Primal- Seeing is believing, Prologue
When you are truly hungry, there are no words that can come close to do justice to the sweet, heavenly smell of food.
There was once a time, not that long ago, when he and his kin were so revered that food and gold were offered to them as a sign of respect and reverence. In exchange, those villages were spared from a fiery death.
But then rocks and arrows became powder and guns and humans started to think that they could fight back; they started to lose their respect.
And they forgot.
Now, he and his kind were the ones being hunted, a travesty of Nature, for they were the natural predators of humans. They were stronger, they were faster, they breathed fire and there was nothing that could kill them. And yet, somehow, he was the last of his kind.
The human that foolishly snuck into his nest smelled of sweat and blood. Delicious.
“Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea,” the human sang off key. “And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called... come to daddy, motherfucker and I’ll puff you a new hole!”
“That doesn’t rhyme,” he said, coming out of the shadows. The man was tall and lean, a meager meal, sure, but an entertaining one. “I’d say you are lost, but you clearly seem to think you know what I am.”
The man’s lips curved in a slow smile. “Oh, I know exactly what you are.”
There was no weapon in the man’s hands. Good. He enjoyed playing with his food and guns made for such a noisy nuisance to the game. “And what am I?”
“An old, over-rated, very much dead, lizard.”
He couldn’t help but hiss at the demeaning insult.
The man’s arm seemed to glow for a split of a second, attracting the dragon’s attention to it. Had his eyes been human, he would’ve missed the moment when steal started to form above the man’s arm, a long weapon taking shape where once there had been nothing but air.
A sword. But not one forged in the blood of his brothers, not one of the swords that he had learned to fear. Inconsequential.
“Time to show you mine,” he said. With barely an effort, he let go of his constraining human appearance. Hands and feet turned into claws and lathery wings unfurled from his back; fire burned in his chest, begging to be released.
“Bring it on, Godzilla,” the man challenged.
The dragon smiled and roared. Fools tasted better than virgins.
The air ignited between the two of them and the dragon watched in satisfaction as the man cowered away from the fire, finally understanding. He was already feeling the thrill of the chase when the man did the last thing that the dragon would’ve expected him to do.
The human charged.
The blade sliced through the dragon’s chest, tearing scales and muscles in one go, its touch was like hot lava. For the first time, he experienced fear of the fire.
It was the last thing he felt.
:o:
Sam was lying over the hood of the Impala, hands laced behind his head, eyelids threatening to shut, when Dean finally came out.
His clothes and face were smudged black with soot and blood, hair singed at the edges and one of his eyebrows seemed darker than the other. He stunk of sulphur. The wide grin of white teeth in middle of all that was slightly disturbing.
“So,” Sam said, sliding down the hood until his boots touched the ground. “It works on dragons too.”
It was a statement, not a question. Had there been any doubts in his mind and Sam would have not stayed outside, no matter what Dean said.
Dean sobered up. “It works on dragons,” he agreed, casting one last look at the sword before it merged back into a harmless tattoo on his forearm. “Doesn’t mean it works on every single type of freak that’s out there, Sam.”
Sam fished a stolen motel towel from the trunk and tossed it to his brother with a grin. “It worked fine against demons, Leviathans, werewolves, black-dogs, shapeshifters and now dragons,” he said, checking off monsters with his fingers. “I’m going with ‘works on everything’ until proven wrong.”
“Famous last words, Sammy,” a somewhat clean Dean said as he opened the driver’s door. “Famous last words.”
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