Bastiel’s head dropped on his chest, eyes closed. The alien power that came to him through his mother’s lineage burst out of him, whips of darkness and shadow. They slammed against the fairy, tearing a piercing scream out of him. Dramer barred his teeth, while I turned away. Being the captain of the Dragon Corps should condition me for this. Though I was elevated to this rank after the war, the Wastelands proved to be far from safe. We couldn’t escape from the atrocities of our world.
Darkness pumped into the fairy slowed down and with it, the man’s body went limp. The liquid armor tore off of the naked body and like an abstract stain on a painting, it crossed the concrete floor, putting as much distance between it and Bastiel as it could.
“What the hell is that thing?”
“A living armor. A thing they learned from broken Titans. It was a partial reason why angels had sought to imprison them all. Titans’ magic is formidable.”
“And yet they lost.”
“Angels have something … something, not even Titans can stand against.”
“What is that?”
“I told you already. The Heavenly Fire. Absolute annihilation.”
We fell silent then. Herding our thoughts away from the brutal truths that lay ahead.
Eventually, I had to ask, “did you kill him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Bastiel’s eyes were black, pitch-black, and the aura about him seemed wrong, his dragon’s core completely veiled by the shadow.
“Bastiel!” Dramer roared, standing above the body of the fairy. The word commanded our brother to shake off the strange state.
“It’s taken me some time to remember. A mind can hold only so much. The Seven Hands were created by angels, and as part of their design, they are loyal and unable to betray their masters, whoever they be. I have vague memories of encountering them on several planets where they fought for many different factions. I cannot say what compelled them to obey. These might not be the same people, only the armors are the same.”
“Are they mercenaries?”
“I cannot be sure.”
Dramer spun, deflecting the arrow that was aimed at his heart. His dragon’s rage exploded. Bastiel’s shadows carpeted the floor and rising, engulfed our trio. The last thing I did was sending a message to our father. A plea for help. Fighting the two of the Seven Hands had been difficult, I didn’t imagine what it would take to beat the rest of them.
Dramer’s rage was an instant thing. Mine needed a little more time to brew. I heard hisses of arrows and steps all around us. The shadows filled the view, though for us, they remained half-transparent. If their goal was to take me alive, then not knowing where I was, seemed a smart move. But it jeopardized Flare’s life.
The attackers came to the same conclusion as the trajectories of the arrows changed. They hit the ground now. They aimed to maim us. We danced, trying to avoid the arrows flying from four directions. It was manageable, and we hoped that their arsenal must have limits. And then, the fifth assassin dropped amongst us. Its armor hissed as it touched Bastiel’s darkness. It didn’t leave our brother exactly unharmed, but he held his ground.
“Don’t let your flesh touch their armor!” Bastiel shouted before his struggle snatched him away from us. I couldn’t be sure if Dramer even heard him as my younger brother shot out of the cloud toward two shooters. In an instant, their armors morphed transforming their arms into black blades. Dramer sent two beams of pure fire in their direction. As fast as his magic was, they were faster. I whiffed a stirred air before a hand descended onto me. Not entirely enraged, I kept my wits about me and dodged, firing some weak spells at the attacker. He or she shrugged it off. Thoughts unreadable in the faceless liquid helm, the assassin attacked again. This time with a blunt mace in his hand. It swung it at me with precision and determination that commanded my respect. That first two assassins only failed because they hadn’t taken us seriously. It was not going to happen again. The second Hand joined from behind. A falling roof saved ass then. Explosions came from Dramer’s direction. I squinted at him, which almost cost me a direct hit. The assassin bent metal beam that temporarily trapped him. It could be me.
Hisses and screams came from somewhere. That had to be Bastiel’s opponent. As the trapped bastard attempted to free himself, I smashed him with a dragon’s fire strong enough to knock out Lotian. Whatever dust and agony, their armor was made of, it withstood my attack.
Dramer’s cried out. Tired of avoiding the mace, I discharged energy, momentarily blinding the fucker and ran toward my brother. The section where Dramer fought was a complete ruin, melted and charred. But Dramer’s power was rapidly diminishing. I noticed a hand on his forearm and black veins that spread out of it. A thin but concentrated liquid energy, which I’ve practiced recently, flew out of my five fingers, converged into a swirling with bolts of lightning ball and hit directly the arm of the enemy. It succeeded in piercing the strange armor. Freed, Dramer staggered back, clutching at his hand. He swore. I knew that look in his eyes. I saw it only once, after Mirenne’s mental power had swept his rage out of him. He shook with fear of losing it forever.
I crossed the distance, knowing that I had to exploit the advantage that my attack created. The fairy took a step back, avoiding fireballs, and way more intricate spells that followed them.
“Breath of Dragons!” I shouted, pushing a cloud of heat out of my lungs. A sound of scorching meat filled my ears, but the fucking fairy stood its ground. I would go ahead and repeat my attack as I somewhat believed it could work, but Dramer’s condition worsened. Good thing, Flare didn’t bond him. He was too reckless.
Two maces descended on me. I dodge both and realized how much luck was involved in it. A single error would mean my defeat.
Meanwhile, farther in the middle, one of the Seven Hands fell out of the shadow created by Bastiel. The other Seven Hands realized immediately what had happened and their formation changed on the fly. I could only admire their speed.
But the same thing that had captured their attention, also have captured mine and I failed to notice the first hit that landed on my thigh.
It went numb right away and I dropped, having miscalculated the center of my mass. I didn’t see how Bastiel could win against four of them. It was not possible.
Hands gripped me and for a brief moment, I thought of Dramer’s arm and black veins that had spread there. None of this happened in my case. The attackers must have control over their peculiar armors. At the back of my mind, I wondered what if our soldiers had access to such artifacts. Maybe we could reclaim most of the northern continent.
I was lifted and quickly carried away from the fight. They were taking me to Flare. This was good. I wished to see her, even if it meant my end. This was going to be a good death.
It was not to be.
A roar cracked the sky like a thousand lightning bolts. The attackers whirled, suddenly tensed. They threw me against the solitary metal wall that has remained.
The two of the Seven Hands who were fighting Bastiel tried to disengage. I didn’t blame them. They were about to face the wrath of a pure dragon. As if conscious of my thoughts, the feeling of dread was not lost on them, but then they were prepared even for that. Out of nowhere, four white swords appeared in their hands. Coils of power that sprung out of the weapons made me feel nauseated. These blades weren’t a joke. The pearl white swords looked ceramic to my trained eye. Four ceramic swords? I guessed that the fifth of them has had one too. The fact that they could keep these powerful artifacts hidden from my demi-dragon’s senses filled me with horror. Was it how they got the Shard of Delirium and Taste of Hate into the Academy? I didn’t want to believe that they could have been involved in these attacks.
Atrax descended onto the destroyed warehouse in the form of a red dragon. The four assassins immediately advanced, wielding their fancy weapons. Bastiel’s whips of
darkness shot toward them, but the swords cut them off. I’d never seen Bastiel so shocked. It shocked me too that he was shocked. Atrax’s fiery breath appeared without a warning, enveloping the four figures. I heard a terrible hiss, but they emerged unscathed. These fucking weapons took the impact of the breath and somehow annulled it.
Father didn’t wait for them to reach him, he transformed back into the human form. It was a weaker form of the two, but to fight in the middle of the city, the preferred one. One rageful attack too much and half of the city would be wiped out.
As a human, he was the largest of the men I’ve known. Maybe some of the other pure dragons were larger, perhaps not. I’ve never seen many Pures. By the time they allowed me into the battlefield, the war had been ending.
A bolt of the color of the sun darted out of Atrax’s open hand. It marred the concrete inches from the advancing Seven Hands. They raised their swords, ready to deflect the next attack, slowing their movements. Father needed that moment of breath to conjure his sword, which I didn’t know he could. Whatever kind of magic it was. I didn’t know it.
A long black sword with red streaks that shimmered darkly on the blade that hissed as Atrax brought it down on one of the attackers. This was to show them what they were dealing with. Maybe their ceramic swords were superior. Maybe not. It was the sheer strength that made the difference. The blow so powerful it shoved the ceramic blade into the attacker’s brain. They knew they had underestimated him and it cost them a member of their little group.
The rest immediately scattered about as if pushed by the buffeting of deathly winds. In their faceless liquid armors, outward emotions were hidden. The only cue that spoke of the panic in their midst was the pattern of their movements. They lost their edge, losing the sharpness of their careful motions. Atrax’s deadly blow absorbed their attention, shook their confidence. Perhaps, for the first time they had encountered such a powerful Pure for no two Pures were equal. There were those amongst the pure dragon who would be not much stronger than us, demi-dragons. It was hard to believe, but then Atrax didn’t belong to the weakest caste. Though he wasn’t related to the King of the Dragons, he stood amongst the strongest of them.
Bastiel came from the side. He wasn’t particularly quiet about it, though Atrax held the attention of the assassins hard by the throat. One of them pivoted a second too late. A mix of a black mist-like substance and bright fire smashed it into the face. The liquid armor swirled, leaving only a thin membrane at the man’s legs and midsection and thickened at his head to provide as much defense as it could. That was my moment. I could have a numb thigh, but they hadn’t spellbound me or knocked me out, which was a huge oversight on their part.
My first spell grazed the man’s calf and bounced off. That same spell could knock out cold any none-demi being. These were Pures, I had to keep that in mind. I invoked fire, controlled by years of practice. Once more I concentrated on one small point. It shot like an arrow, only to be deflected by a ceramic sword of the other assassin who noticed my intention. The next moment, my father’s fist hit him square in the face. Violently, the liquid armor tried to snatch onto Atrax’s forearm, but his blade burned it, spurring its retreat. Neither Bastiel nor our father stopped there. They sensed the victory, which only multiplied the rage in their blood, filling their veins with potent power.
Two minutes later the last of the Seven Hands, of which one had been killed before the five had arrived, dropped on the concrete.
Their armors fled. Bizarre as it was, Atrax let them go. What if they decided to have their revenge? I kept such thoughts to myself though.
“I thought I trained you better than that, boy,” Atrax spoke to me, though his eyes were on the naked bodies, laying scattered. “The Seven Hands. One is missing.”
Bastiel shook his head. Dramer dragged himself up, swearing at his weakened state. Bastiel crossed the hall, put a hand on Dramer’s forehead, then a quiet conversation broke between them.
“I feared you won’t come,” I admitted, partially shamed by my own admission. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t a captain of the City Guards and the Dragon Corps anymore. Rigid rules constrained me no more. Though the impression imprinted by them in the years of my service have taken thick roots.
“I considered not to,” Atrax answered and he finally looked at me. I’d never been defiant like Dramer or even Saaron. Maybe that was the reason why I’d made a good soldier? My eyes dropped. “But the things in the Academy look grave. Issa Verax dead. That isn’t something easy to hide or sweep aside like a dead student.”
“What about Flare and Lotian?”
“What about them?” His deep rough voice not fully accustomed to the human throat and speech scratched my hearing.
“We have to find them!” I said a little too heatedly. Something in me broke off, like an iceberg struck by a bolt. “This”–-I waved at the bodies–-“is a declaration of war.”
Bastiel and Dramer were coming.
“A declaration of war? From whom?”
I opened my mouth, then shut it, then opened it again, but no words came forth. Have I ever felt such defeated? Utterly crushed by the fact that we played the game between the feet of the colossi that didn’t care about us because we weren’t a threat. Our father was one of those colossi. And they all desired Flare, that flame-haired delicate but fiery girl. How can we protect her? If not for our father’s arrival, the Seven Hands would wipe us.
I smashed the concrete, a spider web of cracks spread in all directions. I must be standing at the pinnacle of power level on Earth and yet, there were others who could crush me beneath their feet like an ant.
Dramer must have heard our father’s question as he said, “it’s Mirenne and Saaron both. They work together.”
As much as I wanted him to be wrong, I agreed with that statement. Saaron couldn’t do it on his own. The Seven Hands didn’t take part in the war against the Titans. They were mercenaries created by angels. That ephemeral race, which none of us had the slightest idea of how it looked like. Judging by their strength, the Seven Hands must have been expensive to hire. Saaron didn’t possess such funds. It was only logical to assume Mirenne’s involvement.
“It has to be her,” I admitted. “They are mercenaries. I assume—”
“Don’t assume anything,” Atrax cut me off. His red eyes gleamed with violence and blood. “Boy, you know nothing. Hasty as you are to start a war, without understanding the consequence.”
“We can see the consequences!” Dramer cut in. “All over us.”
Atrax squinted at him, thinking.
“There are laws, aren’t there? That deal with such incidents. Shouldn’t Mirenne be arrested for the open act of war?”
We all heard the tightening jaw muscles of our father.
“This is why I’ve never given you real power. You’re too young. Too naïve. If that was Mirenne and yes, you’re correct, the treaty that dragons, unicorns and angels had signed, it has obliged our races to send five emissaries to convey the investigation under strict guidance and take their culprit back to its homeworld.”
“You fear they would cheat?” Dramer asked. I wisely kept my mouth sealed.
“Cheat? Oh no, they wouldn’t even bother with cheating. But that is the only way to bring more Pures onto Earth without breaking the treaty. And their investigation … it can last. Years.”
Finally, I understood. If we find Mirenne guilty. We will have six pure unicorns to deal with. But then, I had a feeling I wasn’t even close to the truth.
Chapter 19
Not more than two hours have passed since Saaron had sent the assassins after Nix, Dramer and Bastiel. The confined space of the golden cube was driving my mind crazy. Lotian endured it only slightly better.
He tore his gray cloth and wrapped it around his loins. I watched his naked buttocks, swallowing hard. The ache between my legs intensifie
d. I’ve craved my demi-dragon. I wished that Saaron has put us together. I’d fuck Lotian and made Saaron watch. I knew it would be over the top, but the storm of contradicting emotions spiraled out of control.
While Lotian made a series of exercises, I watched him closely, not a single tautening muscle lost on me. I drank the sight, fearing that soon he was going to be torn out of me. The bond severed. Love crushed.
Saaron appeared unaware of us. Whatever infected his mind rendered his expression in a new way.
“Are you going to keep doing this?” I asked Lotian, baiting Saaron into the conversation. I hoped to glean something, anything, that would give us an edge. I couldn’t wait for them to butcher Lotian. We had to act and so far Lotian didn’t seem to keen on action.
“What else can we do?”
“I don’t know, escape?” I said the last word aloud, fishing for Saaron’s attention. If he took a bait, he showed nothing and my nostrils flared in frustration.
“These cages. I learned about them in my last year. They had been used to”–-Lotian took a few quick breaths–-“keep imprisoned Titans.” Slowly, like swimming through mud, I recollected the words of one of our kidnappers. Titans weren’t killed. They were used as fuel. Sol lived. Perhaps, there was still hope. She would know what to do. I had to find her, well, first I needed to get us out of here.
“Hey, moss head. Your servants aren’t coming back. You won’t get—” Something in Saaron uncoiled and sent him sprawling toward my cube.
“How do you know that…?” It dawned on him then. A mistake he just made. Whatever clouded his mind wasn’t very good with teasing.
His crimson coat hung around him without much care, a remnant of long lost dignity. He made the last two steps, hissing like a snake. As he placed his hand on the golden, half-translucent wall of my cage, I found his red eyes completely gone, replaced by the chromatic ones lit by thousands of colors. Even at the height of Saaron’s wrath, I could find compassion, heat, ardor. Something I could relate to. These eyes held nothing but alien awareness.
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