29
ROLAND
"It will be a joy defeating you in a fair fight," the dragon announced.
He strode toward me and swung a meaty fist. I stepped back from it and sidestepped, but he followed, his own fists raised in our fight.
This was it. This was for everything.
Ignoring the fact that I was fighting a nude man swinging pipe, I moved backwards and jerked away from his punches. He began slowly, getting a feel for his opponent like any other boxing match. Testing me out, gauging my reactions. Then he twisted his entire body in a vicious roundhouse punch, and I barely turned away from it, catching the blow on my shoulder instead of jaw.
I stumbled backwards, and the dragon snarled and followed.
He was better than me, I immediately knew. And not from our previous two fights: better in a more primal way, something he had yet to unleash. As if the dragon inside of him were furious that it was not the one fighting, a short period where he could not shift back into that form. That was good, I supposed. At least human against human I had a chance.
The dragon followed me steadily, alternating jabs with his right and left fists, and even though I blocked the blows with my arms they wore me down. Occasionally he sent a killing blow of an uppercut at me. I avoided each one, saw him broadcasting them by the way he pulled his fist back, but each time they came a little bit closer to hitting me underneath the jaw.
I began looking for alternative strategies. He was barefoot, so I moved backwards until I walked over a cluster of sharp brambles, but the dragon stepped on them and never even flinched. I guided him around to the left, always keeping my body between the dragon and Harriet. He weighed a lot more than me. This wasn't a boxing ring; if he wanted to he could simply charge and tackle me to the ground, and then I would be done for. I waited for him to do it, constantly preparing myself to dive out of the way, but he never did.
That was some small miracle, I supposed. But it didn't matter because we both knew he was the better fighter regardless. He could beat me with only his fists, the same way he'd done in the boxing ring last week.
Despair began to fill me as the dragon wore me down. If I lost, Harriet would lose. I was the only thing protecting her right now. The last barrier between her and the dragon. An ache rose in my chest, choking the back of my throat. With each punch the dragon's smile widened, his confidence feeding off my dread.
And then it all changed.
I sensed Harriet behind me, watching. Her emotions flooded through the totem and into my chest: confidence and love. Complete trust that I would protect her. There was no room for doubt in her mind, and her confidence became my own. My legs became lighter, and the fatigue melted from my bones.
"Fuck you, mate," I said, gritting my teeth and going on the offensive.
I stepped forward and jabbed twice with my right fist, testing. The dragon moved back, but only enough to deflect the jabs off his raised forearms. I shuffled forward cautiously, maintaining my balance in case he did something unexpected, but he was still thrown off by my sudden attack. I jabbed twice with my left fist and then crossed with my right, knuckles smashing into his meaty cheek and sending him staggering. I repeated the attack, left left right, striking him just as hard as the first time. His bloodshot eyes widened and I advanced, trying the same attack, but this time with a feint thrown in, left left right, but the right cross was a fake to get his hands to that side while I sent a hard left hook into his temple.
He roared with pain and rage, stumbling backwards and almost tripping over a rock.
I had all the energy and momentum then, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let up now. I advanced on him, fueled by the fire of Harriet's love behind me. Left jab to his head, which was blocked, but then a right jab to his gut. Right hook to the jaw, then a second time, and when he finally brought his fists over I sent a left cross into his nose from the other side. His head snapped back and sweat flew through the air, and he lurched forward to counterattack but I slipped my head out of the way, feeling the wind rush by from his fist hitting only air, and then my right uppercut struck him so hard in the jaw I thought I'd killed him.
The dragon fell backwards, caught himself on shaky legs, and stumbled until he was a safe distance away. His chest heaved and he regarded me with new eyes.
I allowed the smile that I felt to reach my lips.
Before I could advance on him and continue my barrage, the dragon turned and jogged toward the smoking wreckage of the airplane. He reached into the fire and pulled at something, shaking the entire metal fuselage before it came free.
He turned back toward me with a long piece of metal in his hand: one of the propellers, held like a jagged makeshift sword. Fire ran up the edge, coated with fuel or oil or something else, but the dragon held it in his meaty fists without noticing.
"Cheeky cunt," I muttered as he raised the metal high.
He swung it with both arms in a vicious diagonal cut, and I had to roll sideways to avoid it splitting my skull in two. The fire sizzled and hissed through the air, and as I regained my feet the smell of gasoline and smoke burned my nose.
"What happened to defeating me in a fair fight?" I said, which only enraged him further. He roared and swung the propeller horizontally before I could react, catching me across the ribs. Pain licked up my torso and I cried out, falling onto my back on the rocky ground, hitting my head so hard that white stars flew across my eyes. The dragon appeared above me and brought his makeshift club above his head with both hands.
I rolled sideways as it smashed into the ground inches from my head. Rocks and metal flew in all directions as he brought it down again, and again, barely missing each time as I rolled and ducked and darted away from it. I threw myself to my feet and jumped away to give myself some space. The propeller was half as long now, the end smashed off leaving a jagged metal bit sticking out. I touched my ribs where the blow had caught me, and winced at the pain. One rib was cracked, I knew.
Movement behind the dragon: Harriet hobbling from the boulder to the plane wreckage. I wanted to cry out to tell her no, that she needed to stay safe, but he dragon had eyes only for me as he advanced.
He stabbed the short propeller like a dagger, and I kept him at distance until the third stab, then shifted my stance and closed the distance next to the blade. I grabbed his wrist with one hand and punched down with the other. He screamed in pain and the propeller dropped to the ground, and when he reached for it I brought my right leg up as hard as I could, my knee smashing into his jaw and sending him stumbling.
I followed him and fought as if my life depended on it.
A cross to his chest, then a right hook that boxed his ear. He stumbled and I followed, throwing aside all caution to deal as much damage as I could. A flurry of jabs to the face. When he moved his arms to protect it I pummeled him with body blows, feeling his ribs giving way beneath my righteous fists. I grunted as I delivered each blow, louder and louder, going for broke.
I moved close enough to wrap my arm around his neck, then kneed him in the gut. And when he doubled over from that, I screamed and sent an uppercut into his jaw.
It was the final blow; the force behind it sent him into the air, leaving his feet before crashing down onto his back. His chest moved, but otherwise his body was still.
I looked to the wreckage: Harriet had already dragged one person away (who was now coughing on the ground) and was now removing a second, dark-skinned man. Somehow, I felt her relief in my own mind: those were the only other two people in the plane. She'd saved them.
And with that done...
I knelt over the dragon and punched across with my right fist, knocking his head sideways. Blood dribbled from his nose and his eyes were swollen.
And in his bloodshot eyes, a terrible shade of pale white mixed with red, I saw victory.
He laughed, first just a convulsion in his chest but then it bubbled through his bloody face, gurgling from the mess of red that was his mouth and nose. I stared with horror as his laughter grew, rumbling across the African plain as if he'd won the day.
I felt the pain of a thousand battles as I stared at him. Gryphon versus dragon, claws and talons shredding skin and feather and scale. I hated him in that moment, this man I'd only known a week. I hated him, because I'd always hated him. Across the eons my hate had festered, and would continue until the end of time.
I wrapped my fingers around his throat to make the laughter stop.
He gargled, and reached a weak hand up to stop me, but I knocked it away with ease. I tightened my grip and the laughter ceased, but the mirth never left his eyes.
I have defeated you, he said, with his eyes and smile and thoughts inside my head. You may have won this battle, but now you have lost the war.
I added my other hand to his throat and squeezed as hard as I could. He made a choking sound, and his face turned a shade of crimson to match the dragon scales from before. I let my emotions guide my hands: fury that he'd damaged the totem, anger at the ordeal he'd put us through, the fear for Harriet's safety, both during my entire journey here and for what the future held. I let the gryphon inside of me take over because it wanted this, needed to watch the life leave the dragon's veiny eyes, and if I couldn't tear him apart with my talons then this was the next best thing.
"You haven't defeated anything," I muttered as I waited for him to die.