Frosthaven's Plague

'We have had enough of the evil beings tempting us all this while,' the right side thought. He squeezed the stick in his hand. 'We stay indoors for the fear of them all! They can move around our kingdom, but we can't.

But I won't let a godforsaken beast dictate my life for me, either. If we have to fight through thick and thin, to protect ourselves and our family… to at least face off one beast if we can't do the same to the beings of darkness that for long plagued us… it's worth it. Tell me about it, dragon Ashbane!'

The villagers all stared at the figure cloaked in black standing ahead. Some were like the right hand. However, there was certainly a difference in their resolve. Everyone else had their distinct countenances. No one has yet taken an action.

In a literal sense, they could have at least continued relaying the dragon's rumor.

However, that the one in question had boldly claimed his own identity made the story another chapter.

The wind whistled. Snow specks danced in the air. Pale faces stared through the atmosphere's thinnest part, an unseen source gluing chapped lips over one another.

 A groan pierced through from Zmey. He let out a jesting chuckle.

"What now? Then what're you guys going to do about it?"

Gasping voices raised down the snowy range. They vary in pitch and tone to Zmey, and he had to raise his head to inspect. Or, rather… to take a different action. Who knows?

A few villagers he could still see till this last minute either were eyes-widen – agape too – or staring into his cloaked soul while some, like right hand, clenched their tools even more.

It was scary to confront a beast as deadly as the rumored Western dragon; yes, very. But for some, the sequence of breaths they take in every single second was the best chance life had given them. Then should they surrender it to a creature that threatened them at their doorsteps? If they won't, then could they fight back?

Zmey's eyes moved from one sturdy house to the other, shrewd but with a hinting composed underlay. A hint of a snicker crossed his face as fast as a moving boomerang. He balanced his shoulders, even more than normal. And his eyesight bored into a distant pair that something seemed to fall out of place the moment they locked eyes.

For a moment, he looked at the villagers once again. They looked terrified, child-like shadows curling behind windows and even some aged ones having unshed tears around their eyebars.

His teeth gritted.

He caused them to be in this state. 

He took a deep breath. Then two more.

'No other choice… just this…' Zmey thought, straightening his back as quickly as he could. He had to, if this would be the last act he would put on.

Silence dragged through the air. Suddenly, his voice rang up,

"Being considerate?… Mercy? I guess you already know I don't feel things like that.

There's always a smoldering heat beneath my skin that pushes me to crave something else. Just like you, earthy creatures, have a craving for food and assortments, I do have the same for life forces. I need them… to sever the heat burning inside me!

Do you think your life matters? To a beast? Ah… what a joke!"

A wide grin glued onto his face, raising his cheeks a little high.

Having her hair as a side-swept fishtail in a creamy embroidered gown, around the middle 30s, a female's voice suddenly hollered, broken and indented, but still having an underlying strength that continued pushing words from her throat. She was standing at the window of the third house to Zmey's left.

"Wh-why do you think our lives don't matter? If we would like to live on, doesn't that deem you wrong? Do you…?"

Zmey raised a finger, seizing words from her throat in an instant.

….

"You're not even arguing? If you would like?" he asked rhetorically. He took a sigh. He intoned, "Worthless. Disposable. What did you just say? That if you would like? Is that what you said? There's this 'thing' that threatened you, and you know despite your larger number, you guys are still at a disadvantage.

Yet, all you can do is indirectly ask to be spared. You don't even think you're not an ant or pointless species. No, you don't. How unappealing."

He shook his head curtly. Then his voice came again, but this time calculative. 

"Every single body part developed by you would perish to ashes under my breath, for not up to three seconds.

I can call myself a more suitable candidate for being a Grim Reaper.

Just like I did to the five thousand people… like I did to many others… I could repeat the same for every one of you. It requires just a…"

Zmey paused, his eyes shooting at that third house, where he heard a very loud sound. Like a bang. He had, for a second, thought the emotionally tortured villagers had just launched an attack. Till he saw something entirely different.

Air stopped mid-throat.

The middle-aged lady knelt on her house's entrance floor. Tiny stones perched on her knees, the feeling a faint sting. All the other villagers locked eyes on her in astonishment or protest. Zmey's brows creased seeing her, his eyes following the parting of her lips to speak.

She clutched her gown at knee level. She sobbed, her heart beating hard as she spoke. "Please spare us all. Spare us, please. I wish to do anything to secure the lives of, my family, and the other villagers. Please… even if you feel nothing, not an emotion, just this once, spare…"

Zmey cut in, voice deep. "In this dire situation, why are you still worried about others? It's like being thrown at death's face, you being carefully watched for a mistake to be devoured. Even so, you want to do anything for them. Others… not you?"

He could observe the desperation and frustration laid on the lady. She couldn't speak but clutched her teeth while holding her breath, eyes closed. Zmey breathed gently. The others were nearly indifferent about her.

Some, like the right hand, remained relentless; just a minimum hesitation stayed that kept them from charging at a beast threatening to end them at its breath.

Zmey knew it – these few were anxious at their own pace, too, but they were just like the armies he used to lead, being a battle commander in his second reincarnation.

Through thick and thin, his armies never would allow enemies past their defenses. When he was in the hot lava ground doing his thing, his men had stood boldly, holding back against enemies not to raise their red signal flags.

Times when he had also met stronger opponents, and highly skilled fighters, on battlefields, but with his armies, they conquered their fears and became victorious.

Fear was first inevitable, but with just a simple push, an ounce of strength could emerge from anywhere.

'…I will give them. It's probably my last chance to die in peace.'

The lady's immediate eye contact took him by surprise. The moonlight that had just been rising in the sky, the snowfall lessening and the atmosphere growing warmer, glinted randomly across her face. It was watery, her corneas faintly red and her neck as though sweat enveloped it.

Zmey noticed her kind of expression — rage and hesitation. And he instantly thought of one simple strategy – to take advantage of those feelings.

But when her lips parted, his and her eyes locking, her mouth hung open with only ragged breaths escaping. Zmey creased his brows. He crossed his arms.

"What now? Did you lose that push on seeing my face? This means you can never escape from who you are. Your emotions are you, and you can't ever escape from them. See? This is someone who wants to kick me in the face…"

The lady's eyes flared.

"We all know we amount to nothing before you. There's no power anywhere! I know it… the Western Dragon's power exceeds the combination of the few exorcists we have here in Frosthaven," sourness gradually enveloped her voice. She tightened her fist.

"Tamers here probably don't have what it takes to contract a high sorcerer like you. BUT none of that matters right now! No tamer or exorcist matters here! Our taxes all go into their pockets, yet they left us to our fate when those evil spirits scavenged our lands. They never answered… they didn't care, and that's why we all live away because of fear!

All we demand… all we seek from your noble hands is to give us a chance. Consideration gets to you like fire to water; we don't demand a chance freely, but we are ready to prove our worthiness to you…"

"Are you sure?" Zmey interposed, his voice low and edged with frankness. He stared into the lady's eyes as though a hungry predator. Another question came, "Aren't you the only one demanding a chance…?"

Bump, bump, bump!

"Please spare our lives!" a chorus echoed through the snowland.