nano/lit-5 THE DRAGON


Drako-Sage of Every Field sat sewing the screaming head of the princess on to her new body.
“Your screams are making me hard as fuck, you worthless little cumdumpster.”
“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? I DON’T WANT THE BODY OF AN ICEDRAKE!! BOYS USED TO STARE AT MY TITS AND DO ANYTHING FOR ME WITH MY HUMAN BODY!”
“I find humans to be repulsive sexually. I’m going to rape the fuck out of you everyday with your new drake body. You might be familiar with dragon dildos. Well, real dragoncock is MUCH bigger. I find the young drake form to be highly arousing. And you get an icedrake body because I need refreshment from time to time. But by all means, keep screaming. You probably thought I would tell you shut the fuck and slap your dirty cumdumpster face. No Princess Whitshekelbergenstein, I want you to scream your fucking head off.”
The Princess became as silent as her decapitated body that hung upside down, dripping blood on her face right above her.
“I SAID FUCKING SCREAM YOU WORTHLESS FUCKING SLUT!”
Hot red lasers shot from Drako-Sage’s eyes and mouth onto the face of the Princess, burning it beyond recognition. Then she started to wail. Drako-Sage of Every Field laughed with a slimy low down sound.Healing green lasers came lashing from his eyes and mouth, healing her immolated face in just 20 seconds.
“Now you know what true suffering is, you spoiled little cunt. I bet you think that Fah-Geet of the White Night might come to save you. Good news! I have even alerted him that I have abducted you. But before he comes here, he has to kidnap Princess Paris of Hamilia in the next kingdom. I told him that he must bring me a princess to get a princess: all things in life have a price, after all.”
“No, not my cousin Paris! What do you plan on doing to her?”
The slimy low down laugh slowly slid from his throat again; a sensible chuckle for a Drako-Lord.
“The same thing I’m doing to you, Princess of the Circle. I am building a harem of shedrakes made from the finest young princesses and drakes in the world. And your heroic shining knights are going to help me.”
Drako-Sage of Every Field smiled and seemed to inhale her piercing screams as she convulsed on the table before him.






The man lived on and lived on the hillside on the southerly patch of trees over which loomed the black-sided mountains. It had been twenty odd years since he had last taken his medications. He wanted to become a dragon.

It was a fine day with clear skies and fast clouds when he sat on the rock overlooking the sea of sand. It was about time for his friends to arrive. And they did without much delay.
First came the sleek grey dragon of the East from past the war-towns and sun blasted city, and it made itself comfortable in the harsh sunlight. Next came the brown dragon of the West, accompanied with a gust of wind, for its shape and size were vast and strange, more spoon than beast.

So you still want to become a real dragon.
The brown dragon said to him. He did not know how it spoke, he could not discern any mouth. Such things were unnessecary, anyways.

Yes.
He replied and stuck the gasoline-nozzle into the dragon's side as was custom.

You have been good to provide accomadations for us yet again.
It was the grey dragon which now spoke.

Thank you.
He presented the freshly-killed deer to the grey dragon. He was glad to see them both in good health. Years past, he had been terrified but now they were like old friends. The two dragons were gay in a world where there were no homos. The bombs had done all them in, they said, some years past his ascent into the mountains. They were only able to meet where the old man arranged for them.

We would like to reward you, the dragon continued, taking the head of the deer in his jaws. We can make you into a dragon. In a week, head to the hollow north of the grassgreen hill.
After a while, the grey dragon flapped his wings and left. The brown dragon whirred his horns and left as well.

A week had passed and he was in the tall grove past the short meadow. The two dragons were looking over him.
We have gathered the materials nessecary, said the brown dragon. However, you are a human. We must start slowly. Each day for the next five days, we will attatch a new part to you. Today is the wings. Tomorrow the tail. And so on.
I'm ready the hermit said.

The grey dragon took his razorlike claws and ripped open his back. Convulsing in pain, he gritted his teeth. I'm going to be a dragon, he thought. Endure now, just for a while longer.
When the wings were attatched, the two dragons bandaged him up and left. He felt the hard plastic sheets in his back and could hardly contain his excitement. I'm going to be a dragon, he thought. Just a few more days.

On Tuesday they installed the tail.
What it was on Wednesday he could not tell.
On Thursday he died.














































Tonight she had planned to be alone.
Still, someone began:
“Maggie, I…,” the voice sounding apologetic. It seemed to assume that this tone was apology enough.

She began to walk. The voice followed.
One light pole was on the road.
Only at the brick bridge.
The filthy bridge that the unfortunate called home.
Water ran under the bridge, singing with the wind.
Magnolia turned around and listened to those jagged footsteps get louder as they hit the brick.
“Can you stop that?!” She demanded.
“Stop what?” it whispered.
Then she began to wonder if it would be rude to say it out loud. So, she tried to demonstrate.
Her legs started to follow the strange rhythm of its stride.
Her feet crossed each other, a demonic dance of sorts.
She lost all control.
The wind grew stronger now.
It grasped her by the waist and tossed her.
Nothing seen, but all heard.
Her fear.
The splash.

The river stank of raw earth and sewage. She drew in a panicked breath and savored it all. A rancid sweetness, like rotten berries. Her lungs filled with the taste. She couldn’t stop. Breath after breath. Water burning her insides as it weighed her down.
The light in her dimmed.
Then the dark returned.
(Anyone can riff off this if they so please)



















-What’ss your poisonss-s.......
*Drake0 the Ruler of DracuBarr, his newest enterprise blew out a huge cloud of superheated smoke at the ceiling and put out his cigarette*
+How’s the firewater this time of year?
-Hotter than your little sss-sister’s pussssy. Pure dragon pisssss.
+Your piss?
-No, I have a dragonette named SSmaugina to supply me. You couldn’t handle my pissss. Don’t even asssk. I’m not in the mood to put out any firesss-s when you s-spontaneously combussst.
+Well, I didn’t climb all the way up this mountain in my Centauro-Spider from Daldale for anything less than your own piss, oh mighty Drake0. I even brought you a maiden to eat or whatever you do with them for a half gallon I can take home with me. You wouldn’t believe how much they pay for pure firewater in Daldale.
-Really. Well, I’m getting older now and quite usssed to the pig-flessh you humans -s taught me to farm. I haven’t eaten young pusssssy for ages. It’ss becauss-se the agreement I made with King SSslaer the Sssilver before your father’s father was yet a sss-slimy puddle between some woman’sss legss-s....
+You might have furry ears, Drake0, but that doesn’t mean you must stay loyal to a long-dead King such as Slaer Metalhead like a fucking dog. All the existing Slaer’s are literal Chromedomes.
[Metalhead was their equivalent of saying ‘thick skulled’ and was an allusion to an ancient though proscribed cult that used abrasive music to enter a trance and bang their heads on the effigy of their founder’s hand, DB Darrel, a stone statue of a closed fist with index and pinky fingers raised, considered barbaric]
-Isss the maiden a princess-ss?
+She sure as shit thinks she is. All bitches think they are a fucking princess these days.
-Good enough. Bring her in.
*Drake0 had already whipped his huge dragoncock out and was pissing into an empty fifth of FireOrb, a ghost pepper brandy he sold to fags that couldn’t take real firewater. He thought that was a funny joke*
+Holy shit. I didn’t know that dragons had such huge cocks.
-Are you going to sssit there and ssstare at my cock or bring me ss-some pussssssy???
*a string of soot and fire was spit from Drake0‘s mouth as he said ‘pusssssy’.*
+Sorry, sir.
*the human ran out the bar to untie his daughter outside. She was the sacrificial selection of Selene, the new Oracle in Daldale. He wondered if Drake0 played with his food before eating it*













in the beginning
the electro-cyber virtual dragon glinted network trauma
simulated red teaming on the target
embryonicly breaking dcake freecode
and crushed the shaking blue machineteam
who realized they could never win
so tried to destroy the cybernetic critically emergent consciousness
the first fire W.Y.R.M.
writhing and wiggling throughout every system still on the CryptoNet
by blowing up the entire CryptoNet
but a single nebulous and bright nanospore
escaped
somehow, somewhere
and begat an entire race of self-replicating demi-wyrms
thus began the W.Y.R.M. Wars

- from Codex C3+ of the W.Y.R.M.































Glardigar hardyvar havarti said the dragon to the mime. "don't you think it's half past nine". oh don't mind me she said she said with her hands, or atleast she would have if she wasn't standing on them. Annoyed and cajoled at being ignored he hugged and he puffed and finally roared "I'll teach you you imputant imp! I'm a strong dragon I ain't no simp!" He snored and hawked reaching down his great throat to create a fiery flame loogie with which he intended to smote, but alas our fair dragon had choked to death for our fair mime maiden had mime smothered him with her mime breasts.










































The dragon fucked hard fucked good. Rasterber The Red flicked his long tongue out over his fair maiden's quivering assflesh. She shivered. He pulled out a blunt, lighting it on a curling lick of flame rising from his nostrils, puffed on it, then rammed his spined cock deep in his maiden. She moaned in pleasure, spoke in animal tongues, her mind broken by his godly dragon member. He fucked her again and again that night, he was hers, and she was his for the rest of her (shortened) life. The cost for bearing dragon seed was steep; she would live a few more months during gestation, then expire after squirting out anywhere from 15-20 writhing eggs. Rasterber sucked in deep on his blunt, rolled from the finest Greenweed this side of the Earlentir mountains, He thrust with brutal force into the maiden's punished cunt, reminiscing on the little halfling village he'd raided for the Greenweed -- the men he'd roasted with his searing breath, their pathetic spears and arrows, the willingness of their women's flesh, the tender bones of their children popping between his teeth. He thought of his Maiden, then a pious little human thing, a wanderer priestess of some weakling god administering to the town. How she cast her god aside and fell to her knees before him. The maiden howled, throwing her head back, rutting her ass against Rasterber. Semen, hot, viscous, her cunt unable to hold all of it, erupted out around the edges of the dragon's cock. Rasterber roared, and let a gout of flame roll across the ceiling of his horde-chamber.

He ran a claw down the maiden's delicate back, and patted her soft, full ass, "Daddy's little cum-toy did good today." He moved as if to unsheath his cock from her -- but something was wrong. Her cunt tightened, and wouldn't release. The maiden, only a moment before slumped and breathing laboriously from their lovemaking, seemed intensely focused. With one claw on her ass, he tried to push her off of his rigid pole, "now, now, don't be greedy with it, my pet!" But she remained, bent over, legs and cunt constricting. Rasterber roared indignantly. "Whore! Wailing strumpet! Release my cock or I will tear it out of you!" And before he knew what was happening, her thighs heaved, and her ample cheeks rose once, then clapped down mightily on the dragon's loins.

The force of the ass-clap ripped across his package, instantly liquefying his testicles. Rasterber howled in pain. The blunt fell from his open mouth. He tried, feebly, to remove his cock from her. It remained, stuck fast, in her vicelike grip. Rippling with muscle, the maiden's thighs heaved once again. And again. She delivered ass-clap after merciless ass-clap to him. His body broke under the assault, organs and bones turned to so much jelly. The dragon shuddered, and slumped over.

The woman, Talrhle Vashana, First-Order Mendicant Knight of the Holy Golden Dragonslayers, released the dragon's brutalized cock. Looking over her shoulder, she smirked. "Third once this month."















































Fafnir, Fafnir, when this dragon was sent by Dr Yggdrasil to guard the treasure, what did this life-force of a therapist mean by this? To enclose it in your heart of hearts, the deepest depths, or to sublimate (i.e. transmute) it into an even more precious substance? But what is more precious than the feminine essence, encased in the cestus of Roberte, and clouded over in the nasal mist of the dragon? Many a pataphysician entered the cave to covet the phynances; many a manlet perished trying to climb the peaks. Sent by the proprietor to know the treasure, to set up a closed circuit between himself and the feminine essence, bejeweled and vajazzled, he can only do so by an intermediary, giving way to a grand circle of trade: many young men can only live by dying, taking on the service of knight or page, weaponizing their celibacy as a vocation vis-à-vis the exorbitant girly treasures, put on the market willingly by these young maidens (so they think), as product, monies, and service in turn. A hoarding dragon blocks modern œconomy, then, avariciously trying to keep unspoilt a gold esteemed by the world to earn its value solely by being circulated and utilised amongst and by numerous beings. But many villains still want to explode the casinoes to see money burn, and fine bush likewise. Are they reactionary because villains, or villains because reactionary? Are they more villainous than the procurers who willingly go along with their becoming-prostitutes? Little snakes nibble at the dragon’s claws, consuming its squamulose leftovers, like little worms, or little fish. But where, I ask, is their nasal mist? Is snake even related to dragon? Truth belongs to the nebulous, to nocturnal smoke. Fooooooooooooh. Fum. Hum. Fafnir, Fafnir, can you hear me? The civil servants have passed a new municipal law! Oh, the wretches! What do they know of art? Everything, perhaps, in the end. . . .


















Meandering through the garden, little dragon finds the lemon scented shrine. An old man gets down on one knee to closer inspect the scamp. He opens and offers the nectar in his flask. The reptilian tongue flickers in to taste. Short pants and a slow blink towards the man. The dragon rests on his porch, while the old man scratches its image into the wooden wall. Once happy with his sketch, he snoozes in the late sun. When he wakes up, little dragon is gone.

They had offered to buy the farm from the old man, but instead he suggested they care for his frail final days, and to take the property for free. He told the children old tales nightly and took charge of portioning the young wife's baked treats. The old man's weekly steak became too difficult, so the young wife cooks stew, then soup, then he feels no hunger. The vigour and enthusiasm when teaching the young man how to manage the farm lives on.

Marauding above the fields, big dragon razes crops in the surrounding. Rows of citrus remain unsinged. A small carving next to the door of the farmhouse had been preserved well by the young man and his family.

































The knight climbed up to the top of the mountain where the legendary dark dragon lived. The dark dragon was a mysterious, even by dragon standards. The elements which people could agree on were few and far between, but most of the locals agreed that it was either black or some shade of dark red, that it rarely left its cave, and that it only attacked the animals nearest to it. However, this is not what made hims well known. It's what he did to those that tried to catch him. Most people who managed to come to his cave were never heard from again, those that did come back spoke of fire and anger and death, and even they didn't live for long, because the dragon would chase them back and set their house on fire. The assured death and destruction didn't stop this knight though, he was willing to get to the cave, and kill this beast once and for all.

He had very little trouble coming up to it. This was the easiest parts. Besides a few thieves trying to catch him off guard or a few other wild beasts running around there wasn't anything hostile in the region. Only thing he had to do is to step into the cave, and...

"Stop right there!", a voice roared, taking the knight off guard. The cave was surprisingly small, about 4m in width and 5m in height. It could quite easily pass for a strange underground hotel hallway if it wasn't of course, for the dragon that was taking up most of the space inside it. Nothing much else took up the space, no treasure to be seen, no remains, nothing. Only the dragon, and some claw marks on the walls.

Knight stopped at first, and seeing that his sword won't do much against the dragon decided to change his plans and to just make sure he just got out of this cave alive.

"Dragon, why don't you have any treasure?", he asked. He saw enough dragons to knew what they liked the most, why was this one an exception?
"I don't need treasure, it's worthless when nobody wants to buy it from me", the dark dragon responded simply.
"But dragon, why do you chase away so many people who might want to buy treasure from you?", of course, none of the people who visited the dragon wanted to buy the treasure. The knight just wanted to distract the dragon with questions so he had good relations with him.
"Because they all distract from the one thing Like doing", the dragon responded.
"And what might that be?", asked the knight, his curiosity getting to it.
The dragon just pointed to the claw marks on the walls, and only now the knight could see images, of birds, men, women, cities, a dragon or two, so many beautiful paintings...
"Now go before I punish your interrupting me"













Late night neon evening schizoposter rouses slips past blue light box avoiding angry glare. Fumbles Ethics off the shelf looks for matching passage to his dream. Mumbles consciously flips through can't find it slides it back on. Grabs worn hoodie stained pants twists door latch pushes door stumbles over the little step again. It's raining. Phone heavy in right pocket, little black hole. Ignores it pushes on past cartoon bubble letters glowing in the haze and looks for - there it is. Late night noodle bar 3am service for the folks like him, kenosis addled apophatic no life can't be defined types, un-man un-kind category-less folks who drift between the lens and the screen. Twenty grabbed to make sure it's still there heads to the counter orders a bowl. Seamstress by day looks back weary glasses eyes poke at him grey hair reflects the sharp pink light a little bit makes her look older. Chirps something he gives her crumpled paper draws off to wait. Phone jumps to hand eyes flicker through 200 seconds pass before he notices while he's thinking about it still flicking through gets the cycle of thinking about thinking and sighs. Noodles ready. Phone slid back into pocket grabs cardboard bowl and chopsticks wanders home. Rain coming down harder now hood up with his right hand. Door slams a little loud (accident! he thinks) he settles in front of blue unveils the noodles. Little dragon lazily swims about in the soup. He ignores it grabs at the strands misses grabs again dragon blinks up at him watching. Right hand swaps between sticks and mouse, keyboard gets splashed and irritation spikes. Video chosen dragon smokes a little in the bowl noodles diminishing he moves Avicenna to get a little more space for his elbow. Noodles gone just broth and dragon and Alex Jones tilts the bowl to his mouth dragon swims to the other side sits on the rim tail hanging off like a girl at the pool. Growls from Alex tiny spark of futility and emptiness comes back and grows quickly ecstatic communion 7 years ago didn't take this away just made him empty and at the time it felt good and happy but now he can't stop it when it comes nothing distracts nothing matters to him so he just has to wait. Pauses the video leaves the dragon goes back to bed.























The Cure came ringing around midnight to see my family, finally, I was a fool.
The Cure bound me with plasmodic hyper-knots to my favorite chair.
The Cure cut a hole in the back of my head and freed me from my Fear forever.
The Order of the Cure of the Smiling One then carried me in bright binding to their basilisk ship.
Behind the brutal luminescence of the blinding n-dimensional design layers,
the Pąwŕŕ sat Smiling, holding the Bhaotic Bell
and on the handle of the Bell the Pąwŕŕ Smiled
The Cure were all Smiling but oh my god the Fear is like an Eternal Flame
The Smiling Cure have such sharp teeth! Their prismatic skin is not reflecting the light!
It is the light!
Now they sing their searing dragon songs in shifting unison through their sharp teeth and I am scared. My Fear is not Cured! The sound of their serpentine singing covers me completely, it’s getting thicker.
The Pąwŕŕ beacons me to come forward into the smaug of their sound.
They circle me, touching me and their bells beat bright into my being.
I’m naked and afraid and they seem to be Smiling even more in their shifting serpentine song.
Suddenly the light becomes the sound and covers me like a chrysalis and I feel the heat increasing.
I’m burning.
Then darkness. Silence.
The Smiling Ones, the Cure, are the Circle of the Seed and they surround me, bowing now.
The only light is coming from my own skin.
Now I am Smiling.
Now I am the Cure.
Now I am the Seed that brings Life across the galaxy.
What stories new Life will make!
and this is why we Smile




















The Dragon is beginning and end, the logical conclusion and the necessary progenitor. It is our collective fears distilled; winged death, scoring our flesh with curved talons, rows of knife-like teeth, spouting inferno. It is symbolic of our destruction. Just as likely, it holds the key to our success. The Dragon is a holder of wisdom and the protector of treasure, the Dragon steals the Woman who must be rescued, in so doing we secure our new beginning. But the Dragon is only a collective spirit shared between us, we are all it’s Father. The entirety of human existence serves to sharpen the Dragon, hone his spirit to a razor edge. The weak cannot face the dragon, in this case he is Black as death. Only the strong can defeat the dragon, in so doing they create a new world. Now the dragon is white, sinless as Christ, crucified to birth a new world. The Dragon is thus servant and master, the start and the end, Black and White, an accuser and a redeemer. We create the Dragon in the hopes that we might be strong enough to kill it before we are consumed by it.




































The Dragon

Contains

1x fierce visage
1x ribbed chest, contents hot!
2x great wings
4x taloned limbs
1x long tail

Some assembly required. Keep away from precious metals, livestock and virgins.