Frosthaven's Plague

'We have had enough of the evil beings tempting us,' the right side thought, squeezing the stick in his hand.

'We stay indoors for fear of them all! They can move around our kingdom, but we can't.'

The gruff-voiced villager glared ahead, eyes blazing with a fierce resolve. It even took Zmey aback when he saw it.

'But I won't let a godforsaken beast dictate my life for me, either. If we must fight to protect ourselves and our family... to face one beast if we can't fight the dark beings that have long plagued us... it's worth it. Tell me about it, dragon Ashbane!'

The cloaked figure stood there, trying to brush aside the image in his head. The image of the crowd standing with their pikes, eyes straight at him… But it was no use.

The villagers all stared at him, standing ahead. Some, like the man on the right, stood their ground with the same strange fierceness. Though there was certainly a difference in their resolve.

Yet, in the midst of it all, no one has taken action. In a literal sense, they could have at least continued relaying the dragon's rumour.

But the one in question, claiming his identity with confidence,... made the story another chapter.

The wind whistled. Snow specks danced in the air. Pale faces stared through the thinnest part of the atmosphere.

An unseen source glued chapped lips shut. A groan pierced through from Zmey. He let out a jesting chuckle.

"Then what? If I tell you now, what can you do?"

A chorus of gasps rang through the snowy range. Zmey raised his head to meet them, eye to eye, one man to a hundred others.

To inspect the chaos, as he told himself, or to take a different action. Even he couldn't tell at this point.

A few villagers met his gaze. Eyes were wide open and mouths agape. They stared into his cloaked soul.

Zmey felt so unnerved that they tempted him to look away. Some of them clenched their pitchforks and shovels tighter.

He wasn't sure which of them were more off-putting to watch. But what? What about these mortals putting Zmey on the edge of his seat?

What about their cowardly stances that made him feel like he was dying again... just like the countless lives of pain he had endured over and over again?

Then it hit him. It was pure terror to confront a beast as deadly as the rumored Western dragon; yes, very.

But for some, every single breath they take in was the best chance life had given them. So should they surrender it to a creature that threatened them at their doorsteps?

Or should they make a stand, take a chance and fight back with the little that they've got? It was their will, their meagre will to live that shook Zmey to his core.

For he knew that somewhere along the way, sometime in his past lives, he had lost his. But he couldn't let it show.

No, any sign of emotional vulnerability was a target for these villagers. They were desperate. Desperate to do anything they could to defend themselves, and desperation is deadly.

Zmey's eyes moved from one sturdy house to the other, shrewd but with a hinting composed underlay. A hint of a snicker crossed his face as fast as a moving boomerang.

He straightened his shoulders and stood up straight. His gaze bored into a distant pair of eyes.

Something felt off the moment they locked eyes. Zmey glanced one last time at the crowd for a moment.

They looked terrified. Child-like shadows curled behind windows. Even some aged ones had unshed tears around their eye bars. His teeth gritted.

He caused them to be in this state. He took a deep breath. Then two more.

'No other choice, only this…' Zmey thought.

He had to, if this would be the last act he would put on.

Silence dragged through the air. He raised his voice as loud as he could, over the unforgiving snow, over the villagers' heads.

"Being considerate? Mercy? I guess you already know that's not my cup of tea. There's always a smouldering heat beneath my skin that pushes me to crave something else.

Like you, earthly creatures, have a craving for assortments, I do have the same craving for life forces. I need them… to sever the heat burning inside me!

Do you think your life matters? Do you think any of you matter to a beast? Ah, what a joke!" A wide grin glued to his face, his cheeks digging into his face.

A female's voice hollered with a broken and indented quality. But still having an underlying strength that continued pushing words from her throat.

Her hair, in a side-swept fishtail, cascaded down her creamy embroidered gown. The woman stood at the window of the third house to Zmey's left.

"Wh-why do you think our lives don't matter? If we would like to live on, doesn't that deem you wrong? Do you—"

Zmey raised a finger, seizing the words from her throat in an instant.

"Woman, are you even arguing with me?" he snapped. He sighed, drawing back what little remained of his composure. "Worthless. Disposable… What did you say? What would you like to do?

"There's this 'thing' that's threatening you, all of you." He motioned to the crowd, his hand sweeping through the dead silence. "And you know that despite your numbers, you lot are still at a disadvantage.

Yet, all you can do is ask while sitting there in a state of helplessness and pleading for mercy.

You don't even think you're a colony of ants or any other mindless, cog-in-the-machine species. No, you don't; you always say you're something more, and you still do nothing. How unappealing."

He shook his head with a dismissive gesture. He drew in a breath and raised his voice once more. This time, he could not afford to give in to his anger.

"Every single body part developed in your mother's womb would perish to ashes under my breath. All in under three seconds.

I can call myself the Grim Reaper's successor, like I did to five thousand people. Like I did to many others… and I could do the same for every one of you. It requires only a–" Zmey paused, his eyes flitting to that third house.

A loud bang, echoing through the snow-ridden streets. For a second, he thought the tortured villagers had attacked.

Till he saw something entirely different. The entire village seemed to hold its breath.

The middle-aged lady knelt on her house's entrance floor. Minuscule stones perched on her knees.

All the other villagers locked eyes on her in astonishment or protest. Zmey's brows creased at seeing her, his eyes following the parting of her lips.

She clutched her gown at knee level, her sobs tearing through her throat as she spoke.

"Please spare us all. Spare us, please. I wish to do anything to secure the lives of my family. Our families. Please… even if you feel nothing, even if you must take my life, just this once, spare—"

Zmey cut in, voice deep. "In this dire situation, why are you still worried about others? Someone is watching intently for a mistake to devour you.

And they have thrown you into the face of death. Why do you still care about them when you didn't even consider your own life beforehand?"

He could observe the desperation and frustration laid on the lady. She couldn't speak but clutched her teeth while holding her breath, eyes closed.

Zmey waited, his breathing shallow and careful. The gall to speak out like this! The fear and begrudging respect that coursed through the crowd's veins as they all stood in the snow, poised for the next word!

Some, like the right hand, remained relentless. Only a slight hesitation kept them from charging at a beast that threatened to end them with its breath.

Zmey knew it. These few were anxious at their own pace, too. But they were like the armies he once led as a battle commander in his second life.

Through thick and thin, they never would allow enemies past their defences.

While he was in the scalding hot ground doing his thing, his men stood without fear. They held back their enemies and their red signal flags.

He had met stronger opponents and skilled fighters on battlefields.

But with his armies, they conquered their fears and became victorious. Fear was inevitable from the start. But with a simple push, an ounce of strength could emerge from anywhere.

'…I will use them. It's likely my last chance to die.'

The lady's immediate eye contact took him by surprise. The moonlight that had been rising in the sky, the snowfall dying and the atmosphere growing warmer.... all glinted in random flashes across her face.

Her corneas appeared watery and had a faint red hue, and her neck shone with a sheen of sweat. Zmey noticed her kind of expression — rage and hesitation. And he thought of one simple strategy without delay – to take advantage of those feelings.

But when her lips parted, his and her eyes locking, her mouth hung open with only ragged breaths escaping. Zmey creased his brows and crossed his arms in disapproval.

"What now? Did you lose that push on seeing my face? Haven't you realised you can never escape from who you are?

Your emotions are you, and you can't escape from them. See? And this is someone who wants to kick me in the face—"

The lady's eyes flared. "We all know we amount to nothing before you.

There's no power anywhere! I know it. The Western Dragon's power exceeds our few exorcists in Frosthaven." Sourness crept into her voice.

She tightened her fist. "Tamers here likely lack the skills necessary to contract a high sorcerer like you. But none of that matters now! No tamer or exorcist matters here!

Our taxes all go into their pockets, yet they left us to our fate when those evil spirits scavenged our lands. They never answered… they didn't care, and that's why we all waste away in fear!

All we demand… all we seek from your noble hands is to give us a chance. Consideration gets to you like fire to water; we are ready to prove our worthiness to you!"

"Are you sure?" Zmey interposed, his voice low and edged with frankness.

He stared into the lady's eyes as though he were a hungry predator. "Aren't you the only one demanding a chance…?"

Zmey turned his head from the woman, his voice cut off mid-sentence. At first, it was a small sound, a singular voice amidst the melting snow.

But it grew louder, then louder once more. The sound of the rakes, pikes, and boots on the ground pounded against the snow like the drums of a soldier's march.

"Please," a chorus echoed through the snowland. "Please, spare our lives!"