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!!WARNING!! This story gets very violent and very gory. If you do not like blood and violence in your stories, this is your only warning

Very well, enjoy my brave souls (:

—-…___

Here Don was again, looking up at the face he familiarized him self with years ago, a visible sparkle in his eyes behind the slits of his helmet. He had been in this situation before, albeit under very difficult circumstances. Looking back at him was a dragon, the scaly creature wearing a look of contemplation on her face.

Grayscale was very different from most other dragons Don had come across. She was just barely bigger than a horse, her body covered in a layer of deep gray scales. Her horns went in a subtle spiral, pointing back from her head and almost touching the dactyls of her wings. And most unusual, in terms of appearance, her right foreleg was completely artificial, built out of wood, nails, and metal strings, replacing the leg she lost in the unfortunate spoils of war.

But what Don saw wasn't a dragon, not a creature, not an animal, he just saw… Grayscale, something he couldn't have done just a month ago even if he tried.

The two simply stared for a time, neither able to come up with anything to say. But there was no awkwardness, no uncomfortable feelings, and when one finally spoke, there was little hesitation.

“Don?" Grayscale finally spoke, her voice a deep, draconic rumble, almost resembling a purr. “Do you… do you love me?"

. . .

Three years ago:

If life had taught Don anything, it was that no matter what you gain, how much you lose, how hard you work to keep it, there will be someone to try and take it from you. This was a lesson he knew all too well, something he experienced not once, but three times in his life. Every day, this crossed at least once in his mind, memories of loss, pain, and anger keeping him afloat, albeit in a horrible way.

Don West was a mercenary, and a very good one. Most of his gear was built and forged himself, he's extremely well known, though no one actually knows who he is. Don killed without mercy and without hesitation. Sometimes, he might regret it, but he got paid in the end. That's what mattered to him.

Don was walking along a trail one day, lost in thought as his legs basically worked on autopilot. He wasn't sure where he was walking, but when he looked up along the trail, he saw his destination. A small village, charred and burned, all the buildings collapsed and blackened. He wasn't walking to the village though, he was walking to its grave yard, the resting place of the dead surrounded by an old steel fence.

Don kneeled down in front of a gravestone, the rock worn down and he overrun with moss, though the text was still very much viable to be read. “Mary West, died 1783, burned at the stake for witchcraft." Don felt his hand ball into a fist as he read the stone. This was his wife's grave, a place her couldn't step near without feeling some rush of powerful emotion.

Next to it was another gravestone, which Don turned to read as well. “Penelope West, died 1783, burned at the stake for witchcraft." Don's knuckles were turning white under his gloves and he felt a single tear run down his cheek, hidden under the old steel helmet he hid his face behind.

This was his daughter's grave, she was barely a year old. He looked left and saw the burned, butchered remains of a small village, everything covered in a layer of ash and soot.

Arborsail, a name that sent shivers down Don's spine. This was the town he wanted to settle in and live out the rest of his life, a corrupt, cruel village that had twisted Don in the past for their own gain. Once the people figured they didn't need Don anymore, they decided to get rid of him, starting with his family.

While Don was out of the village, the powers at be accused Mary of witchcraft, which also immediately convicted Penelope. At the time, it was common practice that if a woman who was accused of witchcraft had a child, said child had the same accusation, as they saw a witch's offspring able to carry on the dark magic she once possessed.

Word in the Ultor Imperium travels fast though, and Don had learned what had happened before he arrived back home. To say the man went mad is an understatement. The minute he arrived back in Arborsail, it didn't take long for buildings to go up in flames, for guardsmen to be slaughtered like pigs, and for civilians to suffer the same fate. Don killed everyone he saw, screaming like a feral animal the entire time. In the end, it barely took an hour for things to finally end, but it felt like millennia for Don.

Recalling the events in his mind, replaying the memory to the very last detail, Don's anger quickly transitioned to sadness. He leaned forward and shut his eyes, a hand slowly reaching out to hold the top of his wife's worn down tombstone. A single tear leaked from the slit in his helmet, falling to the ground and turning a tiny patch of dirt into mud. “I'm… I'm so sorry." Don painfully said, painfully remembering the screaming of innocent people during his rampage.

He regretted every second of what he did.

After what seemed like years, he slowly stood up and made his way out of the old, burned village, never looking back. As he walked, he took the moment to re-open a letter he received from the Imperium, almost believing that maybe it didn't exist. It did exist. He opened it and read its contents.

“To whom this may concern,

The Imperium has called upon you in time of need, in time of war, in time of greatness. The war on the Roman Empire has brought the need to draft individuals such as yourself into our cause. On this date /June 17th/1789/ you are to report to the nearest military institution for immediate training and deployment. With your aid, the Imperium shall conquer these Roman dogs, restoring our unparalleled strength, power, and glory!"

Don caught himself letting out a grunt of annoyance upon rereading the letter. He wondered how they could get away with being so direct, they're not even trying to hide the fact that they're desperate. In truth, he didn't even know why he of all people would be drafted. Then again, desperate times call for desperate measures, and no one really actually knows who he is. The only reason he found himself complying was that, yes, he was in misery, but he could never take it upon himself to commit suicide. Maybe he was just praying that his life could end in a somewhat honorable way.

— August 28th—1789:

If Don had any previous doubt in his mind, it was all dissolved when he completed barely a month of training and was already being sent to the front. The Ultor Imperium was desperately scrambling to get people on the battlefield, rushing their programs, skipping entire segments of combat training.

If it wasn't for his past experience, Don would have been absolutely fucked. Though, his skill ended up backfiring on him in ways worse than he predictably.

Don couldn't follow orders. He was constantly going off mission, sometimes for his own benefit, sometimes to save some other soldiers. His commanding officers described him as reckless, insubordinate, and downright dangerous. The only thing that saved him was that Don was effective at all. At the tail end of July, just before his deployment would've ended, Don was reassigned to the eastern front, a place notorious for its use in a new form of combat- Trench Warfare.

Black powder had hit a major spike in research in the mid-seventeen hundred, paving the way for creating fully automatic, albeit heavy and unreliable, black powder gatling guns. And for fliers who rode on dragons, black powder firearms were a man's best friend. Dragons simply couldn't get close enough to effectively dogfight using their fire breath, especially when wearing heavy, bulky armor that made them less maneuverable.

In Don's case though, Gatling guns were supplied, but black powder rifles weren't. Sword combat was still the go to style for warfare, because military planners found handheld firearms as inefficient and just as dangerous to the user as it is to the enemy. So, while soldiers were up close and personal between trenches, the Gatling guns often ended up firing blindly, in some cases killing more allies than enemies.

This is the concern that was running through Don's head as he awaited something, anything to happen. He had been standing in the trench for a good four hours at this point, looking through a peephole in the wooden planks as he awaited either the order the charge or to see a wall of Roman's running at the trench.

Another hour passed, nothing.

Another passed, nothing.

A sigh of relief was about to leave Don's chest before he heard someone approaching from his right. It was an officer, identifiable by the gold and red patches he wore on his shoulders. The man was urging the soldiers out of the trench, repeating the same word; “charge". The commanding officer's slowly turned into a yell as everyone soon hopped out of the muddy trench, Don following suit.

Don's sword, a standard issue scimitar was drawn in seconds, waving back in forth with his arms as he ran. Before long, the horrifying bangs of black powder weapons could be heard from where the troop was running to. Don looked to his right, and saw blood splashing from shoulders as they were practically shredded by the small, ball shaped bullets. He looked to his left, and saw an explosion land right between the feet of another soldier, bowling his legs off and tearing open his abdomen, the poor man's entrails flying loose from his body.

Don looked forward and saw not just foot soldiers, but Calvary riding on horses. His heart sank as he looked up and saw where the explosions were coming from. Dragons, dragons that were dive bombing the men around him. Don, despite everything, pressed on. And with the sound of a hundred consecutive clanks of metal on metal, the two walls of soldiers met, a bloody stalemate forming before the crowd started to mix.

Gruesome could not describe what Don was seeing, puddles of blood riddled the ground, people died slowly and painfully left and right, explosions and shrapnel rained from what seemed like everywhere, and the bangs of Gatling guns still roared around the muddy field. It was pure terror at its finest.

The battle raged on for what seemed like hours, the sun beginning to set on the smoky horizon as explosions, gun fire, and screaming riddled everyone square foot of the war zone. Suddenly, an explosion knocked Don backwards, sending him flying for a good couple seconds before his back slammed into what was almost a small pond of cold, blood filled, muddy water. Bringing his head up out of the water, Don looked around to find himself in a crater, the battle still raging over the steep, muddy walls.

He couldn't bring himself to climb back up, Don was petrified now that he could finally analyze his situation. Instead, Don climbed out of the cold pool of water and pressed his back against the muddy slope. He quickly grabbed handfuls of mud and coated his body with it, looking around frantically to make sure no one can see him making this makeshift camouflage. Once he was covered, he sat and waited, closing his eyes and trying to drown out the noises of war happening all around him.

An hour passed before he heard a voice call out “Retreat! Retreat!" Don opened his eyes to see men in familiar uniforms running back towards the direction of his home trench, the frequency of soldiers quickly dissipating as what was left of the company made a dash to safety. He was about to get out before he heard a deep, angry growl behind him, a sound that made his blood freeze.

He looked back to see something very few soldiers can ever say they lived through. A gray, angry dragon stand there before him, crouching low on the edge of the crater. The dragon looked ready to pounce, its green eyes effectively showing a lust for blood as it stared. The dragon was practically right in his face, her snout just a foot away from his face. Don tightly shut his eyes, anticipating the grueling death that was to befall him. Then suddenly…

*BOOM*

Don heard an explosion followed by a pained yowl of agony. He opened his eyes to see that dragon had just been hit by an explosion, knocking it into the crater as it tumbled into the water. After a few seconds, it didn't resurface. Don, not knowing what he's doing, immediately rushed towards the water, wading through it as he fished for the dragon. He eventually grabbed its leg and proceeded to pull as hard as he could, straining as he pulled the creature from the water.

After a moment, the dragon was on the muddy bank, wincing and yowling in pain. Don quickly regained his bearings and rolled the dragon onto its back and almost recoiled at what he saw. The dragon's right foreleg was practically shredded, scales ripped apart, pieces of bleeding meat hung from tendons and ligaments, bone fragments stabbed through the flesh and her paw was reduced to a bloody, mangled stump. There were lacerations in other places, but her leg garnered the most attention.

Don winced as he realized what he had to do. He simply couldn't bandage it, there wasn't much to actually bandage. Don rushed to the other side of the crater to grab his sword, washing it in the water to try and keep it as minimally dirty as possible. He then grabbed the nearest, sharpest rock he could find and proceeded to ram it into the scimitar, all the while listening to the poor dragon's whimpering and crying.

As quick as he could, he chipped away pieces of his sword until it resembled more of a saw, or at least the next best thing. He then slowly kneeled down by the dragon's mangled limb and prepared himself for what he had to do. The dragon though, soon noticed what Don was doing and immediately recoiled back. “H-human please… I… don't kill me." The dragon desperately pleaded over the pained noises she was making.

The dragon's voice was raspy, but Don could pick up on the feminine tone behind it. The dragon was female, he made a mental note of that. Don immediately recoiled in return, gesturing for her to calm down. “Hey! Hey! Friend… friend." Don said, gesturing to himself, he approached the dragon again, keeping his hand out.

The dragon recoiled again, looking at Don with an expression of pure terror. Don never believed he'd ever see a dragon look at him in such unparalleled fear before. But in this situation, he needed her not to. “If I don't, I can't bandage you, you'll bleed out and you'll die." Don bluntly stated, though there was no other way to put it. The dragon winced at Don's words and looked at her mangled limb, her mouth hanging open in terror. After a moment, she looked up at Don and nodded hesitantly.

Don let out a sigh of relief, slowly approaching her as he again, mentally prepared himself to amputate a dragon's leg. Before he did though, he quickly looked around and grabbed a small wooden log the had fallen into the crater and handed it to the dragon. The poor creature, immediately knowing what to do, took the stick and placed it perpendicularly in her jaws, already biting down hard.Don slowly lowered the improvised saw until it rested on the crook of her leg, almost hyperventilating as he drew back and, in one swift motion, thrusted his arm forward.

A spurt of blood and a muffled scream emerged from the dragon as Don proceeded to saw into her leg. The soldier's eyes closed tightly. He couldn't bear to watch. The dragon was screaming in agony, her okay paw clawing at the ground as she writhed in agony. Don could hear the large stick in the dragon's jaws crack and break as she split it clean in two.

Suddenly, Don winced and jerked in pain. He felt something sharp digging into his arm. He looked to the dragon desperately gripping Don's forearm, squeezing hard with her claws, drawing blood.

Blood coated the arm he was powering the saw with, the red liquid spraying onto his arm as he hit the arteries in her shoulder. Don could feel his own blood trickling down his other arm, the dragons claws pushing deeper into his flesh with every push of his arm.

Every push and pull, the jagged blade went deeper, and Don could tell when he finally hit bone. A tear fell from Don's closed eye as he continued, every sound he heard being one of pain. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Don said, continuing the motion with his arm as he felt the dragon's leg start to give.

The sawing lasted too long, way too long. After what genuinely felt like a lifetime, Don felt the makeshift saw jerk forward and heard a thud from the ground beneath him. Don didn't look, he couldn't even if he wanted to. Don quickly grabbed the bandage roll from his belt and wrapped it around the bloody stub where the dragon's leg once was. Only after did he know he was done did he finally open his eyes. Before him lay an injured dragon and what was once her foreleg, now a mangled mess of scales and flesh.

The dragon looked up at Don, tears rolling down her scaly cheek as she desperately gasped for air. Though he technically saved her, Don felt awful for what he just put the dragon through, shaking and trembling as the shock of what had happened began to settle.

Only after did the dragon calm down that Don moved on to examine her other injuries. Overall, Don was relieved at what he saw. There were only a couple cuts on the side of her body, and one small piece of shrapnel stuck out from her flank. The dragon squirmed and jerked as Don worked to patch her up as best he could, but she did her best to lie still.

Only after Don fixed the dragon up did he notice the stinging pain in his left arm, where the dragon had clawed and squeezed his arm. With what little bandages he had, he wrapped up his arm, wincing slightly as he squeezed the bandage tight around his arm.

All the while, the dragon's mind was racing. “Why did he save me, why not just finish me off? He's a Roman, the enemy… I can't kill him now though, he just… saved my life. Ares, give me wisdom for this." She thought, looking over at Don as he patched himself up.

“What is… what is your name?" The dragon asked, doing her best to ignore the stabbing pain in her amputated leg to try and hold at least some form of conversation.Don looked over at her and a wall of thought fell over his mind. “Should I… should she know my name? No, she'll try and kill me, she has to, right." Don thought, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“My name… it's Grayscale." The dragon admitted, much to Don's surprise. Don looked back up at Grayscale with a look of thought on his face. He didn't know much about dragons, other than the cliche fairy tales they usually starred in. Something he did know though is that when a dragon openly tells you it's name, your well on the way of earning its trust if you haven't already.

“Don… Don West. It's uh… a pleasure to meet you." Don said, giving a subtle, awkward chuckle as he spoke. Never in his life has he spoken to such a creature, and Don had no idea how to. He didn't know if their dialect was different, their speech, their tone, he was completely in the dark.

Grayscale simply just stared with a confused expression, rolling onto her side with a wince to get a better look at this strange person. “Why did you save me." She asked, her tone taking a more blunt sound. “You're an Ultor soldier and I'm a Greek flier, the enemy, your job is to kill me. Why didn't you?" She asked, and Don could hear the subtle distrust in her voice.

Don looked at her bandaged stump of a limb and noticed just how deeply red the bandages were already stained. He was starting to wonder if he had saved her, or in reality, just delayed the inevitable.

Regardless, Don did expect the dragon not to trust him, he would've been skeptical if she did the same. Humans and dragons have a long history of not getting along, multiple wars having been fought between the two species. Only recently have the two been able to start to work together, though it is a very uneasy partnership.

In truth, Don had no idea why he immediately sprang to help the wounded dragon. She was right, he should have killed her, and he couldn't tell why he didn't. He quickly chalked it up to it being his hatred for fighting for the Ultor's, but he knew that wasn't it. But soon, he realized what the dragon just said. She's not Roman, she's Greek. “Well shit" He thought to himself.

Greeks are a very prideful bunch of soldiers, the kind who believe in dying on the battlefield. It's a very common source of inspiration in the Ultor ironically enough. If one gets injured on the field of battle, the kind of injury Grayscale suffered, they're not expected to come back. If Grayscale goes back to her side of the battlefield, she'll be executed on sight.

Don's mind was quickly snapped back to the present however as the dragon let out an impatient huff, her ears folding back against her head as a frown formed on her muzzle. Don still didn't know what to say, so in his still adrenaline run state, he quickly thought up of some bullshit. “It uh… it hurt to see that leg." Don said, naturally being terrible at lying. Ignoring the accusing stare from the dragon, Don got to thinking.

He couldn't exactly run back to his side's trench without risking being shot by those Gatling guns. And if he needed to help Grayscale get anywhere, going back to the Ultor was a heavy No-Go. Either way, if he went back, he might be accused of desertion, or worse, have to keep fighting this pointless war.

He obviously couldn't go anywhere near the Roman, and apparently Greek trenches. His only real option would be to travel parallel between the trenches and pray to find some sort of escape. Weighing his sparse options, Don turned back to Grayscale, the dragon still watching him with an inquisitive look. Don took a moment to look at her wings. There were multiple tears and rips in the membrane and looked like they had been through a sand blaster. There was no way she was flying out of here. “Can you walk?" Don asked, wondering how he'll be able to get her on her feet if not.

To Don's relief and surprise, Grayscale winced as she slowly rose to her three remaining legs, sticking out her right wing and pushing it against the ground. Her wing bent at odd angles and directions as she did a test walk, though, it was much more of an awkward waddle. She looked immensely uncomfortable and she made a pained grunt with every step, but nonetheless, she could walk.

Don again thought about his options. Moving through No Man's Land was hard enough, but moving through miles of it while escorting an injured dragon? Don gulped. He couldn't think of anything else to do here. “I know you don't trust me and I'd be lying if I said I trust you, but I'm willing to help you get out of here. Then we can go our separate ways and forget this ever happened."

The dragon hesitated at Don's offer. She of course didn't want to die, and it's not like she could get very far on her own like this. But she still doesn't trust this human's intentions. For she knew, this man had saved her just to take her in for interrogation. But again, she realized she has no other choice.

After a moment, Grayscale waddled up to Don and nodded, silently agreeing with his plan. Don let out a sigh of relief and slowly climbed out of the crater, sticking his head out to find that a fair amount of mist had accumulated on the ground, much to his satisfaction.

. . .

The trek through the muddy, bloody, body covered fields was, for lack of a better word, excruciating for both Don and Grayscale. The duo stayed crouched low and kept moving at a slow pace as to not draw attention, knowing that they now had two trenches of ranged weapons to avoid.

The two paid very close attention to one another, both paranoid of a sudden surprise attack from the other. Though, after hours of pushing forward, the two started to trust the other not to kill them, the idea of a sudden betrayal getting more and more absurd the farther they went.

Then, after hours of slowly wading through mud and blood, the two noticed something tall through the fog, soon realizing that what they're seeing is a tree. A live, undamaged tree. They walked past it and found another, and another, and more and more until they found themselves in a forest.

The two looked at each other and, for the first time since they met, smiled, even if it was subtle. The two knew that if they were walking through a full of life forest, that there hadn't been any battles here. They had successfully fled the front line and found themselves away from the war between the Ultor and the Romans.

The two continued to walk however, just to be certain they don't come across any rogue squads of soldiers. Though, at least they could walk at a decent pace now. It wasn't long before one of them spoke up. “So… Don, was it? While we have some time…" Grayscale hesitated. She's not exactly the best at meaningful words, especially not after getting her leg sawed off to save her life.

“Thank you, I- I don't know anybody who would do what you did for me." She paused for a moment, trying to think of something else to say. “And… I'm sorry for being so accusing back there. But usually the enemy soldier is trying to kill me."

Don's eyes widened slightly at her words. He found himself surprised that he was hearing these words from a dragon, a prideful and usually self-centered creature by nature. And here one was, thanking him for saving her life and apologizing for her something that's already justified.

Don knew he had to say something back, but he still had so little experience. Hell, he could barely talk to people at all, so saying something with emotional weight to a dragon… it was a little intimidating. He looked over and saw Grayscale looking back expectantly, clearly waiting for his response.

“Yeah, it's uh… it's no trouble. I just- “ Don knew he looked like a bumbling idiot trying to think of what to say, and he couldn't help but smile in spite of himself. Grayscale chuckled at Don's hesitation, shaking her head a little. “You've never talked to my kind before, have you?" She asked, Don's silence already confirming her suspicion.* “Don't worry, I get that a lot, even back in Greece."

Don couldn't help but chuckle, again finding it so odd to be getting these words from a dragon, something he just can't seem to ignore. Suddenly, Don realized something, something that made him think. He was smiling. And not just a subtle, little smile after hearing something stupid. He was actually smiling.

. . .

This is what was running through Don's mind as the two stood with one another, the events of that day being something that he almost enjoyed to look back on.

Then, he heard the question.

“Do you… do you love me?"

So much had happened up to this point, building Grayscale a new leg, figuring out how to fly together, and becoming a pair that could easily be called inseparable.

But most of all, that pain he carried with him from what happened during those old days of Arborsail. He didn't feel it anymore. It was there, but he didn't feel it.

Slowly, Don brought his hands up to his helmet and removed it, showing his face to the dragon. Slowly, he then brought his hands up to her head, holding her head in them as he looked into those emerald eyes he became so familiar with.

In this moment, he knew his answer. He knew what to say.

“I love you Grayscale… I love you."

Soon after, the pair shut their eyes and leaned in and kissed, savoring every last moment they spent locked in the action of intimacy.

Of course it was a little awkward, but the two quickly found their way, and it seemed to last forever.

Don was finally happy.