82: Dragonsong
Did you anticipate the flood?
A herd of displaced Taranan piled into the alley as the walls started ringing. In the shadows - as if the shadows would make it make sense - a pile of meat like a starfish taken to a woodchipper turned its eight faces to the dragons, their leatherbound faces echoing with song the closer they walked into the cursed city. Another wall of flesh stood behind the dragons, transfixed by how their faces - bound like scrolls or spines of books - chimed and rang.
The Taranan stood tall and silent, chests thrumming as they sobbed in silence. In this city of blood and paper, they finally could sing without giving in to their own curse.
We need you at the Library.
One of the mutants reached forward as the lead Taranan spoke, covering their mouth with a four-edged hand made of bulbous pustules - writhing and sensing for the source of the noise. As the dragon squirmed, struggling to breathe, a massive crash sounded from behind them - like bells and light and home - and the beast turned, dragging the Taranan with it for a moment before letting go.
The crowd of monsters and Taranan turned to the sound, and saw glass and blood. Another Taranan lay in an abandoned store, their throat torn open like paper. Blood spattered across their face, the bandages on their face in tatters. The Taranan in the alleyway backed away in horror, only to jump when the flesh-beast began letting out a strange, mournful sound. Slowly, carefully, the herd continued onward, as the monster thundered to itself.