ATS B5 Ch44: Boss Battle (2) (Patreon)

Arthur and Brixaby watched the fight from the outskirts.

 They weren’t the only ones, as a few dozen other Rares from various hives also had stayed back from the retreat. Some weren’t bothering to observe. They were taking the opportunity to kill more scourglings and harvest what they could from them.

But Arthur and Brixaby hovered in place and watched their peers go to battle. Arthur wasn’t sure which power belonged to whom, but suddenly there were lifelike copies of every Legendary dragon. Those illusions seemed to have the same power as the originals because anything that was sent at the centipede was doubled, and then tripled.

Unfortunately, the centipede seemed impervious to bolts of lightning, spears of earth, whips of water, and wind that whipped up the air in a tornado and ripped shreds of the green gas away.

More green gas just replaced what was lost. And anything plant or nature based died under the effects of the green gas.

Other dragons must have been casting more subtle magic because suddenly the eruption cone spit out lava like an actual volcano. It spilled out over the sides of the mouth and washed down over the scourgling.

The centipede made no scream or any indication it was bothered other than to brace back against the heavy liquid rock that cascaded down on it.

Brixaby muttered, “Nullification magic.”

Arthur frowned. With lava spilling out and eventually cooling to seal the cone, there was little chance that his purples would be able to go in and harvest it later.

Suddenly, Whittaker and Crag flew in so close that Crag’s belly touched the reemerging clouds of gas.

“What’s he doing?” Arthur leaned forward in his seat. Whitaker must have some protection against the gas. He wasn’t that stupid, right?

He’d wondered that before and learned that, yes, he was actually that stupid.

But orange dragons generally transformed material from one state to another. The lava that was having no effect on the scourgling suddenly froze into ice spikes, which broke against the scourgling’s shell-like hide. And when that didn’t have any effect, it changed again. This time, it became billowing hot steam, which did not escape upward but collected into a cloud as if to boil the scourgling alive.

Somehow, that made a difference where the lava did not. The centipede thrashed and screamed.

But it seemed that Crag had underestimated the poison gas because abruptly, he wheeled away and the steam dissipated, leaving the scourgling with new welts all over its body. Whitaker was visible on his dragon’s back, bent over and coughing hard.

Idiot, Arthur thought, not for the first time.

Whatever magical protection he thought he had against the gas—he seemed to be able to control steam, so maybe he thought he could keep it from his lungs—hadn’t been enough.

The other dragons hadn’t been idle. They continued peppering the scourgling with various powers—so many that the ground shook again. Arthur half wondered if part of the plan was to bring the entire eruption cone down over the creature.

A green disappeared, reappeared, and disappeared again with a rapid transporting power. Every time he disappeared, a giant rock spike took his place and launched itself straight at the scourgling with force enough to knock some legs off of the main body.

The Legendary dragons seemed like they were trying to beat it down by force. As they outnumbered it, this seemed like a good idea.

Then the scourgling lifted up and whistled defiance again, waving the upper part of its body back and forth. As it did, it spewed out even more clouds of gas, which expanded so rapidly that many of the Legendary dragons were forced to move back.

“Arthur, this may be our moment!” Brixaby said. “I will put you in my Personal Space. The gas does not seem to affect dragons as badly as humans. I will dive in and rip out the delicious card, and we are done.”

“Yes, but we will give away our identities right in front of all the other Legendaries,” Arthur said. Though . . . it wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. And though the dragons had turned away, none of them seemed affected by the gas. It was only the humans, coughing on their backs.

“If they can’t knock it down, then we’ll go in soon,” Arthur said. Brixaby grumbled, but he stayed in place.

However, the gas that was emerging from the scourgling now seemed to be a different type than before. It was darker green and didn’t billow upward into the sky. Instead, it rolled down the edges of the eruption cone like an oncoming avalanche. If the whole area hadn’t already been deadened land, anything in its path would have died. Arthur saw it roll over a stand of full-grown trees at the bottom. They wilted and died right before his eyes.

There’s definitely corruption in that gas, he thought. No wonder Brixaby wanted the card it carried. He could imagine how strong he’d be with a corruption aspect to his Call of the Void.

Then the scourgling reared back and spat out a green globule.

Dragons ducked out of the way with maneuverability that made Brixaby hum in approval.

Unfortunately, Desmond’s skinny blue was too slow. The glob landed on his neck and chest while he was trying to turn away.

The dragon let out a scream like a dying child and dived straight to the ground, headfirst.

Arthur clutched at Brixaby’s neck ridges. It was on the tip of his tongue to order him forward, but what could he do? What could any of them do? Even if he got there in time, that dragon was many times Brixaby’s size. They couldn’t stop—

The ground suddenly rippled and turned to water, and the dragon dived down snout first. Not into solid dead land, but into a lake deep enough to cover him.

Right. He was a blue. A water type.

A moment later, the dragon surfaced and thrashed around, frantically trying to get the sticky glob off him. Arthur couldn’t see his rider, and by the way the dragon was acting, he had no regard for Desmond at all.

Desmond must have a water card that made it safe for him. At least, Arthur hoped he did.

But that heavy poison gas was still rolling across the land, and it was heading straight for the lake.

The centipede scourgling spat again, this time at the pink dragon Arthur was convinced was the tactician.

The pink slid neatly to the side to avoid the globule. And suddenly, a voice echoed in Arthur’s mind.

Beware, it is corrosive as well as poisonous. Get Lachlan to a healer immediately.

Arthur staggered. That pink had a mind card—one that could project thoughts.

He was shocked that he would use the ability so publicly, though he guessed he was frazzled enough from avoiding that last strike that he had accidentally projected too far.

Meanwhile, Sybil’s green and a stolid brown rushed in to help the ailing Lachlan. The green was, if anything, skinnier and unhealthier looking than the poor blue. Though her heart was in the right place, she was too weak to help much.

The brown ended up doing most of the heavy lifting. Lachlan was pulled from the water, half unconscious.

Desmond was still on his back and awake, moving around on his dragon. Lachlan’s neck and back were wide enough for him to stand and walk, and he seemed to be heading to where the poison had hit. The spot was now boiling red and covered with welts.

They were out of the fight and so were the green and the brown helping them.

Sensing an attack that would have some effect, the scourgling began spitting green globs over and over again, causing the dragons to duck and weave. No one was hit, but there were several near collisions, and the counterattack paused as they regathered themselves.

A dragon rider threw up a shield, but it was taken down again just as quickly for a reason Arthur couldn’t see. The Legendaries were in disarray.

Then, Chester’s Blood Drop flew straight at the scourgling. As he flew, he glowed, very much the same way Sams did when he was readying a spell.

Blood Drop seemed to swell with energy and vitality, a nebulous sort of power that called to Arthur . . . though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

The scourgling turned his way, but before it could spit, the dragon opened his mouth. A bright green beam shot out, thick as two men were tall, and nearly that wide around. It struck the scourgling right in the chest.

Brixaby reared back under Arthur as if he were the one that was struck.

“Arthur!” he yelled, but Arthur heard his voice from far away.

His chest hurt, as if his own heart were being pulled toward that green beam of light . . . only, he realized a moment later with a shock that it wasn’t his heart. It was his link with Brixaby.

Brixaby was the one who was being pulled . . . pulled in because the other two cards in his set, Call of the Void and Call of the Heart, were resonating with that huge display of power that Blood Drop was beaming out.

“Is it your card?” Arthur yelled.

But he didn’t need Brixaby’s answer to know the truth.

He reeled. How could this be? Call of the Heart had shown the card within the hive, and it specifically seemed like the power was not lodged in someone’s heart deck . . . but it had also showed it jumping from here to there and all around the hive. Even two places at once. There was something different about this card.

And though it resonated with Brixaby, the dragon was too far away to be in danger of being truly pulled in.

And if Blood Drop and Chester noticed that the card had a link with their own, they didn’t show it. They were too focused on the battle with the scourgling. As for the scourgling . . .

It looked like Chester and Blood Drop had made a terrible mistake.