Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon) by Scott Appleton

sword of the dragon. He drew it from its scabbard as easily as if it had been oiled and with both hands held the blade, pointing it toward the ceiling. The flames within the shiny metal spread out, twisting to entwine it.
    The flames spread from the sword, up his arms and over his body. His muscles grew taut and his shoulders squared with extra strength. As quickly as the flames covered him, they now receded, returning into the blade but leaving him adorned with armor of white light. Indeed, flames danced inside the armor that replaced his former clothing as if telling of a realm beyond his reach. He stepped into the heart of the room, his armor flexing with his movements with such ease that he could have forgotten it was there.
    His awareness of the room around him, around the armor, deepened as if it were an extension of his senses. The sword and his armor lit every dark corner.
    The serpents locked their eyes on him. Their forked tongues twisted out from between their fangs.
    Before they could advance or retreat, Ilfedo fell upon them. He thrust his flaming blade into three of the serpents’ brains and slit the next one across its throat. The sword in his hand cut through the snakes as if they had been made of cheese.
    As Ilfedo raised his sword to strike the remaining Sea Serpents, they regurgitated their prey. Coughing and choking on their own bile and that of the serpents, a dozen men, women and children sprawled across the floor. Some got up on their hands and knees to escape the filthiness around them.
    A few victims remained prostrate in the puddles of brightly colored liquids that reeked like rotting animal corpses. Ilfedo clenched his jaws, breathing rapidly. His fists wrung the handle of his sword even as his eyes looked away from the survivors and burned into the serpents.
    Rid of their burdens, the remaining serpents snapped their jaws at one another, untangling from one another and sliding across the floor, to face him with their ghost-white eyes.
    “Come, you vermin!” Ilfedo yelled as he started forward, swinging his sword wide. “Face me! Fight! I would have it no other way!”
    The serpents drew back their heads out of his reach. Their mouths hissed open, their fangs shining white, drops of venom forming on the tips.
    In that moment, as the creatures rose in all their hideous strength, Ilfedo wished the flames burning in the sword of the dragon would reach out, burn into the creatures. An impossible feat, but somehow it now seemed viable.
    As the serpents prepared to strike, he took a couple steps backward and pointed the blade’s tip directly at the creatures’ white eyes. Flames emerged from the weapon, forming a torrent of twisting yellow and red tongues that gathered strength and threw themselves through the air.
    Ilfedo felt his will merge with the sword as if he were in its blade. He gathered the sword’s power as if from an unfathomably deep well and threw it—threw himself, his strength, his wrath—against his opponents. His mind felt connected not only with his body but with the sword as well, enabling him to step to the side as one of the serpents avoided the shooting flames and snapped at him.
    The other serpent fell, smoke curling off its head.
    When the last serpent attacked him again, its fangs scraped across his shoulder guard but did not pierce his armor. The scraping of the fangs across his shoulder guard sounded like music to his ears. He held onto the sword with one hand and dug his armored fist into the serpent’s eye with the other.
    A scream tore from the serpent’s throat, a sound halfway between an elephant’s roar and a Nuvitor’s cry. It pulled away from him, shaking its head, trying to reacquire its target with its uninjured eye.
    Again gripping his sword with both hands, Ilfedo approached the creature and swung. The blade cut through the serpent’s scales and burst its veins. Blue blood painted the walls, spraying the survivors. The blood struck his armor and steamed