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A group of white men were seated on wooden chairs in a plaza. The sun shone directly overhead. In front of them, there was a crowd of natives. Ahead of the crowd, there was a temple atop a pyramid. It wasn’t as grand as the one Vur had seen, but it was still the most prominent building in the city. On top of the altar, there was a bound crocodile. It was lying on its back, restrained to the altar. Twine was wrapped around its mouth, preventing it from opening. Three men held down its tail, two men held back its head, and four men were holding onto one leg each. The head priest was kneeling top of the altar, straddling the crocodile’s abdomen. In his hands, there was a flint knife raised above the crocodile’s chest.
From the bottom of the altar, the group of white men watched as the knife plunged downwards. They grimaced as the natives hooted and cheered. They were stabbing themselves, letting blood flow down their bodies and onto the ground. The smell of blood permeated the air followed by the stench of rot as the fresh blood wetted the dried blood that was already on the ground. After a few seconds, the high priest stood up, a still-beating heart in his hand, and raised it above his head. He said a few words, and with a plopping sound, the organ was deposited into a giant stone bowl. The crocodile’s body was lifted by the nine men and tossed down the stairs. It tumbled a few times before landing on a terrace where another group of men were waiting for it.
“Barbaric,” one of the white men said.
“At least it wasn’t a human this time,” another one said and shuddered.
“It doesn’t look like it’s ending anytime soon,” the white man in full plate armor said. He pointed. A group of natives were carrying a limp jaguar up the steps of the pyramid from a set of stairs different than the one the crocodile was thrown from. Behind that group of men, there were even more natives waiting around with bound animals.
“The great god has descended,” the translator said, staring at the group of white men from the corner of his eyes. He was sitting with his chest and legs facing away from the group. There were a few wounds on his chest that blood flowed freely from, and a bloody knife was held in his hands. “The stronger the animal, the more honorable the sacrifice. If the god is not happy, he may kill us all.”
The man in the suit of armor snorted. “The scouts haven’t returned yet. We don’t know if your god has descended or not.”
The translator’s nose wrinkled, and he looked away while standing up. The second sacrifice was about to begin. He chanted along with the rest of the natives and self-mutilated himself, causing even more blood to flow from his body. The group of white men turned their heads away, wanting to completely leave the ritual site. Soon, another heart was raised into the air, and the jaguar’s body was thrown down the steps, spilling blood all along the way. A second jaguar was carried up by a group of natives and placed above the altar.
One of the white men made a face. “How long does this last?”
The translator turned around and sneered. “Until the sun sets.”
“Crazy!”
“Yes, it’s crazy,” the translator said. Without giving a chance for the white men to respond, he sighed. “If we had more great animals, the sacrifices can last until the next morning when the sun rises again. But we’re not like the people of the capital; our resources are too little.”
The man wearing the full suit of armor shook his head. “Let’s go back. We’ll gain nothing from staying here for so long. The smell is making me sick.”
Right at that moment, gasps filled the air, and the chanting paused. After a moment, it resumed, but at an even louder volume. Rather than chanting, it sounded like the natives were screaming with all their might. The group of white men glanced at each other and looked around. The translator pointed up at the sky with a dazed expression before he half-screamed, half-chanted as well. What looked like a massive, blue crocodile with wings was flying through the air, occasionally dipping into and out of the clouds in the sky. It circled the skies, getting lower with every rotation.
“Captain,” one of the white men said with a pale face. “Is that a dragon?”
The man in the full suit of armor was baffled. Dragons only existed in fairytales and myths! But if that were true, then what the heck was that creature flying above them!? “Run back to the base!” the man said and turned around. He ran without even checking to see if his companions were following him. They had left their weapons behind in the base as part of an agreement to attend the sacrificial ritual. To fight something as large as a dragon was impossible without their guns! “It’s a creature of legends, a dragon! Think of Sigurd! If we kill it and bathe in its blood, we’ll become invincible!”
“C-Captain, we’re running to the base to get our horses to run away, right? What do you mean kill it?” one of the white men asked. Despite the fact he was wearing less armor than his captain, he was struggling to keep up. “And what do you mean invincible?”
“You uneducated buffoon!” the captain shouted. “Hasn’t your mother ever told you the story of Sigurd? It’s the most famous story involving a dragon! Sigurd slew a dragon and bathed in its blood. Then his skin became as hard as the dragon’s horn, making him undefeatable in battle!”
“But Captain, that’s just a story!”
“Shut up! Even if it’s a story, it must’ve spread so far because of some ounce of truth! Think about it, Sigurd only had a sword and managed to kill the dragon. However, we have swords and guns and five hundred men! Were humans abnormal freaks back then? No! They were people just like us! If Sigurd could do it, why can’t we?”