The dragon shaped as a human, and the human shaped as a dragon, were now clashing against each other.
The true dragon lunged forward, swinging his warhammer and breaking through the scales on the true human's chest. The impact shattered them and sent the pieces of scales down to the floor, no longer protecting dragon flesh.
The true human roared in pain, backing away. However, due to his current form, such a thing was not easy. With the true dragon able to now target him once more, the beast formed a spear which impaled the human through the chest.
The human returned to original form, and the dragon watched him reel, holding his chest in pain. A hole was visible, and one could see through it if they looked hard enough.
The human collapsed to the floor, holding his chest and screaming in agony. Adrenaline had lost its touch, leaving him to experience all of it.
The feeling of literal emptiness inside of him, the vision of the blood gathering on the ground from his wound, and the tangible sensation of death and dying which plagued him.
His heart wasn't destroyed, but that was not inherently a blessing. His ears began to ring, as the sounds of ongoing combat slowly faded in and out of his head, spiraling around.
'A-ah. Ah, ah, ah, my, ah
"Ahh, ahh, no, why…"
It wasn't his first time being near death. But he could swear that he felt it grasping at him.
That intimacy led to fear. The fear of everything ending. Of never seeing anyone again. Being forgotten. Being left behind by those he loved.
The taste of death, the bite of death, the chewing and munching, the growling of its stomach, the hunger. Fear, all fear, the fear of fear, fearing, afraid, in pain.
His lungs were exhausted. That boy was not lying when he said that healing wounds by transforming into a dragon cost even more. And in this situation, where his adrenaline was gone, his muscles had already been exhausted, that added even moreso.
All that Arthur could feel was pain. Or rather, all he could sense, and focus on, was pain. The sound of blood hitting water was what he could hear. He could taste the blood in his mouth. He could feel the pain of being impaled. He could see the blood, and it was all he could see. The smell of his own blood and wounds filled his nostrils.
It was all pain. Nothing but pain. Only pain. Just pain. Pain was everything. Everything was pain.
The ringing, the ringing the ringing the ringing the ringing the ringing the ringing the ringing ringingtheringingtheringingtheringingringingringingringingringringringringringringringringringringring—
And the man approached him, looming right above him. Arthur did not look up, but his jaw was touched by the bat, raised and forced to witness him.
As his head was lifted, he saw the fights beyond the man. The clashing of blades, the holes appearing in the bodies of those shot, and the massacre that befell the building.
"———"
Arthur couldn't hear him. And all he could see was the lips moving, before the bat stopped touching, and his head sank. Arthur collapsed, unable to move.
The dragon went over to Sally, and Arthur closed his eyes.
"Ah. Ah, ahh… agh, ah, auh, ah…"
…
His body felt cold. And lifeless.
And so, he tried to open his eyes, believing himself to be dead.
And he saw Sally. Though, she seemed to be tilted at a 90 degree angle.
Her eyes were open. She looked alive. Though, her expression seemed to stare at him in fear. Something terrifying had struck.
Looking to his left, which was in fact on the ground, he felt his stomach churn.
Her head. It was not attached to her body.
"Ah."
A useless noise led the way from his throat.
He screamed. He yelled, he wept, he cried, he anguished, he regretted, he agonized.
His body was rolled over by someone other than himself, and he saw him. He saw that man.
"Ah…"
It was, no doubt, the end. Rapidly approaching, came a cruel, tormenting death.
Before he was able to reach the end, before he met the end, before he arrived—he was saved. His body was swooped up, taken, forced, and by all accounts, "taken."
In the air. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. His experiences, his senses, all of it was fuzzy, and he couldn't think straight. Whether an ally saved him, or another force intervened, he did not know.
He wanted everything to end. He surpassed the clouds, and was soaring through the skies before he fell into unconsciousness, unsure as to whether he would ever wake up.
…
Failure.
When he awoke, he found that he was taken by Moon, after every other ally present had died. He decided to cut his losses and at least retrieve Arthur's corpse in order to have something to beat on later.
They'd been shot down out of the sky, and only barely managed to avoid death. By that point, they were too close to the public eye to be hunted down, and were taken to the hospital.
And so, when Arthur awoke, he saw the doctor. He hurriedly healed himself, and fled the hospital, not wanting to see anything or anyone.
He ran out to the street, went inside of an alleyway, and clung to the wall for support, holding his hand over his face. That was when Moon stumbled behind him and told him the information.
Arthur crouched down, holding his hands on his head as he breathed hard, agonizing his breath. Tears would refuse to come out. It was less a deep sadness he felt, but an overwhelming despair.
"Aghhh…"
He failed yet again. He truly, truly was not built for the world of dragons.
Perhaps in a world where scholars were separated from the warriors, he would do well. But in a world where he was entirely a scholar, yet forced to be a warrior, he failed. He would not blend in, he would not do well, he would fail.
His eyes stared off into nothing in particular, drifting apart and looking away from each other slightly.
He failed to save his friend. He even cost the life of those around him. He lost yet another horrific defeat.
Suffering defeat after defeat. His body could heal, but the mind would not.
Piling on, piling on, adding to his sufferings, adding to his confusion and corrupting everything.
"I hate monsters, I hate monsters, I hate monsters I hate them I hate them I hate themIhatethemIhatethemIhatethemIhateandIhateandIhateandIhatethem—!"
"SHUT UP!"
Receiving a kick to the stomach from his side, Arthur was blown off his feet before coming to an abrupt halt against the wall. Moon grabbed him by the collar with incredible tightness, lifting him up and reeling his fist back as if to threaten.
"Quit your fucking screaming! You… my mom, my brother, they're both dead because… no, not just them, but my dad too, everyone I love in my family is dead BECAUSE OF YOU!"
He received a punch to the head which knocked his head back into the brick wall, cracking it.
"Ah…"
"Shit, shit, no… My life, it's… my life's over, because you wanted to save some BITCH!" Moon wailed, slamming Arthur's head into the ground, immediately stomping on the back of it.
"How're you gonna repay that to me, huh!? No, no, there's nothing you can do. Nothing, you… I fucking HATE YOU! Die, die if you want forgiveness for your crimes!!" Moon screamed as he continuously stomped on the back of Arthur's head.
And Arthur laughed.
It began slowly.
But, further and further, the more stomps he received, the more his vision grew stained with red from the blood on his head seeping into his eyeballs, the quicker and more husky the laughter grew.
"QUIT LAUGHING! IT'S NOT FUNNY, IT'S NOT FUCKING FUNNY!!"
The stomps grew harder, breaking the ground beneath them as Arthur continued his wails of laughter.
"Stop it, stop it, STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!"
The kick was winded up, and Arthur was sent flying down the alley like a useless ragdoll, crossing the street. Gracelessly, he struck the ground, surrounded by the lowest of the low. Trash heaps, rats, puddles, everything in this world that was the lowest of the low—Arthur truly was at the center of all vermin.
Now a great distance away, Moon left, not wanting anything to do with that bastard. And Arthur remained stuck to the ground, alone and lifeless.
Perhaps if Hiein came right now, he would finally die.
But such a thing did not happen, for better or for worse. Perhaps, in this moment, that truly was the worst possible outcome.
All he did was fail.
Failure after failure, defeat after defeat.
Arthur waited several minutes, which felt like an eternity before getting up. He stumbled out of the alleyway, and began to walk down the street. Staggering forward, aimless, bleeding down his head with small pupils and a terribly miserable grin.
"Ah… haha… ha."
"Oh dear."
That was a voice he heard often. He stopped in his tracks, keeping his grin before turning around and seeing that white haired woman standing behind him.
"I noticed that you slept when you usually didn't, so even if I couldn't enter your dream, I wanted to make sure you were okay…"
She gazed at him, terribly uncomfortable. He met her, several streaks of crimson seeping down his split open scalp.
"Ah. Hhhhaha!"
When he wheezed—no, it was an attempt at laughter—blood came out from his mouth as though spit, his sunken shoulders and chest heaving with fraudulent humor.
"That's enough," she said gently, an expression of utmost concern etched into her features. "Go to sleep, you're hurt."
And his body listened, his heart still boiling with unexpressed, visceral hatred.