The clanking of armor was what awoke him.

Triple eyelids slicked back into their recesses as yellow orbs the size of a human head focused into the darkness, attempting to pinpoint the sound.

“Fools,” he hissed, his anger burning brighter.

Deep in the mountain the earth responded to his rage. Melted slag and rock shivered in anticipation. The temperature of his cavern rose ever so slightly. Shaking himself, he rose onto his four massive clawed feet. A quick glance behind him showed a solid wall. He breathed in relief; neither his treasure room nor the other room had been breached. They were still sealed off to the world. After what had happened back in Normandy, he was never too careful. It still irked him that he’d slept while those thieving Frenchmen had stolen three-quarters of his hoard.

Moving forward, he stomped down the hallway and up the smooth rock face toward the surface. After several corners and pushing one gigantic boulder out of the way, he found daylight at last. By now the sound of metal clanking against metal was much easier to hear. To his surprise they were far closer than he’d imagined. Perhaps his listening-hole acoustics weren’t as good as he’d thought. Making a mental note to rework his air/ear hole from the surface to his den, he oriented himself on the trespassers.

“Why have you come?” he bellowed. “I told you to leave me alone, and I would do the same.”

“DRAGON!”

He sighed as they finally realized he was there, no more than three or four hundred feet in front of them, and up on a cliff face. Their screams and cries went on for thirty or more seconds while he stood still, waiting for them to collect themselves.

“Go home!” he roared, trying to intimidate them by flapping his wings out to the side, hoping they would get the point and leave.

Of course, they’d followed him up from well in the south where they were busy establishing an empire or something. He didn’t particularly care what they did, as long as they left him alone. The locals had no problems doing that, so why couldn’t these sea-wanderers?

The stench of their fear mixed with that of the metallic tang of their steel armor. A most unpleasant smell.

“Demon!”

“Oh come on,” he said, bemoaning the situation, flicking his long tail from side to side. “I’m a dragon, not some imaginary thing sent by your Satan or whomever.”

But they weren’t listening. That was rude of them.

“Fire!”

Metal bolts whizzed nearby, and one even bounced off the scales of his upper chest. He snatched it from midair with one clawed foot and snapped the arrow like it was a twig before casting it back in the general direction of his antagonizers. That’s what they were. Calling them attackers would be far too generous, because that would give them a chance of success where there was none.

Nuisance, perhaps, would be a better term.

“Very well,” he said. “I gave you a warning the last time we met. I said I would come up here and leave you all alone, if you would do the same. But no, you had to follow thousands of leagues to come after me. Why are you so difficult?” he asked, exasperated.

“Fire!”

This time two black-powder devices boomed. One of them exploded on the user, killing him instantly. The other scratched one of his scales on his stomach.

“Hee hee hee,” he rumbled. “That tickles.”

They were looking at him in terror as their best weapons did nothing against him. Their tanned skin had gone white, and some of them had even doffed their steel helmets in horror. He debated on walking forward to grab a couple as souvenirs. They were interesting, not the design of knights of old that he was used to. These had more of a pronounced crest, and sweeping sides that came to a point on either end.

Interesting. Oh well. They have no gold though, so who cares.

“Fine. You want a fight?” He flattened his wings back against his body. “Let’s have a fight.”

The last words rumbled down the hill, bouncing off of rocks as they went. It had been a while since he’d killed, and he found himself looking forward to the prospect of being rid of these pests. There were perhaps two hundred of them all told. Not many, but enough.

Reaching down into the earth, he felt the heart of the mountain, the dormant volcano at its core. There he stoked it, bringing it back to life. All around him the ground began to shake. High up on the mountain a chunk of it blew off as the pressure belowground rapidly increased.

The intruders froze, unsure of what to do. Little did they know it was already too late. They had signed their own death warrants by trespassing on his mountain.

“I hope you enjoyed your trip here,” he rumbled. “Because it was a one-way excursion.”

Another massive section near the top of the mountain exploded, flinging chunks of rock the size of him into the air. He smiled. This was the core of his power, the thing that truly inspired the legends of his kind. The ability to ignite the earth.

Turning, he headed back into the mountain, feeling the earth shift and heave around him. His tunnel was safe; he’d worked the rock to reinforce it enough to withstand what was coming. The farther he went, the warmer it became. Razor-sharp teeth flashed in the equivalent of a smile. Reaching his main cavern, he found his preferred sleeping spot and curled up.

“Okay. Enough playtime.”

He pulled the cork from the stopper of the mountain’s core.

***

“My lord! The mountain!”

“I can see that, you imbecile.” He backhanded the impertinent youth who had spoken aloud without permission.

Turning to his retainers, he signaled them forward. They strode up to either side of him. It felt weird to be standing on his feet instead of astride his warhorse, but this far up into the mountain the terrain just would have been too hard.

“I think the beast means to unleash something inside upon us,” he remarked.

“It certainly appears that way. But what could he be unleashing that is worse than the beast itself?” one of them mused.

“The great evil,” one of the others whispered in awe. “Could it really be?”

“I doubt it,” the nobleman said. “As mighty as the beast is, I don’t believe he has the power to open the gates of Hell itself to unleash the ultimate demon.”

Satan. Lucifer. The evil had a great many names.

Debris was raining down around them now, while great clouds of black smoke billowed high into the air, starting to obscure the sunlight as it spread upward and outward from dozens of holes in the mountainside. Another rumble underfoot caused everyone to spread their legs and search for traction until it passed.

“What do we do, my lord?” one of his retainers asked, looking nervously up the mountainside.

The Baron thought some more, trying to determine if pushing forward would reap them any benefit. Did they have time to defeat the beast first? The ground shook again, harder this time, taking the decision from him. “Fall back,” he commanded. Turning to his retainers, he ordered them to spread out through the ranks. “Orderly retreat. Anyone who runs is to be killed. Understood?”

They nodded and went to follow his orders. The Baron was at their front, leading his men back off the mountain. He smiled. They were going to be fine. They would march clear of the mountain and then wait for things to subside before returning to deal with the beast at last. After a long chase, leading them far from the new colonies being established, they would finally kill the dreaded beast and take its head back, where he would be suitably rewarded.

Count Esteban. Now that has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

He never got the chance to find out. Before they had gone a hundred feet the world went insane. The mountain rumbled and the earth trembled. The Baron heard screams and turned around to see the entire top half of the mountain disappear in smoke and ash. A shockwave slammed down the mountain and leveled his men instantly. The heat in the air warmed their armor until it began to burn against their skin. Everyone started to throw it off as fast as they could, but it didn’t matter.

The sky was dark above them, but an orange glow began to reflect off the armor, flickering and growing stronger. Dread forming in his stomach, the Baron turned to look back up the mountain once more. Red-orange liquid rock was pouring down toward them in a solid sheet. As it grew closer the heat became unbearable.

Everyone began to scream and run away, but it didn’t matter. The lava came after them, relentless like the danger in a dream that you could never quite escape until you woke.

But this time there was no waking up.

Behind him the death cries of his men tapered out as one by one they were caught by the racing stream of death, melted down in seconds. Then at last it was his turn. Swallowing, he realized he wouldn’t be able to outrun it. Deciding to face his end like a man, Baron Esteban started to turn to face the oncoming tide.

He never made it as the lava washed over him as well, leaving no trace that they had ever traveled this far north. History would never remember him, not even as a footnote.