Drake looked around the busy room trying to read all of the human’s faces. There was eager anticipation in the air, the clanging of steel against steel as the men prepared themselves, and the undeniable blood lust only Dragon Hunters could show so openly. It would not be long now before they left the safety of their fortress, and marched towards the Green Dragon’s nest to kill the beast. The protective mother watched over five eggs – an unusual amount for a dragon her age – and everyone was looking forward to frying the unborn hatchlings later that day. Yes, a good day lay ahead. A day spent killing dragons was a good day, as his comrades always said.

Eager to join their fight himself for the first time, Drake jumped up from his seat on the table, and grabbed his weapon. The heavy sword weighed quite a bit but nothing he could not handle with ease. He was easily the strongest man here, and the adrenaline shot through him the same as everyone else.

From the top of their fortress, the giant bell was rung signalling the Dragon Hunters to line up ready to leave. Immediately the already busy hall burst into excited shuffling of feet and the first notes of their battle chant. Down with the Dragon, Glory to the Hunters… Yes, Drake had heard the same lines many times since joining them a week ago.

As the newest member to their group, the honour of landing the final blow belonged to him. A rite of passage, so to speak.

A rite he was increasingly looking forward to.

With a dangerous gleam in his eyes, he took his spot between the men. Their Commander, imposing and almost as dangerous as Drake, gave his speech but Drake was not listening. Nothing he told them now would matter over the next two hours. Let them prepare for their evening feast all they wanted – there would not be a feast, and they would not make it back.

Carefully as not to rouse the suspicion of their Commander, Drake scratched his leg just below his back. This human transformation was incredibly uncomfortable and itchy, but it would not be long now before he could shed his disguise and devour them as they would devour his mate’s eggs. His eggs. He would gladly show them the same mercy they were prepared to show his kind.

And a stupid bunch of humans these were, too. Was it not a little too convenient that he had joined so soon before the next kill? Was he not a little too eager, for someone so young? Even the name he had given himself should have made them wonder. A final insult to their lacking intelligence.

The men saluted, and he followed suit. They were too well trained in their routines to be able to deal with him and his mate. Now that he had trained and lived with them he knew the weakness of every last one of them, and he was lusting to make them regret the day they took him in so carelessly.

A good man smells the wyvern before he sees it. Drake could only laugh at the foolish sentiment. That they called his kind wyverns only proved their ignorance further.

A last battle cry from their Commander – one Drake mimicked perfectly – and they went to their deaths.

Drake could not help but smile. Bloody slaughter they were craving, and bloody slaughter he would deliver. He and his mate had waited long enough.

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All of my 10-Minute stories are improvised, unplanned, and unedited apart from spelling and grammar mistakes. The idea is to kick-start the dreaded Monday with a short, creative exercise without thinking about it, and simply writing for the sake of writing.

For all other 10-Minute shorts, take a look here.

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