A Night of Dragon Wings

LEGION



He howled in the depths. He screeched and laughed and banged against the walls until the pain twisted through him, and all around him swirled his brothers with fang and claw and horn and tongue.

"I am Legion!" His voice rose like steam. "I will bite, I will feast, I will serve. Free us! Free us, Goddess. Free us, Savior. I will serve! I will bring chaos."

His brothers and sisters filled the court around him, so thick he could barely see the walls, barely see these bricks that entombed them. Their eyes dripped pus. Their maws opened, drooling, screaming, seeking man-flesh to feast upon, craving sweet blood to suck. The nephilim climbed and twisted around the columns, scuttled across the ceiling, bled and screamed and flapped wings. A bloated, crawling nephil bit into a smaller beast, cracked his spine between his jaws, and fed and licked and laughed and screamed.

"Wait, brothers and sisters!" Legion rose among them, climbing upon scales and flesh and rusted armor. He raised his claws and howled. "Do not yet feast! Do not feed upon us, brothers and sisters. I am Legion! I will lead you to the world. I will lead you to man-flesh and sweet red blood. I will serve! She will come."

The thousands surrounded him, a sea of tooth and claw and blood, milky eyes blazing, drool dripping, hisses rising. They howled at him and climbed atop one another, mad in their pen, shaking the columns with their screams. They had been mad for so long.

"We must feast!" cried one, a lanky beast with moldy flesh, one wing torn off, and a scar that rent his rotting head.

"We must drink blood!" cried another, a shriveled twig of a creature, teeth running across her head and torso like stitches.

"No more, no more!" wept a swollen creature, flesh bubbling and sores seeping. "The pain! End the pain!"

Legion flapped his wings. Those wings blazed with agony; they had been cramped for so long, atrophying in this prison, their leather brittle and old, their bones like rusted blades. Yet he flapped them, screamed, and rose in a wake of fire until he hit the ceiling. He slashed his claws and wings, beating his brethren aside. He scuttled and descended onto his throne of bones, rusted spikes, and mummified flesh.

"See my burning crown!" he shrieked. "See the blaze of my fire! Hear my words, for I am Legion your lord!"

Around his head, his halo of fire crackled. He alone among the Fallen bore this flaming crown, for he was Legion; his mother had been the mortal Priestess Queen of the Old God, and his father had been Sharael, Demon King of the Abyss. Legion's blood swarmed with maggots, with pus, and with royalty, and upon his brow his birthright of lordship blazed. The beasts around him reached out to his crown, hissing and wailing, the firelight painting them red.

"Your pain will end!" Legion cried. "One day she will come—our savior. Hear me, Fallen Ones! Hear my howl. I am Legion! I am Prophet! One day she will open the Iron Door. One day a goddess of platinum and light will free us, and I will lead you to serve her. I will lead you to freedom! We will feast upon sweet, living blood and bones and skin and organs."

They roared around him, chanting his name, screaming for blood, spraying drool and pus and smoke. They crashed against the walls and columns, mad with hunger and thirst, eyes spinning, teeth biting at their own flesh. Not all believed him. Many roared and flew toward him through the mass, snapping teeth and lashing claws, until his servants beat them down.

"You lie!" the rebels cried, weeping blood. Their hearts beat madly beneath their brittle flesh, deep red and black. Their veins pulsed and their wounds dripped. "We hunger! We must eat one another. We must eat you!"

Legion rose tall upon his throne of the dead. He was so thin here, so frail, his skin clinging to his bones like old flesh on discarded blades of war. All around him, filling the stone court, his brothers and sisters spread and writhed and bled.

"No!" Legion cried, halo blazing. "No. We must wait. Do not weaken us. We are strong! We are Fallen. We are Chaos. We will remain strong and we will feast! She will free us. One day she will open the door, a goddess of platinum, a deity of steel." He shook his fists above him, claws digging into his palms. "I have foreseen it. I am Prophet. I will lead you out the Iron Door that seals us. I will feed you flesh and blood! We will crush the world and devour those who imprisoned us."

They roared and flew and clawed and bit and wept around him. Myriads filled this prison, crushing one another, clawing uselessly at the walls. Sometimes Legion thought them a single, writhing mass, many merged into one creature over the millennia. Behind them stood the Door, towering, solid iron, never rusting, forever sealing them here, forever burning their flesh, forever containing their madness.

"The door will open! I am Legion! She will free us, and we will crush those who sealed us, we will destroy the world, we will bring chaos and terror, and their spines will snap between our jaws, and their blood will be our wine. Hear me! Follow me, nephilim. We will be free!"

They roiled like a boiling sea and howled and begged and roared. Fangs and claws rose, red with blood, and eyes blazed, and snorts of fire burned, and wings beat as his brothers and sisters climbed one another, gasping for air to howl. Upon his throne of mummified flesh, Legion bared his fangs and laughed and screeched. He could already taste the hot blood and bones, and he shrieked so that the chamber shook—a great cry to his goddess… to Solina.