Author’s Preface: This is the second of three or so chapters of Aldain (7, 8, and 9) that will be a little something different. I’m pretty sure they’re a bit long by the standards I’ve established so far. Additionally, they try to get across several important visuals with as few words as possible. I need the few of you who read this to really step it up and tell me what worked and didn’t work in this chapter. If anything was unclear or confusing, please let me know in a comment ASAP.
Thanks,
The Drewcifer

The A-boats are currently locked into three spatial dimensions, but I don’t want them slipping back into higher-dimensional M-space before I’m through with them. I mutter words of power and fling six marble-sized lockdown spells at the A-boats. Each craft is washed in green light as my spell impacts it.

This, of course, relieves me of any element of surprise I might have had.

The A-boats peel off into an evasive scatter. Carson may not have much in the way of levelheadedness, but he trains his aethernauts very well and he builds quick machines. If I use my typical tactics with these, they’ll get to some of the outlying villages; I’d like to prevent civilian casualties.

Fortunately, I’ve been playing with some alternative aerial combat techniques recently. I close my eyes and speak to the world around and inside me. A riot of noise and light heralds my change, announcing to the six aethernauts that I am not something to be trifled with.

I am surrounded by the image of a luminous green dragon. I’ve given up a small amount of maneuverability, but now I am equal to the craft in both speed and durability. We are on equal footing. My body hangs motionless in the center of the dragon of green light, appearing to the outside world as dead or asleep. Instead, the dragon’s body is mine; I see through its eyes, control its wings, feel its pain.

Two of the boats come at me for an attack run, one left of me and one right. I bank hard left and shoot downwards but the two fall into formation and give chase.

They unload bursts of magical energy. For the most part, I don’t even try to evade. Their weapons aren’t much use against the dracoform, though it does hurt. Pain, however, is something I can handle quite a bit of, courtesy of my Mistress.

I spin around, letting loose a jet of flame from the dragon’s mouth. Both A-boats peel out of the way, but just barely. We dance in the sky, strangely beautiful; my sinuous, luminous, draconic form is surrounded by the shining A-boats and pelted with darts of light; ribbons of flame periodically tear through the sky and it becomes unclear who is chasing whom as we dance a sphere in the sky.

The other four craft buzz around me. They don’t want to get in the way of their teammates, but neither will they abandon them. The pattern of chase, be chased, chase continues for some time. Eventually, one of the aethernauts gets a lock on me and launches a missile. I dispell my dracoform, drastically reducing my magical output. The ploy works as the missile speeds past me to destroy the other A-boat. I use the element of surprise to fire a beam of magical energy, shaving off the wing of the attacking craft. He spins out and explodes spectacularly on impact with the ground.

The four remaining A-boats form into a delta formation and angle towards me. I smile and speak, my voice magically amplified.

“Who wants it next?”

The dragon form has taken a lot out of me; I won’t be able to pull that trick off again today. Shielding is feasible, but I’d rather use what power I have left for something more proactive.

Though I am slower than the A-boats, I’m smaller and a bit more maneuverable. They can’t help but scatter as I begin to weave through their formation. I unleash a shockwave from my body, catching two of the A-boats. Only two left. A quick glance with Magesight reveals that one of the survivors is the leader, since he has a small amount of magical aptitude and is the only one. The other is probably his wingman, judging by the how well he flies.

They regroup as I reorient myself in the air. They come at me shooting. The rain of magic bolts just doesn’t stop. I’m doing my best to avoid them, but a few strike home. One of them burns a hole through my shoulder. I cry out as pain floods my mind.

Remembering my training, I redirect the pain to a useful end. Strong emotion or sensation, especially anger and pain, can be channeled into magic. That’s just what I do, focusing the pain into a crystal blade and cleaving the offending vessel in twain as it completes a strafing run. The leader veers off and the crystal blade shatters in my hand as the wingman’s craft detonates.

It’s just me and the leader now. He’s got magic in him, no matter how faint. That makes this special. A magicians’ duel is always spectacular, and always deadly.