Headed by a Snake

"Um, excuse me."

The voice came from the first woman-- the careless one.

Tycondrius was slightly annoyed that the Squad Leader did not refer to him by his rank.

...Granted, 'Commander' was not a rank that naturally existed within the Sapphire Tower.

He could feel his impatience showing in his expression... and his desire to remain professional began to wane.

Still, he waved for her to speak, "Squad Leader?"

"You obviously... like... know a lot of magics," she said.

Tycon pursed his lips and nodded. That much was obvious.

He remained silent, waiting for Ashley to continue.

"Zeta Squad has... a mission," she said.

Tycon blinked in disbelief. Every squad had a mission, that was... also obvious.

Was this girl intentionally wasting his time?

...If she was, he was planning on killing her.

Finally... in a voice that lacked both respect *and* volume, Ashley spoke once more.

"Sir... do you know anything... about dragons?"

"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Dragons? Dragons don't exist."

"I... but... but they... but we-- I've... I've lost TWO of my girls to those beasts!" she cried. "And-- and I've been trying to decipher one of their formations for--"

Tycon stopped listening.

The girl went from sad and pathetic to livid and... and tearful.

He had borne witness to the Sapphire Tower's leadership.

And he found it absolutely appalling.

A Squad Leader-- a Senior Witch in command of a flight should have been a paragon of professionalism, a confident and knowledgeable Mage serving as a role model and enabler for her subordinates.

And instead... the woman he knew as Ashley Yates had been reduced to tears over *nothing.*

Of *course*, there were tears.

Tycon was born with a cursed ability; women in his presence were oft to cry without warning-- without logic or reason.

"Compose yourself, Squad Leader," Tycon said, keeping his voice low. "I say again: Dragons. don't. exist."

"Then, SIR!!" Ashley roared, "What in the seven hells is THAT??!"

The girl was pointing past him and upward... at something releasing killing intent in abundance.

Tycon casually turned to look.

In the sky, partially hidden by the battlefield haze, was a large, winged, purple creature quickly approaching.

It was a bit larger than a gorgon, but smaller than a manticore. It was nothing special, though. He'd used something similar as a decorative stand for his Winged Staff.

-- "Stars and stones, we're all gonna diiiie!!"

-- "It's headed straight for us!"

-- "Purple McPurpleface!!! You're a cruel and hateful god!!"

Tycon crossed his right arm, then rested his face on his opposite palm.

He wasn't in the mood to deal with trivialities, despite being surrounded by mass panic.

"Coraline."

"Y-yessir?" A certain blonde elf responded-- instantly and obediently. She stood up straight, her posture impeccable.

It was a minuscule gesture, a normative response appropriate in any professional setting... but Tycon yearned for such normalcy.

His fondness for the sapling grew immensely.

For her dedication, he would ensure she lived through at least the current sun.

"Please deal with the oncoming threat," Tycon commanded. "I advise a response of Third-Circle, at least."

"Uhhhh, excuse me, your hot-ness," Interrupted one of the Witches.

It was... the woman Tycon liked to think of as 'Jessica.' She stood in front of Coraline as if she was defending her.

It was almost insulting that a human woman would even dare to present her weak, mortal flesh as an obstacle to him.

...But Tycon remembered that he wanted to keep the Witches alive.

"Go ahead," He groaned.

"The newbie's only *just* made it to Silver-Rank," She said. "If you need a Third-Circle..."

Tycon rolled his eyes.

The elf... she was hiding her power level. Likely, there was some sort of social dynamic at play.

But that wasn't Tycon's problem. He was out of disposable wands and scrolls. Thus, the most efficacious course of action to save so-many Witch lives was to garner her assistance.

Tycon placed his hand on Jessica's upper arm and gently guided her out of his path.

"Coraline, Beatrice, which of you two are going to help me?"

⊰ play ⊱

The fire elemental was first to respond. Beatrice coalesced into physical form, her chosen shape reminiscent of a winged pixie, though her features were masked by dancing flames.

"HeartSONNNNG??!!" Ashley screamed from behind, "You're contracted to a GOLD-RANK fire elemental?!?"

Tycon shook his head inwardly. No matter how skilled Coraline was at hiding her talents, the ignorance of her leadership was a flagrant mark of their ineptitude.

"I'll help!" The troublesome elf squeaked, "Of course, I'll help. Y-you wrote a letter of recommendation to the President on my behalf, after all."

"Hmph," Tycon shrugged. "So she told you?"

"She didn't," Coraline smirked. "But you just confirmed it."

Clever girl. Always clever...

"That *thing* in the sky," Tycon growled. "I want it charred and smoldering on the side of the road."

"I hear you, Commander!" Coraline shot her arms forward, directed at the beast. Hovering near, Beatrice mimicked her contractor's movements in time.

However... the enemy teleported.

Or rather-- it executed some kind of Movement Technique that projected itself forward some forty or fifty yalms.

"⌈Shadowfang⌋."

Thus, Tycon did the same... springing up from the cobblestone road, through a between-world of shadows, and reappearing in front of the lizard-pretender.

He punched it in the teeth... not for any particularly advantageous reason, but for the satisfaction of it.

(After the fact, he realized he had the fortune of interrupting its ⌈Breath Weapon⌋. He spotted a revolting glob of volatile mana dripping from the side of its maw.)

Combined with the acceleration, Tycon's relatively weak strike shattered the creature's lesser defensive Enchantments, while also halting its forward momentum.

Yet after all that, Tycon judged that more force was necessary to eliminate the threat.

As he began to fall, he splayed his arms out to the side, twisting his body to face the crowd below.

And finally... he snapped his fingers.

⟬ ⌈Commander's Strike⌋ activated. ⟭

Some distance away, Coraline and Beatrice released what Tycon identified as a twin-casted Fourth-Circle ⌈Flame Strike⌋.

Tycon didn't know much about the Sapphire Tower's curriculum. However, ⌈Flame Strike⌋ was a medium-difficulty Spell appropriate for Fifth-Circle Archmages and similar.

Coraline's attack was worth two of them.

From the current sun, onward, the young elf would have great difficulty acting as a *mere* Iron-Rank Arcanist.

As Tycon descended, he was surprised to find himself the target of several protective Witch Spells. They were unnecessary, but he appreciated their good intentions.

He landed amidst great fanfare, covered by ⌈Resilience⌋, ⌈Mage Armor⌋, ⌈Featherfall⌋, and-- oddly enough, a benign application of ⌈Extend Scent⌋.

A short distance away, the lizard-pretender crashed in a burning heap in the middle of the road.

Close enough.

-- "Oh my gods, he just punched a dragon in the face!"

"Not a dragon, young lady. But yes, I did."

-- "I can't believe it! He just-- he just shot it out of the sky!"

"Miss Coraline cast the Spell. This is *not* debatable. She is among you. You're in her very presence."

-- "OhhHhh, he smells so gooOOod!!"

...Tycon immediately isolated and dispelled his ⌈Extend Scent⌋ effect.

Squad Leader Ashley pushed herself to the front of the crowd. She still looked upset-- which was baffling, considering the fact that Tycon saved her squad from two separate threats in the span of less than ten minutes.

"SIR!! How can you say that THAT is NOT a dragon?!? It's a magical BEHEMOTH with wings, capable of flight!!"

Bah.

Tycon shook his head as he walked towards the charred and smoldering mass.

"If you won't believe simple logic, then I'll show you."

He didn't wait for the congregation of mumbling squeaks, but he was fairly certain they followed.

He sensed Coraline increasing her pace to walk alongside him.

That was fine.

With his mood, she was the only woman in Zeta Squad that he could tolerate.

"Sir Tycon... is... is it dead?" she asked.

"An odd question," Tycon mused. "The shell lives, as is its nature. The pilot, however..."

He raised his arm, summoning his Winged Staff. It dislodged itself from its spinal resting place and found its way to his hand.

"So that was a staff," Coraline frowned, "It hurts a little, seeing you be so rough with your gear."

"It's not mine," Tycon replied.

He thrust the end of the magic staff between two scales on the purple creature's belly, then began to pry the compartment open.

Squad Leader Ashley was the first Witch to react.

"No... no way," she said.

...Her insistence marked her continued and grossly irrational doubt.

Tycon stared up towards the sunless sky.

He presented the humans with concrete proof, doing all he could, short of mashing their noses against the still-steaming pile of biomaterial.

Yet still... it seemed that some of them refused to acknowledge the truth.

Why did he even try?

In his frustration, he applied excessive force with his improvised prybar, resulting in the staff snapping in half.

He didn't even care-- he tossed the useless artifact onto the deck before tearing off the hatch, completely, with his bare hands.

"Tycon," Coraline said in a quiet voice. "This is... horrible. We have to do something. Please do something."

"Fine," Tycon said as he glared at the contents of the broken Divine Armor.

Inside the shell was what he assumed to be a human pilot. The young man was barely conscious, his one visible limb clearly broken, and with most of his body covered in severe burns.

He should not have been alive. Yet... so many layers of physical and magical defenses on his Divine Armor somehow allowed him to continue the agony that was his existence.

"Behold, Witches of the Sapphire Tower," Tycon announced. "Hidden underneath these scales and beneath the reinforced, biomagical flesh... lies a living, breathing vulnerability."

"P... please... mercy..." The dying man groaned.

It was an apt request.

Tycon drew Mercy from her sheath and swiftly cut the pilot's throat.

He then spun on his heels to face the crowd.

"And with this, Zeta Squad, I have killed your last *dragon,*" he said, whipping the blood off of his sword. "Remember this moment for the rest of your short, mortal lives... for now-- and from this sun forward, you shall know no fear."

",