Skippii sprang through the ranks of gathering legionnaires, past tents and banners, making an arrow's path to the inner palisade. Campfires snuffed as he leapt over them, and his heat rose in a fury. His heart raced as rapids pounding on rocks–a current which swept him to his Imperator's aid.

Leaping, he caught the spiked crown of the inner palisade wall and dragged himself into the command district. As he fell, he once more caught a glimpse of his foe: black winged and terrible. Then tall pavilions obscured his vision.

Darting through the narrow passageways, he came upon the rear of the First Cohort, who rallied a defence. Veterans all, they formed a broken phalanx of tight companeights in the crammed space, pikes held aloft.

"Move aside," Skippii commanded, bringing a fireball into his fist. The heat parted the legionnaires before him, and a corridor was made for his entrance. Then, the monster was revealed from within the wreckage of the Imperator's pavilion.

Four limbed like a bear, it was lean with a long cat-like tail. Its fur was slick black, possessing a sickly green sheen. Daggerous canines gleamed in its cavernous jaw. It rose onto its hind legs, wings of an enormous membrane sprouting from muscular double-shoulders. Beneath it, pikes were raised. A fragile phalanx was formed and at its centre was the Imperator, sword raised, helmet's crest high, jaw set.

Skippii pushed through the defenders, but many had rallied to the Imperator's aid, and barred his way. The creature beat its wings once, powerfully. Their pikes were displaced. It crashed down and tore at the host. Bodies were broken and flung high.

In the centre, the Imperator's sword glittered. A shaft of light flashed from its blade, parting the clouds above. A razor of moonlight slashed the beast, blindingly bright. It reared its head and shrieked in agony, then staggered backwards, flicking its tail at those who amassed to its rear. Pikes were thrust forward, striking it, but it was massive, and unhurt by earthly iron.

With ferocious speed, it lashed out at the First Cohort legionnaires. Its claws were a flurry. The ground shook, and the air quivered as it bellowed. A stench washed over Skippii–of rotting flesh and foul disease. It trampled and crushed all about, flatting tents and ending lives. Many, though their hearts were true and their oaths strong, faltered in the stench and quaking fear. Their pikes gathered like a thornbush and shrank away from the monster.

And in their reprieve, Skippii flew forth. Finally, he broke forth from the phalanx and unleashed his restraints. Bottomless pyres opened their vents and their heat washed through him. A flame engulfed him, burning all but his silver tunic. His anger was supreme, and his power righteous.

He stamped forward and the ground beneath the beast erupted. Spears of stone skewered its underside. It howled and took flight. A splatter of rancid ichor splattered Skippii's face. If it was anything like the beats of the wild, its stomach would be its weakness, and he had stricken it true.

But whatever malice had contrived it gave it an unholy fortitude. Its wings beat, fanning his flames, stinging his eyes. He crouched low, and the monster suddenly descended. Claws extended, it filled the sky.

Skippii leapt aside as the beast crashed to the earth. He rose with Blazing Strikes and pummelled its flank. But it twisted on him, hind legs shattering the phalanx which had risen at its rear to oppose it.

A canopy of wiry hairs framed its monstrous face, and within the canopy, shapes emerged. Hands. Human hands, gaunt and almost fleshless. And faces, their jaws unhinged in disbelief and terror. And eyes, human eyes, glittering with sentience. They did not ride upon the monster, but were fused to its neck, emaciated, like souls of the dead, trapped and tormented.

Perverse and horrible. He faltered, but his foe did not.

A heavy limb struck him. His flames erupted as a Blazing Armour repulsed the force, but it was not enough. He was picked from his feet and flung through the air. Landing in a heap among legionnaires, he righted himself. He had been struck harder by a cyclops, and would not give in so quickly. Climbing to his feet, he staggered back into the trampled clearing, fists ablaze.

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But the beast had its back to him, and now honed in on the Imperator. A phalanx had formed around his aid, fifty legionnaires strong. Their pikes bristled like hairs on a dog's neck, and they bared their teeth at the enemy.

With a roar, its foul odour washed over them. But though they flinched and grimaced, they did not falter. Then the monster beat its wings and fell upon them. Skippii sprinted to their aid. Pikes clattered. Screams filled the air. Fire flowed in his veins.

Its long tail whipped about, catching legionnaires approaching its rear, but Skippii leapt over it. He sprung upon its back. In his left hand, he quenched his flames and grasped at the sick black hide. In his right, he poured all of his power. The camp lit up as with a flash of sunrise, and he brought its fury down.

His fist struck flesh as solid as stone, and cracked it. The leg buckled and fell beneath it. Fires doused its flesh, singing its hide. With an agonising roar, it bucked and shook him, but Skippii held on tight. He dug his fingers into its slick fur, filling his hands with fires, searing its flesh.

Suddenly, something struck him like a lance. A wing. He was flung from its hind and rolled in the dirt. But rising quickly, he pounced again.

Only the beast was not there. It has risen on bat-wings, a figure clutched in its bear-like paws. A purple cloak and glittering silver armour; his helmet had come loose, and long blonde hair fell about his face. Titus Virellix.

Each beat of its wings bent Skippii at the knees as it rose aloft. Snatching a pike from the hands of a legionnaire, Skippii hurled it as a Blazing Comet, but deftly, the creature swept aside, rising forevermore into the night.

"No," Skippii screamed and chased it. "Back! Come back. Face me!"

The fell beast pivoted and spread its wings wide, then glided away over their camp, the Imperator in its clutches. Arrows sprung to its flight, but if any found their mark, they did little to cause it pain. A thin smoke trailed its hind quarters, aroused by the winds, but died in the cold air.

Panic struck the camp. A flood of legionnaires poured after it. Trumpets blazed frenzidly. Skippii sped between them, pushing them aside, lighting a fire in his fist–anything he could do to get ahead. Out onto the fields he broke, beyond the outer palisade. The legion emerged behind and hopelessly raced after their airborne adversary. Horsemen rode ahead over the hills, trailing in the beast's wake. But Skippii soon overtook them, and the sounds of their hoofbeats were deafened by his pounding heart.

He leapt fences and ditches, clearing streams, boiling their waters with his passing. Faster, he ran, but still the beast flew ahead of him, and was shrinking from sight. Then there was a change in the wind, and a howl from the heavens. A sudden gust struck the monster from flight, lifting and twisting its wings about its form. Heavily, it fell to the earth.

It crashed through the treetops of a hillside forest, and now untangled its sprawling limbs from the trees. Skippii was upon it in moments. But before he could advance, something glittered in the light cast by his flames. A dash of silver amongst the undergrowth. Coming upon it, he beheld his Imperator's form, motionless inside a coffin of polished iron. His cloak was over his head. Skippii dared to move it, and saw, in a moment of utter relief, that his Imperator still drew breath.

The monster growled and rose within the trees, towering above him. Its form was huge, as tall on its hind legs as a cyclops. But its wings, massive like the walls of a city, black and encompassing, struck fear into his heart.

Thunder rumbled in the heavens above. The wind shrieked through the trees. The Coven of Kylin was nearing. The monster spared a knowing glance to the sky, then to Skippii, and the Imperator's body at his feet. Intelligence flowed in the whites of its evil eyes. This was no feral beast or wayward monster. It was cunning, and had many sharpened blades, and an aura of death.

Striking his hand into the earth, Skippii withdrew a fistful of molten earth, and quickly shaped it into a narrow shield. He stepped forward, body ablaze, and rested his hand on a nearby tree. Its trunk sweltered with his power, almost to bursting. If his foe pounced, he would ignite the tree and send a hail of burning splinters, then strike first through the storm.

"You would end my master's life? Then first end mine, if you can."

With a surge, Skippii evoked Enkindle Burst, and with an ear-splitting screech, the tree blew apart. A shower of flaming splinters rained upon the monster, and Skippii charged forward.

But it clawed up through the canopy, and away upon its wings into the sky. Skippii gave chase, but then quickly halted. The Imperator was injured and alone. He could not leave his side.

Coming to him, Skippii knelt and cradled his head. His eyes blinked to life and they looked at one another. Titus Virellix's lips moved, but no sound came over the rush of winds and distant beating wings.

"What is it? I am here." Skippii held his hand, and imparted a fraction of his glow. He had once healed Eirene in the same manner, but the blood which stained the Imperator's tunic could not be replenished by his thaugia alone.

"Heres," Titus whispered. And then he was gone.

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