THIRTY-EIGHT
George raised his head slightly, wondering why he wasn't dead like the charred, armoured corpse beside him. He felt strange, like this had all happened before.
He heard a scream, a sound so primal it couldn't have come from a human throat. And then the whole world was aflame.
He threw himself flat to the ground to allow the blast to pass over him, praying that he'd survive it, as he must have before. Then the heat passed, and he allowed himself to look.
Flames roared up into the sky from what looked like the carcass of a dragon, and out of the flames came a woman. No, a goddess, whose eyes burned like she'd harnessed hell itself.
"Melitta?" George croaked.
She smiled. "Oh, good, you're not dead." She stabbed a finger behind her. "That bastard is, though. And good ri
