The various joints and rusting gears creaked as the Dragyn inched closer, ever closer to Farvus. The alchemysts were watching through the Dragyn’s “eye”, actually a viewport for the alchemysts to control the Dragyn through. The Voicer, for that was the name of whoever made the Dragyn talk, was slowly speaking into a rod of some sort. His primary job was to bring Dragynslayers to their knees when they heard the rasping vocal cords of doom.

“What are you planning, little one?” the Dragyn echoed in a hollow tone, eyes searching for the little Dragynslayer boy. Ah-ha! There he was. Somehow, though, he was a little closer to the cliff than before. The alchemysts chuckled. He was no more than seventeen, eighteen tops! Not a single grown man had ever beaten a SteelDragyn before, so how could this kid do it?

They found out a few moments later as their “eyes” gave a miraculous view of the ground far below the cliff, suddenly not so far.

Then the view went dark.