Path of Dragons 17 - Chapter 55 - Terror (Patreon)

Palikina ripped her dagger out of the dragon’s back, then followed the motion up with a quick strike that saw her other blade severing her foe’s spine.  The attack nearly decapitated the rival assassin, but he still didn’t die.

Deities were a lot more difficult to kill than that.

The only reason Palikina had managed to inflict so much damage was because of her powerful class, high-tier cultivation, and the reality that he’d already taken multiple wounds.  He was the last of the assassins who’d infiltrated the Vengeance, and despite being cornered no less than three times, he’d nearly escaped.

Not with Palikina around.

Even as the nearly decapitated dragon stumbled and fell, his head exploded, sending a shower of brain, bone, and other unidentifiable flesh to cloud the air.  A few wet pieces slapped Palikina in the face.

By the time the dragon’s headless body hit the ground, he was finally dead.

“Target down,” came a voice in her earpiece.

“Good eye,” she deadpanned.  “I wasn’t sure until you said that.”

When the voice didn’t rise to her quip, she asked, “Are you going to respond?”

“I think that’s a trap,” Gunnar stated evenly.

Palikina frowned, then blew a strand of purple-streaked hair out of her eyes.  He wasn’t wrong, but she simply didn’t know how to continue the conversation.  Partly, that was due to the social awkwardness that had plagued her for most of her life.  In the past, it hadn’t seemed so debilitating, but that was probably because she spent most of her time cloaked in stealth where it didn’t matter.

“Playful banter is a bad idea.  Noted,” Gunnar said.  She could practically hear the smile in his voice.  In a way, it was comforting, and it almost made up for being so exposed. 

Once she confirmed that the dragon was dead – as if he could live without a head – she took whatever she could from his corpse, then disappeared into stealth.  It settled onto her shoulders like a comfortable cloak, but she didn’t relax.  She had no idea if Gunnar could still see her.

He had already revealed, and on multiple occasions, that stealth was no real impediment to his vision. He possessed a powerful class, and one with an appropriately powerful sight ability.  Necessary for his typical role, but horrifying for someone like Palikina. 

What was even worse was the fact that she wasn’t entirely sure she hated being seen by him.  Certainly, there had been times when she’d caught his eyes lingering on her, which sent a jolt of fear, excitement, and adrenaline coursing through her.  She had even adjusted her style ever so slightly after he’d remarked that he liked her skirt.

She hadn’t worn pants since.

Sure, Palikina told herself that it wasn’t for his benefit, that she’d found a style she liked.  There was no shame in that. 

But it hadn’t been that long ago that just changing her hair had been a big step.  And she had spent weeks going back and forth on whether or not she wanted to adopt her current manner of dress.  She had seen it in a book while watching one of the other expedition members, and she had immediately gravitated toward it. 

From the purest perspective, it shouldn’t have worked.  Her parents certainly wouldn’t have approved.  But that was part of what made it so appealing. 

The other part, whether she admitted it or not, was that Gunnar liked it.

Those thoughts distracted her as she stalked across the surface of the Vengeance, weaving between trees as she searched for any other invaders.  So far, the assault had settled into something resembling a siege.  Every now and again, the other dragons would land, destroy a tower, then retreat out of range of the ship’s cannons before any of the ground forces could respond.

The constant rushing around to respond to those incursions had run everyone ragged.  Palikina included, and she had spent most of her time hunting the lone remaining assassin.  At first, he’d retreated into the bowels of the ship, where the other expedition had found abandoned chambers suitable for use as a staging area. 

They were holdovers from the first incarnation of the Vengeance, and Palikina couldn’t help but think that someone from the K’levehar clan had passed on the original plans.  That they’d found their way down there and managed to retrace their steps was proof enough to satisfy her skepticism.

A few bodies had also been found down there.  One in particular had clearly been tortured and remained bound in ethera-restrictive chains.  Due to the severity of her wounds, she was no longer identifiable via conventional methods. 

Palikina hadn’t really had a chance to get to know most of the crew, especially down in engineering, but she didn’t think it would take very long for them to establish the woman’s identity.

She didn’t really know what to think about it.  Her whole life had been spent surrounded by death.  Most dragons stepped into towers or primal realms almost as soon as they were able.  And even if they managed to avoid casualties, every single one of them had killed countless people, monsters, and beasts within those system spaces. 

In her more honest thoughts, Palikina had often wondered if she’d become completely inured to the idea of death.  However, that was before she had developed any true friendships.  If Elijah or Imal, Okar or Bogoni – or any of the others she’d befriended ended up dead, Palikina had no idea what she would do.

Nothing good.

What about Gunnar?  Or even Miguel?  The thought of them being killed sent a pang of fear to stab her in her heart.

She didn’t like that.  Not one bit. 

What was the answer, though?  Stop making friends?  Maybe.  That would be the easiest solution, even if it wouldn’t leave her satisfied.  The much more difficult answer was to protect them as best she could.

She would fail.

Palikina knew that as surely as she knew that that headless dragon would never again rise.  But was the joy of their company worth the sorrow of their inevitable fall?  She didn’t know.

Not that it was really a choice.  Now that she had tasted true friendship, she couldn’t simply do without.  Not even for their own good.

Gradually, she made her way to the main gate and slipped inside.  No one even saw her.  Soon enough, she was back to stalking through the corridors where she was most comfortable. 

                          *

“Threat at three o’clock!” shouted Orin, banking hard.  The g-force resulting from the sudden maneuver turned his insides to jelly, but it also saved him from a lance of ice that would have destroyed his plane. 

That was the problem with the new Z-14s.  They were fast and maneuverable, and they packed quite a lot of firepower that seamlessly integrated his Pilot abilities into a devastating combination that could punch far above its weight class.  However, the tradeoff was that the jet wasn’t nearly as durable as its predecessor. 

Even the dwarves’ crab ships were more defensible.

It would have been galling if those ridiculous contraptions were nearly as fast.  They weren’t, though they were quite maneuverable.  That, combined with their stealth technology made them true terrors in any aerial battle.

Not that Orin would ever admit as much aloud.

The Z-14s were superior, and that was that.  Everyone who didn’t come from Paris would agree.  Or at least they would if they had any reasoning ability at all.

Orin pulled back on the stick, sending the plane into a step climb that allowed him to narrowly avoid another attack.  This one came from a yellow dragon who’d conjured a spear the size of a small hill.  Dodging it took every bit of acceleration the Z-14 could manage, but that didn’t eliminate the danger. 

The projectile hit the Vengeance like a meteor, sending billowing winds to scour the forest.  Most of the trees in that area exploded, then went flying over the edge.  But the ground itself was barely even affected, and when the dust settled, there was nothing but a slight depression. 

Evidence of humanity’s advancements in engineering, both structural and ethereal.

Orin had no time to appreciate it, though.  He spent the next couple of minutes zipping through the air, dodging attacks and helping to direct his flight squad’s own efforts at evasion.

Then, the order came.

“Blue Team, you’re up.”

“Protect the payload at all costs!” Orin growled into his communicator. 

Twenty-seven Z-14s converged on a single point only a mile or so away from the hanger bay.  It was under assault, but the cannons mounted nearby were dangerous enough to make the attackers think twice about prolonging their efforts. 

Then, a giant plane emerged from the hanger, which was protected by the most powerful ethereal shield they could create.  Once, Orin had inspected the apparatus used to power it, and he’d been surprised to find that the chamber of crystals was a hundred yards long and almost as wide.

But even the memory of that impressive chamber filled with enormous crystals, each one etched with thousands of runes and pulsing with enough ethera to burn him to a crisp, was nothing compared to the beautiful ship that glided free of the hanger.

The wingspan was ten times that of his Z-14, with a sleek fuselage that wouldn’t have been out of place on one of the stealth bombers he’d seen in the archives.  However, the bulge of its eight turbines marred that impression.  It was also bright chrome etched with dense flows of gold. 

The Comet. 

It was the most advanced plane in the entire air force, completed only a few months prior by a cooperative alliance between Seattle’s and Paris’s strongest Aerocrafters.  It was capable of cruising at the Z-14’s burst speed.  Impressive, even if it was still less maneuverable.  However, what truly set it apart wasn’t its impressive speed or armor.  Nor was the mundane weaponry that notable.

Instead, what made it unique was its ability as a bomber.

Through some feat of arcane engineering, they’d managed to create a plane that could enhance its dropped payload by dozens of times.  And considering some of the bombs Seattle had produced over the years, the Comet promised to reshape any battlefield.

Or destroy small moons.

Maybe a couple of deity dragons, if they were lucky.

The only problem was that its comparative lack of maneuverability made it extremely vulnerable in such a battle.  Thus, Orin and the rest of Blue Team’s assignment as escorts.  Normally, he wouldn’t have cherished such a task, but considering they were plunging right into the middle of the dragons’ most well-defended formation, he knew he was in for quite a bit of fun.

Other people might’ve called it danger.  Orin acknowledged that.  But for a man who routinely strapped himself onto what amounted to an ethera-powered rocket, danger was just another word for excitement.

He took his position just above the Comet, calling out to his teammates to claim their own spots.  In moments, they had completed their perfect formation, protecting the much larger plane from any potential threats.

It wasn’t long before they found one.

The dragon’s scales were a muddy brown, which might’ve made it sound like a less impressive of a specimen if it wasn’t half a mile long with a girth to match.  Orin growled, “Delta pattern.”

Seven ships broke off, while the others adjusted to prevent holes in their coverage.  Orin was among the attack squad.

Or rather, at the front.

He leaned on the stick, and the Z-14 responded.  It leaped forward, burning one percent of its ethereal fuel for every second he engaged its top speed.  It was worth it.

The brown dragon couldn’t hope to keep up. 

Oh, how it tried.  The thing was a Warrior archetype, according to Orin’s sensors, and it seemed to lack any real ranged options.  Normally, that wouldn’t matter, given its size.  But there was a distinct advantage to being so small. 

Like a swarm of hornets, they stung the dragon.  The damage they inflicted wasn’t much more than a series of insect bites, but they were annoying enough to capture the dragon’s attention.

Orin saw his opportunity when the dragon opened its mouth to use its breath attack.

“Blue Leader chirping.”

“Roger.”

“Copy that.”

A series of affirmations followed as Orin banked.  He took a line directly in front of the dragon’s mouth.  Then, he flipped a trigger guard on his stick, then depressed a button.

Three things happened all at once.

The first was that the dragon used its breath attack, which consisted of an avalanche of stones, each one large enough to destroy a Z-14 and keep going. 

Second, Orin’s plane erupted with blue light that was thickest around the nose.

And third, he accelerated.  The sound barrier shattered, and he bypassed that by at least a hundred times.  That meant he was in the dragon’s mouth within less than a second.

But Orin’s Z-14 kept going.

A high-pitched sound followed him.  The origin of the maneuver’s name sounded distressingly like the chirp of a cricket.

It was so loud that it drowned out the dragon’s roar of pain as the plane needled through the back of its mouth and out the back of its skull.  A shower of blood and brain came next.

Along with a half-dozen alarm klaxons sounding inside the plane.  One denoted low fuel.  Another structural damage.  One of his wings was gone.  The barrier had shattered.  And if he made it back to the hanger, it would be at a limp.

“I’m out, guys.  Chirp delivered.”

He banked, which was a looping maneuver that made him a sitting duck.  Another nearby dragon didn’t waste that opportunity before throwing out a lance of fire that seared through the plane.

Before he was roasted alive, Orin saw his target falling toward the core.  Dead.  The wound was comparatively small, but so was that of a bullet.

One dragon down.  The Comet was protected.  And Orin got to feel the thrill of chirping a deity dragon. 

Even as the flames enveloped him, he was happy with that.