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Dawn of the Dragon	By : RotSeele Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 3875 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft. I do not make any money from this story.

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Forty-Two
Tyra dodged around one of the golem dragons and fell into a spin, using gravity and momentum to keep Wrathion on her back. He was clinging to her as tightly as his little human fingers would allow, but the speed at which she was flying was starting to weaken his grip. She couldn't allow him to fall, or else everything they were trying to achieve would be for nothing. She spared a glance over her shoulder at the two golem dragons that were turning on a wing to come after them. She could see in their garnet eyes the desire to rip her limb from limb. Tyra bared her teeth and dared them to try.
She tucked her left wing against her side and started to roll, narrowly missing one of the golem dragon that came at her from below. She heard Wrathion give a cry and quickly rolled the other way, slinging him back onto her. His string of curses was lost to the wind as Tyra made a tight turn and spewed lava from her maw, catching the second golem dragon in the face with her barrage. It screamed, a terrible grating noise, but the lava would really do nothing to hurt it. But it was stunned long enough for Tyra to get close enough for Wrathion to leap from her back to the golem's.
"Do whatever you need to!" Tyra yelled at Wrathion; then she tucked her wings in and fell straight down.
Wrathion let out a pungent curse as he dug his nails into the dragon's stone skin and hung on for dear life. Literally. The golem dragon writhed in the air, spinning this way and that, swinging its body left and right and rolling in an attempt to get him off of it, to fling him into the open air so it could turn around and snap its jaws down on him. That simply wouldn't do, Wrathion decided, so he grit his teeth and dug his fingers in deeper under the stone skin and tried to pull his legs closer to his body, where the wind wouldn't drag on them so much. The last thing he needed was to get a little bit of lift underneath him.
Wrathion managed somehow to straddle the golem dragon, riding it much like an adventurer would ride one of the drakes that acquiesced to be a mount. He briefly wondered why any respectable dragon would allow itself to be ridden like a common horse. The thought was tossed to the back of his mind for later reflection and he focused on the task at hand. Somehow, Wrathion managed to get upright where he could grab onto a piece of the dragon's neck that was protruding from the rest of its body. He latched on with a strength only dragons could possess and managed to get his legs around the dragon's sides and tightened his thighs.
Above him, he heard a roar so loud it made his head rattle. He chanced a glance up and saw Tyra grappling with her enemy, their talons locked as they snapped at each other's throats. The golem dragon had the advantage there, as Tyra's throat was flesh and its was stone. But Tyra seemed to have no difficulty in tearing off the stone that made up the monster's body. Then his opponent whirled in the air, making the earth and sky switch places. If Wrathion hadn't been a dragon himself, he was sure the experience would've, quite literally, thrown him off the golem's back. As it was, Wrathion managed to secure his hold by channeling a bit of power to his hand. It made his flesh begin to glow with an unearthly red light, and steam began to waft up from where his hand was gripping the stone dragon. It didn't take long for the stone his hand was gripping to melt, and the golem dragon screamed in pain. It began to thrash, to try and throw him off, but Wrathion grit his teeth and held tight.
How was he supposed to slaughter something that it had taken Athena drastic measures to kill? Even with his powers, there was a limit to what he could do. He talked a big game, walked a big game, but in the end, he mostly got others to do his work for him. The adventure with Anduin had brought that into terrifying clarity. Even in the best if circumstances during that adventure, Wrathion hadn't even really proven himself a capable warrior let along a capable black dragon. And there was Tyrannia, his sister, one he hadn't known he had, fighting for not only herself, but him and Anduin and Shalya and the Alliance and the Horde and the whole of a world that wasn't even really hers in the first place.
Tyra dove past him, the golem dragon quite literally on her tail. One wing folded inward and she spun, falling on her back where she could spit a ball of molten earth at her enemy. Blood poured from half a dozen wounds on her hide; scales had been torn away to reveal soft dark flesh beneath. Still, Tyra fought. She fought because she couldn't afford not to fight.
"Damn it to hell," Wrathion breathed, clutching tighter to his enemy as it rolled, presenting him with an upside down view of the battlefield below.
It was going poorly.
The Dark Horde had gotten a second wind, and now was crashing into the Alliance and Horde like an unstoppable tidal wave. For every Dark Horde warrior or shaman that fell, at least two Alliance or Horde warriors or shamans fell taking them down. The healers were hard-pressed to keep up with the tumult of the battle, and many of the fighters that were revived got cut down soon after gaining their feet. The least wounded did what they could to save their comrades, but bones were brittle against maces and hammers, and flesh soft against the blade of a sword or axe.
Then the world righted itself and Wrathion saw no more of the battle below, only the battle above.
The golem dragon turned its head and stared at Wrathion with a ruby eye. Full of bravado - because he knew who was watching - Wrathion spared a hand to deliver a human gesture. The dragon seemed to laugh and then it let out a terrible roar before it began to thrash again. Wrathion held tight and dug his glowing hand in deeper, strengthening his hold. For all the golem thrashed, it couldn't get Wrathion to relinquish his hold; rather, it only gave Wrathion the advantage. As his hand sank deeper into the golem dragon's stone skin, he was able to use his other hand to tear away pieces of the encasing stone. Whether it was because he was a black dragon, or his father's son, or because of what had happened to him because of Khargol's minions, he could sense the earth elemental hidden deep inside his enemy. And he knew at once how he could defeat his opponent.
Wrathion clung to the golem dragon during its latest fit of motion and fought to tear away more pieces of its body as it spun and writhed and dove in attempts to fling him into the air. Twice, Wrathion nearly had his head taken off by talons that had come at him from behind, but Tyra's quick warnings had saved his neck - literally. He still felt the wind as the diamond claws passed over his head, and it still gave him a thrill that made his muscles clench and his heart start beating a staccato rhythm in his chest.
Still, he kept clawing at the stone, kept tearing away chunks of rock as he fought gravity and motion to stay where he was, and to keep doing what he was doing. At last, Wrathion managed to tear away enough rock to expose what would've been the chest cavity as seen from behind, but the golem dragon lacked bones or meat or lungs normal creatures should've had. So Wrathion was left staring at an empty cavity in a casing of rock, and in the center of that cavity nestled a totem of orcish make. Instantly, he knew that it housed the elemental he'd been sensing, a pained, tortured creature that had come at a friendly call and found itself in the hands of an enemy instead. The totem pulsed slightly with a mist almost green in color; Wrathion assumed that the mist somehow empowered the golem dragon and was an extension of Khargol's will.
Wrathion licked his wind-chapped lips and hesitated.
He remembered what had happened moments before Shalya had appeared and saved them all from the Dark Shaman Khargol had sent after them. He remembered what they'd done to him, what they'd almost made him do. They had been the lackeys, and he hadn't had enough power to defeat or defy them. What would placing himself in direct contact with the mastermind do? He envisioned himself turning on Tyrannia, turning on Anduin and the Alliance, turning on the Horde. He envisioned himself becoming his father, the new Deathwing. He envisioned himself as he would've been - or would be - in the future, when he'd suddenly found himself trapped in his future self, when Karidormi had rescued him. If the Alliance and Horde lost here, if they all fell, then that future would come into being.
Wouldn't it?
You know what has to be done. Do you think Athena would hesitate? Anduin? They're more brave than you could ever be! Look at what they've done, what they're still doing. Are you going to sit back and let them do everything?
Wrathion mentally grabbed hold of that inner voice of doubt and strangled it. I am Wrathion, he snarled at that voice. And I'm no coward. I'm no one's pet. And I don't need Anduin or anyone else to do my work for me anymore!
He grabbed hold of the totem. Mist poured out from between his fingers as though the sheer volume of it would make him let go. Instead, Wrathion tightened his grip on the totem and took a deep breath through his nose. A good thing, because the golem dragon chose that moment to dive, and Wrathion probably would've bitten his tongue in half otherwise.
At the edge of his consciousness, Wrathion was able to feel another mind, ancient as the earth that made up Azeroth. The earth elemental. It was angry, but it was an impotent fury, as it was currently trapped against its will doing the bidding of a foul shaman who needed to learn the error of his ways. The elemental would be pleased to find the shaman and squish him into a tiny little pile of meat and bones, but it couldn't. Then he felt a second mind, this one older than himself but not so old as the elemental. Wrathion immediately knew that mind - that dark, twisting mind that saw how things were, believed things to be different than they were, and had the power to make things change a he saw fit - as Khargol's. The Dark Shaman hadn't given up control nor relinquished any power. In fact, he seemed to be growing even more powerful, and Wrathion couldn't figure out why.
Twin roars made him pull his attention away from what his mind's eye was witnessing. He looked up and saw Tyrannia latched onto her opponent by the back of its neck, her talons carving ravines in the stone as she fought to bear the creature to the ground - or rip it to pieces. Knowing Tyra, Wrathion mused, it was probably the latter.
He watched as the golem dragon twisted in a way no normal dragon could and sink its fangs into the wrist of her right front leg, which was clinging to the creature's shoulder and close enough for its maw to reach. Wrathion's bones shook with Tyra's howl of pain, and he heard bones crunching as they gave way to teeth that had more strength behind it than just muscle and sinew. Still, despite her newest injury, Tyrannia held fast to her enemy.
Time was running out. If she couldn't dispatch her enemy before it dispatched her, then Wrathion would be facing two golem dragons. Likewise if he failed in slaying his enemy.
Wrathion turned his attention back to the totem in his hand. It had grown warm, and was growing warmer still. If Wrathion hadn't been used to the fire and inner heat of the earth, he would've released the totem the moment it began to burn his skin. Instead, he clutched tighter, and pulled back with all his strength. He met fierce resistance from Khargol's mind. He'd expected that. He'd also expected to have to fight the Dark Shaman mentally in order to claim his prize of the totem. What he didn't expect was to suddenly be on the winning side with the advantage of power and strength.
He realized that Anduin and Shalya must've started their attack, and had distracted Khargol from fighting to retain command over the elemental.
Perfect timing, my friend.
Wrathion pulled back hard, and harder still, on the totem. The mist, strangely enough, stretched like it was elastic, resisting his attempts to break the totem free of its binding. Wrathion kept pulling, kept pulling even as the golem dragon he rode screamed and folded its wings for a death dive. This time, Wrathion let go. He let the rushing air lift him up into the sky, let the dragon's fall be its own unmaking.
The totem snapped free with a thunderclap.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he heard something howl with joy and celebration. Wrathion tightened his grip around the totem and crushed it completely, rendering it to dust. The golem dragon turned to face Wrathion, as if to snap him in half. The Black Prince stared at those diamond teeth, then swore colorfully as the golem dragon began to disintegrate, crumbling to dust and carried away on the wind. And then, Wrathion realized he was falling. Closing his eyes so he wouldn't be staring at the ground rushing up to meet him, he focused on making the change from his human form to his draconic form. As soon as the change was complete, he opened his red eyes and spread his little wings and caught an updraft that as much stopped his falling as it allowed him to float.
Grinning, Wrathion turned his little muzzle to look up at Tyra and yelled, "I did-"
Tyra fell past him, blood spraying him in the face as she fell. The golem dragon chased after her, almost playfully batting her this way and that with its claws. To Wrathion, it looked the same as when a cat toyed with an injured mouse just before the cat either decided to let the wounded creature go, or to kill it and eat it.
Fury took him suddenly. It was hot and fiery, a full emotion of anger and hatred mixed together. He hadn't known Tyrannia all that long, sure, but she was still a black dragon. She was still one of his flight. Still his sister. He willed his body to change again, and he streamlined himself as much as he could to dive after them. In his natural form, which was only about as big as a dog, there was no way he could hope to match a golem dragon and a drake in the air. But in his human shape, he had the slightest of chances. Wrathion stretched his left arm out before him and summoned to him all of the power he could. A wordless yell escaped him, the sound snatched away by the wind before it even really had a chance to fully form. The power, however, formed without much direction from the one casting it, rather fueling itself from his rage alone. From the sudden fear and loneliness he felt at the idea of truly being the last of his kind.
The massive fireball hit the golem dragon square in between its wings, snapping it downwards so violently chunks of its body flew off in all directions. Wrathion shot past the wounded construct and reached out to grab Tyra's wounded neck. Wrathion didn't know much healing magic, and he knew that unless Tyra woke, they'd both be dead in a scant few minutes. "Tyra!" Wrathion screamed. "Wake up!"
She stirred. Just a little. A pained crimson eye cracked open and soon Tyra's form was shrinking. They gripped each other's hands as the tumbled through the sky. The wounds on her draconic body were now just shiny patches of skin on her human one, but Wrathion knew that if she changed back too fast, those wounds would reopen. The problem was that the ground was rushing up to meet them, and there was a very agitated golem dragon bearing down on them from above.
Growling, Tyra transferred her hand from Wrathion's to his wrist. She held him tightly, looking up toward the golem dragon quickly descending toward them. "Hold on, and don't scream."
"Why?"
"You don't want to lose your tongue, do you?"
Before Wrathion could question her further, Tyra gave a wordless snarl and flung him up, forcing the golem dragon to swerve to avoid hitting Wrathion, who had now become an aerial obstacle to it. Wrathion did scream, risk of losing his tongue or not, and was pushed up higher in the air as the golem dragon's wake buffeted him. As he spun back around, he saw that Tyra had made the transition to her natural form and had closed with the construct. Her wounds were freshly bleeding, but they had somewhat closed enough to be non-threatening. He could tell she still favored one side as she and the golem dragon hit in a terrifying frenzy of flashing claws and teeth. Wrathion fought to control his descent enough to change forms, his little wings stretching to their full span to catch the air and slow his descent enough that he could watch Tyra.
She fought bravely. He couldn't say she didn't. But the way she fought allowed no room for her to grab hold of the golem dragon like he'd been able to do. Until she tore apart the golem's chest, that creature would continue taking bites out of her - literally - until she was dead. And yet, knowing that, she continued to fight. Her mace-like tail whipped into the golem's face, breaking its lower jaw so it hung loose on its head. Her claws tore rents in the golem's hide, tearing away stone. And even when Tyra managed to break free and return to the skies, Wrathion could see that she was growing tired.
He spared a glance toward the battle raging far below them. It didn't look good for the Alliance and Horde... Well. Alliance. The Dark Horde was swarming the field with their elementals, and for every Dark Horde that went down, two defenders seemed to go with them. He watched King Varian Wrynn get cornered by several warriors, only to slay them all with one mighty heave of Shalamayne. Two Dark Shaman sprung up after that attack and knocked the human king to the ground, where he fought to regain his feet before the two orcs managed to skewer him, either with their own hands or the elementals they summoned. He spotted Jaina Proudmoore too, standing amidst a circle of smoking bodies, her face smeared with blood and gore. A night elf priestess knelt behind her, doing what she could to heal a wounded Genn Greymane.
Vol'jin stalked the field, firing arrows into the Dark Horde warriors. It did little to stem the tide of soldiers, even less to stop the Dark Shaman from summoning more and more twisted elementals. He watched as Vol'jin finally had to give ground, retreating with the wounded survivors of his faction and the Alliance, doing what he could to protect them even though he knew his actions would spare them another few minutes of life at most.
Tyra's roar brought his attention back to her, and Wrathion felt despair grip him. Tyra was in the grips of the golem dragon, its broken jaw her only saving grace. While she had her talons locked around the dragon's wing-shoulders, it had managed to gain a hold on her throat where she couldn't writhe or squirm to get it to let go. But because of its broken jaw, the dragon couldn't clamp down to break her neck or tear her throat out. And, locked that way, Tyra's wings were the only things keeping the two of them aloft. Even as Wrathion tilted his little body to hurry to Tyra, the truth of their situation weighed on him like a sack of rocks.
They were going to fail.
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Dawn of the Dragon