December 18 - Assault
The dragon, that most ancient of beasts, soars high above. Its wings spread, their tips tearing their way through the air around it; its muscles coil and throb with its every microadjustment. It is a machine, a pounding engine of flight and terror.
The village below burns, slowly and steadily. The dragon’s flames pour from its mouth, the heat vaporizing any living things beneath it. The terror spreads as quickly as the flames, panic and fear jumping from person to person faster than any virus. Shock and awe fill the village, the knowledge that their lives may end, that their bodies may burn, having fully filled their minds.
To their infinite luck, the king’s guard arrives soon after. The knights wield their weapons, pushing the terror to the back of their minds. The horses have more trouble with this, whinnying in fear of the great beast above them. It’s not a subtle arrival, of course, so the village feels a palpable relief at their arrival. However, this means the dragon has noticed them.
Faster than one might have thought possible for such an enormous animal, it has swooped down to them. Flame pours, hot and fluid, from its mouth. Its claws snatch, its jaws snap. Several of the knights are lost.
One brave soul, however, faces the danger head on. He sees his comrades fall beside him, torn apart or burnt to ash, and he simply readies his weapon. With a click, he disengages the safety. He has studied for this moment, and he knows just where to hit the beast -- a particular weak point in its scales on the belly of the dragon.
With barely an effort, muscles following muscle memory more than any conscious train of thought, he pulls the trigger. The bullets hit the dragon quickly enough. A few deflect off its thick armor, but one breaks into the weak point. A powerful creature, but no match to an AK-47.