anyone had loved before.
The fairy girl cried as she flew.
Her little baby would know love, but Ziziva wouldn’t be there to see it. So sad, so sad, not silly at all, so sad.
Weeping, Ziziva came flying back down to the Flow Courtyard, her heart beating, her lungs burning, and her poor little body so tired. She’d done her part. She’d kept the dragon from destroying the citadel.
Ziziva shifted into her Verum Self, summoned her armor and sword, and stood back where this all began. She wouldn’t be able to fight, which somehow struck her as funny. She’d used the last of her power to at least look the part.
It was the way of the Fayee. Who needs to be brave when you can look brave? Why tell the truth when you can lie?
The dragon landed and hissed, “Magica Cura.” All of the lovely wounds she’d caused him were healed immediately. A second later, “Magica Incanto!” And her armor and sword vanished.
Then the dragon called out, “Magica Impetim!” And the dragon flung fire into Ziziva, burning her and driving her back.
The dragon’s scales thickened, doubling, as it triggered some kind of power to protect itself. It also made its claws longer, thicker.
It flicked out one talon, then, moving with a speed that defied imagination, it stabbed her, right through her poor belly.
It removed the claw and regarded her with amusement in its eyes. “And there is your heroic death, you little bitch.”
Ziziva knew if she coughed, she’d cough blood, and she didn’t want to spoil her pretty face when Ymir finally saw it. Instead, feeling her life leaving her, she stood straight, tall and proud, even as her blood dripped down her belly and onto the stone.
She raised her chin and laughed. “I fight and die, dragon boy, and I will giggle so I don’t cry. Every battle is to be our last, and there is no future, only a glorious past. We will win every fight and stand bloody in the day. We will only be taken by the night when death has her say.”
The dragon flung her blood off its claw. “You’re dead. I killed you, but you’re too stupid to know it. I am death, and I have had my say.”
“You’re not death,” Ziziva said quietly. “She is.”
Gatha flew down on Moons magic, right in front of Ziziva, who fell to her knees.
The she-orc burst into flames, her fire armor covering her. Twin swords of flame filled her hands. Gatha charged the beast, stabbing him in the chest and hacking halfway through its left front leg.
Ziziva turned to see swe
et Lillee Nehenna, shrouded in a silver light, drop a certain mermaid into the moat surrounding the citadel.
Toriah Welldeep let out a battle cry and came charging across the courtyard. She pulled stones from the ground to cover herself in rocky armor. A stone hammer, as big as she was, filled her fists. Only powerful Form magic was allowing her to swing that heavy hammer. It would hit like a thrown boulder.
Tori swung that hammer into the right front leg of the dragon, snapping bones like twigs.
Jennybelle appeared behind the dragon. Where had she been?
Water spun around her in a whirlpool of protection, but in her right hand was her pretty Sapphire Fang dagger. Her left hand was full of a shadowy spell, which looked like forbidden magic and put a bad feeling in the fairy girl’s tummy.
The dragon tried to backpedal, fleeing Gatha and Tori, but Jennybelle wasn’t going to let that happen. She tossed that poisonous shadow into the face of the dragon. It started coughing, choking, puking fire onto the stones.
That allowed Gatha and Tori to hit it again.
Lillee joined them. The elf girl wore light ice armor, but in her hand was a bow made of moisture, a water bow, with an ice arrow fitted to a trickle of a string. She let loose one frozen shaft after another—this wasn’t just prolium magic, this was something much more powerful. Each of Lillee’s ice arrows pierced the dragon’s thick scales.
Ziziva felt her strength leave her. She fell to her side.
People would be coming, and so she changed into her Winkle Self. Gatha turned from the fight, extinguished her fire armor on her left hand, and scooped up the fairy’s tiny, bloody body.
Laying in the she-orc’s warm palm, Ziziva sighed. “I held the dragon off until you got here. Here is my sacrifice, Gatha. Here is my life for you. Here is my love for you all.”
Ziziva held onto one last thought. Her poor womb had been ruined by the dragon, but she had given birth to her wogglesparks. One would live. One would find her way to Ymir. And Ziziva’s love for her chosen family would find a new home in the heart of her baby girl.
