Storm snake. Overgrown cobra. Maybe even call it a dragon - Conlan didn't have time to get caught up in the semantics of the thing, as much as he did love semantics. What he had here was a very large snake capable of decimating what little remained of the Camalus. It coiled through the air, thin as silk but very wide, and charged with enough lumia to disrupt air traffic for thousands of miles if it ever got out of the storm. Definite international safety risk. It's head reared back, all slit eyes and needle-fine teeth and centuries of barely refined rage. And he was still heading right for it.
"Camilla, I'm gonna have to call you back."
"What? Co-"
While he was at it, he disconnected from the fortress computers entirely. It would take a good five minutes or so for Vincent to override and get back on, but that would be enough for Conlan.
Sailors are a superstitious bunch. This is common knowledge. The thing is, so are pilots - each in their own way. And Conlan didn't like to kill himself when it could be broadcast to an audience. He also believed a certain Mad Goddess, patron of pilots and young warriors, liked a good show now and then, and before he sealed the deal he turned on the night flying lights. A beacon.
He flew right at the head of the snake, looked into its abyss of a mouth, felt the air fill with lumia particles and gnash at every part of him. All around, kaleidoscopic shards of light and glass.
He allowed the last of the exhaust filter to break off, sending a spray of multi-hued fumes out in a fan.
And right as he was about to fly in, right as the snake shot forward for the killing blow, Conlan spun out the airship. Whipped the steering console and let the tail fling right into the burst field. Let the exhaust hit the burst field.
He cut the engine and fell.
Next chapter's ready to post, by the way. Just say the word.
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