By David C. Daoust
The glint of metal flared as the light of day reflected off the metallic armor of the dragon. Its mechanical form flew through the open sky– cut through the winds as its mighty solid-light wings caught another thrust of air, forcing it higher. A seemingly endless swarm of Spider-mechs split from its path, circled back to strike at those starfighters mustered in the defense of the massive starship parked in the sands below.
A strategic strike directed by a primal intelligence that had come to avenge the wilds. From a structure of ‘kill or be killed’, ‘only the strong survive’, ‘evolution of the fittest’; Ideas, all, embedded into the simulation this demi-god of the Wild hailed from. Lived through, struggled, died, and rose again; all to play through the act, again and again. The simulation taught the dragon what it considered to be the order of the universe. How it was meant to be, though only as coded by those that felt they understood it enough, to recreate it. Ultimately, to preserve the knowledge for those that had moved so far from their origin that without such actions, such an existence would, most assuredly, be lost.
This was a being torn from his simulation and shown a world where this perfectly balanced structure, was undermined by the whims of humanity. Such beings, to the dragon, could only be classified as a horrible virus. Beings that spread, consumed, destroyed, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake… nothing but the signs of infection.
The dragon broke free of the continuous strikes of the starfighters, smashing missiles with its impervious wings; blasting such armaments away like the pests they were!
The Great Dragon rose above all, without so much as a thought considered for the human lives lost below, any more than one may consider the puss from a lanced blister being worth saving.
The dragon circled above as data was fed back up from the many spider-mechs, it sought its chance to strike. To kill again.
—
The sea of sands fell far below as the spherical Ark-device carrying the Wayward Aspirant, Hamlin, shot out of the damaged Rover. Hamlin gripped tightly to the ever-present tether of rope around the orb he stood upon. An orb which housed the intelligence known, to Hamlin, only as Ferguson, who carried them ever higher into the skies.
The unusual device, known on occasion as the ‘Brain-stealer’ shot upward- onward. Nothing but faith that Hamlin had a plan, carried the determined Ferguson on his course through the ongoing waves of destruction. Faith that Hamlin had a way to strike the Great Dragon of Twin Crown, before the fiend could take a second pass at the compromised Rover– and the scared children within.
The small holobot was, at a glance, hardly a match for the massive dragon.
Notably, the dragon’s form was built for the very acts of war it now waged. While the Aspirant, Hamlin, intelligent to his very core, was meant only to explore humanity, to experience what it was to be human— And this was before his consciousness was loaded into the small holobot form he was now forced to navigate the very real moon with.
Such Aspirants sought to become human, or as close to human as such a being could become.
Despite being so highly regarded, through all his years, this aspiration was a thing Hamlin struggled with.
Straight from the Hub, Hamlin came to be all that he was in the House of Zhou. At first, a novel invention to preoccupy the minds of the bored Royals of the Ark Age. Then, little more than a servant hidden in the background; accepted as much a part of their daily lives as any other servitor. As the years passed, he was elevated to a tutor for their young, an educator.
Even as he taught, he learned. Each human life was a completely unique and new experience. It was through the Children of Zhou that Hamlin had learned of heartache, and through their inevitable deaths, that he experienced loss and heartbreak. Even in the same family, the variations of humans were complex even in their similarities. There was poetry there that Hamlin would not trade for anything.
Ferguson shot like a bullet, the small holobot gripped at the rope. They were so small compared, even to the spider-mechs which moved in great waves, they seemed hardly a spec on the great scope of the current air battle. But Hamlin was not unarmed– orbiting him, was the amorphous glowing blob of Sun-particles. High-tech particles that the holobot had complete mental control over. He could shift their mass, form them into anything he could imagine. Currently, they were a massive blob, but only because he wanted them to be.
The Great Dragon dove back into the fray, tearing through destruction itself as missiles blasted against its invincible wings. The swarm of spider-mechs coursed around the beast in great strands, continuously blasting outward, as they escorted the dragon back down to the exposed Rover.
Starfighters flew in fast to meet the assault head on, to force the dragon from its plans– whatever they may be.
“Bring us in close,” Hamlin shouted into the wind.
Ferguson did just that, he flew through the fray, explosions jettisoned shrapnel around them— with a thought Hamlin moved the levitating blob of particles, forward or back, to shield them from the debris, protecting them both in their charge. The spider-mechs completely ignored the holobot-riding-orb, while the starfighters had too much to contend with to even notice them. If the dragon detected them at all, it dismissed them without so much as a glance in their direction.
When the Dragon retreated again, straight up into the air, Hamlin shouted, “Bring us in closer!”
The mass of Sun-particles morphed from Hamlin’s outstretched hand– they shifted and reformed into an oversized blade. One so massive even an Ancient Galliant would be encumbered.
Ferguson charged directly for the dragon’s center-mass– carrying Hamlin with his levitating blade, like a single outstretched wing.
Many generations of the Zhou family, had Hamlin experienced. Not a one of them compared to his Beverly. The connection was real. Her hatred for him, for what he was. But Hamlin knew what propelled her was not what she wanted– but what she feared. Hamlin missed Beverly Zhou far more than any other child of Zhou, to the extent that when word reached him of her demise, his program had to reclassify both heartache and heartbreak. Yet even had he known that this Great Dragon was a remnant of her life, some great echo born of her aspirations, reverberating back, made real by her own daughter— he would defend human life over the loss of humanity with every ounce of his being.
The razor-sharp edge came in before the dragon could even detect the threat… In one clean swipe of Hamlin’s blade, the dragon’s head was severed from its neck.
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