Behold the man! Dr. David MacBeth
And now, the beast: Dracustos the Draconian
I will also request that all who vote leave CnC, if at all possible (obviously if you have tons of work IRL, I'm not going to hunt you down...or will I?).
A Dream and a Dragon (Alphaeus's battle)
Spoiler (Click to Show)
With a snap of his wrists, he flung the earth off of the blanket, and whipped the covering itself back onto his side table. The poor fellow on the table was probably just eighteen. Shrapnel from a landmine had torn away most of his legs, but Dr. MacBeth was doing what he could to put the pieces back together. He had done these operations before, with patients who had suffered accidents at West Virginia coal mines, but those had been done at one of the most well equipped and cutting-edge hospitals in the world. In addition, whole swarms of nurses, doctors, and other specialists were at his command. Even there, it had taken nearly three days to do this work. Now, he was having to race the Axis army, with only occasionally help from Red Cross nurses, in a side-room off a French trench. Still, he was an Idealist, and border-lined on obsessive-compulsive: he would do this surgery right, not just resort to the logical amputation like all other doctors would.
As a wearied and soiled brunette in white garb rushed in the door, he fired a quick, yet calm, command in French. “I need you to take an IV and IV bag. Go to Corporal Nicolas Louis. Get him to give as much blood as he can spare. This young man is fortunate to have someone healthy nearby who has the same blood-type as him.”
With a respectful “Oui, Monsieur,” she retrieved the supplies and vanished as quickly as she had come.
David returned his attention to the surgery at hand. He ground his teeth in frustration. No! It is not hopeless! I can still save his life, if I just work a little faster!
He materialized his two Reflections. They were certainly not his ideal aides, but they were better than nothing. He barked short commands to them, allowing to focus on the process of reassembling a quarter of a man’s body.
Five hours later, and the work was done. Though his legs were a mess of stitches, the soldier would walk again, without trouble. David knew that his labors had not only saved a life but also kept a man from permanent disfigurement.
As a pair medics carried the man out of his impromptu operating room, he heaved a sigh of relief and satisfaction. And then a shell hit the trench square on.
Adrenaline dragged him out of the murky world of unconsciousness back into life. A ringing sound echoed in his head as he pushed aside rubble. All other sounds were faint, and far off, as he was in some sort of insulated bubble. His eyes struggled to refocus on the world around him. Slowly, he gained his balance and rose to his feet, shakily. His Reflections appeared on either side to steady him. This was not a conscious choice on his part, but an automatic response to when he could not help himself.
He cast his eyes down to the ground and saw the medics – and his patient. All of them were barely recognizable as human. All were dead. All his work was lost. A slow rage rose in his chest as his mind and senses caught up to reality. He pressed his mouth into a grim line, and fished through the piles of debris for his gun. The stock – already heavily marred with hard use – was further gouged by this impact. Still, its accurate and lethal mechanisms of the Winchester ’73 were unharmed.
Snatching it up, he silently climbed the embankment that formed the front of the trench, his leather boots becoming soiled with the blood of the man who he had so desired to save.
As he breached the top with his Reflections, each bearing a rifle of their own, he heard the sing of bullets rushing past his ears, and saw the little clouds of dust they raised as they bit into the dry, barren dirt. Several of them thwacked into his duplicates, but merely fell harmlessly to the ground. He motioned these safeguards of himself in front of him, and began progressing towards the war-torn village as quickly as he could. Once he could spot his attackers, he systematically felled them until his little corner of hell was clear from enemy gunners.
When he reached the town, he moved silently through the blasted streets. The sound of gunfire, frenzied orders, and heavy machinery had become something he could tune out entirely. A pitiful wail was what caught his attention. The streets were littered with dead – apparently his enemies had been suffering worse than his own lines had – but the sound did not come from there. He cautiously worked his way into one of the homes. The sound of someone shifting in a chair above his head made him freeze. After ordering his Reflections to guard the front door, he moved surreptitiously up the splintered wooden stairwell.
Heart beating in his chest, he slipped his rifle into a sheath he had stitched onto the back of his uniform, drew a pair of knives from his belt, and lunged onto the landing with a roar of anger. The first two soldiers were felled before a sound of alarm could sound from their lips. The third appeared to be a high ranking officer of some sort, and gave a brief moment of struggle. Decades of strenuous exercise had honed David’s muscles to perfection, however, and this battle-worn veteran did not last long.
He clenched and unclenched his hands on the handles of the bloody knives, disgusted that he had killed when he professed to heal, yet at the same time feeling justified. The cry that had drawn him in the first place sounded again from the next room.
As he stepped into the shadows, sheathed his blades and wept. His tears dripped down the shattered doorposts, washing away the dust of turmoil and revealing a pristine blue paint underneath. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the hideous scene.
A young girl – perhaps twelve – was sitting between the mutilated bodies of her parents. In her arms was the form of a lifeless baby, a distinctive dark circle dripping blood from one side of its precious head. She was rhythmically rocking back and forth, weeping uncontrollably. Her own garments were torn and stained a dark rusty brown, barely providing her protection from the chill that laced the air of the bleak, cloudy day. She totally ignored his presence, as if it mattered not to her what human now entered the room. He decided to address her in English, since that would likely be associated with the Allies.
“Come, child. I am here to help you.”
She looked up at him, and the expression of pain and hopelessness on her face crushed his heart. Though she stopped rocking, she did not move.
He walked over to her and scooped her fragile form up in his arms. She stared blankly at him, her body limp, as if all the spirit of life had left nothing but a shell of a human. A short, low whistle brought his Reflections running. His voice was gravelly with emotion, and born a dark cloud of wrath, yet it still retained the calm he had trained into it as a doctor.
“Kill every living soul in this village. Do not let one survive. Return when you are done with the cleansing of this filth.”
They left without remark.
He carried the girl over to one corner of the room. A small window looked into a lone dogwood. It had dared to sprout such a profusion of unspoiled white blossoms that the entire dismal world outside was blocked from view. A wren was tending a nest in one of the branches nearest them. Shifting her to one arm, he flipped over a worn yellow rocking chair that had been tossed into a corner and settled down into it, sheltering her within his lithe arms. As he rocked, he sang. His voice was clear, and despite being soft, bore a defiant strength.
“Hush now baby don't you cry
Rest your wings my butterfly
Peace will come to you in time
And I will sing this lullaby
No, though I must leave, my child
But I would stay here by your side
And if you wake before I'm gone
Remember this sweet lullaby
And all love through darkness
Don't you ever stop believing
With love forlorn
With love you'll find your way
My love
The world has turned the day to dark
I leave this night with heavy heart
When I return to dry your eyes
I will send this lullaby
Yes I will send this lullaby”
(Josh Groban’s Lullaby)
As he sang, the child seemed to feed off of this compassion, and nestled into his chest, curling into a tiny ball. One feeble arm slipped around his neck as the sounds of the chaos brought by his Reflections raged outside. A smile of deep seated joy spread across his face.
“Peace I give to you: my peace I bring to you. Though a thousand may fall dead beside you, and ten thousand at your right hand, no harm shall come to you. I will lead you to still waters, and have you lie down in green pastures. Yes, child, I will restore your soul.”
They sat there, he and the forgotten youth, until his Reflections returned, bloody yet unharmed. They spoke in unison.
“Your will is done.”
He nodded slowly. The world going to change. Pleasure and amusement were no longer to be the driving forces of his life. He had the power to work his will upon the globe, and would do so, one life at a time. All he could he would win to the cause of peace and justice. Resistance would be met with patients, but unwavering determination. Defiance he would eradicate, even if it meant doing so with his own two hands, or his two Reflections. He stood, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, a silent plea for him not to let go.
Standing, he dismissed the Reflections, and settled the weight of the girl in his arms. His stride was firm, yet dignified. His gaze kind, yet combative. He whispered three words, not truly to the girl, but to the world at large.
“It. Is. Finished.”
As those words rung through his mind, the memory faded, as it always did. He might have called it a bad dream, this continual haunting of the most bloody time of his past, but the visions came as often during his waking hours as they did during sleep. The years had failed to take away their edge, so he had learned to use their power to harden his resolve and cement his goals. He sighed as his gaze refocused on the mirror. The reflection it gave showed a man unchanged by the decades that had passed since that moment. That had been the pivotal instant of his life, even more than the accident that had given him his strange powers.
This was a part of his morning routine, a way to keep his mind attuned to the goals for which he strived, and keep that memory alive and thriving.
Opening the door to his suite on the third floor of his brick building, he took the stairwell down to his clinic on the ground floor. Valera was the first person he saw.
“Good morning. How are our patients today?”
When she saw him, her usual severe countenance softened into a kind expression that made one realize that this unadorned woman was truly a natural beauty. “Dr. MacBeth, it is indeed a good morning. None of the patients are having any issues. Well, nothing that is not normal for them. Lily had something she wanted to tell you, though, so you might want to go to the front desk office before you do your rounds. I’m nearly done with mine, so I will have breakfast for us ready by seven-thirty, as usual.”
“Wonderful. Well, I’ll go check with Lily now.”
He swept off down the hallway lined with stamped gold wallpaper and stepped into the alcove behind the front desk. Lily was sitting with her back to him, working over the day planner on the computer.
“Miss Belladonna?”
She swiveled in her mahogany desk chair to face him. Her face showed a mix of confusion and concern. As she rose and stepped into the alcove with him. “I’m so glad you’re here, Doctor! There is something in the lobby that says it has an appointment with you. I told him that he had to wait, but he says that this needs to be tended to immediately.”
David gave a condescending smile and raised an eyebrow. “Something? Could you be a bit more specific?”
Lily cast a glance over her shoulder and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s a…dragon. Kinda. A big, blue dragon-man. With wings.”
He tried to remember where he had left his rifle. It was probably still upstairs. All of his chemicals were still in his jacket pocket, however, and his knives were on him as well. Things could not go too wrong. Standing up straight, he rounded the corner into the lobby. His gaze landed on a massive creature doing its best to look natural, in the midst of a group of frightened humans.
“Excuse me, sir, but my secretary tells me that you have business with me. Now, while I am not averse to dealing with a draconian, I would request that for the sake of others in this room we take our discussion outside.”
The draconian’s face registered a level of surprised at being addressed so flatly, but shrugged and rose to follow Dr. MacBeth out the door and around the side of his building into the driveway.
It towered over him by nearly two feet, and its size was dramatically accented by the wings that sprouted from its back.
“I’m Dracustos. Your supposed to be battling me today. This is your first RHG battle, according to the information sheet, so I figured I should give you a chance at a fair fight.”
David nodded slowly, then began to slowly walk away. “Ahhh. I see. I wonder why I did not receive notice of this – perhaps I did, and we merely missed it. The telephones have just been connected last evening, and I do not always answer my private phone. We will begin after breakfast. Speaking of which, have you had any?”
Dracustos was at a loss. Battles were typically…battles. But he had been here for nearly an hour since meeting Dr. MacBeth, and was being treated quite hospitably, but not had one ounce of conflict. The doctor had asserted that they would eat breakfast, and Dracustos had been seated at a table with David, his secretary, and his nurse. After breakfast, David had relegated him to the rooftop while he did his morning rounds. The weather was gorgeous, so he did not particularly mind, but still…this man seemed a bit nonchalant about something that could easily end in death. Then again, he was a doctor, so maybe that did not worry him. The information section on his mysterious ability called “Triplexia” was entirely empty. Something could be up his sleeve.
When David returned to the rooftop, he was toting a heavily worn rifle. It appeared to be an antique, and Dracustos doubted that this man had even used it. “I figured we would head over to the old train-yard down the street. You can fit in my car if you want…it’s spacious enough, or would you prefer to fly?”
Dracustos eyed his opponent’s smiling face. “You do realize this is dangerous, don’t you? I fight fairly, so you don’t need to worry about that, but still – this is an actual battle, not just a friendly sparring match. Are you sure you’re up to this sort of thing?”
David’s smile twisted a bit, giving it a slight hint of the appearance of a sneer. “Oh of course. While I’ve never had the honor of fighting a draconian, I doubt that it will be too much trouble. I learn quickly.”
The draconian frowned, but again remained silent. This