[b][u][center]The Curse of Two-Legged Understanding
Part 1
For Lightsun168
By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]








As he flew through the evening sky, the sun at his back and the fading reds and purples of the approaching twilight glittering off his scales, Meero let himself soar on winds that spoke to him. Not in words – for nothing outside of the world of the two-legged spoke in words – but in gestures, in nudges, in the gentle pushes of where his body should be in the sky. His wings fluttered, adjusting in the tiniest ways to the requests of the wind, and he flew easier, climbing higher above the trees below. 

The blue dragon had done this many times over his long, long life, and it never changed. The wind spoke, the heat advised, and he followed what they suggested. It was all that any dragon ever did, and it was all that they ever needed to do. 

As he gained altitude, he began to circle, tilting one wing to the side and riding the dying thermals higher and higher above the earth below. As he soared, the hills in the distance began to look smaller and he could see what lay beyond them: the City of White Stone, as the wild things called it. Those that lived there had another name, but Meero didn’t know what it was. He had never bothered to learn it. 

Higher and higher still he rose, looking down at the world below in a way that only a dragon could. The massive forest that would take days, weeks for those on two legs to traverse could be crossed in hours from the skies. The mountains to the south, perhaps a month away on land, could be reached in a day, and the tip taken for his own lair if he so wished. And the City of White Stone to the north…

He did not like to look at it. For all that it was made by the two-legged, it still soared upward from the land around it, and it dominated its little part of the world in a way that even the mountains could not manage. After all, the mountains were natural, flowing from one peak to another, eventually diminishing to hills and then to the flat lands beyond that. The City, on the other hand, had cut through the land, ripping up stone and rearranging it into spires that chomped at the sky like great maws, with walls that rippled like too-flat tails coiled around the City itself. 

As wrong and unnatural as it was, the City had claimed its space, and he could not help but look at it, even if he felt that it was wrong. 

From his height, he could see the occasional flicker of light and magic. The great spires glowed blue, white, yellow, shimmering with power that the two-leggers summoned to themselves. Each flash felt like it pulled at the world, like a great chain clicking one more length into a wheel. Sometimes, it would click out of place again, the chain coming loose for a while, only to pull back again when the mages of the City dragged it into place. 

The constant pulling set his teeth on edge. It was the wrong sort of magic, in his mind. Only two-legged people would think that this was the way to live in the world. 

The sun was almost set. Meero was about to turn his attention to his flight home – after all, he lived some way away, near a lake in the middle of nowhere – when something else grabbed him. A different sort of magic rode the wind up to him and brought a different ‘voice,’ one that asked him to do something more directly. 

[i]Come,[/i] it said. 

[i]Where?

Here.[/i]

The wind glowed to his eyes, turning a deep green. Not the magic of the City, but of another group, two-legged folk that still respected the natural ways of the world and listened to it as much as they asked it to listen to them. And it was a request, not a command; he could say no if he wished. 

But the blue dragon was curious, more curious than was entirely sensible. After all, it was quite rare indeed that someone would ask for him to visit without explaining. Perhaps he could indulge. 

So, he turned once more, following the sweeping greens on the wind. They guided him over the last of the clouds to the hills south of the City, to the patch of open land between the rolling line of hills that looked like green waves from the sky and the City’s great coiling wall. As the dragon flew over them and began his descent, he saw two groups of two-legged folk, one responsible for the magic calling him, and the other stiff in…fear? Anticipation? 

Meero shrugged it off. He was a dragon; if the worst came to worst, he could handle them. 

He landed with a thump as the last of the sunset light disappeared. The grasses bent beneath his paws, and he took a few steps to settle himself. Armored men from the City stepped back in a hurry, tails of all sorts lashing behind them and some of the winged ones flaring theirs. Some pulled up spears or grabbed words, while their leader – a lion in a blue robe – held out one hand with a sparkle of blue dancing between his fingers. 

“Calm yourself, Fergus,” someone from the other group said. “He came at my call, just as I promised he would.”

“You promised a beast, Weaver. You did not mention a dragon.”

Weaver. That was a name that Meero recognized, though it was more a group than a person. ‘Weavers’ were what the two-legged people called those that used the natural magic, though it was usually a more derogative name than it was anything else. The ones that lived in the city, those that chained magic and made it do what they wanted, believed that anyone making a request of magic was doing it wrong. 

But just as Weavers had their name, so did the City mages and those like them: Binders. And as he looked down at the lion that shimmered with power, he saw a Binder that was afraid of anything that did not have a leash. 

He snorted, slowly turning in the circle. The green magic continued to request that he stay, and for now, he was willing to oblige that request. 

As he circled, this Weaver – a bear that seemed to share the name with his people – and the lion continued to speak back and forth. The latter seemed to think that he could not understand; the former did not include him in their conversation. 

“I called a dragon because he is the most likely to give us what I promised. You think that I could raise anything to the level that you demand?”

“I believe that you can’t do anything that you’ve promised. There’s a reason that the Schism happened, Weaver; we are not likely to heal that tonight.”

“We will see. I have promised that there is a great power to my kind of magic, a power that cannot be replicated by the Binders. If I succeed, then this will prove it.”

“And if you fail, then it will be my privilege to tell everyone that the Weavers are as inferior as we have always claimed.”

“I will not fail,” Weaver said. 

Meero did not particularly care. Whatever they had planned, he doubted that it would matter to him. Few things did; dragons outlived everything from the forests to the mountains themselves. Compared to that, what was the demand of a mortal? Even the most far-seeing of them could not conceive of the passage of time the way that even the youngest of dragons could. A year to them was the slow blinking of an eye to those that rode the winds and commanded the rivers. 

He paced, and paced, and paced. Those that gathered with Weaver watched him, their simple robes and loincloths a marked departure from the silk and metal that the other side wore. Meero saw them as the city-born and the land-born, and he much preferred the latter. They were still two-legged folk, of course, but they were closer to the land than those that lived on the other side of things. 

“Will you cast or not, Weaver?” Fergus asked. “If not, then banish this thing before it grows impatient. I don’t care to have something so destructive kept this close, particularly when it seems more inclined toward you than me.”

“I cannot help what nature has shaped, Fergus,” the bear said. “And besides, it was your choice to take the magic you did. If the natural world had exiled you –”

“Spare me the theatrics and the philosophy. Can you do what you claim, or can’t you? The moon is rising.”

“Give me a moment. I need to make sure that I do this right.”

“For both our sakes…”

Meero paused in his circling. The green magic was shifting around him. No longer a simple spiral in one place, it was reaching up, moving like snakes that were curious about what had come among them. He lifted one forepaw away from the twisting magic, feeling a strange sense of foreboding that past alien. It was…impossible. No dragon should feel like this, particularly not from mortal magics. 

One of the coiling lengths of green pushed up, not quite lashing around his forepaw but certainly trapping it. He grunted as his foreleg was yanked back down to the earth, pinned in place as the other lengths of magic started to streak up along his back legs, then his tail. They pulled, twisting, turning, until he was dragged down to lie on his belly. 

[i]This is wrong. This is – what is this magic?[/i]

Meero pushed back against it. The green started to fall back, only for more of the Weavers to step forward. Their magic writhed up, creeping like vines along his sides, pulling him down and yanking him to lie down on his side. Others wrapped around his wings, ‘asking’ them to pull flat, and they did, obeying against his will. 

[i]Slide. Rest. Flatten.[/i]

His body obeyed the requests, the long day of flying making him tired, making him want to rest and recline – 

[i]No, this is – this is a trap. I cannot –[/i]

He might not, but his body would. The requests of the magic continued to weaken him, making him lie down, making him pull his tail in, keeping him from moving or fighting as the magic continued to envelop him. Every new lash of green trapped him in place, keeping him from fighting back or getting free. 

Soon, his entire body was sheathed in magic that only he could see. Meero groaned, shaking his head, trying in vain to get one leg, or his tail, or anything free. He couldn’t even get a breath of air in that wasn’t immediately puffed out from the constriction all around him. 

Then…then the unthinkable happened. 

[i]Evolve. 

Ascend. 

Become two-legged.[/i]

And something in him, some traitorous part that was curious, said yes. 

It started slow, but now that it had begun, the process was inevitable. His body started to shrink, pulling in on itself. His tail dragged into his spine, and his neck started to pull into his shoulders. With soft clicks, his spine collapsed in on itself, and his scales dripped off of his frame. There were too many, after all, and there was no point in having so many if he was going to be – 

[i]No, not…not that…[/i]

A two-legged person. 

A whimper escaped him as his tired body gave itself to the magical request, falling further and further down. He had been massive, standing more than three people tall at the shoulder, and many times longer than that from head to tail. That difference was disappearing, shrinking, becoming less and less with each breath he took. His mighty wings contracted, cracking and popping as they became less the grand pavilion of flesh and scale and leather that they had been and more of a glider’s tool. 

“Nnngh…mmmph…”

“He is…changing,” Fergus said. 

“I told you. I told you that I could do this.”

“This is –”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

Meero’s roar drowned out the lion’s words, echoing through the hills and in the night. The dragon fought against the power changing him, but the request had been accepted, and no matter how hard he tried to say no now, it was too late. 

His legs cracked, losing their great size as he found his hips doing the same. They pulled in, changing, warping. His body felt wrong in its four-legged form, even as he tried to keep himself to that stance. Having his forelegs forward – crack, crick, pop – felt like he was trying to stand the wrong way. His hips pushed him to keep his forward body upright, to keep it from the ground, and – 

Crack, crick, crack. His shoulders, his shoulders felt out of alignment, and they warped as they shifted, pulling back and up and forcing his chest forward in a way that it hadn’t done before. He was rolled onto his back, his forelegs falling to his sides as arms, and his eyes rolled back in their sockets as he stared at the night sky. He looked past a muzzle that changed, no longer bestial and fanged – though the sharp points remained – but more civilized, his lips pulling around and hiding the worst of his sharp-pointed teeth. He would look kindly, civilized, not like the four-legged beast that he had been. 

[i]This is not me…this is not me…[/i]

All over him, the magic compressed his wild form into something that was barely a hint taller than the two-legged people all around him. Weaver was among the tallest, but once, Meero would have topped him by a dozen feet or more even when leaning down. Now, he was but half a foot taller than the brown-furred bear, and barely more than that with some of the others. His limbs felt wasted; no more would he pick up entire trees with two claws. He may not have been able to pick them up at all. 

As he condensed, losing so much of himself, he gained nothing. Nothing but the ability to walk on his hind legs…

“Why…why…”

“It speaks!” Fergus whispered. 

“I promised you a creature ascended,” Weaver said, slowly lowering his hands. “And I have delivered on that promise.”

“You…you call this…ascension?” Meero groaned. 

“On that, dragon, we can agree,” Fergus muttered. 

He barely heard what the lion had to say; for him, this was not ascension, but the greatest of punishments. His great strength was gone. The voice of the world around him had diminished to the faintest whispers, and even those were fading. The natural power of dragons was less than it had ever been, and his body…

He didn’t even know where to start with his body. His arms were wrong; he had no forelegs but rather limbs that didn’t do what he wanted them to do, with thumbs that felt at odds with the rest of his digits. His body was no longer the grand, streamlined things that ruled the skies, but barely taller than those that stood over him as the magic faded from the circle around him.

He had no great height, no ridge of scales that had once dominated his spine, and even his manhood between his legs had shrunk, becoming little more than a sheath that barely drew the eye. What remained in there, he did not know, but he doubted very much that it would match what he once had. 

As he rolled onto his side, gasping for breath and shaking with suppressed rage and fear, Fergus stepped forward. The robed lion loomed over him, shaking his head. 

“You asked what the Weavers’ magic could do that Binders could not,” Weaver said, the bear shaking his head. “And here you have it. Proof that we can create new kinds of life. Proof that we can invite the bodies of others to become something that they could never imagine. Can you see anything that you can make that could do the same?”

“I see nothing but an abomination,” Fergus said. 

“Abomination? I have given a ‘beast’ the chance to see life as we have. It is no different to us.”

“It is [i]completely[/i] different. A beast born cannot become something like us. It is nothing but –”

“Turn me back,” Meero groaned, begging. “Turn me back to what I used to be. Give me my wings, my claws, [i]everything![/i] Give me what I used to be!”

“See? You have created a monster,” Fergus said. “And it is up to us to contain it.”

“You –”

“Guards!”

Meero had half a second to see the armored figures surging forward. The Weavers began to fight with their magic, and then –

Crack!

Someone kicked him in the back of the head. The once-powerful dragon was out like a light. 

#

He woke elsewhere, he knew not where. Stone rather than grass pressed against his back, and all around him blue light glowed. It seemed that whatever fight had occurred between the Binders and Weavers had been settled in the Binders’ favor. They had taken him to…wherever he was. 

[i]The City,[/i] Meero thought, and another shiver wracked him. 

He opened one eye further, taking his time and keeping his breath slow and even. The fact that he could even be afraid felt like another blow to his soul. The bear had taken more than his body; the bear had taken his heart and courage, and that would have to be repaid in the future. If ever he saw Weaver again, he would have more than words. He would have fang and claw and – 

[i]Do I still have my magic?[/i]

All dragons had magic; they were blessed with such power from the day their eggs were laid and they carried it with them until the day that they gave up on life and disappeared into the ether. Their muscles might give them the power to uproot trees or throw great stones, but it was magic that gave them the strength to fly, the power to root through the minds of others, or command the elements. Without that, they were little more than flying lizards, and there were other species that could already do that. 

Meero closed his eyes once more, trying to breathe through the panic deep in his heart. There had to be some power left, some semblance of what he once was. The magic could not have taken it all from him. If he could just find that, if he could seize hold of it, maybe he could get his old body back. If nothing else, he would be able to fight back against the two-legged people now. 

His thoughts went inward. The darkness inside his eyelids faded, becoming something else, something warmer. He rode the pulse of his heart, taking himself deeper, deeper. More darkness waited in there, but it was the darkness he was familiar with…or had been, before his magic had grown. 

[i]Where are you?[/i] he thought, peering about inside himself. [i]You can’t be gone. You can’t.[/i]

Meero looked, and looked, hoping against hope that he could still find the magic. It should be there, a deep blue that went beyond the Binders’ magic. It was the same deep blue as his scales, holding the same shimmering hue as the sea out past the shore, where none could sail to see. It was like an ocean within, or had been; it had been the sea of his power, the ancient flow that none but another dragon could match. 

Was it truly gone?

Had everything been taken from him?

He pushed, looking deeper, riding his heartbeat further and further into himself – 

Shimmer. 

It was faint, but there was still something there. Meero strained for it, every muscle in his body tensing as he reached into his core – 

Pulse. 

Pulse. 

Pulse. 

He could have cried with relief, and the only reason that he did not was because he was sure someone would have noticed. The power, though faded and diminished, was still there; thank all above and below. It was…restrained, somehow, held back from the great power that it had been, but the fact that there was something that [i]could[/i] be restrained meant that he still had something left. 

But he couldn’t use it. That meant that they were doing something…something he couldn’t push past. Not yet. 

[i]Still…it is something…Not enough…but something…[/i]

He let go of the power. It fell away, dropping into his core like a jewel falling from his hand. This time, though, he knew where it landed, and he knew where it was. He could find it again without the fear from last time. 

Meero opened one eye again. Halfway, no more, peering through the lidded opening. He flicked it around, taking in what he could of his surroundings. 

It was a small room, at least for a dragon. Twenty paces across, circular, and lit from below with the blue light that he’d noticed before. That had to be some sort of powerful spell from the Binders, probably the thing that was keeping his own magic away from him. It drained his strength, too, keeping him too tired to move. He leaned his head back a bit further against the stone, feeling his wings aching under his back. The joints had probably been pressed into his spine the whole time that he had been unconscious; he doubted that he would be able to do more than stretch them for weeks. 

He was naked, too. That…almost felt good, he had to admit. If they had dressed him, he was not sure that he could have taken being forced into further two-legged ways. He would have had an even worse reaction to coming out of that sleep. 

The walls all around him were made of stone, and so was the floor. There were no tapestries, no markings along the sides of the walls as he had seen in some of his flyovers of the City. They had probably placed him somewhere less opulent, somewhere that they believed ‘suited’ him. Maybe in a kennel or something like that. No, that would have had some open air, and he would have smelled the dogs by now. Somewhere else, then. Somewhere that would be ‘safe’ for someone like him. 

Footsteps caught his ear. He pricked his head ever so slightly to the side. 

“You will watch this one closely.”

Fergus, the lion. 

“This abomination used to be a beast, and I have no doubt that it wishes to become one again. I will not have it rampaging through the city.”

“We will keep an eye on it, sir,” a different voice said. “My honor on it. The beast will not escape these chambers.”

“Not through any work of yours, captain; the runes will hold him until the enchantments can be made properly. Until then, assign one of yours to keep an eye on him directly. Everyone else, stay outside the room.”

“Shall I kill it if it moves?” 

“That is against our beliefs, Captain,” Fergus said, and Meero could almost see the lion shaking his head. “You know that. Once something walks on two legs, then to kill it is murder most foul. Regardless of what it had been, the creature now walks on two legs; it may not be killed, only contained.”

“But you said –”

“I said that it was a beast, and it wishes to be one again. Should it behave too bestially, then we are allowed to do as we wish, but until then…we cannot kill it.”

Meero’s heart skipped a beat. So…to act himself, he put himself at risk of death…but to assimilate, to act as if he were naturally two-legged, he would never be accepted, though he might live. 

[i]This…this is…[/i]

“I have little doubt that the beast will eventually show its true colors. Treat it as what it is, and it will eventually break. For now, however, it may not be killed.”

“A pity, Archmage. If you don’t mind me saying.”

“Yes, well, pity is a trait of ours. To go without pity is to go about as a beast.”

Meero would have growled if he didn’t feel it would give him away. To go about without pity was something that all did, not merely some of the beasts. And he would not have pity for these men for what they said. Nor for the Weavers for what they had done to him. ‘Pity’ was reserved for those that had not hurt him or caused him pain. 

“At any rate, Captain, make sure that you do not underestimate it, nor let it move away from the runes. I highly doubt that it has the strength to move at all, but if it tries, make sure to shove it back. The runes are the only thing that keeps you from fighting a beast beyond your power; if it manages to gain its strength back, I doubt that it will show you the forbearance that we are showing it.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Good. I will return tomorrow. And Captain?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Have your man, whoever he is, measure the beast for the enchantments later. Anklets, bracelets, and the other, usual things.”

“Heh. I bet that the new guy’s going to hate that. Nobody likes touching the prisoners down there.”

“Well, they will have to. Consider it a duty to the staff.”

“Understood, sir.”

The footsteps faded away. Meero shook his head as he closed his eyes again. 

[i]So, they will treat me as a beast despite what they did to me. Well, at least they won’t see me as something like them…because I am not.[/i]

The very idea that he might have to act like them to keep them from killing him, however, sent a chill down his spine. He would have stayed on all fours if he could, if only to remind himself of what he had been. He would have remained with his back hunched and his wings outstretched when taking audiences, if only to tell himself that he had been a great dragon and he might be one again. 

To be forced to walk on two legs, to stand, to move like one of those creatures…

[i]They should not have this power over me…but they will not have it for long,[/i] he decided. [i]When I am free. When I am not weakened by the runes, then I will take back what is mine.[/i]

He promised himself that. He [i]would.[/i]

The door to the cell opened. He kept his eyes closed as someone walked closer, closer, and closer – 

Crack!

Something slapped the stone right beside his earhole. Meero yelped, rolling onto his side, only for the weakness to sap his strength and pin him there. He groaned, shakily lifting his head to look at the culprit. 

Instead of one of the mages, he saw an armored ram, one that would have been a foot and a half shorter than him if he’d been upright but now loomed over him as if that gave the guard some sort of power. His plate mail jangled as he leaned near the edge of the rune circle, looking down at the dragon. 

“Were you asleep?” the ram asked. 

“Mmmph. Yes.”

“Heh. I’m not sure you’re telling the truth, but it doesn’t matter. You aren’t asleep now, and you won’t be for a while.”

“Nnngh…and why – why is that?” 

“You talk funny. Like you’re not used to saying things out loud.”

He wasn’t. His mouth was the wrong shape compared to what it used to be, and his tongue moved differently, and he didn’t like saying things out loud, either. It felt wrong, like there was a soul, an essence lacking to the sounds that came out. Everything felt wrong, and speaking just made him all the more aware of it. 

The ram shook his head, setting the butt of his spear against the ground at his hooves. 

“Well, whatever’s going through your head, beast, you should know. You’re not sleeping tonight.”

“Mmph.”

“If we can’t sleep while watching you, you don’t get to sleep while we’re on watch. So, hope you slept well before your transformation.”

Meero didn’t say anything to that. He just lowered his head to the stones again, taking a deep breath – 

CRACK!

The spear smacked the stone even harder than before, making him jolt awake again. He stiffened and glared at the ram. 

“The next one will come down on your shoulder,” the ram said. “After all, we can’t [i]kill[/i] you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make you miserable.”

“Nnngh…why?” 

“Because you are an abomination. You are a beast, but you look like one of us. It’s…wrong.”

Not for the same reasons, but he agreed. The ram might see him as a monster, but he saw himself as something worse, something less. Something that needed to change. 

But he was unbound, he supposed, and that made the two-legged folk afraid. The City would not let him go until they were sure that he was either controlled or dead, and neither of those would be good for him. He had to find a way out…if he could. 

“My name is Captain Finlay. I will be in charge of the guards that are overseeing your captivity,” the ram said. “In an hour or so, I’ll be sending the newest member of my squad to…measure you. Make sure that we have all the right numbers for the bindings you’ll be given for our safety.”

“Mmmph.”

“His name is Malcolm. If you try anything, we will respond.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Finlay rolled his eyes, turning and walking away. Meero watched him go, following him with one eye until the ram reached a stone door and opened it. It creaked, both opening and closing, and he closed his eyes afterward, shaking his head. 

[i]Finlay. Malcolm. Fergus.[/i]

Those were the names that he had, and they were the names that he would remember. One way or another, he would find a way out of here, and regardless of the humiliations that they perpetuated on him, he [i]would[/i] find a way to get back to the sky. Stones could only hold a dragon for so long, even a dragon as diminished as him. The Binders might have the magic to keep his at bay for now, but all it would take was one mistake, one slip-up. As soon as that happened, he was gone. 

And when he broke free, when he had a chance to gain his strength back…he would come back and take what he was owed. After all that he had been put through, he deserved some revenge…









[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: A new series for Lightsun168, in which a dragon is brought from feral to anthro, and given all the degrades that come with that. Unfortunately, he’s also caught by a group that don’t particularly like the idea of what’s been done to him and see him as an abomination…

Tags: No Sex, Nudity, Dragon, Feral Dragon, Feral to Anthro, Uplift, Degrade, Lion, Ram, Guards, Prison, Depowered, Power Drain, Fantasy, Transformation, Series,