[Glimmer Mist Park]

When the man fell, the dragon descended.

It knows well enough what comes next. It knows, in a hazy, distant sort of way, that at some point it too had fallen into a deep slumber. Its body was swaddled in silk. Its flesh was fed upon. It wandered, lost in fugue for a time. And then its dreaming mind was reborn. There was a life before, the dragon knows this vaguely. Fleeting, half remembered images. A tree on a green hill, a tire hanging from a rope. But those are all distant dreams now.

The monster lands, spinnerets on its jaws preparing themselves for the work to come, when something surprising happens.

Bereft of body, the swordsman's astral form stands.

This is not what the abomination expected.

This has never happened before.

It had already ceased to sing, the words of its song already woven into the web of the world. It could begin a new song, but that will take time. So instead it does something that it can do quickly, something base and vulgar compared to the beautiful tapestry it had hoped to weave.

The monster opens its jaws and spews forth a raging storm of lightning, silk, and undirected psychic power.