The Last Stand

**Written for a flash contest and limited to 500 words, but I may write a continuation separately if people are interested**

The Last Stand

Shedding one tear could never be enough.

Not to reflect her sorrow, not to shatter destiny, and not to save the pieces of her scattered hope.

Upon the cold and grime-encrusted ground, the once-proud sorceress lay still. Her ebony hair glistened like finely polished onyx, melting into waves of heart-stopping beauty. Eyes as red as the blush that stained her cheeks focused on the dragon above her, their soulful depths reflecting its prismatic scales with utmost clarity. She should have been afraid. She wore no armor to protect her from flaming breath, had no mana left to guide her magic, and had no strength to wield her staff.

Yet. 

Her countenance painted a picture of unmatched valor – undying courage, unbridled fury, unhinged sanity. Her face reflected the knowledge and acceptance of her coming doom. With trembling limbs, she forced herself to stand – for her city, for her people, for her honor. In this moment of perfect balance between action and reaction, the young mage and the ancient dragon Razeth looked into each other’s hearts. The beast raised its mighty head, puffing out its chest. Thick, moist, steam surrounded him – an ethereal shield that would have terrified the common warrior.

Not so with Selra.

She would fight the monster until her final heart beat. No other choice existed.

The dragon took a slow, deep, rattling breath. The rumbling echoed far and wide. This was it – the final plunge. He knew he was victorious – but was he? Dragons weren’t fools, but their pride often clouded reasonable judgment. In his haste to show his dominance, he underestimated his opponent. Selra made no such mistake. Without waiting for the beast to move, she whispered a short incantation and vanished into thin air. The prismatic dragon roared, his resounding bellow expressing outrage in his native Serpent tongue. In the blink of an eye, she reappeared behind him. Raising her staff into the air, she moved her lips to call forth the fury of the elements. When she brought it down, the ground shook as though enraged. Razeth whirled around, nearly cleaving the woman with his tail. She dodged – just barely.

The earth trembled - cracked, erupted.

From beneath the growing crevices, ghostly hands appeared. To one who studied magic, the sight held a compelling meaning. So, she had chosen to die after all. But not alone. Far from it. More hands appeared – green, cold, and unnatural. They wrapped around Razeth’s lean form. At Selra’s command, the gates of the Underworld opened wide, their gaping maw large enough to swallow an entire army. For now, however, it consumed only the two combatants on the field of battle.

Selra and her dragon Razeth would forever fight for supremacy in death.

At least the mortal realm was safe. But, with all the city dead, who would remember the mage’s selfless sacrifice?

I will.

My job as a bard, after all, is to recount epic tales.

I will carry Selra’s with me – from now until the end of time. 

____

500 words