Moving Out


As one of the Tyrant's generals, I was responsible for leading his armies. I was also responsible dealing with those who stood in our way. It didn't matter who they were, good or bad, friend or foe.

I had my orders and I would follow them to the letter. Those who tried to stop me would get killed.

It's not a threat. It's a reality.

I respected the Dark Lord. He had power, he knew power when he saw it, and he was inevitably going to win.

But for all that respect... I was starting to get restless. We had been ordered to stand ready, and stand ready we had. But that's all we've done. I wasn't going to remain inactive anymore. The time was ripe for the blood of the fools who called themselves "free." I told the Tyrant this. He acknowledged me but still we did nothing.

"What work?" I snarled. I wasn't afraid of this man. It was said he had powers, but I had yet to see him use them. I was confident in my ability to-

"I really don't suggest you do that" and the man gestured with a hand.

I hit the wall before I realized that I had been thrown. I reached for my pouch and grabbed a charm. I held it out to the Dark Lord and waited for it's effects to set in.

They didn't.

"I am the master of Fear Dulinau. Do you think you charms can make me feel what is already under my control?"

He threw fire at me and I changed. I was a skinwalker, a master of the beasts. I was the beasts. I turned into a drake. Not for attack because the room wouldn't permit it, but the fire that had been thrown splashed harmlessly against my thick scales. Then I was a tiger pouncing at my master who rolled underneath my charge and grabbed my tail.

His strength was incredible, but not god-like. As he swung me around he had to provide a counter-balance in his stance. As I shimmered into a snake, his stance was no longer needed and he overbalanced. In my supple body I bent backwards and sank my fangs into his skin.

His blood seeped into my mouth. It burned.

I let go with a hiss and unfurled the eagle wings that had taken the place of my scales. I flew at The Dark Lord who prepared to bat me aside with his power, but he mis-judged my next move. I was now a poison frog. I hopped over his skin, leaving my venom wherever I lept, burning him in return.

He howled and spat a word. A word of power.

And I couldn't move. I was imprisoned by his will. I waited as he stood up. Waited for the blow that signify my only defeat.

But it didn't come.

"Dulinau my friend, you always keep me on my toes. But enough is enough. Come. We must talk strategy. Your platoon is moving out."

The End

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