by Paul Cude
'Whole again?' What did that even mean? And why was the weapon (sorry Fu-ts'ang, she should know better than to refer to him as an object) why was Fu-ts'ang jabbering on and on about it, all the time referring to Flash? It didn't make any sense. Just as she thought all this, her mind became still. At first she thought she'd offended the weapon, but she could feel its reaction when that thought occurred to her. That wasn't it. Without any sound or any one specific thought, using only its feelings, Janice got the sense that it was time to prepare, to be ready for what was about to happen. The frightened bar worker had long since been replaced by a being that could get the job done. Powered not by a sense of right or wrong, or fear of failure, her entire being was consumed by love. First and foremost her love for Peter, the being she wanted to share the rest of her life with (be careful what you wish for. This might well be your last sixty seconds) and love for those around her whose friendships she'd made, valued and trusted. For her, giving herself over to the weapon, to do what she had to in an attempt to save each and every one of them, was a clear no brainer. As long as they lived, she believed. Believed that the life she so desperately wanted was possible. And so she would fight, and although only human, she would fight with all the purpose, desire, strength and violence of a... DRAGON!
For him, it was unusual to feel puzzled. For as long as he could remember, he'd always been in control of his destiny, even more so now with the death of his father only minutes ago. Of course he recognised the naga king. Who wouldn't remember one so striking, particularly if you'd kept them prisoner for that many years and enslaved most of their race to do your bidding? Now though, he remembered the human shaped dragon, the unusual one, the one they'd tortured for decades trying to get the truth out of him. The one that he'd at least got to speak on his last visit to Antarctica. What he couldn't understand though, was how they'd been freed, and just what kind of magic had transported them here? Glaring across at the naga king, he assumed it was related somehow to him. While he'd mastered quite a lot of everything magical, he supposed that while the captive nagas had been acquainting him with their magical ways, it should come as no surprise that they'd left things out. Rather deliberately he now assumed. Oh well, it didn't matter. They were here now, and would have little or no influence in what played out. After all, there were only a handful of them. What good did they think they could do? That many wouldn't even scratch the surface of his force.
'Might as well have a little fun with them before they go,' he thought.
"A nice parlour trick, but your arrival will make no difference. The planet is already mine!"
Stony silence encompassed everything as the tang of readied magic hung in the air.
With Fredric too consumed to step forward, Flash thought about responding. But before he could do so, the naga king stopped weaving his head from side to side and did it for him.
"Thesssse beeeeings are of noooo ussse toooo yooou. Yoooou WIIIIILL freeee theeeem aaat onnnnnce!" he demanded, referring to the nagas surrounding them on all sides, mixed in with all the dark dragons.
Rolling back his head and rubbing his belly for impact, the wickedly dark Manson roared with laughter, the sound bouncing around the arena sized room they found themselves in.
"Do you really think you have any say in what goes on here? You might have bought yourselves a few more minutes of life by escaping captivity in Antarctica, but I assure you this is the last place you'll ever set eyes on. You will most certainly die here, and it will be an unpleasant death. What's more, you'll die knowing that your race played a crucial role in securing all this for me. How funny is that? The nagas, helping a new breed of dragon overthrow the old guard and instate a new world order. As their king you must be so proud."
Patience was a naga trait, with his having been tested like never before over the course of his captivity in Antarctica. For the most part he'd embraced it, like you would a lover, learning not to fight it, but letting it help you. But here and now his patience had finally run out on seeing the vast scale of deception the being in front of him had committed. Knowing that almost certainly he'd be dead by now if not for the group of brave dragons behind him, he wondered how many of his kind had been affected, how many were left and if this would be his legacy. Grasping all the magic within him and opening up with his telepathic powers, he let out the biggest, most almighty telekinetic scream that he could, hoping to shock those within range out of the dazed stupor they appeared to be in.
Moments passed. NOTHING! Tilting his head just slightly, he glanced back over at the despicable dragon Manson.
"Oh I'm sorry," scoffed the dark and dastardly dragon. "Are you trying to bring them back to your side? I'm afraid that just won't be possible, either currently, or ever at all... marks out of ten for trying though."
Consolidating his magic whilst trying to tame his rage, the naga king's gills pumped furiously on either side of his neck. It was impossible to disguise his feelings.
"You see, the magic they're gripped by is like nothing you've ever seen. Like nothing ever seen on this planet, if I'm quite honest. And your puny little attempt to shock them out of it, so that they can once again bow down and answer to you, is nothing short of pathetic and was doomed to fail right from the very start. I'm afraid they're under my command now, and there's nothing you, or anyone else, can do about it."
Reaching out to the three nagas nearest to him, Vasuki used every ounce of power he possessed in an effort to get through to them. No matter how hard he tried, he got no response. Nothing! Not an eye flicker, a wink, even some semblance of recognition. All three seemed dazed, confused and almost zombie like. For the naga king, it felt as though he'd just had his ass kicked in a fight. Disappointment had almost overwhelmed him during his incarceration, knowing that because of his mistakes his race were without him and were being blackmailed with the threat of his death into doing Manson's bidding. Once again failure blossomed within him, causing his normally well held in check emotions to effectively run wild. With no way to get through to his brethren, how on earth was he supposed to get them to stop, and help his new found allies? Perhaps there was another way, but here and now, he had no idea what it was.
If not for the magical attack decades ago, her face would have been utterly beautiful. Instead of near perfection, it resembled a bodged experiment gone badly wrong, or a child's doll that had been damaged over time by its sadistic owner. Brilliant, purple lines crisscrossed this way and that over the pocked skin, something even the most powerful of magic couldn't undo. Of course she'd tried... long ago, after she'd come to terms with the death of her husband. She hadn't got over it, or forgotten him, quite the opposite in fact. Strange as it may seem, almost everything she did, including, she hoped, becoming Manson's queen, was all for him. Not exactly for him, but to exact revenge for what was done to him by those treacherous, self righteous, stuck up dragons, who all seemed to know what was best for the world and just how to rule it, not from their ivory tower, but from the equivalent deep down within the dragon domain.
Listening to her would-be ruler burst the naga king's bubble, pride shone out across her face, not that it was possible to see given all the damage it had suffered. The only thing that shone out as far as everyone else was concerned was... MADNESS! Clear and evident as ever in both eyes, their pupils resembled black holes; instead of sucking in matter they devoured hope, radiated fear and tore apart anyone they focused on. But like all that suffer from it, she found herself immune from the crazy, mainly due to prolonged exposure. For her, reality was more than a little twisted, even with her schemes, plots and plans of revenge.
And so stuck in her little bubble of insanity, instantly she imagined what she could do to the insignificant little whelp cowering right in front of her, and with little forethought let the magic course up into her hands, holding it their ready to dispatch into the dragon king's little pet. Brilliant sparks of bright red energy leapt across her palm, hissing and smouldering as they did so.
'When
it all kicks off,' she thought, 'he'll be the first one to be put down.'
Words had been exhausted on every side. To a creature, they were all balanced on a knife edge, ready to act, ready to die for their leader, and in the nagas' case, compelled by magic to do exactly that.
The king's private residence had seen more than its fair share of history, but this was something else entirely. It would be hard to imagine a standoff that exuded more tension. And so with nearly every being picking their first target and imagining their initial moves, typically it was Manson who got things underway.
Eyes closed, the would-be king of this newly shaped world had already conjured half a dozen black-as-night balls of energy into the palm of his right hand, which he held hidden behind his back. Determined to make the most of the element of surprise, in a blur he brought around his arm and launched the wicked looking balls in the direction of Flash, Fredric and the other new arrivals, powdery black tails trailing in their wake. Pleased with their trajectory and the chaos they would unleash, swiftly he turned his attention back to the dragon king, determined not to make the same mistake as his father, vowing to finish him off there and then. But first he needed access to the damn ring. So far, he'd felt nothing. No connection, no magic, not even a hint of the supernatural power it was supposed to contain. Momentarily he wondered if he was doing something wrong, but he wasn't one for doubts and quickly pushed this aside. Perhaps there was a problem with the ring; after all, the dragon king had seemed genuine when he'd told him about the issues he'd been having. Gathering up his resolve, he tried to submerge the exquisite band on his finger with all his will, madly hoping to take over its consciousness and benefit from all its power.
Cursing deep within his mind, having hoped like hell that this whole thing could have been resolved peacefully, Tank shook off the ringing still resounding inside his head, and using all of his rugby player strength, stamina and grace, barrel rolled off to one side, whilst doing so, reaching down to the tiny pocket lining his right boot, in one silky smooth motion, and slipping the king's real ring onto his index finger. After the third tumble, he leapt up into the air, focused on his surroundings, wary of any possible threat. But on making contact with his skin, he'd forced whatever possessed the ring to awaken, and wake it did, using all its power to flood his mental defences. Instead of bolting immediately upright from his roll, his legs wobbled with weakness, causing him to overshoot and slide straight into a marble pillar off to one side. It was then that a voice projected into his psyche, numbing his limbs, inundating his mind, swamping his very being. As magic flared into existence all around him, darkness took hold.
From the moment that Manson started to address the naga king, Peter knew that this was it and there was no turning back now. And that crucially, there were only mere moments left until it all kicked off. Knowing that time was of the essence, keeping his body as still as possible so as not to alert Manson's crazy queen to exactly what he was doing, he very slowly tilted his head as far forward as it would go and, stretching out his tongue as far as he could, began trying to hook it underneath the necklace to which the alea was attached. Now more than ever, he needed as much luck as fate would offer up. With the seconds ticking away, and Manson's dulcet tones drifting around the room, he used all his concentration to complete the bizarre task that he'd set himself. At the back of his mind, tiny doubts nagged at him... mainly about surviving the battle, a few focusing on the unpredictable nature of the magic bound within the ancient alea.
Eyes gently closed, knees pulled in tight against her chest, the young bar worker had finally achieved a state of peace and cooperation with the weapon she now regarded as her friend. Their relationship (imagine having a relationship with a weapon) based upon mutual trust and understanding, developed over the course of a matter of hours, honed into what it was in just a matter of minutes. Now that it was done, a sense of utter tranquillity encapsulated the young woman, fine tuning her senses, allowing her to reach out with her mind and get a much better understanding of the bigger picture that they all found themselves in. Flitting across her lips briefly, a smile tempered her nearly perfect face. Peter! He had his head down as far forward as it would go, making it look like an act of submission to the psychopathic queen hovering over him from behind. It was clearly an act, because he was actually using his tongue to fiddle with the necklace that was always clasped around his neck. Janice's thoughts turned to how she could keep him safe when the time came. Through their all encompassing bond, Fu-ts'ang assured her that he would do everything in his power to protect the human shaped hockey player from harm, but reaffirmed that it wouldn't happen straight away. Prioritising was the key, and there were other targets that had to be taken care of first. With a better understanding than most of the true scale of what they were facing, Janice knew the deliverance of death and destruction was right. But would he last long enough for them to provide assistance?
Turning back to assigning targets in her mind, coordinating fully with Fu-ts'ang, she shuddered slightly at the thought of her love, defenceless and alone, against the magically charged witch that stood behind him. Something deep down inside her screamed that he'd be that woman's first objective. If that was the case, she couldn't see how on earth he'd survive. As this concept flowed through their link, Fu-ts'ang deliberately hid his thoughts on the subject, knowing that the young woman was almost certainly right. With all his experience and acumen though, he couldn't foresee another way to get the job done.
Breath held, magic poised, Richie soaked up as much power as she dared from the laminium dagger, stoking anger and rage, ready as she'd ever been to do battle. From two hundred or so metres away, she could make out friends and hear every conceited word Manson spat at what she assumed was the naga king. It made her blood boil, almost literally, with the ancient dragon DNA within shrieking at her to react. Feeling as though her skin was about to explode, that's how hard it was to keep a lid on her emotions, she knew, from taking in everything that had happened, that it was almost time to react. And react she would, to the best of her ability.
Although she couldn't see what he had planned, she could feel him shifting the magic within, preparing for whatever surprise he'd concocted. Pride at what he could, and no doubt would, accomplish made her chest swell. She would be his queen, and a more worthy king it was hard for her to imagine. Although their fates now seemed intertwined, unable to ever be separated, there was a part of her that would always belong to her deceased husband, no matter where she was or what she was doing. The very thought of him massaged the madness within her, like a fire being fuelled by oxygen. For her, that's how the descent into lunacy had started. Okay, she'd been a little unhinged before that, almost certainly stemming from the issues she'd had with her father. But that death, and the way that it had come about, had shattered her soul, driven any last shred of decency from her, forging her future, all paths leading to REVENGE and the here and now. When this planet and its inhabitants knew her pain, when they'd watched everything they so loved being forcibly taken away from them, and when they bowed to their king, her other half (she had difficulty in thinking of HIM as her husband), only then would her lust for revenge be sated. Only then could she rest. Knowing that these moments were only days away at most, the extraordinary power within her bubbled to the surface, easily accessible, ready to strike down the king's little pet in front of her. After that she'd seek the thrill and arousal that came with the lure of a full on killing spree. Joy only ever found her now at times like this.
Instinctively holding back his gag reflex, Peter sucked the alea into his mouth as the chain it was on nicked the back of his neck. Between the pain from that and the binders that he couldn't ever remember being without, tears leapt from both eyes, totally missing his cheeks, falling straight to the beautiful marble floor, splashing uncontrollably onto intricately carved letters of the ancient text. Breathing through his nose, head still as far down as it would go, he gripped the alea in between his teeth and prepared to b
ite down, all the time fighting off the fear that threatened to take him. At the front of his mind, the words that he needed stood out like a shining beacon in the middle of the night: "Amplificare Magicus Nunc." Knowing exactly what they meant, he hoped to hell they would... amplify magic now. Remembering Gee Tee's descriptions of how the alea's magic could go wrong, he wondered whether he would be saved or whether he would die horribly, possibly even taking his friends with him. In only a few moments he would find out, one way or the other.
Dragons behind him dived for cover as half a dozen sinister magic missiles scythed through the air towards him. Preparing to cartwheel out of the way, it was at that point that the ex-Crimson Guard noticed Fredric paralysed with grief, directly in the path of at least two of the projectiles. In the blink of an eye, the brilliant dragon switched tactics, commanding a wide ranging, pink tinged energy shield to spring into life, powered by the laminium chains crisscrossing his body, easily able to absorb the unusual supernatural attack that had been meant for them. Glancing over at Fredric, puzzled by what could have brought the great warrior to his knees, his thoughts turned to the threats that faced them here and now. In his mind at least, there was no bigger threat than the source of the attack he'd just thwarted. So enhancing his bounds and leaps with the magic from the chains, in a blur he headed straight for Manson, looking to exact more than a little payback for everything the evil, dark dragon had done.
Raising her hands in front of her, a dazzling array of electrically charged magic crackled, fizzed, sizzled and spluttered in a myriad of different colours. Volcanic red, sumptuous plum, red velvet and cool cherry represented but a few. It was, however, all quite red, which suited her just fine because that was her favourite colour and she expected to see a lot of it here and now. Anticipating the taste of human blood to come, she unleashed the magic she'd been holding in.
