67 The Wyrm Atrocity

Continuously thrusting down onto the Wyrm, the spearmen cried out in desperation as they attempted to fell the beast before them but, no matter how much they tried, they achieved nothing more than blunting their weapons since the tips were reflected by the seemingly impenetrable scales of the beast.


John had to commend whoever was in charge for the quick thinking, after all, it had just taken a few direct blasts from the artillery so it was bound to have a few potent lacerations on its body and, if the sudden roars of pain were anything to go by, someone found one.

Rearing its head up, the Wyrm lunged forward with its gaping maw directed at a group of defenders who quickly recognised the danger and attempted to leap out of the way. However, their current battle formation finally showed its flaws as the proximity of the defenders prevented them from properly dodging, and a few were grabbed, crushed, and then swallowed, the beast not caring that they were fully armoured.

Not sparing any time, the remaining spearmen in reach lunged towards the monster's eyes, but were not fast enough and promptly blocked by its eyelids, while the swordsman continued to watch due to their weapons not having the reach or heightened stabbing capacity of the spears.

Tilting its head to the side, the lizard snapped towards the defenders again, managing to trap even more as its mouth slammed shut with horrible force, leaving nothing but the odd hand, leg, or head that wasn't within its jaws.

Ignoring its clearly too well-defended eyes, the spearmen in range jabbed at its now exposed neck, namely the destroyed and cracked scales.

The beast cried out once again as it jerked its head back from the wall, but the sudden cries of confusion and panicked ordering of replacement spears dampened the minor victory. John watched while the spearmen were rapidly rotated out, and he saw what had happened. Some of the spear tips had lost their sheen and gone brittle, the simple act of moving was enough to cause pieces of the powerful material to flake off and shatter on the ground.

Thinking that this occurrence was familiar, John tried to get a closer look, but the bustle of people and the enraged cry of the wyrm as it started another attack prevented him.

The lizard reared back and brought down both front legs onto the wall, raking down the side and tearing large gashes into the defense but, in doing so, it exposed its heavily armoured back, which was not at all an advantage and wouldn't affect the battle in any way, though apparently, one swordsman disagreed.

John, along with everyone else, gasped in shock when one crazed hooligan suddenly burst into a sprint, shoving people out of the way and almost off the wall, as he beelined for the titanic lizard and, right before he came to the edge, he jumped, landing on its neck and sliding down to its back.

No one knew what this mad-man was doing, but he seemed mighty pleased with himself as he cheered at his supposed victory and tried to swing his sword into the monster, though it obviously bounced right off.

Letting out another crescendoing, high-pitched roar, the wyrm voiced its outrage at the pesky fly which dared ride it and shook its body violently while reaching back with its head and snapping at the human.

Somehow, while hanging on for dear life, the man managed to raise his sword yet again and stab down, but it had the exact same effect as before, and only succeeded in making the beast even angrier, causing it to rear back onto its hind legs and keep snapping at the pesky fly with even more vigor.


With its current circus act, the wyrm was off balance and took a few shaky steps back as it continued to snap at the human, placing it in the perfect position for the cannons to fire upon it without placing their own force in lethal danger.

The remaining cannons which had yet to fire all roared as one, with many shots hitting their marks, blasting the wyrm off its feet as it careened backward, large portions of its underbelly reduced to something no longer safe for mainstream tv, and its front right arm was blown off at the elbow.

"Is it… dead?"

This inquiry echoed all across the human line though, despite their optimism, John couldn't help but shake his head at the brilliant flag which was just raised, and sure enough, he was right.

All of the wyrm's injuries started gushing out that unsettling smoke as its wounds were obscured by the haze, the only sense still discerning something from the mess of shadowy smoke being hearing, which only picked up a deep rumble.

The defenders held their breath as the covering of misty black smoke faded, and what was revealed was the wyrm, but not the same.

Its scales had turned completely black, its eyes glowing a startlingly familiar purple, the cracks on its body had spread, oozing that same misty black smoke, and its arm had been replaced with some shadowy form which, while looking incorporeal, was clearly solid enough to support its weight and gouge crevices into the ground.


John took a step back. He recognised the otherworldly feeling of wrongness emanating from the atrocity, but the creature gave no time for him to warn his comrades as it reared back onto its hind legs. At first, he couldn't figure out what it wanted to do, after all, it was still a distance away and, while it wouldn't take any effort for the creature to cover said distance, it was too far for any physical attack to reach.

Then it opened its mouth, and John could see a gathering of the blackish mist and rising purple at the back of its throat, and he needn't wonder anymore. Everyone there had inspected its race before it became what it was now, and everyone could make the connection between wyrms, and a certain mythical race which, while none had yet to encounter, was prominent in many fantasy settings, and this mythical creature had one signature move.

John briefly wondered what became of the brave fool who had leaped onto the back of the creature as he turned, ran, and leaped from the opposite side of the wall, right when a void gushed from the atrocities throat.

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