Lost in The End Part 12 the Final Chapter: The Tyrant Guard

Part 12: Tyrant Guard

A battle was won. Pride was maintained, and indisputably so—for Acrone had slain the young Tyrannosaurus rex, Tyran. The Acrocanthosaurus loomed over the body of Tyran, breathing in calmly as a wisp of wind blew across his snout—lifting his lips slightly, as the dust settled on this duel. He snarled, before snorting—proud of his victory against a barely adolescent, and off to new lands; a new mark on his list of beast’s killed by his jaws. A trail of beet-red blood ran from Acrone’s slightly vertically raised maxilla and down to his chin—dripping slightly onto the cold, hard rock of the plateau. He stared down at Tyran’s body, as the rex lay on his right, skull softly clinging to the chilled stone—sapphire-blue eyes open, as though his last image was of Acrone’s skull coming towards him—before the end. Tyran was only three years old; he had aged faster than most Tyrannosaurus, most likely due-to his bloodline. His bloodline, one which we will never learn—for he never got to find his parents, amidst this hellish land of pain and suffering.

He had been through so much, and had fought so hard to find them—through apocalyptic elements, to the demon Nequit Dominum, only to meet his end here. This can’t be it…I refuse to believe it. Acrone turned his head to his right, still pondering all that had transpired as the veins in his neck and tail showed—a purplish-blue, as they raced to bring blood to damaged areas of his form. Acrone turned around 180 degrees…slowly, and thoughtfully walking away from the battlegrounds as droplets of blood followed his every booming step with a poetic trickle. He closed his eyes, mouth open slightly as he panted—yet, as he moved—something came into view two miles away, in the distance. Acrone’s eyes opened, as his mouth widened and opened to bare his teeth in full with confused, worried and fearful wonder. The smell…the regal scent. This, couldn’t be?

Pterosaurs bolted from their branch perches, and flew off as far as they could away—as a booming roar of dominant authority took the entirety 5 mile circumference by force, with no defiance welcomed, nor allowed to its ever-present chime. Acrone ducked his head down low in shock and anger, before raising it up to stare with cleared vision at the figures in the distance. No, it couldn’t be! Not one, but two—two theropods? Headed towards him! Theropods on this side of the Interior Seaway…only one species still exists of this size and magnitude to come in a pair. Acrone furrowed his brow in rage and bellowed back at the roar in defiance, as a gust of wind blew in-front of his face, and into the distance.

A bolt of greenish-blue lightning from the nearby acid-rain storm hit a tree a half-mile east of this battle, igniting it ablaze—and spreading slowly but surely yet another forest fire. The embers were carried by the wind through the battlefield, and met with Acrone’s body in numerous places—but neither they nor the building heat could affect him right now—his shock at the beasts heading towards him was too great. Acrone engaged the two theropods a mile away in a battle of trills and chirps—as the two forces bellowed as loud as they could at each-other, telling both to flee. The two massive theropods in the distance drew closer and closer to Acrone, but their trek was halted by the forest fire—as within the span of several minutes it grew 10 times as large, thriving on the dry wood. The pair stopped in their tracks, barred off by a 30 foot fall of flame.

Acrone stood still and snarled, enraged at the two whose scent he knew too well. The heat of the fire was overbearing, and the smoke that emanated off it was noxious; small birds trapped in the trees fell to the ground, dead from lack of oxygen—while small ground-based mammals also met the same fate, albeit burned alive instead. This whole region seemed to syphon dreams into dust, as all around the forest animals who had tried so desperately to reach freedom met their end. The roars of desperation from the pair of theropods in the distance was thunderous and proud; they strove to get through the fire, but it was too much. All they could do was trill and screech, and bellow with all their might.

The theropod on the right-side of the fire was the most angered and desperate. The pinkish-red scales of the animal contrasted against the seething orange of the fire, but unlike anything else—its roar was able to get through, able to pierce a shell long thought closed for good. Two bright blue eyes opened, dilating into large orbs before constricting into reptilian-like slits, adjusting to the harsh brightness of the environment. They bounced across the environment, as adrenaline began to pump across a five-second ago dead body. The heat, the embers, the smoke, but most of all, the roars—were too present to ignore, even for a dead beast.

Three-taloned feet moved faintly amidst the blaze, slowly but surely coming to meet the chalky ground flat—and propelling with the aid of muscular thighs a body thought dead back to life, and to stand tall. The form quivered against the heat, wind, and overall soul-sucking atmosphere—but still stood, looking ahead at Acrone—and what lay in the distance. Acrone was oblivious to the fact that something other than his humility stood behind him, and continued staring at the two theropods in the distance—ignoring the growing flame that would soon encircle this plateau. The being that stood behind Acrone tried to analyze the figures in the distance—but couldn’t…only making out the figure of two being similar to him in shape.

Yet…the roars, they sounded so familiar so…comforting, even with the rage and fear that coated them. The being that stood tall now remembered what it was searching for, and the determination that allowed it to make it here here—at this very finale to all; its parents. Finding them, was what it had set out to do, and finding them is what it would do. The being remembered its resolve, raising its head up high and spreading out its feet in a battle-ready stance. It, no…He, had made it this far—and only one obstacle stood before him. Acrone, and this time he had nothing to lose—not even his life. A guard of his dreams, and a guard of his goals. Gone at-last was the young rex Tyran, and in his place…the Tyrant Guard.

A deafening bellow boomed behind Acrone, nearly rendering him deaf—as he jolted slightly, before turning around with furrowed brow and a confused lift on his maw—to see a being behind him. One he had not seen before. A tall, proud tyrannosaur—emanating the scent of alpha confidence stood before him. Tyran…he lived? How—no time to think about it, as without any wait or hesitation the Tyrant Guard beamed towards Acrone and clamped onto his snout with fierce precision, and unyielding bite-force that seemed to grow by the decisecond.

Blood streamed down Acrone’s jaws as he moaned in incredible pain, trying to shake his way to freedom—eventually breaking away, backing up in horror. His vision was hazy, all he could see was the blurry visage of a beast—reborn like a phoenix. Acrone stumbled back as the Tyrant Guard walked towards him with slow, confident strides—not even snarling. Bloody gashed were visible all across Tyran’s face—and at first glance, you would assume he was an animal near death.

Yet, amidst the damage that would make nearly any other animal succumb to the end, the Tyrant Guard prevailed, utilized the pain, and fed off it—syphoning it to fuel his will and determination to defeat the theropod that limped before him. This was no ordinary beast, and this would be no ordinary duel; Acrone stared at the Tyrant Guard whom smirked and hissed—the being in a blur lunging at the veteran in a starry gaze of debris and soot. Acrone dodged the first strike from Tyran, but was instantly overwhelmed by an onslaught of bites, clamps, head strikes, tooth strikes—every attack a Tyrannosaurus could manage and more, the Tyrant Guard executed.

Acrone held his own for a brief moment, ducking a clamp attempt from the Tyrant Guard, and following up with an upwards cranial ram into the Tyrant’s neck—lifting him up with what should have been a broken trachea, yet wasn’t. The Tyrant Guard rolled off the blow, leaning low and shoving Acrone five yards away—rushing him and clamping onto his neck with enough force to tear apart steel. Acrone’s mouth raged open in pain unimaginable, as blood streamed down his jaws—followed swiftly by a moan of horrendous physical torment.

The Tyrant Guard’s 10 inch long teeth sank three inches deep into Acrone’s neck, before the Acrocanthosaurus lunged himself in the opposite direction—desperately escaping certain death. The raging duel aesthetically aided by a roaring forest fire halted, as Acrone stumbled back cooing in anguish—and Tyran seemed to simply stare at him, un-phased…prepared for anything and everything. No, this isn’t possible—all the experience he had over his life, and all the battles he had won—Acrone was losing? Decisively as-well? And to a sub-adult no less? The Acrocanthosaurus closed his eyes and snarled in anger; he couldn’t fathom this, and he wouldn’t.

No. Acrone tossed his neck upwards towards Tyran and silenced the land with a booming roar of rage, forcing himself up to his maximum height of fifteen-feet and flexing his arms—revealing definition in the biceps and triceps. First he had lost what little family he had known, then he had lost his childhood, and mate—and now he would lose his life to a juvenile?! Never, not again—failure is not a taste that Acrone will ever mull about again. The Tyrant Guard continued to stare at Acrone with a stoic beaming face that would send other creatures scurrying away in fear, but not this one.

Acrone, the Prideful Spine, was not going to taste death—he charged. Acrone rushed Tyran, forcing the rex to back-step, the two of them trading bites and clamps onto one another in a deadly dance. The Tyrant Guard ducked and weaved to the right of the Prideful Spine’s jaws, motioning upwards to clamp onto his neck—but failing—as Acrone shoved Tyran aside with a rough push, followed by a downwards hammering blow from his mandible. Tyran grunted in pain, his alpha glow almost seeming to fade as his skull yet again collided with the rock cratering it deep. His eyes shut for a moment, drawing on his will he lifted his right leg and drove himself upwards—but was met with a pushing kick from the Prideful Spine’s right leg and most powerful—knocking him over onto his right side.

Tyran, his pains beginning to return, felt that creeping desire to quit—to give it all up. His will, how long could this last? His parents, they were still out there, he heard them—his life…he still had it…for now. As long as those truths beat through Tyran, his will would prevail; the Tyrant Guard rose once more. Acrone snorted, and snarled before bellowing at the Tyrant Guard as he came to stand with all his might once more. Saliva shot out of Acrone’s mouth as blood soon followed, and his eyes seemed to almost turn red as blood vessels popped and engorged around his face. Tyran, standing unusually tall—almost upright—snarled, before staring deep into Acrone’s eyes. A silencing roar, far louder and far greater than that of Acrone’s soon followed.

The end, was here. Lightning thundered in the distance, and the fire reached high up into the sky—as the Tyrant Guard engaged Acrone in fierce unrelenting combat from both sides. Tyran lunged towards Acrone, clamping down on his back, but losing his grip as Acrone curved inwards and shoved Tyran aside with a body-push; retaliating, Acrone lifted his body up with a bellowing trill and clawed the Tyrant Guard in the face with his left arm—sending blood spraying onto the heated rock as Tyran’s face jolted to the left. As though pain was but a mosquitoes’ bite to him, Tyran immediately flung his head back to face Acrone and charged through the onslaught of arm swipes to bite-down hard on the underside of the Prideful Spine’s neck, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh as blood streamed out.

Tissue tore as the Tyrant Guard bit down with all his rage and might, and ripped and shredded the flesh of Acrone’s neck, pulling himself free as Acrone closed his eyes and stumbled back. Acrone opened his eyes from the pain, seeing Tyran charging him yet again; the Acrocanthosaurus side-stepped to his left, dodging Tyran before impaling the tyrannosaur’s sides with his sharp four inch long arm claws. Tyran bellowed, shaking himself to escape but failing as Acrone’s rage and experience guided him to the perfect attack—biting down on the back of Tyran’s neck as he held him down with his claws. The Tyrant Guard still, after all this suffering—all this pain, and enough blood loss to literally kill him—pushed on.

Raising up Tyran lifted his right foot and sent his entire body weight hurling down dislodging Acrone’s hold before raising his head up quickly to head-butt Acrone’s fragile snout with Tyran’s hard scalp. Acrone cooed in agony, his dewlap expanding with air before deflating like a popped balloon—as Tyran turned around, his tail slowly twirling around to follow him like a figure-skater’s spin. Acrone’s snout was cracked slightly, and it was visible by how it caved in and the blood pouring in around it; this could not be possible, all his time spent building his own pride and expertise to makeup for his loss—was for nothing? He was going to die by the hands of a child?

The Tyrant Guard continued to stare at Acrone, his mouth slightly open as he breathed in. His body was covered in gashes, claw marks, and wounds from teeth impalement—all of which coated his dark-green feathers an extremely dark-yellowish hue, contrasting against his beige skin. So close to victory…so close to freedom. Acrone panted heavily, desperately thinking of a way to preserve himself. On the side of the cliff…some 20 feet away from where he stood—the calamity of the battle, the storm and the fire had caused a piece of sharp sedimentary rock to break off. Perhaps his last chance lay there? Acrone’s gaze returned back to Tyran’s blue eyes, as they prepared to clash once more.

The Tyrant Guard had it in him…he knew he could do it, he could win this—just a little bit more. His vision was hazy, he didn’t care. His arms and legs were numb, he didn’t care. His jaw could barely open, he didn’t care. Because somewhere in his body, subconscious or slightly conscious, he knew that there was a greater purpose for him than dying like any lost theropod—and by everything he would see it through. Acrone backpedaled his right foot through the rock, kicking up a plethora of dust and soot—before charging like a raging bull at Tyran once more. The Tyrant Guard stood his ground and ducked down low so his shoulder and thorax would take the brunt of the charge—muscling through it to wrestle with Acrone in a battle of theropod titans.

Acrone sliced at Tyran’s stomach whilst Tyran slammed his bony mandible into Acrone’s eye socket repeatedly—nearly blinding the acrocanthosaur with every pummel. Acrone braved through the pain, stomping on Tyran’s left foot and nearly breaking his toes before clamping down hard onto the Tyrant Guard’s left ankle, forcing Tyran to reel up in pain—kicking Acrone down to the ground as he favored his nearly broken leg. Acrone wanted this though, for the kick and the direction of his landing hurled him closer to the sedimentary spike without Tyran knowing—his plan was at its crux. Tyran closed his eyes and continued to favor his leg, as Acrone practically crawled on his belly over to the spike—the flames of the forest fire’s burning walls singing his scales as he clamped onto the middle of the spike.

The Tyrant Guard finally mustered the adrenaline-filled strength to place his foot back down to the ground and look back to Acrone…but he did not have the time to fathom; the Prideful and tenacious Acrocanthosaurus hurled himself up masterfully and threw his body backwards towards Tyran—a thin, sharp as a thorn only 10 times larger spear of rock capable of piercing Tyran’s skull and brain easily encased in his jaws and aimed straight for Tyran’s face. The end? Death staring him at lightning speeds? Keel over? Accept it? Die having fought for your pride valiantly? Or fight back. Resist? Strive to survive? Counter? Would there be enough time? Is there any time? What is time? No—no time to think only act, act, act!!

The Tyrant Guard as though moved by divine intervention opened his bloodied maw to a perfect 90 degree angle and clamped onto the piece of jagged sediment as chunks of it broke off and crumbled to the ground in a move that seemed impossible to pull off. Acrone’s eyes opened in unbelievable shock as he realized that his attack failed and brought himself back up to his feet still holding the middle of the spear in his maw and desperately trying to shove it into Tyran. What was this? This skill and power from a juvenile; is this real? Acrone pondered at the end coming to a conclusion; this was it, Tyran had finally achieved it—the decisive power. The Tyrant Guard using the bite-force of his bloodline shattered the jagged rock to dust and lunged forward to clamp onto Acrone’s snout in one fell blitzing swoop.

He bit down hard and unyielding, the bite-force ever growing with brief instances of 5 to 10 thousand pounds. Acrone swiped the rex’s neck, bloodying up the battlefield more, but not enough to end it. Tyran was here to avenge his unborn siblings, and parents—nothing would stop him. The Tyrant Guard relinquished his hold as Acrone continued to ravage his body with swipes; he bent down low, closing his eyes to protect them, and—just as Acrone swiped for the final time with his left arm, bit down hard onto it with 12,000 pounds of force—breaking the bone to dust. The pain the Prideful Spine felt was echoed through his silence, as the Tyrant Guard shoved Acrone’s body upwards and lunged down one final time. One final move, a finale to the gaze, the ultimate strike; Tyran the Tyrant Guard clamped down perfectly onto Acrone’s left shin-bone and broke it into nothing with the force of 14,000 pounds all focused on one location.

The seething of the fire began to cease, as did the booming echoes of hill-burning lightning. Feeling the broken bone and tasting the flesh against his tongue and teeth, Tyran opened his mouth and fell onto his side. Acrone, the Acrocanthosaurus of 5840 days and 5840 nights, stared up into the night sky; morning was upon the beast’s of North America, but not yet—there was still darkness only alleviated slightly by the light of the full moon attempting to pierce the thick debris cloud of this tortured land. He…couldn’t feel his lips above his teeth…nor his feet beneath his thighs—or his eyelids as they shut to shield the sight of this world from him.

Acrone collapsed to the ground, defeated. The ground rattled for miles as the behemoth collapsed; as the forest fire died down, pterosaurs and small birds returned back to what remained of their perches—viewing the surprising sight of Acrone, unconscious. For many moments, Acrone and Tyran’s bodies lay next to each other in an almost yin and yang position—neither moving—until a twitch…by none other than the Tyrant Guard. The Tyrannosaurus rex, earning of his name—opened his eyes, and almost automatically recalled his former strength…pulling himself up to his feet. The young beast stood tall amidst what remained of the inferno, risen like a phoenix against the dystopia. The sight of Tyran was gruesome, as though he had been through all kinds of torture—yet still lived. He stared down at Acrone, who too had come back to some form of life—his left eye opening slightly to look up at Tyran.

The Tyrant Guard wanted it…he wanted to kill Acrone right here. To attain revenge, to decisively say—he won. Yet, deep down—all he wanted was to find his parents and get some rest with a nice meal. Maybe that wasn’t so deep down. Tyran glanced down at Acrone once more, as the acrocanthosaur stared up at him with a glare of acceptance towards his imminent death. Tyran, the Tyrant Guard, lifted and placed his right foot next to Acrone’s body—just to the side of his neck towards his chest—and bent his head down low towards Acrone’s neck. His jaws opened wide, as if to clamp onto the spine firm, yet instead—released a roar of dominance.

The bellow echoed for miles, its guttural trumpeting boom a warning to all opposing beasts—this being is nothing more than a juvenile—and that should scare you. Instead of going to bite on Acrone’s neck, Tyran placed his foot back to stand tall and merely looked over Acrone as he lay practically dead—his right arm broken and hand nearly torn off, and shin-bone shattered to almost nothing. The Tyrannosaurus rex snorted at Acrone, before turning away towards a clearing from the flame and torment—and headed towards a forested hill, of which an outcropping of golden light could be seen far behind. Tyran, the Tyrant Guard made his way towards it—the victor in this duel. He had proven himself, and who he was—at last.

He limped off, favoring his right leg as he struggled to stride off towards the hill through the rocky plateau—Acrone closing his eye and running into a cold coma a few yards behind. So close…yet so far. Tyran had almost made it, had almost fulfilled his goal his journey—just a few more miles—come on. The rex limped through the rocky plateau, past a muddy marsh path, and up a hill—reaching the forest, and so close to that fabled golden light; the light of the Golden-Land. That place, where he even in his young age knew he could be safe. He was so close.

Each step sent a tremor through his body, and each breath made him want to keel over—but he had to persevere. He was at the end. The forest neared the rex’s vision, and at-last—it was all over. The nightmare had ended, for the Golden-Land lay in all its glistening glory. Vast grassy plains for hundreds of miles, tall redwoods in the distance, great forests—colossal mountains, and grand ravines—all encompassed in the early morning sun’s reddish-purple rays, for the debris could not stop them here. Tyran breathed in heavily, forcing his feet to move even though they desperately wanted to give and let him collapse onto the dirt. Right, left, right, left, right, left…left. Tyran stumbled, his right leg about to give—yet, with what infinitesimal power he had within him—he called his right leg forward, and to the ground.

His foot imprinted deep into the grassy plains of the Golden-Land. The Tyrannosaurus rex had done it, at-last—as the morning sun coated him red and purple. His mission was a success and at-last he could—what? Tyran fell over, onto the plain, unconscious. Barely breathing, the rex lay literally five feet outside the boundaries of the tortured world and the Golden-Land. A pack of Dakotaraptors, just outside the perimeter of the Golden-Land, caught a troubling smell within their olfactory bulbs. A T.rex…yet it was young, and judging by the smell—coated in blood; this could be an easy kill.

The alpha raptor, adorned in bright red and blue neck feathers, a pale-white coated underbelly, and black body feathers—threw his neck up high and chirped loudly, signaling for his pack to follow him as they all trotted towards the downed rex’s location. Within minutes they arrived at Tyran’s rest, sniffing and snorting around him. Determined to kill and eat what they saw as an easy meal, the five Dakotaraptors prepared to swipe and assail Tyran—but before they could, a set of colossal steps rang through their ear canals. The steps turned into beating four fourth time booms, as two massive theropods ran towards the raptors. One of the theropods, emerald green in scales, was lean and limber—and out-sped who we can presume was his mate, rushing the raptors.

The squirming beasts attempted to scurry away, but not all of them were so lucky—as the green theropod clamped down onto one of the five inside his jaws—and crushed his ribcage and thorax to nothing underneath nine-thousand pounds of pressure. The mate, a deep-pink rex slightly larger than the green one, bolted for the alpha—who lingered in shock. The Dakotaraptor seeing the reddish rex coming towards him realized all was lost and turned around to run, but could only make it a few feet before his tail was entrapped in the jaws of the tyrant—and his body was soon after—crushed to dust, like his intelligence. Choosing not to eat the bothersome animals, the two theropods dropped their squashed bodies to the ground as a reminder to the others—whom ran away in abject horror. The male and female, male emerald green, and female deep-pink—reconvened and glanced over at each-other—before looking down at Tyran.

The female slowly walked over to the Tyrant Guard, whom still had not awoke from his slumber, and lowered her snout to sniff him gently—realizing in an instant who it was. The male looked over their perimeter, making sure no beasts were among them—before bending over as-well to examine the fallen rex. The two mates looked to each other, before the female gently placed her jaws around Tyran’s neck—and dragged him softly up to a high perch, of which the sun could be seen brightly and clearly from.

Hours past, before Tyran awoke—his sapphire blue eyes pondering the world around him, as he himself pondered how he still lived. The T.rex lay flat on his belly, and raised his head up to look around him. Two Tyrannosaurus rex lay flat to his left and right, and in an instant he trilled and pushed himself to his feet—feeling a tremendous jolt of pain from the act—but the two rex beside him did not move. Backpedaling, Tyran’s strides backwards ceased—as he looked upon the two rex carefully. Something was…he closed his eyes and took a deep sniff of the two. Their colors, their scent—it was…it was?! The female rex leaped up and motioned towards Tyran’s distraught face, nuzzling him—as the male stood up to and trilled towards him.

Tyran…had found his parents. It all came in a wave to him—their names, at last—he remembered; Tyrani and Tyro. The parents and Tyran hugged, before moving towards the edge of the cliff and laying down—looking off into the sunset. Tyran pondered many things, but most of all—he had succeeded. He had won. How long would this peace last? He did not know, and he did not care—for he had won this…this moment. He sniffed and snorted as his parents admired his maturity and how much he had grown during their separation—for as Tyran stood up to get a higher look from the hill at the ankylosaurs, trikes, hadrosaurs, and sauropods that had taken refuge in the land of Dhahabi’ard—he stood fifteen feet tall. Tyrani and Tyro snorted and trilled in glee, but all three were silenced—and stared off three miles away into the golden distance.

The rex, the herbivores, the predators, the pterosaurs—all animals of the Golden-Land looked north—as a being appeared atop a hill dripping with the sun’s golden-light. Most knew who he was, but did not have the intelligence to thank him for saving the future—yet still, his all-encompassing aura drew their attention with unyielding curiosity and respect. Tyrance, The Tyrant King of the Dinosaurs, the slayer of Nequit Dominum—clambered up a hill, each step delayed and drawn out—but infused with power. He took hold of the hill’s peak, and stared into the sun for a brief moment—looking at something in the ball of light. He stared, and stared—before he was certain—and released a bellow that captured the entirety of the land.

Beasts of the land either cowered, or stared on in admiration and respect, as the Tyrant King of the Dinosaurs deafened the land with his bellow—lowering his neck regally to stare upon his home, the Golden-Land. Tyrani and Tyro knew who let out that roar, and smirked—trilling softly underneath their breath, Tyrani most of all—in respect of her brother. Tyran now knew why he felt connected to Tyrance. The stories his mother had told him, that she was related to the greatest predator to ever live—were true. The juvenile rex, no…the Tyrannosaurus rex, worthy of the name in all its majesty and splendor placed his right foot forward—staring onward intensely into the land—wondering…hoping that one day, he could be like Tyrance, his uncle.

In the forest just beneath the hill, a familiar beast lie entrenched in the dense thicket of leaves and vegetation; Acrone…he looked like a literal bloodied mess, his left arm hanging with no feeling, and his left leg slightly raised. The Acrocanthosaurus looked up at Tyran and his family from the thicket. Never had he more respect for an animal of the land, one whose perseverance against adversity and determination to live and achieve his dreams had even changed the way the mighty Prideful Spine thought. Live on Tyran, and succeed—thought the mighty Acrone, who snorted in admiration and respect—before turning and around and limping off to new lands…a new animal.

Tyrani and Tyro looked up at Tyran regally, as their son—cast in amber light stared off at Tyrance in the distance—who slowly trekked back down the hill. He would be like him, and if not…he would be damn close—for he had it in him. He was…the Tyrant King’s nephew after all—and so much more. Tyran snorted, before releasing a short roar towards the sun—already imagining his new dreams in his theropod brain. Tyrani and Tyro lay beside the Tyrant Guard Tyran, as he stare off into the sunrise.

Tyran, the Tyrant Guard…had survived.


The End…
















Within a cliffside, some 20 miles away from the Golden-Land—a lone green Abelisaurus trekked through the tortured-land. Having recently escaped an acid-rain storm, and a pair of twin-tornadoes combined with a debris shower, she sought refuge underneath the cliff’s covering—beneath a fabled leafless forest. As she motioned to lie down and rest, she noticed something floating on the top of a nearby pond. It was…oval-shaped, and colored pale-white, blue, gold, and red. Rain dripping down down her snout, she moved towards the object. It was…an egg? In a river? With no parents or beasts anywhere close? The Abelisaurus looked over the egg; she had recently lost her two juveniles, and was lonely, and depressed. Perhaps? This was another Abelisaurus?

The theropod, nudged the egg out of the pond and onto the dirt, lifting it up in her mouth and carrying it over to her shelter. A new chance to be a mother? Oh how wonderful it would be…




The End…?
























Darkness…dirt, rock, mud, soot, acid, rain, fallen trees, hills, cliffs, and a flat treeless plain. Dirt, unmoving dirt—dirt of earth, dirt of the land—yet…unknowingly, accursed by the stars. A hand, all gray, burst through the dirt—rain coating its scales, as it seemed to change color slightly—shifting from gray, to silver, to black, and gray again. A hole formed in the back of the hand, as dirt rolled off it—the flesh curling back so an empty bloodless hole remained. An eye, entirely white, with a single black dot in the center—appeared within the hole—looking around frantically as the hand it used as a vessel formed a fist, and its single black dot constricted into a reptilian slit. The black dot turned slightly red, as the eye continued to look around erratically—taking in the land.

………


Tyran will return.


The End.