The Divine Tears: Crestfallen

V

The early hours of the morning came. The grass was wet with dew. The sheep was black with spots of blood. The Valkan waited. He could hear it coming, large wings flapping.

He shut his eyes, only for a moment. He saw her. Her raven hair. Her sky-blue eyes. He tasted her lips. Her soft skin. The calmness of her smile injected within him. He was ready. He pulled on his helm. His sword sang as he unsheathed it.

The wyvern thumped down. Not fully grown. Fangs, yellow and striking. Winged arms like a bat. Its scales were dark, as if life was drained from it. Its eyes were rusty. Chains, swinging on its hind legs. The offspring of Zûl—the offspring of chaos. The sight of such a vile creature would make any man tremble. But Daarion was no mere man, the wyvern knew it. He eyed the creature as it impatiently paced. His heart was calm, his head, clear. The wyvern growled hideously.

It sprang forward. Its head lifted. Its chest lit up faintly. Daarion smashed the pointed tip at the bottom of his shield into the dirt, digging it deep. The wyvern threw its head forward. Fire spew from its mouth, black and red. The Valkan's shield was impressively withholding the wyvern fire. The force from the bombardment pushed Daarion back, but not breaking his balance. The wyvern suspended his storm of fire. It roared with fury. Daarion took his stance. A slash, not from a sword, but a tail. The Valkan flew, trees whipped passed his ears. A crack of floating splinters as his back thrashed the thick tree. The pain was shunned, yet it would've shattered a grown man. He stood, the wyvern's charge was fast, Daarion was faster. He slid and slashed, drawing blood from the wing of the beast. With a whistle, the tail battered him again. His shield departed his hand as he floated away—splinters. The pain was greater than before, but he stood, nonetheless. With a quick turn, he dodged the claws of his foe, slashing, tearing a gash within the wyvern's leg. The screeching bellows of pain were hauntingly sinister. Wrath. The wyvern rushed, if not for the thicket of trees, Daarion would have gotten gashes of his own. Trees toppled as the wyvern pursued its prey, eyes of red bolted over the toppling trees. Finally, a slash, a slash of a claw. The Valkan soared, sword flung from his hand, and his body rolled over the wet leaves of the forest, coating his armour in a smear of mud and moss. His hand grasped, finding a toppled tree before him. Thumps of legs neared swiftly. Daarion gripped with a might he never knew he possessed; the bark crushed in his palms. The tree lifted, and before the wyvern could taste his foe, Daarion released, the tree swung with the greatest force he could muster. A shatter of countless pieces of wood, the wyvern soared, meeting a tree itself this time. A slight hint of fear within the beast of chaos' eyes. The dragon stood, the heat of ferocity it had in itself. A quick whistle and the dampened sing of a mighty longsword. His foe crawled slowly, growling, oozing from the mouth, yearning for the blood it'll never taste. The beast leaped, floating with a flap of its wing. He swerved to the side, avoiding another swipe of a tail. Claws he met with fury. He slashed, severing two claws—a painful bellow. He anticipated it, the tail swipe, in which he stood firmly and slashed. The tail wobbled as if it had a soul of itself as it bled on the leaves. A clear howl of pain shook the forest, signalling any living soul lingering about. Daarion took his stance, deep and low, he was ready for it to end. The wyvern eyed him, and with the last attack, it galloped forward. Daarion stood firmly, he shifted and swiftly stepped to the side. He slashed upwards with immense speed and power. The beast gargled. It pummeled to the ground. Silence. Daarion did not loosen his grip on his bloody sword. He stepped closer. The wyvern's head was nearly cut all the way through. The head was only attached to the upper flesh of its neck.

Daarion lowered his shoulders. He pulled off his helm, closing his eyes once more. He breathed normally again. The silence made way for the faint songs of birds.

At noon, Kyle threw rocks from the bridge into the running river. Autumn fed on the long grass.

Daarion approached. He limped, however not from any injury, but from the head that he was uncomfortably dragging behind.