Uuuh... uh... science... stuff? We did science stuff to stop that, yeah.

Already done, my friend. I'm honoured that you remember me specifically.

"Report," the violet-tinted cloud commanded through a series of flashes of varying intensity.

"They call themselves 'humans', sir," the crystalline creature in front of them replied with a voice that was rough and coarse, yet oddly soothing. "I believe you'll find some of their attributes... peculiar."

"Is that so? Do go on."

"Some basics - physical prowess is an alephar grade. Deceptively resilient, short lifespan, limited offensive capabilities. A flexible species with a shocking amount of variety, but nothing we haven't seen before. The planet itself is not entirely remarkable. Mostly water, high biodiversity, some specimens could be used for research."

"Go on," the cloud flickered.

"On a civilization scale, they're brahmen. Spacefaring and largely peaceful with only occasional squabbles over minor disputes. Their history shows their war-like nature used to be far worse. And, well... this is the interesting part. Their intellect. It's oolke," the crystal growled.

"And that is interesting... how?" the cloud blinked incredulously. "They're a versatile, resilient species with a reasonably capable society that are a bit... on the dim side. Why are you telling me that?"

"Their intellect is oolke, but their combined mathematical knowledge is... I- I'm not sure how to describe it. Here, see for yourself."

The crystal pushed forward a slightly moist globule of dark-blue mass that the cloud turned towards. The mass hummed quietly.

"Fission, space-faring for the last 266 cycles, gravity slingshots... grav- gravity drive?" the cloud gasped. "They've... they've constructed a gravity drive?!"

"Before you ask, sir, I've quadruple-checked. They are, in fact, oolke class."

"How does an oolke tier species create a gravity drive? We've been trying to make one for the last 745 cycles!"

"Sir... they're incredibly irresponsible."

The cloud stared at the crystal silently.

"The- the experiments they've conducted over the past several hundred years, sir, they've done them with reckless abandon. Before they created the gravity drive, they created several miniature black holes that went out of control. They, uh... used to have a moon."

"Used to?"

"A black hole swallowed it."

The two creatures pondered the situation in silence.

"Sir, what do we do now?" the crystal asked.

"I'll be honest," the cloud replied slowly. "I'm not sure if we should give them funds for research... or stop them immediately."

I got you. I've thought of just the thing.

"In the end, the day was saved by nothing else but cheese. Brie, to be exact."

Thank you!

As for the edits, several days, but it's really hard to say since I procrastinated a ton and basically did it in short bursts over the span of several weeks. I did the final stretch when I got the cover from the artist, it motivated me a lot. Love how the cover turned out.

Thank you!

Cheers!

"Fuck! FUCK! DRAGONS!" the captain yelled with as much power as his lungs allowed, alerting the crew. They froze, all of them, for just a second - seeing the impossibly massive creatures swooping from the skies was a sight that would affect anyone - but mere seconds later their training kicked in and they all set off to their respective positions.

"Reynolds! McCarthy! Crank guns!" the captain commanded. They had far more sophisticated weaponry on their train - from large explosives to electrified harpoons, but the closer the dragons would get, the less functional they would become. The crank guns were tried and true, their simplicity allowing them to function even in magic-rich environments.

"LeDawhe! As much coal as the firebox allows! We have to pick up as much speed as we can before the steam stops flowing!"

The stoker wasted no time and started to shovel coal into the fire with as much speed as her muscles would allow. She knew the fire would start behaving strangely soon; she did not look forward to it.

"Edwards!" the captain said and turned towards his adjutant. "When will they make contact?"

The adjutant, a young lad with freckled cheeks, carefully looked through the looking glass. Despite his young age, he was one of the best spotters the captain had worked with and despite the dragons in close proximity, his hands remained rock steady, much to the captain's surprise.

"1 minute 34 seconds, sir," Edwards replied calmly.

"Blast it all!" the captain swore. "I told the Admiralty this much gold and silver would attract these magpies, but they wouldn't listen! Fools, the lot of them!"

He walked to the back of the cabin again. "LeDawhe! Engine?" he yelled.

"No good 'sah! Water's past boiling but no steam!" she sounded off.

The captain smacked his clenched fist into the wall. He had hoped there'd be more time for them to pick up speed and get momentum going. Still, he at least got a bit ahead; he dealt with dragons before. He knew that nothing of that size was able to fly with just wings. It was simple physics.

So the dragons defied the laws of physics.

Magic seeped from their very beings, bending the way the world worked. It allowed them to fly despite their mass, breathe fire without injury, all sorts of nasty business. And, unluckily for the humans, their technology relied on the laws of physics not being broken.

"Edwards?"

"150 meters, sir."

"Crank guns! Engage!"

The words barely left his mouth before being drowned by the deceptively loud twangs of the rotary crossbows that filled the air. Bolts, good 2 meters long, flew through the air towards the attacking dragons who started weaving in the air to try and dodge as many as they could. Several shots hit, but only got stuck in the armoured scales, hanging from them harmlessly.

The captain cursed under his breath before noticing something even he had not expected - they were picking up speed. Despite the steam engine slowing down, they were going faster than before... unless...

"Engage the brakes!" the captain yelled.

"Sir?" Edwards turned.

"The magic! It's twisting our friction on the tracks! Brake! NOW!"

Edwards, slightly confused but confident in his captain's expertise, reached for the massive red lever at the front and pulled with all his admittedly limited might. Loud screeching filled the air yet their speed once again increased.

"SUCKERS!" the captain yelled with mad cackling as the dragons started lagging behind after only a few unsuccessful attempts to dislodge the vault wagon filled with the sought-after precious metal.

Until one of them sped up as well.

The captain's laughter stopped suddenly as he saw one of the dragons look behind and let out a massive burst of blue flame, propelling it forward.

"Cap'n! We're outta bolts!" one of the gunners yelled with more panic than he wished. The captain looked around the train car until an idea popped into his head. Vaulting the cabin's railing, he dashed towards the back of the car where the ballista was and yelled to one of the gunners to help him.

"Sir, we've got no bolts left! It's-"

"Stunner!" the captain barked. The gunner opened a nearby box and lifted a long wooden bolt that lacked the ordinary metal tip, instead sporting a large, flat slab of wood - a bolt usually reserved for non-lethal engagements. Loading it, the captain grabbed the back of the ballista and aimed carefully.

"Only shot, sir!" the gunner yelled. "But it will barely slow it down!"

"Come on you bastard..." the captain murmured as he carefully aimed at the approaching dragon. "Just... a... little..."

*thwump*

The bolt flew from the ballista.

Time seemingly slowed down for the crew as they watched the bolt fly...

And miss the dragon's head entirely.

Instead, it flew past it and hit the dragon's chest where one of the previous bolts had lodged itself. Like a hammer on a nail, it pushed the bolt past the armoured scale and into the dragon's chest. It screeched loudly and plummeted from the air onto the ground with an ear-shattering crash.

The crew collectively let out a breath of relief as the steam engine once again roared to life and the adjutant released the brakes that would, properly this time, slow them down.

The captain released the handles of the ballista and turned to his crew, their smiles wide and impressed. He reached into his coat, pulling out a pipe. Lighting it, he took a long drag and grinned back at his crew.

"Messed with the wrong crew, didn't they?" he exuberantly yelled. The crew cheered loudly, some even throwing their hats in the air; one of which was regrettably lost to the wind.

"When the dock, the drinks are on me!" he added.

And, somehow, the cheering got even louder.

I'm listening. I must say, however, that generally I look at a prompt and if a story doesn't pop into my head, I can't do much with it.

Weird, to be entirely frank. I think it will really set it once I hold the paperback in hand, but nevertheless... odd.

Thank you! The artist I hired did an outstanding job; can't wait to have it in paperback.

Thank you! Please let me know how you liked it!

Thank you! Please let me know how you liked it.

Can't say it was Skyrim, no. I think more than anything it was the general concept of slayers from Warhammer Fantasy; dwarves who have been dishonoured and seek a glorious death in combat.

Fun story - there is one particular dwarf that is a slayer and wishes to die in combat but is so good at fighting that he straight up can't do it, instead becoming an absolute legend.

Thanks :D

It kinda is, yeah :D Thank you!

I hope you have fun with it.

You and me both. Thanks!

Thank you! I will do my best.

Thank you! I'm very happy with how it turned out.

Thank you!

I do! But it doesn't really matter either way - I didn't do it for the money, frankly. More so I could say that I did something.

I somewhat pride myself on my stories having no fat, or at least trying not to.

"It's like drinking water contaminated by dead bodies," the man said. "Exactly as disgusting and *ow* unusable as you'd expect *ah* blast it all!" he hissed in pain as I put another stitch into his arm. The bite was rather nasty and his pained grins exposed the sharp fangs in his mouth; a somewhat uncomfortable reminder of his nature.

"And you're sure you can't be infected?" I asked.

Without a word he lifted his shirt and revealed a large bite mark on his stomach, a clear imprint of human teeth that had long healed. Infection normally takes only some 12-odd hours, so... good enough for me.

"Done," I said and put down the needle and thread. I pulled away from him on my stool as he lowered his sleeve and moved his shoulder around, stretching it.

"How long will it take to heal?" I wondered.

"About a day."

"Impressive."

"Had worse. Javelin through the heart once," he stated nonchalantly

"So... stakes through the heart won't kill you?" I asked. He gave me a somewhat suspicious look but shrugged.

"No. Neither will the Sun, garlic, bullets, or, well..." he said and pointed towards the fence where the zombies still shuffled aimlessly. "But hunger will," he added grimly and looked back at me.

"Right," I said. "So..." I trailed off.

"Look, you're not exactly wild about the idea. I get it, really. I may not be exactly human, but I'm not a monster either. This is a simple matter of survival for both of us. How many people have you lost to them so far? I can protect you!" he pleaded.

"In exchange for our blood," I said. He nodded. "I'm not sure we can properly... provide for you. We have, let's see... 8 men but 2 are sick; drinking their blood would kill them. 4 women, 3 children-"

"No children," he interrupted sternly.

"What?"

"No. Children," he repeated. His face was suddenly dark and brooding. "I'd rather let them tear me apart," he growled. I looked at him; his resolution seemed genuine and absolute. Admirable, I thought.

"It is enough, luckily," he continued. "I don't need as much as you'd think."

I took a deep breath and considered the situation. He was right. That was the worst part. The last time a horde passed through, we lost 3 people just trying to defend the compound. He just fought his way in through about four dozen of them with only a scratch.

I looked him in the eye. Despite it all, hell, despite the fact that his eyes were blood-red, he looked... honest. I extended my hand.

"I'm Abidugun," I said.

"One born before the war," he smiled. "Fitting." Him knowing the meaning of my name put me at ease, somehow. He extended his own hand and shook it.

"Viktor," he smiled, the moon reflecting off of his fangs. "A vampire teaming up with humans against zombies," he chuckled. "Hollywood, here we come."

And, for the first time in what seemed like forever... I laughed.