Chapter 1: Peachy
10.03.10 AV, 07:59, CHROMATICAN CITY
Quiet. Only the howling winds outside the city and the crackling electricity filled the silence. Then the clock struck 8. The streetlight dimmed ever so slightly as power surged, illuminating the streets in artificial daylight. And the city awoke, obsidian skyscrapers as far as the eye could see, searchlights darting all around the dark sky. This was the Chromatican City, which came to be known as the last stronghold of human civilization.
In its very heart stood a spire, mere sheets and chunks of metal grafted upon each other, reaching far above the clouds as if to hold the firmament itself. The Spine, and within it sat the Pale, the new powers that be.
The emergency broadcast screamed, warning the citizens to evacuate the area now! The searchlights homed in on the approaching threat, its silhouette now visible against the black clouds.
The beast landed in the middle of a large boulevard, the concrete cracking under its immense weight. A large, draconic being, metal scales shimmering in the light. Its roar deafened all who dared be near it, stomping across all that stood in its proximity.
And high above, a single helicopter circled the area, surveying the situation. Its large door opened, and from within dangled a man, loosely holding himself in with one hand.
“I’ve got visuals on the Zmey. How did it even get this close?"
"One of the Signal Station technicians 'forgot' about his broken air filter. Poor bastard," responded a woman on the radio, tired and monotonous.
"That's a shame. I should inform you right now I'm declining the spot."
"Don't worry, Jacques. You're both too valuable for that. And I'd hazard a guess that you can handle the situation yourselves?"
“Count on us.”
“Good. I've placed the relocation cage on a nearby street. Keep me posted.”
The man appeared to be pushing thirty, clean-shaven, hair not particularly styled but obviously well taken care of. The only notable piece of clothing he wore was the surprisingly stylish coat that was part of his uniform. From his belt hung a small pouch, a faint glow emanating from within whenever a ray of light passed over the opening. But most striking was the massive slab of metal strapped to his back, an axe too big to be used as a weapon. Its looks might've suggested it once served as a motorcycle's engine, but that couldn't be further from the truth.
Jacques pulled out a bottle of gasoline from his many pockets and poured it directly on the axe's surface, the pilot's face turning into a scowl from the smell.
“Alright, let’s do this!” he muttered, pulling a small earpiece from his other pocket and turning it on.
And then immediately yanking it from his eardrum's vicinity. The sound coming out was louder than the rotor blades.
“Okay, listen, I- No, you- I can't understand you when you- NO, YOU LISTEN- Will you let me just-”
But to no avail. The man was stuck arguing with the buzzing noise on the other end, the axe on his back clanking in unison. Until...
“Jacques,” the radio woman interrupted, much more impatient. “I can see the Zmey destroying the city's infrastructure. What I can't see is you. Why is that?"
“Velos.”
“Put me on the channel.”
Jacques pressed a few buttons, and both receivers went silent. A moment passed, and the axe began revving, sparks flying out of its chassis. The helicopter lowered itself just enough for Jacques to leap onto a rooftop without breaking his legs.
He glanced over at the situation below. Several people hid inside a café, several hid behind their cars, several within a bus, wherever they could on such short notice. The Zmey wasn't actively targeting people, more so curious about its surroundings, but it was still a wild animal. If it were to get startled…
He didn’t have any time to waste or to take the lift. Jacques jumped off the rooftop, swinging the axe's blade into a wall, gliding to the ground. He whistled, drawing the beast's attention.
The Zmey turned around and roared, beating its wings, trying to make itself seem imposing. Jacques casually approached it. He reached over his shoulder, grabbing the axe's handle, revving the engine inside the mass of metal, roaring in return.
The creature flinched at the sound and, startled, in one deep breath, unleashed a stream of yellow fire towards the man. He ran behind the rubble caused by the beast’s landing, waiting out the Zmey's lung capacity.
As soon as it was done, Jacques hurried towards a maintenance hatch covering the city’s water lines. He pulled the axe, its metal plates shifting and melting into the form of a sword, plunging it into the ground.
A jet of water burst upward, drenching the air and throwing the Zmey off balance. Jacques darted in close. Whatever drops of water touched the dragon’s scales turned to steam as soon as they made contact. With the corner of his eye, he could see the relocation cage he was supposed to guide the Zmey towards. And in his mind, Jacques planned an idea.
Jacques ran to the creature's six legs, their appearance more similar to that of an insect than to a reptile. Except for the claws, those were surely reptilian.
He swung the axe. Or rather, the axe swung itself, with Jacques being there for support.
He plunged the blade into one of the Zmey’s leg joints. He forced the segments apart until the cartilage gave way with a wet, squelching pop, the joint pulling apart in a clean, bloodless tear.
The Zmey cried in pain, grabbing Jacques by his coat and flinging him through a large glass window, his landing cushioned by the hard, wooden counter and steel shelves of the café.
“Uram, jól van?” asked one of the people hiding inside, voice shaky.
“Wha-? No, I'm-" he muttered, coughing blood with every word, "-I'm fine, let me just-”
“No! Vérzel! Blood!” another said, pushing him to the ground.
“Wha-? No, it's- I said I'm fine!” Jacques obviously wasn't fine, blinking excessively, trying to readjust his vision.
“But-”
“Man, I'm sorta on the clock, so...“
Jacques pushed himself up, just in time to see the Zmey leering at him through the broken glass, its stance more unbalanced. It puffed, spread its wings, and flew out of sight.
Jacques ran outside, with some of his bones broken and his back full of bleeding wooden splinters, seeing the dragon fly deeper into the city. He needed desperately to catch up to it. But how?
“Any of you have a still functional car nearby? Car? Auto?"
One man rose, keys in hand.
Jacques drove as fast as the engine would allow, trying to follow the Zmey scraping against the buildings as it flew past. To his left was the axe, strapped with a safety belt on the passenger seat.
“I messed up, the Zmey is going deeper into the city,” he coughed into the radio, blood splattering the car's insides.
“I know. I'll set another cage ahead,” responded the woman.
The Zmey landed in a large plaza, with Jacques right behind, guards still trying to evacuate the area. He had to act now.
He saw the second cage, but what was of more concern were the civilians who were still in the area. And even more concerning, the small group hiding behind a statue, throwing rubbish at the Zmey, most of which started burning the second it made contact. Even if its scales were too thick for it to notice, it would not hold back if it were to notice them.
Jacques pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply to keep himself awake, then started running toward the Zmey. He grabbed the axe's handle, revving its engine so loud his ears hurt. The Zmey flinched, losing its balance, backing away ever so slightly.
But it didn't take long to regain its composure, snapping back, threatening to incinerate Jacques. It opened its maw, smoke floating out of its throat, and Jacques threw inside a brick he picked from the ground.
The Zmey was taken aback, enough to make it miss its first shot, but not enough for it to realise it could just pick Jacques up with its jaws, thrashing and hurling him into a wall. Thankfully, the hard steel axe on his back eased his impact, the brick-and-mortar wall behind him turned to dust and rubble.
Jacques stood still for a second, then staggered upright, his head pounding as blood trickled down his face and seeped deep into his chest, his lungs slowly caving in. He tried to grab his head, but he realised all too late that his arm was no longer connected to his body, sitting on the ground a few metres away.
The Zmey readied itself again, but he fell to the ground, barely dodging the flame. It was shock that saved him; he couldn’t get up even if he wanted to.
Jacques reached for the pouch on his belt, yanking and emptying the insides on the ground.
From the pouch, a mix of liquids spilt out, seeping into the cracked concrete, leaving behind bits of glass and metal. Jacques picked with trembling fingers a single bullet, the red liquid inside glinting in the streetlight.
“Your turn.”
The axe on his back seemed to whirl in excitement, aware of what was to follow. Jacques forced himself to lift the weapon, propping it into the ground. He rose, his legs straining, blood freely flowing out of his mouth.
He sprang up, using the last of his strength to jump into the axe's blade, driving it deep into his stomach. Its engine roared to life.
As blood flowed through the axe’s structure, its engine throttled uncontrollably, its entire frame morphing. Jacques felt the weapon tearing through his torso, with a mechanical hand emerging out of the metal mass, clawing its way out.