It was a nice day outside. The air was crisp and fresh as ever. The sun was rising over the horizon, signalling a new day for the denizens of the Chromatican City. Oh, and what a city it is! Enormous, you might call it. And contrary to its name, pretty lacking in colour, being filled to the brim with black, obsidian-like skyscrapers, choking as they might feel, but not complained about. After all, the last of the human population needed a place to live.

  In the centre of the City, stood a gigantic spire, haphazardly put together sheets of various metals and alloys welded together forming its frame. This was the Citadel, a building a few kilometres in height, having been here before the City was inhabited, and like to remain there after the last of the City's citizens pass away. No one was allowed to wander inside, no one who disregarded this rule was ever seen again. The City's governing body was also situated inside a few of the lower levels of the Citadel, not as a show of power per se, but more to discourage any other fools from going in too deep.

  The Sun finally rose, and the City was in full action. A cacophony of sounds and languages rang across its streets. The Russian engineer working in construction was arguing with the Egyptian architect over the inefficient building design. The Portuguese and the Englishmen were also on the brink of fighting, over football of course, but were quickly reconciled by the German, who reminded them of the interest they shared: their love for Deutschland's national alcoholic beverage, not that Deutschland was still a thing, mind you. Children were saying goodbye to their parents in Cantonese, Mongolian, Bulgarian, Greek, before leaving to go to school for the day. The City lacked large, open boulevards designed for large traffic, but cars were not very common anyway, most serving as scrap metal and debris now, buses being the most common users of the road now.

  And so everything was running smoo-oh, would look at that! A not-so-friendly critter was approaching the City, and fast. The immediate residents were quickly alerted to leave the area or hide inside. The being landed in the middle of the road, a large metal dragon, scales shining in the light, 30 meters or so from head to tail. Its roar was deafening, stomping across the few wooden stalls strewn across the street, where a small market was unfortunately held for the day. The surrounding buildings were not spared from damage either, as the creature wasn't the most graceful or concerned with movement. Up in the air, far enough to not provoke the beast, a helicopter was surveying the area. Its door opened, and a man stood examining the general situation.

  "I've got sight of the Zmey. Scales are very reflective, it is probably mating season," he said into a radio station on his shoulder.

  "Good. I presume you can handle it yourself, Jacques?" responded a woman on the other side.

  "Yeah, yeah." Jacques enunciated somewhat bored.

  "Good. Keep me updated."

  The man now designated with defeating a steel dragon was pushing 30, and not too remarkable appearance-wise. The clothes he wore were plain, an open coat revealing a pair of jeans and a shirt. On his belt, lay a small pouch. Strapped to his back, however, was a giant axe, made of a bluish metal, in all honesty, more similar in appearance to a motorcycle engine than a weapon of war or a tool, steadily vibrating, indicating it is on.

  Jacques took a small bottle of gasoline, opened it and poured it behind him, with a practised motion, the entire bottle having spilt on and into the weapon on his back.

  "Ok, you ready?" The axe whirred and groaned, revving and braking as if forming words. "Hey, it's not my fault! They didn't allow me to bring more than a bottle of gas on the helicopter."

  "Jacques, despite what you may think, I have other sources that provide me with info regarding the situation besides yourself, why are you not on the ground?" the radio suddenly added.

  "In a second!" he blurted, fumbling with the radio button. "we're going to that fancy place later, deal?"

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  The axe revved in seeming agreement. Not even a second passed before it started going full throttle, sparks flying from in between the metal pieces. With a single hand gesture, Jacques signalled to the pilot to approach. He hopped onto a rooftop overlooking the street. A few people were hiding in a bus, others behind pieces of rubble or in buildings. The Zmey did not seem to be actively searching for them, but Jacques knew that if they were found, they were sure to be dead. What troubled him even more was the idea of piercing this thing's scales. But first, it needed to be weakened.

  Jacques made his way down, jumping from vantage point to vantage point, climbing down until he was on the same level as the Zmey. With one whistle, he attracted the dragon's attention, turning its long neck to see the man standing there, minding his business, an act despicable, for it was its territory now. In one breath, it started expelling yellow fire in Jacques' direction, who took advantage and started running. The rubble caused him to almost trip, a mistake he couldn't afford if he were to not be burned by the fire breathing down his neck. Passing a fire hydrant, Jacques took the axe on his back and swung it effortlessly, cutting the metal like paper. Water started to sprout upwards, droplets landing and instantly evaporating on the Zmey's scales. Jacques gripped the axe's handle, swinging the severed hydrant into the air and then full force into the Zmey's jaw, stunning it for a little while, and a little while was enough.

  He rushed up to the beast's legs, six in total, more similar to bugs than reptiles, except for the claws, which were unmistakably draconic. Jacques swung the axe, which was truly more of Jacques holding the axe, which swung itself, causing the weapon to shift its parts into the shape of a sword. Jacques plunged the weapon in between the Zmey's body and upper leg segment, pushing them apart until, with a squelching pop, the front leg of the beast was ripped from its body, a clean, bloodless wound. The Zmey realised what had happened and, annoyed rather than in pain, quickly gripped Jacques with its jaws, throwing him across the street and into a window, landing in a local restaurant. The people hiding in the establishment quickly helped him get up, just in time to see the Zmey fly deeper into the City.

  "Target's moving. I'm- ow, I'm going to follow it" he reported on the radio, feeling at least one of his ribs moving in a way an unbroken bone shouldn't move.

  The Zmey was flying with little disregard for its surroundings, or its missing limb, for that matter. It was going to grow back a few months later, anyway, so this was more of a mild inconvenience. Jaques followed suit, sprinting towards the beast, until it finally landed in a large plaza. Just as it was about to burn away at the bystanders, Jacques cut a metal post sign and launched it into the Zmey's back. From the wound, a yellow fire began to erupt, the creature crying in pain. It turned to Jacques, who just barely managed to evade its tail.

  The area was too populated, but he knew he could use that to his advantage. He could smell it in the air, the adrenaline, the cortisol, the fear. He reached behind his back, the axe moving to drop a gun in his hand, and from the pouch on his belt, he took out a bullet, a blue liquid visible inside it. Jaques loaded the bullet in, then put the gun to his head, but he was reckless, he lost focus for a few seconds, which was enough for the Zmey to grab him with its jaws and tear at him, throwing him into a wall before he could pull the trigger.

  Jacques rose, his head burning, feeling the blood trickle down his brow and in between his organs. He could move his lower body, but not feel it. He tried to move the gun to his head, but the hand that was holding the grip was no longer connected to his body, a few meters away. Jacques painfully crawled through the debris to his severed arm, taking the gun from his own clutches, and inspected the bullet, now destroyed, the blue liquid seeping out. He reached into his pouch, tearing it from his belt and spilling the insides on the ground. All of the bullets were destroyed, a mix of blue and red liquids seeping into the cracked concrete. All except for a single red bullet. He reached for the cracked radio.

  "Drive Starter's out. I... I only have one regen bullet left..." he wheezed out.

  "Roger that... Use it-"

  "I'm sending him..."

  "You're what? You can't, I can't authorise you to-"

  But before the woman on the radio could finish her sentence, Jacques manually turned off the radio. The axe on his back whirred in excitement, aware of what was to follow. Jacques took the weapon and drove it into his stomach, feeling his whole body impaled, with the last of his strength he revved the axe's engine. The axe began to heat up, its engine revving uncontrollably, going full throttle, its whole shape was moving and changing. This wasn't any old gasoline, this... was blood. Jacques stumbled backwards, feeling the axe shifting its part around, as a mechanical claw emerged out of the shifting metal mass, clawing at his body to get out.