Axeman

He lifted his axe one last time.

“Come on then!” he cried. “Come taste my steel!”

They rushed him then, dark Drakons, swords flashing in the moonlight, scaley skin glittering like the stars themselves, hate-filled yellow eyes glaring at the intruder.

He swung his axe, back and forth, back and forth, felling foe after serpentine foe. These were the High Drakons, more snake than man, no legs to speak of but rather long snakelike bodies. Their tails were as dangerous as their clawed hands, fanged maws, and cruelly curled swords that sang and flashed in the night.

He dove under a wildly swung sword and found a tail wrapping itself around him with blinding speed. He chopped at it, his fear and rage fuelling his strength, and it came loose, its owner hissing out his dying breath. He found himself alone once more, the five snakemen dead or dying at his feet.

He ran then, seeking a way out of the temple to their dark gods. If only he could climb to the window set high in the ceiling of the cavernous chamber, but no way presented itself.

He had stumbled across the seemingly ruined temple, entered it seeking forgotten treasure. Instead he’d found an entire nest of Drakons. An infestation this far North did not bode well for the Border Kingdoms.

But that was a much lesser concern of his. Immediately before him lay a struggle for his very survival, and all other considerations would wait.

He found another staircase. He’d gotten turned around in the subterranean labyrinth, lost his direction numerous times, but he thought “up” was a safe bet.

Climbing the stairs he ran into a patrol of Low Drakons, more lizard than snake. These he knew he could defeat.

Back and forth, his double-bladed axe sang, ending lives with each dull thunk. Low Drakons were shaped like men, and a dismembered leg was as sure a way to put a foe down as was taking the lizardman’s head. He was a demon of battle, a god of war. He defeated the much clumsier lizardmen with ease and continued to seek his way out of the ancient, crumbling ruins.

At last he thought he recognized a doorway by the carved beasts writhing in stone along the lintel. He dove through it, shutting the door behind him.

As he panted, gasping for breath, he heard the low dry rasp of a High Drakon slithering along the floor. He turned, and what he saw made him gasp.

A female. No one had ever seen a female High Drakon and lived to tell the tale.

From the waist up, she appeared to be a human woman of unsurpassed beauty, naked and gleaming in the moonlight. Her eyes were simply beauty itself, drinking in the night, dark and mysterious, seductive and passionate. She held him spellbound in her gaze.

The last thing he ever heard was the sound of his axe slipping from his fingers to crash to the stone floor.