A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,89
their way. At his sides flew his soldiers, battle-hardened dragons with dented scales and broken claws, and their fire rose like the columns of afterlife. They shot through the collapsing roof and soared into a sky of demons. The nephilim spread endlessly into the night; thousands upon thousands covered the sky, a sea of rot and scale and blazing eyes.
The dragons soared upward, flames and claws carving their way. Behind Elethor and his warriors flew his people, the elders and mothers and children, and they too roared and blew their flames. The dragons of Requiem rose, a few hundred souls in an endless ocean, and all around them the darkness closed in.
Requiem! We will find your sky.
To the stars that hid above beyond the cruelty of Solina. To that sky. To the white halls of afterlight. They flew to glory and death.
"To death!" his warriors shouted at his side. "To fire!"
From the east, dawn broke and distant cries answered their call.
Elethor turned and saw light blaze over the battle, overflowing him with white. The eastern cries rose, and the nephilim howled in fear, blinded with the light, their dark scales bleached. They hissed and clawed at one another and wailed to the sky. Elethor looked into the light, and his eyes watered.
"Lyana."
She flew from the dawn, a blue dragon with sunrays bursting around her. She sounded her roar, the song of Requiem, and blew her fire. She charged toward the nephil horde. Behind her from the light emerged more dragons—thousands of them in every color, all blowing their flames, a great host of Requiem roaring its song.
Tears filled Elethor's eyes.
More Vir Requis live. Lyana found them. We are not alone.
The nephilim howled, heads whipping from side to side. Some turned to flee. Others screeched and cowered. Some bared fangs and raised claws. Lyana and her dragons crashed into them, and the world exploded, and beams of dawn blazed through the Fallen Horde like spears of light.
Eagle cries rose in the north, and Elethor turned to see a griffin host—ten thousand beasts or more—their fur and feathers golden in the morning, their beaks wide and their talons outstretched. Riders sat upon them, clad in the armor of Osanna, bearing bows and spears. This host too charged toward the nephilim, ablaze in light and crying for battle. The nephilim wailed and fluttered before them, pierced with arrows.
From the west rose a keening song, clear and cold as winter dawn.
Elethor turned and lost his breath.
"Salvanae," he whispered.
The true dragons flowed from the west, wingless and long, coiling and uncoiling in the sky like serpents upon water. Their beards fluttered like banners. Their crystal eyes shone. Their scales rippled and they trumpeted their song. Among them flew several Vir Requis, flapping wide wings, and Elethor wept in the sky.
A golden dragon flew among them.
Mori. Mori.
From the west, the salvanae crashed into the nephilim, and lightning flowed from their mouths, and their teeth bit the demon host. The nephilim howled in fear. They scattered. They fled. They died and fell upon the scorched earth.
The battle raged through the dawn and day, a tapestry of light and darkness, a song of blood and fire. The armies of the world crashed over the ruins of Bar Luan, and nephilim rained dead, and finally the survivors of the horde turned to flee. Screeching and licking their wounds, those nephilim who still lived flew southward, and the griffins and salvanae chased them and slew them over the forest, so that only a handful escaped bloodied and wailing to their desert queen.
When the sun began to set, Elethor landed upon the ruins of the world, his scales dented and chipped. Nephil corpses piled around him, hiding the forest; countless rotted and bustled with flies, and even the crows would not touch them.
He looked toward a crumbling wall that rose from the carnage. A golden dragon perched atop it, gazing upon the battle with soft eyes. Elethor flew and landed upon the wall too, and the golden dragon looked at him. Elethor's limbs shook and his eyes stung.
"Mori?" he whispered.
She shifted into human form and stood before him, as pale and wispy as a ghost, and her hair fluttered in the wind. Her gray eyes stared up at him, huge pools like oceans under clouds. Elethor shifted too. They stood upon the wall, and he touched her cheek, not sure if she was real or a spirit.
"El," she whispered. "El, we saw the ghosts! The ghosts of Bar Luan! We arrived