ORIGIN

Fisher's body was spent. He slipped on to the floor, his eyes catching a glimpse of the bright pink gem hidden in the thick furred haunches of the dragon. Part of him spoke irrationally, demanding he give everything he had to zap the gem, to break it, to kill the beast. The other was too tired to have thoughts, but its emotions held more sway than any vicious words. If he tried to attack this problem head on, they would all die.

"Black, I need you to listen to me!" He gasped, his voice rough. His throat felt as though it had been torn out, like he had swallowed shards of glass. "You need to get Fallah somewhere safe! Get her and go through that tunnel, into the mist! The King of Blood won't be able to find us!" He was begging at this point, the energy from his previous attack dissipating into the air.

It was then that Fisher felt something particularly strange. The air around him felt sharp, like metal, and his eyes locked on that Pink gem. He could feel the energy around him, the electricity, and he grabbed ahold of the beast before him with it. The gem-- and the dragon-- were pulled back into his small frame, and he focused. Fisher couldn't let the dragon go now. He had the beast caught in his magic, somehow, though he didn't understand it.

"Black, get Fallah and run!" He screeched more urgently, hoping the dog would get the message. "She's going to DIE if you don't!" It took every bit of strength to hold the white noodle in his grasp, but whatever this new magic was-- it was powerful. Even if Baratheon wanted to, he wouldn't be able to lunge for Black's throat again. Not if Black stayed out of the radius, out of harms way.

Fisher knew he could lose the dragon in the fog, once the others were safe. He could lead Baratheon to the swamp, to the great noodle dad's lake, and he knew Aquarian would save him. But first, he had to make sure that his friends were safe, that they could get away. He knew Black didn't want to abandon him, but couldn't he understand? Fallah needed them more than Fisher needed Black.

His best friend hadn't let him down before, right?

The dragon could hardly comprehend anything. The words didn't matter, the magic didn't matter. All that mattered was him and the dog and his prey. He wanted it! He wanted it bad! His fangs snapped at the air as he continued to snarl and bite. His legs moved to make him go forward but they didn't work... For some reason he couldn't gain any traction. His body was firmly rooted in the place no matter how much he tried to go. He leaped into the air and flapped his wings, mad with the lust and desire to get at the dog. He roared angrily as he hovered in the air before dropping to the ground.

What was this? It didn't make sense. The dog! He wanted him! Couldn't run! Couldn't get him... What would he do? Action. What action? One action.

The dragon hissed angrily tail lashing as he opened his mouth and prepared an attack from afar. He couldn't bite or tackle but he could do something else. He opened his mouth and at first, nothing happened. Pink smoke curled out of his nose but nothing came. He huffed and he puffed but no energy came out. There was just a popping sound from his throat... and nothing. Angered the dragon continued to thrash about, trying to break out of his hold.

---

He felt the faintest tingle of magic, and then as if a trickle had come undammed, a powerful surge of it. He flinched, a little, still growling, but then he heard Fisher again urging him to flee. This time, however, there was a difference: the monster before him was lunging and thrashing and raging in the air, seemingly unable to reach them.

Magic--

Fisher's? Black threw him a glance, then the briefest glance about reoriented him.

Fisher, there. Fallah, there. Tunnel exit.

It went against his instincts to flee, but with the monster restrained, he knew they had little time. He had to trust Fisher. He turned, intending to burst into action, but his gait was slower, clumsy, and he found himself struggling to stay upright. His vision ran gray, but he fought back with a growl and felt his strength returning, for now, the brief lightheadedness receding.

Losing blood. Must move quickly.

He scrambled to Fallah's side, briefly sniffing her over, dismay and horror filling him as he realized the extent of her wounds. Fisher said she would die without them--but what if she were already dead...?

Pushing the thought aside, Black fastened his heavy black jaws carefully around the scruff of Fallah's neck, half-lifting, half-dragging her as he turned and began a clumsy rush back toward Cetus. He would be exhausted very soon, he knew--he had to move fast. A brief glance back at Fisher--he hoped that his friend would follow.

Pale eyes flicked then to Baratheon, who was still lunging and lurching, struggling against some unseen bonds. Black could hear his own ragged breathing in his ears, the struggle to suck air in through his nose leaving him rasping heavily.

A flicker of something came from Baratheon, some sort of pale pink energy, as if he'd tried to cast some spell a moment ago but failed.

Magic. I must try.

It was maybe his last chance to shroud them, to hide them from the approaching dragon's advances. He wasn't sure it'd do much; he was weak, barely able to run, let alone focus on magic. And even if he managed, Baratheon might simply run the way he'd seen them go, or follow their scent, if his madness was not too great.

But he had to try.

A flicker of darkness welled within him, and then sputtered back down. He was too weak. Too exhausted.

Black turned, turning his body toward Cetus, turning his attention to Fallah. He staggered along, lungs heaving, and forced his way past the pain, past the cold that seeped through his shoulder and into his mind and threatened to drag him down into the rock and to his death.

________________

Black finally listened. Fisher did his best to restrain the dragon, his heart racing. He did his best not to let up on the chain that he had the King of Blood on, sneaking towards Black as he made his retreat. He would let Baratheon follow, but he would do his best to make sure that the beast could not reach his friend.

Fisher was not unlike human getting dragged along by its pet dog after a squirrel. He dug his heels into the earth, taking timid steps forward after Black, afraid to let the leash go until his friend was out of sight. The smell of blood reeked around them, the tunnel soaked in it, and the mushy earth of Cetus not much better. His fur prickled, crawling with the potential disaster before him. If he could get to the trees, the dragon would have a hard time flying and be forced on foot. It wasn't too far...

The mist stretched out before them. He tried to stop Baratheon there, as Black disappeared into the fog before them. Memories of his dreams, of the death that plagued his sleep, seeped into his heart. He would not let the mist condemn them. Not this time.

"Hey, King of Blood," Fisher hissed, once they were more or less alone-- he was scared out of his wits, if Baratheon got his teeth on him and gave him one good shake he'd be dead. He took a shaky breath and then ran out in front of the white dragon and gave him a hard push with his magic, trying to repeal the monster back into the tunnel. With that, he ran forward, towards the mist, to try and lead the dragon on a false trail, away from his friends.

The leash snapped. The beast was free. Would it chase him, or try to follow the blood trail in the squishy marsh? Fisher stared behind him as he loped forward, ears straining.

To some, it might have sounded like an explicit challenge. For Fisher, however, it was a plea.

He was held but then he was set free. The invisible shackles which had chained his body into place released him and he started forward after the pair. He could have caught up but not fast enough. No, he needed extra! His primitive mind knew this, knew what it should do. His mouth opened again but instead of a blast coming out for the dog and his prey he felt a hot burning at his mouth then a violent popping and all was black.

His body fell to the ground, senseless to the world until he awakened and continued his rampage.

---

Narrow rock walls gave way to a wide open expanse, filled with smoky mist, but he couldn't see beyond the gray and pulsing pinprick of vision. He gasped for breath, stubbornly refusing to release his grip on consciousness as much as his grip on Fallah, fighting to see his way ahead.

He could hear Fisher calling out behind him, taunting the dragon, but he couldn't see where he was going, not really. He stumbled as stone gave way to marsh, inhaled deeply as stale cold air filled his lungs with fog.

Cetus. The monster was here, in the marsh. I must find cover.

The Heart, the black marsh, would provide them no shelter--if anything they would be far too exposed, easy prey for a flying predator to pick out and pick off. Black instead veered toward the shelter of the trees, every struggling bit of consciousness trying to push past his burning muscles and drag them--he and Fallah both--into the darkness.

After a moment he was no longer visible from the tunnel mouth. His black coat vanished into the mist of the swamp, and as he hauled Fallah through the tangled grass, he found himself hoping fervently that Fisher could still find them... but that the monster behind him would not.

________________

The world cracked-- the leash pulled from him violently. He stumbled, frantically, towards the mist, but a popping noise, a fizzle, and a massive thump, made him slide to a stop in his tracks. He could hear the sloshing of the mastiff fleeing, and he twisted to look behind him, to the tunnel they had left behind.

He could see the massive beast, unconscious, twitching on the floor. Helpless. A creature of opportunity, the fisher hesitated, his thoughts churning. A violent idea swept through his mind: cut his throat, take his gem, don't let him hurt anyone else ever again, but the mustelid had more things to worry about. Fallah needed him now.

Shivering, he turn tail and ran into the mist, his dark brown form swallowed by the mist that had greeted him in birth. He raced after Black, his eyes on the sticky trail that flew behind him. A small part of him was thankful: he wouldn't have to face the Noodle Dad and King of Blood at once and home that the humongous water beast took his side. It was a gamble he was all too glad to not have to make.

And soon, his copper eyes caught sight of the black, lumbering shadow in the mist up ahead.

fisher exit;;