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Okay, since my dragon story is now up to chapter 11 I should probably begin posting parts of it. So here we go. The story will contain some mature elements, but as usual I'm aiming for a PG-13 baseline.
Icon art from the Mermul reference by Billie/FeatheryFlukes

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Chapter 1 - Mermul

The Hunters were coming. This was Bad. Once, dragonkind had ruled the world, but ever since the invention of the trebuchet the tables had started to turn. And now, with modern machines, dragons like Mermul were at a distinct disadvantage in a straight fight. Over time, dragons and the smaller races had reached a fragile truce, but even now, many centuries later, there were camps on both sides who felt that the Pax Draconica should not apply to them.

It's not fair, he thought. I've tried so hard to keep my snout clean...

A sharp pain stabbed into him, and he knew it would soon be over. The helicopter had fired, and now the venom was coursing through his veins, aided by the exertions of flight. He could feel the strength leaving him already, and gritting his teeth, dived towards the craggy hill to try and make it a soft landing.

He struck the hill with bruising force, legs staggering and dashing the vain hope that he'd be able to run for cover, let alone reach the border. The blue dragon hobbled eastwards, hoping desperately to find somewhere to hide, to wait out the drug, but the sounds of a four wheel drive were getting louder and closer. A creature the size of a single-decker bus wasn't hard to miss and from here they didn't even need the helicopter to guide them in.

By the time they arrived he had collapsed to the ground, legs like jelly and his thoughts becoming harder and harder to keep hold of. Devourer take you all, he thought bitterly.

A human and two furres in combat gear had left the vehicle and were considering their prey. The human carried a large-bore rifle, purpose-built for the job of killing dragons.

"Well, shit," the wolf said. "Look at 'im. Scrawny little thing. Pathetic! And furred as well..." he growled, kicking Mermul on the flank. "I thought we'd at least get some scales."

"We might not even need the truck for this one," the hare said. "Reckon the chopper could handle it...?"

"Truck's got the chainsaws," the wolf said. "Either way, he's no good for a trophy. Let's just splash 'im and go."

"Roger. Give the truck our position," the human said, and cocking his rifle, walking purposefully towards Mermul's head.

The blue dragon closed his eyes as the barrel was pressed hard into his forehead. He gave a big sigh of resignation, and the shot rang out. There was a flash of pain and a wave of heat. His ears rang and it dawned on him then that he shouldn't have heard anything at all if he was dead. It shouldn't hurt so much either... and the pain was coming from the wrong part of his head. Cautiously, he opened one eye and then quickly shut it again as a sheet of flame rolled past him. As the ringing began to fade, he heard the sound of men screaming.

"SURPRISE!" a deep voice boomed, mocking laughter echoing all around. "FLEE, LITTLE MAGGOTS! FLEE, BEFORE I TAKE YOUR SKULLS AS MY TROPHIES!"

There was more yelling. The Jeep started, stalled, and then took off with a graunching of gears. There was a crash as it hit something, and then silence.

Maybe the Devourer did take them, Mermul thought, stupefied by the tranquilliser. One last great wave of dizziness washed over him, and then, with a sensation like he had fallen into deep water, everything tunnelled to black.

* * *

Mermul twitched and opened his eyes with a big gasp, as he suddenly realised he'd been asleep. But the surroundings were unfamiliar. It was some kind of artificial cave - a lair. There was still a dull throb from the top of his head.

"Hello there!" the voice sang cheerily. It was a lot like the terrifying voice from before, but higher pitched. Gentler. "Are you feeling better now?"

"You're not a Hunter," Mermul slurred. "You're one of us. Was that you...? With the fire...?"

Dimly he could make out two red eyes, reflecting from a light source placed behind him. An electric light. The figure was lurking in the shadows, but clearly draconic in shape.

"Yeah. You're lucky I saw their helicopter," the other dragon said. "A few moments later and they'd have got you! Bastards... Think they're above the law."

"Disputed territory", Mermul sighed.

"True, but we're close to Taria, they don't usually come this far. Tempting fate, that is."

"They could have killed you," Mermul said, his voice gaining strength. "Why put your life on the line for a stranger?"

"I'm special," the dragon said simply. "Hunters can't kill me, and believe me, they've tried it."

"Pardon me if I find that a little hard to believe," Mermul said bitterly. "You're a dragon, they're dragon-slayers. They know exactly how to kill us... as quickly or as slowly as they want. They've made a study of it."

"Yeah, yeah," the dragon shrugged their wings, stepping into the light. They were a lot smaller than Mermul had imagined, far smaller than him, and gloss black scales reflected in the yellow glow of the lantern, face angular and cruel, causing Mermul to recoil slightly. "Nobody believes it, not at first, anyway. I'm used to that."

"Now," the small dragon said, perching on a packing crate and clasping their forepaws. "Let's take a look at you. The drugs should be wearing off by now. There's a nasty nick on your head, but I can heal that up. Even the fur won't show a scar."

"Thank you," Mermul said. "I don't want to sound ungrateful for the rescue, it's just... I guess... rescues from the Hunters are such a rare thing. So many are afraid that they'll end up on a meat truck too... And like they say, our lot are known more for domination than self-sacrifice."

"Understandable," the small dragon said. "But don't worry about me. You were heading to Tarnover, right...? I feel like I should offer you an escort just in case those psychos try again."

"I owe you enough already," Mermul said. "I cannot repay you for a life. But at the same time..." he looked around and shuddered, the weight of it all crashing down on him... the feeling of the gun's muzzle pressing into his skull, ready to rupture his head and leave him as the Hunters had wanted... dead meat to be skinned and boned. He gave a sob as he realised just how close he'd come to dying.

"...I'm scared," he admitted, almost in tears. "I don't want to die! I don't want the Hunters to kill me... If you think you can hold them off, Er..."

"Fiskul," the small dragon said, grinning toothily. "Pleased to meet you. Mermul, isn't it...?"

"F-Fuh-Fiskul...?" Mermul said, eyes bugging. "The... Dark Destroyer...? The Evil One? The Devourer-Of-All-Things...?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Fiskul said, turning away with an air of embarrassment. "You expected someone bigger, right...? I get that a lot."

An expression of dismay crossed the small dragon's features as they glanced back to see that the other dragon had curled up, hiding his head behind his wings and was now sobbing profusely.

"Hey, hey, hey... don't cry," Fiskul said, padding over with a concerned expression. "There's no need for that!"

"Isn't there?" the dragon sobbed. "I nearly died... And now... I thought I only had to worry about death... Now... Now it's the end of the world and I get to see everything die, body and soul... Everyone... Everything... Forever!"

"Oh, thaaat," the small dragon said, touching his forehead briefly. "Cheer up! You're acting like I'm about to destroy the world while you watch!"

"B-But it's your destiny! To destroy All Things! Your very p-presence heralds the end of everything!" Mermul snivelled. "We're doomed!"

"Well then, if there's nothing you can do about it, why worry?"

"Why worry?! I had ambitions! I had a life to live! If everything's finished, you should just have let me die!"

"That, too, would have ruined your ambitions," Fiskul pointed out reasonably. "Look. I'll let you in on a little secret. The end of the world was foretold, just like you said. As the one responsible for ending it, I have to know the exact date of the End Times, right?
"Well, in our calendar - starting from the Pax Draconica - the Day of Reckoning works out to the year 750. A bit after tea, local time. We don't want everyone to die on an empty stomach, right...?"

The larger dragon folded a wing back and poked his head out from behind it, eyes still wet with tears. "Wait... Wait... What did you say...?"

"I was saying, 'We don't want people to die on an empty stomach, do we?'" Fiskul prompted. "Even a prisoner facing execution gets a last meal..."

"Not that!" Mermul wailed desperately. "The year! The year when everything ends! When did you say it was...?"

"Oh! Seven hundred and fifty. Seven-Five-Oh. That is the Last Year. The Date of Destiny. The End of the World, at seven-fifty PM sharp."

"But Fiskul... It's 1982."

"Exactly!" Fiskul beamed toothily. "Devouring the world is a big responsibility, you know. A responsibility that should probably have been given to someone else. If they were serious about it, at least."

Mermul stared at the diminutive creature. "Are you telling me the world was preordained to end over a thousand years ago and it didn't?"

"I didn't want it to," Fiskul said, defensively. "I like the world! All my friends live there. I mean... Well... I did try devouring a mountain, actually. But it tasted terrible. Yech! It rather put me off the whole idea."

"I don't believe this," Mermul said, shaking his head.

"Your beliefs aren't my business," the Destroyer said. "But nowhere in the ancient prophecies does it specify how long the end of the world is supposed to take. I cannot die, so I've got a lot of time on my hands. Once the sun becomes a red giant and the oceans boil away, maybe I'll eat the world then. It's not going to be much use to anyone else, right...?"

"I guess not," Mermul said. He had stopped crying and was staring intently at the World-Eater. "Though... I'm starting to think you're just crazy. No offence, I mean. But delusions of grandeur seem a more rational explanation, right...? Or maybe I'm crazy. Maybe the Hunters really did blow my head off and I'm in some kind of purgatory..."

"I can't prove that you're alive," Fiskul shrugged their wings again. "I could prove I'm immortal, but it's messy. And painful. You'd have to kill me."

"I... I'd rather not," Mermul said.

"Good. Figured you weren't the type, or you'd probably have killed those Hunters yourself."

"You didn't kill them, did you...?" Mermul asked nervously. "I remember something about taking their skulls..."

"Nah. I'm not the type either," Fiskul grinned. "But they don't have to know that."

"But you're the Destroyer," Mermul said. "The personification of Evil! You job is specifically to kill everyone. Not that I'd dream of encouraging you, mind," he added hastily.

"It's not like I asked for that job," Fiskul pointed out. "How do you think I feel? I mean it's got its perks. Nobody messes with the Dark One. But... Well, when the prophecies mark you as the Chosen One, you usually think it's going to be something nice, right? 'You are the one foretold who will fell the evil tyrant!'. I got lumped with the task of killing everyone and everything. But all it's done is make me realise how precious life really is.

"Oh well," they added brightly. "Things are what they are. Do you feel any better now...?"