Chapter 64 #2
“You, Ostern Vaegor, will be remembered only as the tyrant you are. Because rest assured, I won’t breathe my final breath until I’ve strengthened the north.
Built an army strong enough that I’m able to cleanse the world of all your hard, bloody work, then finally take Tyroth’s and Cadok’s heads. Just like I’m about to take yours.”
“They’ll be ready,” he grinds out. “When you come, they’ll crush you because you’re weak. Pathetic.”
His words no longer burn like they once did.
Nothing does.
Everything pales in comparison to the continued ache of Elluin’s absence. To the pain of existing in this world without her and the devastating knowledge that her daughter will never know what it feels like to be loved by Elluin Neván.
That’s the biggest tragedy of all this. Pah’s worst offense.
“Whatever makes you feel better.”
I pull my small handsaw from the sheath at my waist, its many teeth blunted from being dragged against a stone. Something I boast, letting him get a long look at the weapon I’m about to end him with.
Though he pales, he laughs—cold and bubbling. “You cut off my head and secrets die with me. One that—”
I snatch him by the jaw. “There’s nothing you could offer me worth bartering for.”
Despite his waning strength, Pah claws at my hand and arm. Feeble attempts to fight me off as my blood simmers, Rygun’s fiery violence erupting through me, churning to meet my own. Making my skin stretch and split, struggling to contain the beast-born strength now pumping through my veins.
Behind me, Rygun roars so loud I picture two glassy worlds being ground against each other until they’re nothing but dust on the torpid wind.
Pah’s bloody hands gouge at my chest and arms to no avail, his wide eyes tracing all the sizzling cracks ripping through my flesh as I pry his mouth open, reach in, and grip what’s left of his tongue. “You’ve taken everything.”
I slice.
He blasts a bubbling roar that spills a gush of blood down his chin and chest.
I toss the lump of flesh aside. Feast on the potent reek of Pah’s fear as he looks at me through bulging eyes like he finally sees the monster he created.
Perhaps realizes my big, warm heart was the perfect catalyst—absorbing the pain and loss he plugged down my throat until it finally mauled me into his worst fucking slumber-terror.
Hissed, wet breaths seethe past his clenched teeth as I push up, fist what remains of his hair that hasn’t been burnt off, and use the firm grip to lengthen his neck.
I bring the toothy blade to his throat—not the front.
Fueled by the knowledge that he’ll feel blunt slice after blunt slice before he’s finally released from this life.
Pressing the weapon into his flesh, I begin to saw in slow, grizzly drags.
He convulses … writhes … thrashes in my grip. Releases short, gurgling screams that taper with a gush of blood that paints my hands and the ground in spurts.
Boiling from the inside out, I continue sawing through the gore, lips trembling, gaze speared toward the warring horizon. Toward the many dragons clashing in the hazy sky, throwing plumes of flame amongst explosions of angry smoke.
But I don’t think of the war as I hack through Pah’s tendons to the weakening lament of his burbling screams. I think only of those I’ve lost, remembering Mah’s beautiful smile and warm hugs. Elluin’s fierce love and wild spirit.
Both taken from this world too soon.
The spurt of blood weakens, slowing as I grind through his spine, putting a little more pressure, more intention into each jagged drag.
Until the heft of his body overpowers what little flesh I still have left to saw.
The rest tears free.
Pah’s body drops to the ground with a heavy thump, my fingers still tangled through his hair as the frayed flesh drips, drips, drips all over his already bloodied chest.
I toss the saw and exhale, squeezing my eyes shut.
Some of the heat seeps from my veins, the itch at the end of my fingers dissolving, little by little, sharpening my mind with a clarity I haven’t felt since Borg told me Pah orchestrated the downfall of Elluin’s entire family.
Since I discovered the male who spawned me conspired to use her as a pawn to dominate the world.
I try to revel in the cool, flooding relief of served vengeance, stomped by disappointment when I realize it’s done nothing to fill the gaping hole in my chest. In fact, that hole feels bigger now that I have nothing else to pin my focus on.
Rygun makes a scratchy sound, some of his flame easing from my bulging veins as I swallow, looking down. Crack the melted crown from Pah’s head, finding it heavier than I expected it to be. Weighty in my hand.
A crown I never wanted. Not once. All I wanted was Elluin.
Her touch.
Her love.
Her beautiful, dimpled smiles.
Pah’s unconditional love.
I pinch my lips against the tremble clawing across my chin, threatening to untether me further.
Instead, I’ll make the world a better place. Because that’s what Elluin deserved. That’s what her daughter deserves.
Better.
I move two steps toward Rygun. Pause.
Slowly, I look over my shoulder at the headless body of the male who sired me, opening myself to Bulder.
I whisper a mortared tune, dipping to a hollowed note that smooths, rounding.
The ground trembles before a fist of clay emerges like a sprouting bloom, thick fingers unfurling to reveal a small stone mug resting in the dipped palm.
Bulder squeezes the water free, leaving a puddle at the base that’s quickly wicked by the sun—the mug lightening to a brighter shade of orange, hardening.
I drop Pah’s head and the crown I can’t bring myself to don, then take the mug, admiring it from all angles. Perfect, I guess. By sculpting standards.
Personally, I think it lacks character. Lacks the same love as the one I made him as a youngling without the use of Bulder’s words.
I set the mug in Pah’s lap, place his burnt and bloody hands around it. “Try smashing that,” I mutter, grab his head and crown, then make for Rygun without looking back.
Only once I’m sat between my dragon’s wings do I urge him to feast.