Dinosaur Puncher September 6th, 2020
The monotone hum of three Light bolts hitting the dino’s chest prism seemed to be the only light left in the world. It cast pale shadows all around the tavern highlighting the caked dust on the rafters. My god did anyone ever clean the ceiling? He would have to make sure that The Colonel and Toad jr. agreed to hire someone to clean the ceiling of their tavern. Had he spoken to them about that yet? His light bolt wavered and as it did he felt an alarmed jolt from the Colonel. The Dinosaur Puncher renewed his attack, attempting to feed more of himself than was being taken into the prism. It was their only chance. If they could overpower the prism it would shatter and they would be free. If the prism shattered it might harm the creature he was now certain was not a dinosaur. His puncher had been destroyed on impact but how? His puncher had been forged by an immortal. It meant only one thing. This creature was possessed of magic or made of it. The creature’s skin was crackling and hissing now as if its flesh was boiling off its bones and it didn’t seem to even care. The eyes were glowing with the ecstasy of draining three warriors life forces.
Toad Jr. was propping himself up on one hand. The other hand had fingers outstretched, five coalescing beams of light feeding his life force straight into the prism on the creature’s chest.
The Colonel was in worse shape. He was still upright. He looked like he was simply taking a knee at the shrine of all saints. His head was bowed and arms outstretched in line with his head. Ten fingers of light focused on his adversary cloak draped around him in resolute honor. The Colonel was more Honor than strength at this point.
The Dinosaur Puncher was flat on his back. He had been thrown against that little half wall that leads down a ramp to the bathrooms. He lay there with his arm being held up by the force of life leaving his body. He was now a pale and sallow grey. A few more minutes of this and he would be gone forever. His thoughts became more irradiate. Flecks of yellow black and purple on a bright white backdrop was all his mind’s eye could see like when you squeeze your eyes really really tight. The colors swirled in intensity, now more purple than yellow then back again in a nauseating transformation. The nausea was palatable and he only wished for it to end or at least the strength to puke. He had no control over his destiny, and the swirling intensified.
Toad Jr., The Colonel, and Dinosaur Puncher accepted the inevitable. Through the prism they felt each other’s waning life forces. The mutual agreement between them was for one final push to save those around them. Dinosaur had always imagined a heroic pose. Chest out, giant puncher on hip, umbrella shield in hand. Hair perfect. A statue that would look out upon a thousand years. Suddenly above his statue loomed an even greater statue. It was 5 times the size of Dinosaur’s statue. It was Toad Jr. The Stalwart. He now shone in silver, whereas Dinosaur’s silly, small statue was of gray stone and rather drab. A shadow fell upon both their statues. The Colonel had weighed in with his imagined monument and it was ginormous. It cupped Toad Jr in one hand while unceremoniously holding Dinosaur’s statue by giant thumb and forefinger.
They all died laughing, so to speak. The prism connected them. They felt these revelations instead of spoke them. It confused the creature, because it was connected too. These beings laughed in the face of death. It was rude. The creature uttered a frustration.
That was a known language. It snapped the three of them out of their reverie. Even dying they all knew what language that was. It was the language of dragons. A chilling thought to take to their graves. If dragons were back the people should know. They should call the airships back from the moon. These thoughts passed from one to the other as their lives got squeezed from their bodies.
A wavering cry came screeching across the tavern. A skinny, too tall big eyed idiot using launchselfspell came at the creature feet first. Omjerry, the fucking busboy had flown feet first into danger. The Dinosaur Puncher was glad he had lived to see it. The Colonel sent an image of unceremoniously dropping the dinosaur punchers statue from thumb and forefinger and lifting a new, golden Omjerry statue in his hand. The Dinosaur Puncher did not disagree with it. This kids heroics deserved recognition. He fought with heroes. The stupid motherfucker would die with heroes too. The Dinosaur Puncher refused to go to his death feeling bitter and angry and jealous, of a busboy. He hoped Omjerry would be laid to death in the hall of heroes with the three of them.
The Creature swiped at Omjerry and he ducked and rolled, who had taught him that? Omjerry pried at the air like a pantomime grasping a stubborn bit of fence he wanted to snap off. He came up to a sword fighting stance holding nothing. He began to whack at the creature. Tiny sparks spewed from the locations the imaginary sword hit. The creature reacted with genuine shock. The places the sword hit began to slide off like soft moist delicious brisket. The creature was wearing a dino suit, made of dino flesh. It back swatted Omjerry into the bar and he collapsed, eyes closed. The damage had been done. Omjerry’s inerrant swinging had scared the dino suit so much that it began to slide off like warm brisket from the bone.
Omjerry fell to the floor not far from Toad Jr. only to get to his feet in seconds. Dinosaur Puncher wasn’t jealous exactly, just for the record. For the record, all things being equal, he would have been on his feet just a hair faster. Mirthlessly Toad jr and The Colonel disagreed. He felt it in the connection. Omjerry charged in head down, imaginary sword above his head, and came to a full and complete stop in shock.
The dino suit/brisket had peeled away. A long reptilian neck unwound itself from around the torso revealing two forearms attached to two wet canvas wings powered by a spider web of massive veins. The wings had sharp spikes at the tips of each section. It used them like hoofs to manipulate its slimy disgusting body around.
It was a 1 to 117 scale dragon Standing in a tavern 42 minutes train from london, In a village of 502 people. It would be 503 only a week ago, but Old man Weiner Pants had passed away with much fan fair and praise. There had been talk of a parade and statue. Taking up his causes had been a hot topic of debate at his post funeral tavern pour. One cause was moving the street so it goes around the pond rather than over it so that the park could have one cohesive tract of land without the inevitable smell of petrol ruining ones day at the green. Another cause was moving the rubbish bins so the street sweeper could get it. Old Man Weiner had campaigned many times in the tavern on these topics and more. The debate had broken down into a drunken sing along. ‘The dinosaur men come home’ was the go to.
A fucking dragon pulled its head up and looked down from the rafters. A glowing prism buried in its chest sucked the life out of three heroes. It Sucked in air and breathed rich thick lava fire at Omjerry. Bless his stupid bravery.
That would have been and should have been the end of Omjerry. Rest in peace you stupid git. Dinosaur Puncher was beginning to blackout, maybe for the last time. Oh well. Had he cleaned the oven? Shame. He didn’t care about the deposit, but that next tenant would have to deal with the answer to a simple question. Does microwave popcorn go in the oven? It does not. A jolt from Toad Jr. woke him back to life. What a fucking asshole. Toad Jr. was going to die like the rest of them and one of his last acts was to use his dwindling life force to save his comrades. Dinosaur Puncher sent a smoldering glare back through the connection and Toad Jr returned a Nod. A Nod. 30 more seconds and none of it would matter anyways so he decided to graciously not be too upset with Toad Jr.’s over the top heroics in the face of death. The Colonel was hanging on by a thread, but still managed to send back the image/feeling of an eye roll.
Time slowed and the air cooled. This dismayed the Dinosaur Puncher, because honestly he thought death might be a bit swifter than this. Does time really need to slow down? But it wasn’t Deaths embrace that had slowed time. It was a 7th level Witch her patrons called Mum, and she was Pissed Off.
Her eyes glowed white hot like the sun. She floated down the stairs on a tiny hurricane. Her feet crossed at the ankles she hovered above the blackest of voids. The tiny storm sucked trash and debris and small things into the void at its center. Her apron and kerchief and hair blew in an unholy wind that only touched her. She opened her mouth and a terrible scream from the abyss launched itself straight at the lava breath and made it recoil and dissipate. Omjerry uncoiled, and instead of cowering and running like he should have done, like Dinosaur Puncher expected him to do, he charged in like some kind of fucking prick. Mum took another breath her rage unsated, and unleashed a loud stream that was angry fast forceful black smoke that began to sizzle the one scale of dragon armor it was focused on. It bubbled and hissed. The dragon observed his own scale boiling and steaming in an academic way, rather than any real sense of care or worry.
Omjerry had closed with the dragon now and began his attack anew. The dragon only reacted by backing toward the door. Omjerry followed whacking away with what was obvious to everyone now, some sort of magic the busboy possessed. Magic comes in all shapes and sizes.
Mum intensified her attack. she called on her friends the elements to aid her and they came. She sent snakes of water and gas. snakes of heat and vines. She attempted to ensnare and squeeze with tendrils while still hollering up the unholy power of her craft. The Dragon continued to step back and Omjerry continued to lay blows.
It was too easy.
Dinosaur Punchers glass was always half empty, and that was a fact. But it didn’t smell right. The dragon was retreating while maintaining its life force grip on the three of them.
The dragon rolled Omjerry into its wing. The wing flexed suffocating and subduing Omjerry and with a flick threw him out the hole it had made where there used to be a door. Omjerry crashed brutally to the cobble stone street, depositing a few teeth in the cracks between stones. His blood became a river dislodged teeth floated upon.
The Dragon began to move out the portal it had made but Mums fury arrested it. Tendrils of spider webs and beavers nest wrapped themselves around the dragon and began to squeeze.
The dragon gave a slight cough, like he had swallowed a bit of spit and flexed the magical shrapnel away. Mum’s magic dissipated like so many farts in the wind.
The dragon breathed lava and Mum screamed darkness back at it. The Dragon wasn’t having it. It spoke and it was awful
The black void Mum had been floating atop dissipated and the force of the dragons words blew her back behind the bar, where she smashed the rest of what was left, of the thousand year pint glass collection.
The dragon began to end it all and the three of them began to turn into dried out gourd husk, water and life evaporating from their flesh. His fleeting life fled up a light beam into the prism stored in the Dragon’s chest. With a brief gasp the Dinosaur Puncher’s worries were done. He slipped into oblivion only slightly annoyed and completely indignant, and he was gone.