The swordsman with the large blade strode towards Jack’s mother, who was hiding amongst the twisted roots of a fallen tree while shielding little Zia with her arms. Her eyes, wide with terror, shifted between the brute and her son.

  The man’s seven-foot, rust-encrusted sword was being dragged through the soil with a sound like bone grating on stone. His gaze was fixed on Jack’s mom. “Hand over the ear, and I’ll let the girl live.” His voice was low and guttural, like rocks grinding in his throat.

  Jack opened his mouth to scream for his mother to run, but no sound escaped his lips. His lungs were filled with stone. He tried to reach for his bow, but his limbs refused to move. Paralysed, he watched on in helpless terror, trapped in a body that would not obey, while the cruel nightmare unfolded like a cursed play.

  The swordsman was in no rush. He hacked through the tree roots, each strike of the rusty blade sending splinters and blood-red sap flying. The roots writhed like snakes, bleeding ink, whispering nonsense in Jack’s ears, words in ancient Elven he couldn’t comprehend but still understood.

  Failure… Liar… Murderer… Useless…

  Behind him, Polly’s voice rang out from somewhere unseen. “Don’t worry, Mom. Big, brave Jack the goblin slayer will save you. Yes. Won’t you, Jack? No?” Her voice was sing-song, lilting with mockery, but it was distorted, as if she were speaking underwater or through cracked glass.

  Jack tried to turn towards his sister, but couldn’t move. He could feel her presence looming over him, yet her body cast no shadow.

  “I want her cast iron skillet… the good one,” said Kyle, the rat-faced rogue, who crouched by the fallen tree. He wore a valet uniform several sizes too small, the ridiculous hat drooping over one bloodshot eye. His throat was slashed wide open, yet he was very much alive, grinning as blood gushed out in a fountain that sprayed the wildflowers in brilliant, impossible colours… vivid blue, searing orange, a shade of red that seemed to grin. Giant bees collected the blood like nectar, all the while humming a discordant tune.

  The rat-faced rogue drew Jack’s own white oak bow and nocked an arrow that resembled a sharpened quill. A large mechanical dragonfly landed on the tip of the rogue’s drawn bow. Its wings vibrated in sync with the rogue’s count. “One… Two… Three…” he chanted in a childlike voice.

  No! Jack screamed inside his head. It’s me you want! Me! Please!

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  Kyle turned, grinning wider than any man’s face should allow. “Four… Five… Six.” He laughed and released the arrow.

  The arrow sang through the air like a harmonious choir while morphing into a flaming snake. The arrow struck Jack’s mother in the gut with a sickening thud and a burst of blue flames. She crumpled to her knees, gasping, her fingers splayed against the bloody, pulsing wound. Her eyes found Jack’s and pleaded for help.

  But Jack remained paralysed. I have to save her. I have to. He tried to run to her, but his feet had melted into the ground like a candle on a hot stove. I have to save her. I… He looked down and found his legs were roots, twisted and buried, blood-red sap oozing from scarred bark that used to be skin.

  Little Zia had vanished, erased like a chalk drawing wiped clean as if she had never existed at all, as if she had never been part of the family.

  The swordsman stepped closer and raised his flaming sword high. “Was it Viscount Daelrath who sent you?” he rumbled, lowering his face to Jack’s mother. His breath turned the air black. “Speak while you still can!” he demanded.

  Then, with a swing almost too fast to follow, he brought the burning blade down. The sword whistled, then bit. Jack’s mother’s head fell to the earth with a soft thud and rolled to his feet. Her eyes blinked three times.

  The large swordsman laughed so loud the floor vibrated. “You’ll be fine. Most of the pain is in your head.”

  “Run, Jack,” his mom’s severed head screamed as thousands of spiders crawled from her mouth. “Run!” The spiders merged into two humanoid forms that disappeared behind him in jerky movements.

  Something grabbed his arms and lifted him into the air. Jack still couldn’t move or scream, and even his mind refused to form full thoughts. Mo… Wha… Ple… Mo…

  Two copies of the male inquisitor were holding him aloft. “Confess your sins before the Gods, boy.” The two male inquisitors said in perfect synchrony. “Hmm… multiple classes. Town Fool and Blood Mage.”

  Another identical male inquisitor stepped in front of Jack; his eyes glowed a golden hue. “Guilty!” The inquisitors skin glowed with golden runes.

  The other inquisitors echoed the judgement. “Guilty.” A thousand identical voices echoed in his mind. “Guilty!” The words turned into runes that morphed into burning fire that coated every inch of his body. Jack still couldn’t form coherent thoughts. In an instant, every nerve screamed in agony as he felt his body turn to ash and flake apart before being blown into the void of nothingness. The last thing to remain where his eyes, which rolled on the floor before an inquisitor stepped on them!

  Jack woke with a violent jolt, drenched in sweat and clutching his bedding as though the world would end if he let go. “Not again,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he checked he had a face with his hands. “Not again.” His chest heaved as he buried his face in the bedding, stifling the sobs so he wouldn’t wake the others. “It’s not real… just a dream. Everyone’s safe,” he muttered, though the images still burned behind his eyes.

  After a few minutes, he dragged himself to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and washed the sweat from his body. He ached from yesterday’s battles, the tension of the dream compounding the pain.

  He groaned as he crawled back into bed, hoping for a few hours of peace before morning.

  Stellar Vessel Draconis, interesting take on a dragon story. I'm enjoying it, so If you like dragons and spaceships, give it a try.