Chapter Seven: Face the Devils!
“Go back! Turn around and face these evil beasts!” The shouts were to no avail. The few remaining Romans fled from the massive dragon.
Francois stood atop a fallen pillar, trying to conduct the flying soldiers. Before him, sitting on a pile of rubble and roaring ominously to scare away the soldiers was a massive dragon, its scales gold and black. Dark wreathes of shadow flickered across its sides as it turned, giving it an ethereal appearance.
“Stay where you are, you cowards!” shouted Francois after the fleeing Romans, but they departed through a hole in a wall and left him with the dragon. “Very well,” muttered the knight, “I shall show them that no foe is too great to battle.”
With these words, he leapt from the stone that he was standing on and landed, rather heavily because of all his armor, on the ground below. He crouched there, waiting to see what the dragon would do.
The dragon turned its great head, large enough to nearly swallow Francois whole, and considered him with one brilliant, intelligent green eye. Then it let out a roar and flew at him, teeth bared. Francois leapt aside just in time, and brought his sword down on the beast’s head as it snapped its jaws where he had just been. The dragon snorted at the pain, turned, and poured a stream of fire at Francois.
Francois ducked behind a convenient rock and waited, listening to the sound of the rock sizzling on all sides about him. “Where’s Dan when you need him?” he muttered to himself.
Once the stream of fire stopped, Francois leapt over the rock and landed directly on the dragon’s neck. Seeing a spike in front of him, he seized it, and none too soon. The dragon arched its neck, and tried to shake him off by thrashing about as if it were a wounded animal.
Still holding on to the spike in front of him, Francois swung his sword up and then down so that it cut deep into the dragon’s neck. He thought he felt bone beneath it, and a corresponding jerk confirmed his theory. The dragon leapt from the ground, unfurling its wings as it did so, and flipped right over, dumping Francois back onto the ground. He stood up, ready to face the dragon again.
The dragon landed heavily, and bent its neck so that its head touched the ground. Then it raised itself on it hind legs, and let out a deafening roar. Francois, recognizing that the dragon was about to breathe fire, ducked for cover. However, no fire came out of the dragon’s jaws. Instead, a black mist erupted from them, and then formed itself into a dark cloud. Looking closer, Francois saw that the cloud was composed of about forty small, imp like, wisps of smoke with arms and fire-spitting maws. They separated, and then sped at him, leaving trails of flame and smoke in their wake.
“Black magic,” muttered Francois. “This is no ordinary dragon.”
Back on earth in Francois’s day, knights went on long quests to battle such creatures. Dark magicians, evil dragons, and sinister spirits were common foes, if only one could find them. Therefore, Francois was not entirely surprised to find himself confronted by these evil spirits. Small as they were, they were not to be defeated by sword or axe. No spirit answered to such retribution. The only retribution they answered to was of the One who held power over them, and their controller.
Francois let his sword drop so that it rested in his palm, point down. He then held it up by the base of the blade, and said, “Be gone, you foul creations of misery! You will find no victims here! Flee, and may your every hour by gilded with pain!”
The mist like imps did not stop, but simply passed straight through Francois and evaporated on the other side, their shrieks being cut off.
Then Francois turned to the dragon, still holding his sword in front of him, and said, “And as for you, evil creature of the abyss! May you wither and die! I have battled your dark kind before! Flee! Leave this city and take your wake of destruction with you!”
The dragon would doubtless have snapped Francois up if it weren’t for his sword. It took one look at it, and its face changed to one of fear. It backed against the wall, unwilling to either charge the holy symbol made by the sword or leave such an easy meal.
Francois, seeing its indecision, decided to make up its mind for it. He rushed at the beast, yelling all the while, “Fly, you rotted symbol of hollow power! Fly from the wrath of the One Whose symbol I hold in my hand!”
Finally forced to get away from the sword, the dragon leapt up, and flew away, its wings beating the air down with defiance. “And may He strike you from the sky,” said Francois to the empty air.