All the best to those following this story. Welcome to Spring! The time of Imbolc, and the Goddess Brigid. Happy feasting to one and all.
Once again, thanks to Avicia (and others) for the editing and input.
The Tattooed Woman Volume 3 - Chapter 40: A Child of the Old Gods.
With a tearing snarl of sheer venomous rage, the Dragon lashed out! Lunging forward, eyes blazing, his arm whipped round in a deadly blur. The sound of his striking fist was like a harsh crack of thunder, and the impact shook the air as the woman's head was snapped to one side. His heart burned; his wrath was unchecked, and every part of him wanted nothing more than to wreak catastrophic ruin upon this
thing.
His brother might be all but gone, but he himself was stronger now by far. His Master had healed and hardened his ruined body with brute magic, strengthening his limbs, adding to the sheer power of his fire, toughening his scales beyond all reckoning. He had consumed the beating heart of one of his own kin, and though he could still hear her screams, he felt her power in his very bones! And so, he struck his foe with unbridled fury, rightly confident of victory.
When last they fought, he and his brother Typhonus had near enough been her match. Even so, the battle had been brutal and vicious, with no quarter asked, or given, and bloody ruinous wounds were inflicted aplenty upon the combatants.
But that was then. Adair had been miserable and weary. Heartsick with loss and ashamed by the unthinking vengeful excesses her fury had provoked. When her foes had come upon her, she was spent and done; standing forlorn in the vale before the mountain where she had lived, in the very place she had spoken her wedding troth. Her home had been despoiled, and was now nothing but haunted, cold and empty caverns, where once dragonfire and crystal had glowed. Lost in solitary gloom, she thought to crawl into the barrow she had erected over her murdered husband, and join him in that long sleep, never stirring, until the very world ended.
She had no desire for battle, and had fought out of habit, without frenzy or focus, uncaring wither she lived or died. And when, at the end, her burned and scorched body fell, it was not pain, or anguish, that she felt, but relief.
Aye, that was then. This was now.
Time heals all wounds they say, and now she was awake!
Demeritus stared with growing horror as her head swung back to him and he looked into those dark, dark eyes and saw that wicked, hungry smile.
Then she fell on him.
A blow struck his face with such force that bones shattered, and broken teeth erupted from his mouth in a bloody spray. Another impact caved in the ribs on one side, and claws of black diamond tore his flesh, hidden scales and all, like gory paper.
Gurgling in shock, he began the change, but, immediately, talons wrapped around his throat, and he was jerked forward like a rag doll; to find himself looking into eyes every bit as golden and serpentine as his own, and a voice, like some evil waft from a burning abattoir, whispered in his ear, "Oh no! Not so fast Demeritus. If you change, I change! Then we shall really see how well you fare,
Dragon!
"
Whimpering, he threw up an arm to shield his face, only to shriek in anguish as it was wrenched brutally aside, and the sound of snapping bones filled his ears.
Long fingers wrapped around his throat as he was inexorably borne to the ground and, despite his frantic struggles, the creature began to slowly, deliberately, throttle the very life from him. And all the while, over his choking and rasping, his desperate whimpers and hopeless gasps, all he could hear was her evil whispers, "Not yet, oh no, not yet..."
At the back of the tent, Quintus had all but soiled himself. In his time, he had been stalked by ravening Hellhounds, shot at by Drow, and exchanged sorcerous fire with a monstrous Dracolich, but never had he seen such a terrible, unearthly rage, such a display of sheer unbridled hatred and brutal strength. The Dragon had come looking for a Demon, but had found something far, far worse. She was of the Danu, a child of the Old Gods, and they were not forgiving! Her long hair whipped this way and that like a nest of demented serpents, livid tattoos coiled about her arms, and her eyes were aflame.
The stricken Dragon spat blood and gurgled as his bulging eyes began to roll back, "El...."
The wizard licked his lips, "I-I think he's trying to say something."
Fingers like coiled steel tightened all the more, sinking further into the creature's throat.
"Elle..."
"It sounds like he's trying to say, "Ellén."
Adair froze, paying no heed to the pathetic struggles of the creature beneath her, and for the longest moment Quintus thought she would just ignore him. Then, with a cry of raw frustration and rage, she released the thing she was ruthlessly murdering and threw herself backwards.
Demeritus rolled to his knees, desperately wheezing for breath, with blood and spittle dripping from his smashed mouth.
A ruthless hand coiled in his hair; his head was jerked up and the icy tip of a long black talon came to rest against his eye. Swallowing bile, he looked up into the face of Fury, "SPEAK!"
The voice was a crushed whisper, "H-he... has her!"
...
She had fled the destruction and ruin of Morrigan's Stone with the dying scream of the Great Red Dragon still ringing in her ears. Hurtling up into the stormswept sky, she had ignored the violent flash of lightning and the deafening roar of thunder to explode through roiling dark clouds. With wings beating almost as swiftly and desperately as her pounding heart, she had streaked through the sky, straining with every sinew, to escape the darkness she knew would be following.
Dragons were swift. In their day, they had ruled the skies, rightfully proud of their unchallenged might and majesty, and Ellén knew she was swifter than most. Even her mother, fair Shalidar, Mistress of the Southern Skies, was hard pressed to match her speed, and, with her smaller size, the young Dragon knew she was far nimbler.
But, as the clouds blackened around her and ice began to form on her wings, she knew there were older and darker things than Dragons abroad this night.
Frigid rain fell in sheets all about, and even with the fire of her Draconic blood burning in her veins, she shivered with cold. Her hot breath froze in a bitter mist, and she began to tire as the unearthly chill leeched the strength from her very bones.
Lightning crackled, and the icy talons of fear wrapped themselves around her heart as she saw the great shadow above her. Its mighty black wings folded as it dove at her like some colossal bird of prey.
Terror lent her speed and at the last instant, she veered aside. The massive shape roared past her, and, for a terrible moment, she caught a glimpse of a ragged, smoking crater on the side of its head; a deep angry pockmarked scar where a cadaverous eye should have been. With a scream, she peeled away and climbed towards the dark stormclouds, hoping to lose herself in their perilous embrace.
Howling winds buffeted her, thunder crashed all around and livid forks of lightning split the sky like the spear of some angry war god. Sleet lashed at her, and the terrible cold numbed her limbs but she grit her teeth against the pain and endured; for she knew that down there, somewhere below her, the one who hunted her was circling, like some monstrous shark lurking in the depths.
Currents tugged at her as she slid through the maelstrom, pulling her this way and that even as she tried to conceal herself in its violence.
Then a shadow loomed out of the murk. With a shriek, she desperately threw herself aside and it screamed past, missing her by so narrow a margin that she felt its fetid breath upon her scales. Sensing the fiend circling for another pass, she folded her wings and dove! And from the howling cry from behind her, and the growing shriek of the frozen air passing over its great wings, she knew it dove after her in relentless pursuit.
