Freedom Fire Prologue: That Day...
#1 of Freedom Fire
Hi again! This is the planned sequel to the Dragon's Pride story, if you want to know. I am still in the process of writing the whole stories, but many compilations of everyday works like studying, research, afterclass activities, etc. took most of my times, so for now this is the only thing I can upload from this story.
I happen to feel uneasy about Seraphor's fate from Dragon's Pride since he hadn't even reunited with his love and how the previous story left his fate (though I have planned this story just after planning the Dragon's Pride's ending) unknown to readers. So, I am thinking of a new project to continue what's left in Seraphor's story, intending to end it.
Since this is nothing but a finished prologue, I still need more time in making a better story, so for now, Wolves' Legacy is the only story I concentrate upon, and I'll upload them both in time when I've finished most of my job and earn my free time.
Enjoy!
That Day...
It happened many times already. The rage, the warmth, the fire, the blood...they are mixed into a unique and dangerous sensation. It's like a cocktail, but in a sense different than liquor. Was it a satisfying thing? Was it something that dragons should fight for? Were they just a tool of war?
That was the thing Seraphor was thinking during the thing he remembered most. That day was the day when he was fighting to save humans and his friends, and to bring victory to the side he was helping, all in his own decision. His mind wasn't into Avila or any of his friends. He was trying to kill as many humans as he could, especially those wearing a set of black armor designed to fight his kind. He would burn them to ashes, see their body parts flew everywhere, and bathed himself in their blood, all of his own satisfaction to see that they were all killed.
In his rage, everything seemed slowed. He saw everything. He saw the time when a slayer came to him and without having the effort to dodge the dangerous weapon, he just, by instinct, moved one of his legs in a normal speed and put a hole through him, and with it tasted his blood and felt its delight on his tongue.
Everything Seraphor saw, everything he felt true, he felt very excited. He was very excited to kill, very excited to see and feel the red substance that gave him that warmth more than fire. He loved them. He enjoyed them. He liked every part of it. War was just fantastic for him.
Seraphor managed to dispatch an army, standing over unrecognizable corpses he had killed. He saw Spyro beside him, killing many other dragon slayers with ease. Some of the Order of the Dragons' member were fighting back with Seraphor lead, and the silver red resumed his blood rampage before he realized his vision blurred, his legs were trembling, and he felt like he was going to fall. His head suddenly got dizzy and he felt like he wanted to vomit. It was too much for him. He tried to walk, to at least get out from there. He was exhausted, and he knew it too late. He fell with a thud on the pack of bodies, slowly surrounded by the humans. He saw one of his allies was also there, being hit by the slayers into unconsciousness. His vision was blurred beyond vision, but the last thing he could see was a black figure, standing near the kingdom's wall, with the other dragons. There was an army of them there, and the dragon was glad his assault with Spyro wasn't suicidal and meaningless at all.
Just before he closed his eyes, the last thing he could hear was a voice calling him, and everything was silent.