Rusty death

The rumbling and clanging had long since left this gloomy place. The once-vibrant machinery had been rendered inert by the relentless passage of time. There was no one to set it in motion again, and it was unlikely that it could be revived, as it had been idle for too long, rusted and dormant for months or even years. It was impossible to say for certain, and Vilmir had no interest in finding out. He had disabled them himself, and he had no regrets. The House of Iresar, whose laboratories had once produced everything necessary to enslave entire worlds in a hidden and secret place, deserved no better treatment. The blue, white-maned dragon had overcome his fear and returned to the ill-fated place only to retrieve the most important items, lest anyone else find them and repeat the same unfortunate fate. But this time he was well prepared, at least he hadn’t forgotten to refill his scuba tanks, knowing that the lower levels, where he needed to go, were deep underwater. And there were no more enemies waiting to lure him into a deadly trap. The dragon kept a constant watch on the mechanical dial with the water and oxygen pressure gauges in the tanks, so he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. He also kept a watch on his surroundings, the overgrown passageway with its numerous pipes and intricate machines embedded in the walls, which had long been dormant but still exuded a sense of menace. Slowly moving his paws, he moved forward, trying to look around and not forget to look back — just in case? Even though there was no one here to stop him, he was swimming through a dangerous area, and he shouldn’t forget… Through the almost indistinguishable roar of the water from his own strokes, the winged one could only hear the whistling of his own breaths and the gurgling of his own exhales — there was really a dead silence here, and it did not calm at all. A long mane was being built, sometimes falling into the view of the mask with separate white strands, a thin graceful body was gently washed by water, caressing the scaly skin and stroking the plates on his stomach, but Vilmir did not know how treacherous the water was… He was too caught up in her enchanting touch to notice the sharp blades of the ancient devices passing by. How could he remember every detail? And some of the mechanisms had shifted, and now the dragon was dangerously close to them every second, but he didn’t realize it until his hose hit something. The dragon jerked in fright. His head snapped back and then released just as abruptly. The mask’s valve closed to prevent water from entering, and the gurgling became constant. Mooing and roaring with fear, and barely restraining himself from expelling all the air from his lungs, Vilmir grabbed hold of the broken hose. Together with the mask, it suddenly turned into a leash and muzzle, and the other end of the hose began to dance, releasing pure air into equally pure water. The dragon flapped its hind legs, spreading its wings — one flapped freely, the other hit something metal. The dragon continued to spin, trying to grab the dangling hose for some reason, while air continued to blow out from the other end. Vilmir was completely confused, having prepared for any danger, but not for such a foolish mistake! The poor fellow had sunk deep and far into the ruins, knowing that he wouldn’t have time to return to the surface, and there would be no dragons or anyone nearby to save him. The nearness of death began to tickle his lungs with suffocation. Even though he knew it was necessary for his survival, Vilmir couldn’t calm down. There was plenty of oxygen in the tank, but he couldn’t reach it due to the broken hose, which only tempted him and loomed over his mask. The dragon tried to turn around and swim back to the clean air, but the darkness around him made it difficult to navigate and choose a direction, and all the machines around him were identical, confusing Vilmir. The male dragon growled in fear, clenched his front claws, and used his wings to move through the corridor. All the indicators on the pipes had fallen to zero, and the needle on Vilmir’s dial was also approaching zero. However, it was likely that he would suffocate much sooner, succumbing to asphyxiation due to the useless tail of the hose and the trail of bubbles. Occasionally, bubbles would escape from the mask, but they were rare and hot, poisoned by carbon dioxide, just like Vilmir’s blood, as he frantically paddled with his slender hind legs, his tail trembling. The dragon spun around, stirring up the water and causing it to churn, but to no avail. It was pointless to struggle towards the exit, which was so close, when all he wanted was to breathe in some clean, fresh air. To make matters worse, the stifling heat and pressure in his chest were causing a tickling sensation that made his dragon’s penis protrude. The male tip became cramped behind the plates, and he pushed through the tense scales, opening himself up to the cool currents that enveloped him. The more frantically the dragon struggled, the more the rod shook, and the more it gasped for breath, the more it reacted. For a moment, almost unconscious from the suffocating heat, Vilmir almost ran into a sharp beam protruding from the wall, but a scratch brought him back to his senses, into a state of madness and aroused fear. The flippers on his flailing legs slapped against the curved pipe, and his front paws grabbed at the bubbles, which only tickled his palm and slipped through his thin, clawed fingers. He had to escape while he still had the strength! Vilmir was trembling, grinding the remaining air faster with excitement. And the fright increased with every second, because the desire to breathe became stronger, and the strength to swim forward became less and less. Orientation in space was lost, oxygen was lost — bubbles almost didn't escape from the mask, the nostrils tried to suck in plastic and rubber, the teeth crushed the bell. Vilmir did not know whether the light he saw was a mere death-bed hallucination or a real way out to the surface, but without regard for the road, he swam towards it, struggling with all his might, pushing himself forward with all his might, for only in this vision was there any hope of salvation. The flippers, the tank, even the mask seemed to him an unbearable burden, and he flapped his wings with all his might, pushing himself forward as best he could! The body stopped obeying, twitching more by accident, almost bumping into the walls. Vilmir pressed his stomach hard against the wall, the penis was squeezed between the underwater moss-covered metal and the scales. And for a few seconds the dragon only wheezed and struggled, rolling his eyes in a smile and bleeding. The last sparks of consciousness were extinguished in the dying body, a convulsion ran through his body all the way to the tail, pressing against the wall even harder. Gripping the useless bell, the dragon turned over and swam away from the wall. The drowned male could barely see his own hind legs, waving his flippers, he felt so sick that his claws dug into the mask, trying to tear it off, but his paws no longer had enough strength for this simple action…