Apex

It was proud to be known as Scourge of the Vale. Who wouldn’t be? Beasts across the world knew the boundaries of its claim. None rivaled the Scourge’s size, the speed of its accursed, leathery wings, the unparalleled perception of its hooked nose. Predators in its claim survived only by leaving. And when the Scourge ate its fill, it rested in its great eyrie on the Spire. For decades, centuries. Millenia even. Until the Vale refilled with the oblivious and overconfident. Humans, usually. They were the most oblivious and overconfident. Prey mammals would be drawn to the overflowing foliage of the claim. Predators would follow. Then, the feast began.

It came to pass a new empire set its sight on the Vale. Even in torpor the Scourge smelled greedy colonists in the tens of thousands. Glory-seekers would occasionally hike the Spire, but a nudge from a talon twice the size of the human body would send them tumbling to their end. The rumors of the Scourge lived on, but the mines were too rich, the farms too bountiful.

None would be at fault for confusing the rumbling of a dragon’s stomach for an earthquake.

The Scourge’s eyes opened. Its wings spread and stretched, hitting the walls of the cave. There could be no doubt - it had grown again. The lair would require some modifications. For the moment, it was a slave to its hunger. A simple, brutal escape widening the mouth of the cave would do. In a few weeks, when the brain was in control once more, a new home would be carved from scratch. Simple, artistic pleasures.

The first stop was a farmstead, gobbled up in full. The wooden beams cracked and split and overwhelmed the tongue with a bitter richness. How many lives were lost in that moment, the Scourge could have pondered. If it cared.

One bite.

This would be a good feast.

Next, the nearest village. This time the humans had chosen a spot on the river. How unoriginal. At least the issue of thirst would be resolved for both parties. The Scourge, airborne, climbed to a height humans could not possibly perceive its form, gigantic though it was.

Then, it dove.

The razor wind would tear through a lesser being. It shot through the clouds like the arrow with your name on it.

One instant, a sleepy village square. The next, a crater and a shockwave.

The Scourge really didn’t need to roar. Sometimes, the sound of one’s own voice is just too tempting. As if the landing wasn’t enough punishment for the ears of the lesser. An all-encompassing, inescapable, terrifying roar. Or so it assumed. It never bothered to ask anyone if it came across that way.

So it roared. A glorious, momentous roar. It felt so very good. Its beady eyes shut in glee.

When they reopened, the eyes were disappointed by the distinct lack of running.

There was in fact a distinct lack of everything. Buildings notwithstanding. Pretty, well-designed structures, the Scourge noted. Not a decoy. Just…uninhabited. An idle munch on a smithery provided some nourishment, but none of the zest of the kill.

Where had they gone? The Scourge had been so careful. No living witnesses. It sensed no magic in its hibernation, and its spine was ever so attuned to the vibrations caused. They were cheating, but they lacked the means.

No signs of a rushed evacuation or a struggle.

No magic at play.

What else was there?

Anger formed in the absence of answers. The Scourge burned the rest of this village to the ground. It took a few seconds.

Village after village. A port full of unoccupied junks. A castle fit for a king(ly snack). All empty.

Usually, weeks of human settlements would pass before the Scourge turned to the forests, the idiotic animals and human stragglers.

The first forest held enough life for a few bites. Prey-packs, mostly, with a few big cats and an overgrown bear for variety. But no scent of humanity. Not any. The stupid little maggots.

Wait. Strike that. The faintest scent. Greasy skin and dirty hair. A disgusting smell, but the taste always proved worth it. No more than ten miles away. A minute’s jaunt. Fortunate, the big bear making its den here.

A turning point. Surely.

Trees fell ten at a time. Its eagerness could not be contained. It enjoyed hunting humans. They made decisions. Took risks. And they were so smug when they thought they were safe. Once a preacher made his congregation at the base of the spire. The Scourge woke early that cycle, just to shut him up.

The Scourge of the Vale skidded to a halt. Its prey was about. It dared not flatten its prey by accident. The flavor tended to leak into the ground. It supposed it could start snapping bites with abandon, but it wanted no more tree trunks. No more healthy snacks. It deserved a treat.

Nudging trees over one at a time with its snout, golden eyes sharp for movement. Its breath heavy. It stopped itself from drooling; if a fellow apex had spotted such behavior, by nightfall the Scourge would be known round the world as the Dribbler.

It had happened before to lesser dragons with worse nicknames.

The search was mercifully short. But the target was too. A mere child, no older than…humans had such brief lifespans, estimation would be impossible. The child stared in awe at what could only be described as a godlike figure. Unmoving. Unblinking. Its face glistening with sweat and tears.

Tears flowing from golden eyes.

There would be no sport in this.

No chase. No struggle, no pleading. This little man’s brain was well and truly fried. It could fall over at any second. Its muscles were underdeveloped, the dragon noted. Its proportions unusual. Perhaps this is just what small humans looked like. It had never really paid much attention before.

The hunger returned. A primal need, unlike the want of thrill. An undeniable force.

What if the man could be kept?

A passing drake once mentioned keeping a human for a few decades. It seemed silly, especially when told what the human was used for.

Negotiating.

With other humans!

In that moment, the Scourge laughed and laughed. It realized the drake was completely serious. A sudden anger possessed the Scourge, and, noting the drake’s inferior size and uninvited trespassing in the Vale, snapped its neck before the drake could react.

Whence was this anger born?

A pet man. It still made the dragon rumble with humor. Perhaps the value was in its inherent irony. Or perhaps the drake saw value in companionship. The Scourge never had. Why complicate the perfect existence of the perfect being?

You are not considering this, it told itself.

Golden eyes.

It spoke to the child, still frozen with fear.

“Can. You. Speak.”

No response. Only tears.

What use is an unresponsive pet? Simply slurp it up.

Don’t think about the future. Or companionship. Or philosophy.

Or, if you are going to keep it…you at least deserve a taste.

You’ve not tasted good food in two hundred years. Sensation is what you need, not mental stimulation. When has thinking ever served you before, thought the Scourge.

When have you ever thought in second person?

What a strange cycle.

The pudgy cheeks. The soft body. The fear. The fear would make it taste so good, like it always had.

Just a taste. Then rethink your life.

Its snout reached out.

The child did not yield. Perhaps the thing was simply stubborn. Defiant. Difficult to tell on such a small face.

Inches away. The stench was unbearable, literally from its ungroomed features, figuratively for the taste it forebode.

The maw opened. Out slithered a tongue, red and desperate.

Contact was made.

Rough tongue on rubbery skin.

Rubbery?

This was wrong. Humans were not rubbery. They were firm but fragile. This was a - wait a minute.

It bit down. The skin gave, but would not tear. This was a new breed.

The ground shook. Magic was - no, there was no magic. This was a mundane baby. Reluctantly, the dragon removed the toddler from its mouth. The misshapen body reformed.

Was the child…laughing? Impossible to tell, in the noise of the continuing rumble.

There was a new smell in the air. Like the inside of a hidden cove.

As the day turned to night, the Scourge knew it needed to flee.

But still the baby stared. And it ignited such a fury in the heart. Flight could wait, none could match its speed. Not even whatever invisible curse was at play. One last task was left.

It had put such thought into this ridiculous, stubborn, indestructible child. And for that, it would be burnt to cinder.

Billows of flame. Molten tonnage not output in the history of the world sprayed into the face of a tiny boy. Most of it hit the surrounding forest, igniting an all-consuming fire that turned the night to day.

As it should be. Why was it dark in the first place, it wondered.

The flow of char stopped. Ahead of the Scourge was nothing but flame. Like the rest of the world would be, if it did not get a decent meal. Leathery wings beat the air and the Scourge rose once more.

Something was very wrong. Two walls rose from the earth, destined to meet in the center of the sky, casting huge shadows and standing thousands of feet high. And rising. The Scourge felt something new. An uncomfortable, dreadful feeling. It could not outrun the walls. It could not escape before they sealed the sky. And at the edges of the walls, spikes.

No - teeth.

In the fire, the human toddler, plain of face and feature, stood untouched. Surrounded by ash, its connection to the rubbery ground could not be seen by the sharpest eyes.

The bait worked. Finally, the greater scourge’s hunger could end.