Krantuso opened his eyes and saw the sky. Why wasn’t he dead yet? It should have happened by now.
He slowly turned his head to the left. The field was littered with bodies, some writhing, moaning, others still. In the distance the battle raged on, the men attacking the giant beasts with spears. Krantuso knew it wouldn’t work, that those men would join him in death on the field.
Turning his head back toward the right, he saw the battle in the sky. The same giant beasts of course, with their flame-red leathery wings propelling their massive bodies, fought with their two snake heads biting at the only real defense the kingdom had, the Cropar, a strange mix of falcons and bears, a product of bizarre sciences Krantuso could never understand.
The kingdom’s Cropar were winning the aerial battle, he could see from the ground, and it brought a smile to his face. Then he started to laugh but gurgled and choked. He lifted his hand to his mouth on instinct, only… his hand wasn’t there. Just a stump remained from where a beast had bitten it off.
Krantuso turned his head fully to the right and spat blood. There next to him lay the beast that had bested him. Its cold dead eyes stared vacantly at him. He saw no movement in the beast, no sign of life.
He was wrong. Krantuso had bested it. He had won after all.
As he finally felt life leaving him, he thanked God that this glorious proof of victory would be the last thing Krantuso ever saw.
(The word prompt today was “Sky.”)