The dragon, Vincent, knew that Arthur needed to be dealt with quickly. He took off the ground, flying and opening its mouth, as blades of flame surrounded the air, all being sent at one singular target.
Arthur leapt back, evading the explosions that occurred when the flames crashed into the street.
The noise from the blades of flame were that of loud booms. However, the ensuing sounds were that of sirens. Multiple cop cars arrived onto the scenery of the rich neighborhood, and two stepped out from their vehicles, drawing their guns at the dragon.
"What, no, what the fuck, that's a…" said one of the policemen. They spoke into their radio, giving a frantic and panic message.
"We need backup, there's a real, true dragon here! And the corpse of one too, I don't know what the—" Before he could finish his sentence, a spear of fire appeared above his head. To which, Arthur looked forward with a pleading expression.
…
Arthur was furious at the world, in an extremely emotional manner, that rage boiled deep inside of him for most dragons, and any dragon which he deemed "bad."
However, that did not result in hatred for humanity.
When it came to Arthur's prior experiences with the cruelty and apathy that society is capable of, Arthur truly did hate. But once he found that he did have friends, people who did care for him and like him for who he was, not despising him due to his behavior or ugliness, he gained a new feeling for them.
Before he was affirmed that his personality could be loved, Arthur held deep resentment towards those who had wronged him. At his worst, he would have fantasies of killing them, but would always reject such desires after he'd soaked up the catharsis from such ideas.
However, when he did find that people could love him, while Arthur did hold resentment towards those people, Arthur let it go. Somewhat, at least. Enough to not dwell on it anymore.
He was sad that they'd made him think that he couldn't be loved, even as a friend, for so long. However, they'd been "proven wrong," so he was satisfied.
So to him, his past was more like something that haunted his behavior and self-image, rather than something which he must exterminate and completely "avenge."
To him, he could not trust society, or anyone other than his friends or perhaps his mom, to save or help him. But he knew that for the more fortunate, those who had not been born as Arthur Assas, society would comfort and protect them.
It was a bit of selflessness that he'd gained from his friends. Just having friends was enough to satisfy him, so he didn't mind it if others had more than he had. He knew that being angry would make his friends dislike him and push them away, so he refused to hate too much, in order to make sure he was a good enough person for them.
Which is why, in this moment—
…
He'd been rejected by human society, but the world of dragons was the one he loathed, as they'd taken away a piece of the only things that really mattered to him.
So, he would try to keep the human casualties to a minimum.
Arthur leapt forward, tackling the officer to the ground as the spear of fire ignited the back of his body. He screamed, and the dragon rushed forward with its jaw, sinking its large, dagger-like teeth into his side, puncturing his body and ripping him up.
He was lifted into the air by the maw, to which he was shaken around like a chew toy given to a dog before being spat out after building up a lot of momentum, flung away and spinning rapidly with a mix of blood and dragon slobber soaking his body.
He crashed into a rich person's house, shattering the window and slamming into their table. His back stood erect, arching as if he was stretching it out. It was like when you extend your leg too much and get a cramp, then recoil in both fear and pain.
"Huh… then you're not so scary after all! You're still just a human!" The dragon roared, before turning back to meet the eyes of the officer, who had drawn his pistol. He fired, to which blue flames coated the dragon's body for a moment.
Typically, a gunshot would be able to damage a fully transformed dragon, even if not fully kill them. However, when met with such extreme heat, the bullet was softened in an instant, so it could not puncture the scales of the dragon.
"Maybe I don't need to hold back anymore. It's too late after all, the whole thing's gone to shit, hasn't it?" Said the dragon. Then, thick arrows born of flames, dozens, perhaps even up to a hundred, formed into the air, all aimed at the house Arthur was inside of.
Arthur got to his feet, healing his wound and clicking his tongue.
'He's wrong, I'm not just a human. I'm not even human, I can't be called that. That makes it sound like I'm owed basic rights, or any sort of dignity.'
'But that's not true. I've spent all my life thinking I didn't deserve what happened to me, but that's not true. I was hurt for good reason.'
He was treated as a subhuman even before it was revealed that he was a dragon.
Arthur shattered the cutlass into dust, before it coated his entire body as a deep red armor. The armor was rough and jagged, with blacked out eyes and a section for his jaw which opened and closed rows of spikes for teeth like something straight out of a nightmare.
And sprouting from the back of that armor, were three thick tendrils, each around four feet in length.
Then, the fire arrows were unleashed, and completely bombed the house. The resulting explosion resulted in a mushroom cloud that could be seen a block over, with a loud boom and setting off multiple car alarms.
…
The dragon roared in laughter, and he looked over to see that the old man had kicked the bucket, his skin melting off of his face.
"Ah, dang it, he died. Well, does that make me the new head of the family? Meh, it's his own fault for getting in the way, ain't it?" Asked the dragon to himself.
Such actions resulted in everyone in their homes at the time fleeing immediately, rushing out of their house and seeing the dragon, shrieking in fright as they then entered their cars and drove away.
As for the other members of the Fire Dragon family, they stormed out, with there being around 10 of them, though they mostly comprised women with a few older men and young boys.
"You, you didn't listen! What're you in your true form in public for!? And the others, did they—" One of the women asked, before hearing rubble being shifted a couple houses down. They all went over to the police car, with one of the women grabbing the one who Arthur had protected, tossing him like a softball being thrown by a dad, up into the air before slamming hard down onto the ground.
They turned their gazes to see Arthur, standing up covered in that armor.
In their eyes, he seemed to be a monster, who refused to back down.
…
'IT BURNS… IT BURNS… IT BURNS, IT BURNS…'
Arthur screamed within the confines of his own head. Behind that armored head of his, he was panting and gasping, inhaling roughly. Though, he couldn't fully hear any of that.
His eardrums had been blown out by the explosion, he felt charred and like he'd fall apart to ash in seconds. Arthur's cells screamed, and he felt that painful burning sensation all over his body.
'It hurts, stop, I can't take the pain anymore, I can't, please stop, I'm going to die, don't kill me, I'm going to die, stop it, don't do it, it hurts, stop, no, wait, please, stop, ah.'
Over and over again, he begged for the pain to end.
His hormones were in full swing as a result of his abuse. He was entirely seething as a result of the pain. That fear ignited even stronger hatred, and that hatred ignited rage, which ignited emotion, which ignited sensory overload, which set fear ablaze.
'Die, fucking die, I'll kill you, no, don't kill me, it hurts, I hate them, I want them dead, ah, I'm gonna die, stop, stop, stop.'
And so, when he saw them, the burning sensation could not be held back into just his head.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!"
'IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS.'
'THE PAIN, THE PAIN, THE PAIN, THE PAIN, THE PAIN, THE PAIN, THE PAIN THE PAIN THE PAIN THE PAIN THE PAIN THE PAINTHEPAINTHEPAINTHEPAINTHEPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAIN—'
The pain that surged through his body made him wish, even for a moment, that he had died on the night he was attacked.
Or perhaps it would have been better if he'd not been born at all.
Arthur shed his armor. That armor's heat only continued his wounds, so he discarded it, breaking it apart and throwing it to the side, as it was too hot to wield.
He used his own blood, which cut through his skin, to form shorts that covered his crotch. His eyes turned towards the family, and the many more people present.
The going had gotten rough.
And he wanted to run away. However, he could not. It was not a show of bravery or courage, but rather a show of hopelessness.
Arthur would not change. He would not grow, and even if he knew he was doing the wrong thing, he would do it regardless of consequence.
'Because that's who I am.'
Arthur formed a dagger of his own blood, locking eyes with the dragon. Then, he kicked his feet off the ground, rushing with intense speed to a dragon.
The corpse of one, at least.
'It's not as good as my previous weapon. Or at least, in terms of quality.'
But the sheer amount of blood a fully transformed dragon had was far greater than mere human-formed dragons.
He reached inside of the wounds of the corpse, and his evolved ability allowed him to even pull in blood, though admittedly at a moderate pace.
The human body possessed around a gallon or so of blood. What he just took was 6 gallons of pristine, fully transformed dragons blood.
He laughed, raising his hand into the air as his familiar cutlass returned to him.
…
Within that Dragon Art: Blood Armory, the amount and might of the victim's blood mattered quite a good amount in determining the capabilities of a weapon.
The strength of a weapon was not limited by weight, durability, or range.
While, yes, putting a large amount of blood into one weapon would increase the durability, meaning that it wouldn't break as easily, it also had another plus side.
With the inherently magical—or perhaps mythical as a better term, nature of dragons, the blade would not only be more durable, less prone to breaking.
There was another advantage that was, in itself, inherently magical.
The ability to cut through things that ordinarily would be impossible, or at least very difficult.
Plate armor works. Swords simply aren't built to cut through them, though many weapons are in fact able to punch through them.
Such is what a dragon wields. Their natural scales are thicker and more durable than steel. So guns are more effective because they punch through, though larger guns are needed to truly kill a dragon, as smaller firearms only manage to damage the scale, not enter the flesh behind it.
But Arthur's cutlass, which was modeled after one wielded by the navy and at 33 inches of blade length, was now entirely different from many of the weapons formed in the world.
Having been formed past a certain threshold of quality and quantity being condensed, now no longer abided by such factors.
…
A gash.
Right along the dragon's chest, cutting through the scales, which should be nigh impossible to slice through, was Arthur.
"Wha—"
Unable to get another word out, Arthur followed through with another slash to the jaw.
He leapt into the air, taking hold of his blade with both hands, and slashed the dragon's head by the top.
The cutlass was now embedded into the top of the head, a wound not immediately fatal. Arthur ripped the blade out, swinging it back into the air and across the dragon's eyes, taking them out.
The other members of the family all used their flame abilities, launching different manifestations of fire-related attacks at Arthur.
Arthur leapt up to evade them, still breathing heavily from his healing. The fire hit their relative, though it didn't seem to be much of anything more than a small mistake.
It was only natural that people who could use fire attacks were fireproof themselves.
However, in the dragon's current state, that was not the case. The flames entered the dragon's slashed out eyes, burning them from the inside, causing intense pain.
The dragon roared, and Arthur swung.
The head came off.
Or, it should have. The sword was not long enough to take the dragon's head off in just one swing. So, Arthur swung again.
The first swing severed around 60-70% of the neck. It was an attack which was only possible due to Arthur giving it his all.
So he went for another one. But he wasn't given enough momentum, so he had to swing again. The blade severed the flesh, and finally, after three swings, the dragon lost its head.
The blood sprayed with great violence, leaving an intense, intense amount of it behind. Arthur turned back to see the members of the family, looking onwards with great, great fright.
And so, he continued, killing the adults first. Then, came the hard part.
What was left were a couple just-turned teenagers, and a few little girls, with one little boy present.
Arthur looked at them, his face, neck, hair, torso, arms and legs covered in red blood.
"Sit still, I'll think over what to do with you while I collect blood. Anyone who moves will die," he told them, going around and taking the blood out of the corpses.
Seeing what he was doing, the cop's partner drew his gun, pointing it at Arthur.
"Drop your weapon!" He yelled. "I want to see your hands, put your hands up and back away from them!"
The cop had not intervened earlier. The dragon was clearly a threat, and Arthur was the one fighting him, so it was in his best interest to allow him to continue.
And for the adults, they too seemed to be allied with the dragon, and one of them had just thrown his partner away, so it made sense to not intervene when Arthur went against them.
However, now, Arthur seemed to be going to kill children. While they were allied with "bad guys," they were still children—and the man, no matter how afraid or helpless, would not allow him to harm innocent children.
Arthur looked at him with slight irritation, though the cutlass was dismantled and put back into Arthur's blood.
"Am I under arrest?" Arthur asked.
"I don't fucking know… what the heck even was that thing? That was a dragon, right? A true, a… a dragon," he asked in response.
"It was. And it might've killed you if I didn't intervene. Are you going to kill me?"
"Just don't lay a single finger on those kids! Whatever they are, children are not meant to be hurt, they're not meant to suffer. So please, man, don't hurt them."
It was not very police-officer-like of him to beg. However, his nature was that of a man, and he knew he was outmatched.
So, Arthur was faced with a dilemma.
Would he kill the children, and risk the officer's life, for the sake of his goal?
Or would he follow the officer's words, simply perhaps taking his gun away and then take all of the blood he could and then leave?
Such was quite an important decision.