A Fate of Dragons by Morgan Rice
Erec ducked at the last second, and the club went flying by.
Erec used the opportunity to spin around and crack the man hard in the back of the head with the wooden shaft of his mace, sparing him the metal ball so as not to kill him. The man stumbled and fell, unconscious—and he was the first man down.
The crowd roared.
All around Erec knights fought, and more than one singled him out. Clearly, he was seen as the man to beat, and he ducked and weaved, as one came at him with an axe, another with a halberd, and a third with a spear. So much for the Duke’s exhortation not to try to kill each other, Erec thought. Clearly, these knights didn’t care.
Erec found himself spinning and twisting, fighting one after the other. One jabbed at him with a long, studded halberd and Erec yanked it from his foe’s hands and used it to jab his attacker right at the base of his neck with the wooden end, finding the weak spot above his armor and knocking him down flat on his back.
Erec then spun around and swung the sharp end of the halberd, chopping a spear in half right before it hit him.
He then spun again, drew his mace, and knocked a dagger from the hand of another attacker. He turned the mace sideways and smashed his attacker on the bridge of the nose with the wooden end, breaking his nose and knocking him to the ground.
Another knight charged with a hammer, Erec ducked low and punched him in the solo plexus with his gauntlet. The knight keeled over, dropping his hammer mid-swing.
Just one knight remained now opposite Erec, and the crowd jumped to its feet, cheering like mad, as they circled each other slowly. They were each breathing hard. All around them lay the unconscious bodies of the others who did not make it.
This final knight was from a province Erec did not recognize, wearing a bright red armor with spikes protruding from it, like a porcupine. He held a weapon that resembled a pitchfork, with three long prongs, painted a strange color that shimmered in the light and confused Erec. He jabbed it continually at the air, and it was hard for Erec to focus.
Suddenly he lunged, thrusting it, and Erec blocked the blow at the last second with his mace. The two of them locked in mid-air, pushing back and forth in a tug-of-war. Erec slipped on the blood of one of his opponents, and lost his footing.
Erec fell on his back, and his challenger wasted no time. He thrust his pitchfork right down for Erec’s face; Erec blocked it and held it back with the end of his mace. He managed to hold it at bay, but he was losing ground quickly.
The crowd gasped.
“YIELD!” the opponent screamed down.
Erec lay there, struggling, losing steam, when he saw Alistair’s face in his mind. He saw her expression when she looked into his eyes, when she asked him to win. And suddenly, he felt overcome with a new strength. He could not let himself lose. Not here. Not today.
With one final burst of strength, Erec rolled out of the way, pulling the pitchfork down and plunging it into the earth beside him. He rolled again and kicked the knight hard in the stomach. The knight fell to his knees, and Erec jumped to his feet and kicked him again, knocking him to his back.
The crowd roared.
Erec drew his dagger, knelt, and held it to the knight’s throat. He pushed the tip firmly against it, until the knight understood.
“I YIELD!” the knight yelled.
The crowd roared and screamed in delight.
Erec slowly stood, breathing hard.
He now had but one thing left on his mind.
Alistair.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Thor looked down in awe at the dragon’s footprint, sinking hundreds of feet into the earth, the size of a canyon. As the mist cleared down below, at its bottom, Thor spotted something. It was a cave, at the far end, and inside of it he thought he saw something gleaming. It sparkled, then disappeared in the mist.
“There,” Thor said, pointing. “Did you see that?”
The boys all squinted.
“I don’t see anything,” Elden said.
“I thought it sparkled,” Thor said.
“It could be the scepter,” Reese said.
All around them, dozens of Legion members appeared out of the mist, and one of them found a way down into the canyon, a steep ledge in the cliff. Thor and the others followed, Krohn with them, and they all began to descend, single file.
As they went the trail became steeper, and Thor soon found himself struggling to hold on for dear life as they descended ever deeper into the footprint of the dragon.
They finally reached the bottom and Thor looked up, wondering how they would ever get out.
Down here the floor was covered in fine, black sand, and as they walked, their feet sank into it. The dragon’s roar hadn’t come in a while, and all was eerily quiet. They were all on guard as they went, crossing the floor of the canyon towards the entrance to the cave. The mist cleared, and it became visible again.
“There!” Thor exclaimed.
The others saw it this time, a gleaming coming from inside.
“I see it,” Reese said.
They all proceeded towards the cave, the mist returning, and as they went, Thor had an increasingly ominous feeling. He could not help but feel as if they were being watched, as if they were heading deeper and deeper into the dragon’s lair. He hoped and prayed that they could find the scepter and get out of their quick.
Thor suddenly heard a familiar screeching noise, and he turned and craned his neck to the skies: there, flying high above, he was thrilled to see Ephistopheles. He hadn’t seen her in he hadn’t know how long. He wondered what she was doing here now. He could not help but feel as if she were warning him.
She screeched again, soaring in circles.
As the large group of Legion members converged on the cave, Thor turned and led the way. The world became black as they entered it, long icicles hanging from the ceiling, the sound of water dripping, of bats fluttering. As they walked inside, deeper and deeper, their voices reverberated, the whispers of Legion members on-edge. The only thing illuminating the cave was a sparkling light, not too far from the entrance, of a single object.
As the mist cleared, Thor finally saw what it was—and they all gasped.
There, sticking up from the ground, was the golden scepter. About three feet long, it shined and sparkled, casting off a light so bright it lit up most of the cave through the mist. All the legion members stopped in their tracks, clearly in awe. Thor could feel an intense energy radiating off of it, even from here.
“You saw it first,” Reese said to Thor. “You take it. Bring it back for the Legion.”
Thor stepped forward, the others following close behind, and knew he should feel relieved. They had found it. Now they could return. But for some reason, as he headed deeper into the cave, he felt more and more on edge. His senses kicked in, and some part of him he didn’t understand screamed to him that they were heading deeper into danger.
But with all the boys watching him, he could hardly turn back. He walked forward, reached out, and grabbed the scepter. He felt an electric thrill race through him as he clasped it. It was the most beautiful and powerful thing he had ever touched.
They all turned, hurried out from the cave, the boys crowding around Thor, getting a good look at it. There was relief in the air: their mission was over. Now they could go home. As one, the group shuffled outside the cave, prepared to leave this place.
But the moment they all stepped outside, their world changed. Out of nowhere, a horrific roar rose up, and as they all looked up, Thor saw the most terrifying sight of his life.
The dragon. It raised its head above the canyon, and glared down at them, and Thor had to wonder if this was real or just a nightmare. He had never seen a real dragon before—and he never thought he would live to see one. It was the largest and most terrifying thing he’d ever laid eyes upon. As it raised its long neck, its huge head towering over them, it blocked out the sun, casting a shadow over them all. Just one of its scales was bigger than Thor—and it was covered in th
ousands of them, reddish-green. It raised its two front legs, each as big as fifty men, and Thor could see its huge claws, three on each foot, reaching out to the heavens, each as sharp as a sword and as long as a tree.
Most terrifying of all, though, was its face, with its long, extended narrow jaw, and behind its open mouth, its rows and rows of teeth, each as large as a house, sharper than any weapon he had ever seen.
It threw its head back and roared, and the sound was enough to split a man in two.
Every single Legion member raised his hands to his ears, and Thor did the same, still clutching the scepter. The ground shook, and Thor felt as if his head would explode. Krohn whined and snarled.
When the dragon finished its roar, it lowered its head, pulled back its throat, opened its mouth and breathed.
Fire came hailing down like a tornado, singing the side of the canyon wall. As the dragon moved its neck, the fire spread—and that was when Thor heard the screams.
Several Legion members screamed out in horrific pain as Thor watched them get burned alive. Thor watched helplessly, before turning and sprinting with the rest of the boys, running for their lives.
The dragon lowered a leg, and as its foot met the ground, it left another canyon-sized hole, shaking the earth so much that Thor and the Legion members were thrown into the air, a good ten feet. Thor landed hard on his side, and rolled several times.
Thor scurried to his feet and looked up, and saw the dragon getting closer as the rest of the boys ran. Some of the older boys broke into action. One of them, who had carried with him a long rope and grappling hook, distributed the ropes to several others, and soon, the group ran in circles around it, looping the ropes around its legs, trying to trip it up.
It was a valiant effort, and the boys moved quickly and fearlessly, managed to wrap the rope tightly around its legs twice, to Thor’s surprise. They expected the dragon to trip and fall as it took its next step.
But they were all horrified as the dragon merely looked down, noticed the rope, and snapped it like it didn’t exist. Then it raised a foot and brought it down, crushing several of the older boys into the earth as it did. It swiped with its claws and sliced other boys in half.
Thor watched in horror as O’Connor got hit in the swipe; he missed its claw, but the dragon’s foot still sent O’Connor flying through the air and smashing into the canyon wall. Thor prayed he wasn’t dead.
The other boys began to flee again, all their options exhausted, and Thor knew he had to do something quickly. At this rate, they would all be dead in minutes. There was no way out of this canyon, and the dragon had them trapped.
As everyone around him continued to run, Thor mustered his courage, and stopped. He stood there, in the center of the canyon floor, and turned and faced the dragon. His heart was pounding, and he knew this might mean his death—but he had to do this.
Thor tried to muster everything that Argon had taught him, tried to summon his spiritual power, whatever power he had. If he had any innate power, he knew that now was the time to draw on it. Now was the time he needed it most.
The dragon suddenly stopped and focused on Thor. It threw back its head and roared, as if furious at being challenged, and in that moment Thor wished that he had ran with the others.
As he stood there alone, facing the dragon, Thor raised one palm, determined to use whatever supernatural powers he had to combat the beast.
Please, God. Please.
The dragon pulled back its throat, opened its mouth, and shot flames right down at Thor.
Thor kept his palm out, hoping and praying that this would work.
As the flames came down, showering down all around him, Thor was stunned to see that his palm created an energy shield around him. The flames harmlessly parted ways around his hand, leaving him safe.
The other boys stopped and watched.
The dragon was enraged. It lifted a foot and brought it down, preparing to crush Thor.
But Thor kept his palm out, and as the foot came down, he was able to use his energy force to stop it with his hand, the foot hovering in mid-air several feet above Thor.
Thor could feel the energy of the beast, feel its strength, its intense desire to kill him. Thor’s entire body was shaking as he used all he had to keep it at bay. But he could not hold it back much longer.
Finally, Thor, unable to hold it any longer, released the energy shield and ran. As he did, the foot came crashing down, missing him by feet, plunging into the earth.
The dragon roared, enraged.
The other Legion members stopped and watched, in awe.
The dragon, madder than ever, charged Thor. It dove right for him, opening its rows of teeth, aiming to swallow him whole.
Thor felt a heat rising within himself, and he summoned his energy again. This time he used it to jump—higher than he ever had—and as the dragon ducked down, Thor leapt over its head and landed on its back.
Thor grabbed onto its scales, hanging on for dear life as the dragon bucked. It was like riding a mountain. Thor could sense the dragon’s energy and it was the most powerful thing he had ever felt. Thor used his power to try to direct the dragon’s energy. He implanted the image in the dragon’s mind of flying away.
And that was exactly what the dragon did.
The dragon suddenly lifted up and flew out of the canyon. Thor controlled its mind as it continued to fly, farther and farther away. Thor hung on for dear life, the wind and the mist whipping his face as they climbed higher and higher, flew faster and faster. Soon, the ground was just a speck below them.
Thor directed the dragon to turn over the sea, and they continued to fly. Thor whispered to the dragon to dip down, close to the shore, praying that it would.
It did. As soon as they flew over the shore, Thor took the opportunity. He held his breath and jumped off the dragon’s back, hurling through the air, hoping he made it.
He landed in the waves, chest deep in the churning sea. He surfaced, gasping, and turned to watch as the dragon flew away, over the sea, farther and farther away.
With Thor’s last ounce of strength, he waded to the shore, and collapsed on the sand, unable to move another inch. He was still clutching the scepter. He could not believe it.
He had made it.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Andronicus sat on his throne, surrounded by a dozen servant girls, chained naked to the floor, fanning him, placing fruit into his mouth, as he leaned back with a smile and watched the festivities unfold before him. In the circular floor of his massive throne room, the night’s games were beginning.
Spread throughout the room were hundreds of Andronicus’ closest followers, contingents that had arrived to pay homage from every corner of the Empire, wearing every possible color. They feasted, dancing, drinking, drugging in this room, as they had night after night. There was a never-ending stream of dignitaries who wanted to pay tribute to him. If they did not, he would have his armies crush them in an instant. And these games, the center of the night’s festivities, were a nice complement to a long day of drinking and feasting.
The first game of the night was always the most exciting, and this promised to be no exception. They had found a massive Spokebull, with three horns, a jaw twice as wide, eight sets of long fangs, and they had paired it against a Livara—a massive, lion-like creature with four sets of wings. In the ring, the Spokebull charged the Livara, roaring, and the Livara charged back. It promised to be a good matchup.
The two creatures, each enraged, met in the middle, snarling, each sinking its fangs into the other’s hide. They hit the ground and rolled, and the room became filled with the sounds of their vicious snarls. Within moments, blood and saliva was spraying all over the room. Andronicus smiled wide, thrilled as some of the blood sprayed through the gate and hit him in the face. Inspired, he reached over, slipped one hand around one of the naked girls, and pulled her up onto his lap. Before she knew what was happening, he extended his huge fangs, and plunged them into her th
roat.
She shrieked as he drank her blood, feeling the hot liquid gush down his throat, holding her tight until she finally stopped writhing. Finally, she slumped there, dead, in his arms, and he wiped the back of his mouth, and let her lie there. There were few things he enjoyed more than holding a freshly-dead corpse in his lap. This was turning out to be a great night, indeed.
An agonizing howl rang out, and the crowd jumped to its feet, roaring, as one of the animals got the best of the other. Andronicus stood himself, and looked down to see that the spoke-bull had won, piercing the Livara’s chest with his third horn. It stood over it, snorting, tapping its foot.
The crowd cheered as an attendant opened the gate, preparing for the next bout.
As he did, though, something went wrong: the spoke-bull, enraged, charged right for the attendant. The man could not get out of the way quickly enough, and the animal gouged him with its horns, piercing his stomach and sending him up high over his head, pinning him to the cage of the arena. Instead of rushing to help him, the crowd screamed in delight, as the attendant hung there in agony. No one came to his help; on the contrary, they all enjoyed it.
Three more attendants rushed in, holding spears, and they kept the beast at bay as they went to rescue their co-worker. The beast charged them, biting their spears and breaking them—until finally another attendant stepped forward with a huge double axe, and in one clean swoop, chopped off its head. Its corpse fell to the side, blood gushing everywhere, and the crowd roared in excitement.
Several more attendants rushed in to clean up the bloody mess, and a door opened from another end of the arena and two more animals were led in for the next round. They were identical. They looked like rhinoceroses, but were three times the size, and one was led to each end of the ring, grunting and snarling, barely able to be contained by four attendants with ropes.
As the cadavers were pulled out and the gate barely closed, a whistle sounded, and the two animals were released from their ropes. Without hesitating, they charged each other, ramming heads as they met in the middle. There was an awful crash as their heads met, their hides as hard as iron, shaking the entire room.
Erec used the opportunity to spin around and crack the man hard in the back of the head with the wooden shaft of his mace, sparing him the metal ball so as not to kill him. The man stumbled and fell, unconscious—and he was the first man down.
The crowd roared.
All around Erec knights fought, and more than one singled him out. Clearly, he was seen as the man to beat, and he ducked and weaved, as one came at him with an axe, another with a halberd, and a third with a spear. So much for the Duke’s exhortation not to try to kill each other, Erec thought. Clearly, these knights didn’t care.
Erec found himself spinning and twisting, fighting one after the other. One jabbed at him with a long, studded halberd and Erec yanked it from his foe’s hands and used it to jab his attacker right at the base of his neck with the wooden end, finding the weak spot above his armor and knocking him down flat on his back.
Erec then spun around and swung the sharp end of the halberd, chopping a spear in half right before it hit him.
He then spun again, drew his mace, and knocked a dagger from the hand of another attacker. He turned the mace sideways and smashed his attacker on the bridge of the nose with the wooden end, breaking his nose and knocking him to the ground.
Another knight charged with a hammer, Erec ducked low and punched him in the solo plexus with his gauntlet. The knight keeled over, dropping his hammer mid-swing.
Just one knight remained now opposite Erec, and the crowd jumped to its feet, cheering like mad, as they circled each other slowly. They were each breathing hard. All around them lay the unconscious bodies of the others who did not make it.
This final knight was from a province Erec did not recognize, wearing a bright red armor with spikes protruding from it, like a porcupine. He held a weapon that resembled a pitchfork, with three long prongs, painted a strange color that shimmered in the light and confused Erec. He jabbed it continually at the air, and it was hard for Erec to focus.
Suddenly he lunged, thrusting it, and Erec blocked the blow at the last second with his mace. The two of them locked in mid-air, pushing back and forth in a tug-of-war. Erec slipped on the blood of one of his opponents, and lost his footing.
Erec fell on his back, and his challenger wasted no time. He thrust his pitchfork right down for Erec’s face; Erec blocked it and held it back with the end of his mace. He managed to hold it at bay, but he was losing ground quickly.
The crowd gasped.
“YIELD!” the opponent screamed down.
Erec lay there, struggling, losing steam, when he saw Alistair’s face in his mind. He saw her expression when she looked into his eyes, when she asked him to win. And suddenly, he felt overcome with a new strength. He could not let himself lose. Not here. Not today.
With one final burst of strength, Erec rolled out of the way, pulling the pitchfork down and plunging it into the earth beside him. He rolled again and kicked the knight hard in the stomach. The knight fell to his knees, and Erec jumped to his feet and kicked him again, knocking him to his back.
The crowd roared.
Erec drew his dagger, knelt, and held it to the knight’s throat. He pushed the tip firmly against it, until the knight understood.
“I YIELD!” the knight yelled.
The crowd roared and screamed in delight.
Erec slowly stood, breathing hard.
He now had but one thing left on his mind.
Alistair.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Thor looked down in awe at the dragon’s footprint, sinking hundreds of feet into the earth, the size of a canyon. As the mist cleared down below, at its bottom, Thor spotted something. It was a cave, at the far end, and inside of it he thought he saw something gleaming. It sparkled, then disappeared in the mist.
“There,” Thor said, pointing. “Did you see that?”
The boys all squinted.
“I don’t see anything,” Elden said.
“I thought it sparkled,” Thor said.
“It could be the scepter,” Reese said.
All around them, dozens of Legion members appeared out of the mist, and one of them found a way down into the canyon, a steep ledge in the cliff. Thor and the others followed, Krohn with them, and they all began to descend, single file.
As they went the trail became steeper, and Thor soon found himself struggling to hold on for dear life as they descended ever deeper into the footprint of the dragon.
They finally reached the bottom and Thor looked up, wondering how they would ever get out.
Down here the floor was covered in fine, black sand, and as they walked, their feet sank into it. The dragon’s roar hadn’t come in a while, and all was eerily quiet. They were all on guard as they went, crossing the floor of the canyon towards the entrance to the cave. The mist cleared, and it became visible again.
“There!” Thor exclaimed.
The others saw it this time, a gleaming coming from inside.
“I see it,” Reese said.
They all proceeded towards the cave, the mist returning, and as they went, Thor had an increasingly ominous feeling. He could not help but feel as if they were being watched, as if they were heading deeper and deeper into the dragon’s lair. He hoped and prayed that they could find the scepter and get out of their quick.
Thor suddenly heard a familiar screeching noise, and he turned and craned his neck to the skies: there, flying high above, he was thrilled to see Ephistopheles. He hadn’t seen her in he hadn’t know how long. He wondered what she was doing here now. He could not help but feel as if she were warning him.
She screeched again, soaring in circles.
As the large group of Legion members converged on the cave, Thor turned and led the way. The world became black as they entered it, long icicles hanging from the ceiling, the sound of water dripping, of bats fluttering. As they walked inside, deeper and deeper, their voices reverberated, the whispers of Legion members on-edge. The only thing illuminating the cave was a sparkling light, not too far from the entrance, of a single object.
As the mist cleared, Thor finally saw what it was—and they all gasped.
There, sticking up from the ground, was the golden scepter. About three feet long, it shined and sparkled, casting off a light so bright it lit up most of the cave through the mist. All the legion members stopped in their tracks, clearly in awe. Thor could feel an intense energy radiating off of it, even from here.
“You saw it first,” Reese said to Thor. “You take it. Bring it back for the Legion.”
Thor stepped forward, the others following close behind, and knew he should feel relieved. They had found it. Now they could return. But for some reason, as he headed deeper into the cave, he felt more and more on edge. His senses kicked in, and some part of him he didn’t understand screamed to him that they were heading deeper into danger.
But with all the boys watching him, he could hardly turn back. He walked forward, reached out, and grabbed the scepter. He felt an electric thrill race through him as he clasped it. It was the most beautiful and powerful thing he had ever touched.
They all turned, hurried out from the cave, the boys crowding around Thor, getting a good look at it. There was relief in the air: their mission was over. Now they could go home. As one, the group shuffled outside the cave, prepared to leave this place.
But the moment they all stepped outside, their world changed. Out of nowhere, a horrific roar rose up, and as they all looked up, Thor saw the most terrifying sight of his life.
The dragon. It raised its head above the canyon, and glared down at them, and Thor had to wonder if this was real or just a nightmare. He had never seen a real dragon before—and he never thought he would live to see one. It was the largest and most terrifying thing he’d ever laid eyes upon. As it raised its long neck, its huge head towering over them, it blocked out the sun, casting a shadow over them all. Just one of its scales was bigger than Thor—and it was covered in th
Most terrifying of all, though, was its face, with its long, extended narrow jaw, and behind its open mouth, its rows and rows of teeth, each as large as a house, sharper than any weapon he had ever seen.
It threw its head back and roared, and the sound was enough to split a man in two.
Every single Legion member raised his hands to his ears, and Thor did the same, still clutching the scepter. The ground shook, and Thor felt as if his head would explode. Krohn whined and snarled.
When the dragon finished its roar, it lowered its head, pulled back its throat, opened its mouth and breathed.
Fire came hailing down like a tornado, singing the side of the canyon wall. As the dragon moved its neck, the fire spread—and that was when Thor heard the screams.
Several Legion members screamed out in horrific pain as Thor watched them get burned alive. Thor watched helplessly, before turning and sprinting with the rest of the boys, running for their lives.
The dragon lowered a leg, and as its foot met the ground, it left another canyon-sized hole, shaking the earth so much that Thor and the Legion members were thrown into the air, a good ten feet. Thor landed hard on his side, and rolled several times.
Thor scurried to his feet and looked up, and saw the dragon getting closer as the rest of the boys ran. Some of the older boys broke into action. One of them, who had carried with him a long rope and grappling hook, distributed the ropes to several others, and soon, the group ran in circles around it, looping the ropes around its legs, trying to trip it up.
It was a valiant effort, and the boys moved quickly and fearlessly, managed to wrap the rope tightly around its legs twice, to Thor’s surprise. They expected the dragon to trip and fall as it took its next step.
But they were all horrified as the dragon merely looked down, noticed the rope, and snapped it like it didn’t exist. Then it raised a foot and brought it down, crushing several of the older boys into the earth as it did. It swiped with its claws and sliced other boys in half.
Thor watched in horror as O’Connor got hit in the swipe; he missed its claw, but the dragon’s foot still sent O’Connor flying through the air and smashing into the canyon wall. Thor prayed he wasn’t dead.
The other boys began to flee again, all their options exhausted, and Thor knew he had to do something quickly. At this rate, they would all be dead in minutes. There was no way out of this canyon, and the dragon had them trapped.
As everyone around him continued to run, Thor mustered his courage, and stopped. He stood there, in the center of the canyon floor, and turned and faced the dragon. His heart was pounding, and he knew this might mean his death—but he had to do this.
Thor tried to muster everything that Argon had taught him, tried to summon his spiritual power, whatever power he had. If he had any innate power, he knew that now was the time to draw on it. Now was the time he needed it most.
The dragon suddenly stopped and focused on Thor. It threw back its head and roared, as if furious at being challenged, and in that moment Thor wished that he had ran with the others.
As he stood there alone, facing the dragon, Thor raised one palm, determined to use whatever supernatural powers he had to combat the beast.
Please, God. Please.
The dragon pulled back its throat, opened its mouth, and shot flames right down at Thor.
Thor kept his palm out, hoping and praying that this would work.
As the flames came down, showering down all around him, Thor was stunned to see that his palm created an energy shield around him. The flames harmlessly parted ways around his hand, leaving him safe.
The other boys stopped and watched.
The dragon was enraged. It lifted a foot and brought it down, preparing to crush Thor.
But Thor kept his palm out, and as the foot came down, he was able to use his energy force to stop it with his hand, the foot hovering in mid-air several feet above Thor.
Thor could feel the energy of the beast, feel its strength, its intense desire to kill him. Thor’s entire body was shaking as he used all he had to keep it at bay. But he could not hold it back much longer.
Finally, Thor, unable to hold it any longer, released the energy shield and ran. As he did, the foot came crashing down, missing him by feet, plunging into the earth.
The dragon roared, enraged.
The other Legion members stopped and watched, in awe.
The dragon, madder than ever, charged Thor. It dove right for him, opening its rows of teeth, aiming to swallow him whole.
Thor felt a heat rising within himself, and he summoned his energy again. This time he used it to jump—higher than he ever had—and as the dragon ducked down, Thor leapt over its head and landed on its back.
Thor grabbed onto its scales, hanging on for dear life as the dragon bucked. It was like riding a mountain. Thor could sense the dragon’s energy and it was the most powerful thing he had ever felt. Thor used his power to try to direct the dragon’s energy. He implanted the image in the dragon’s mind of flying away.
And that was exactly what the dragon did.
The dragon suddenly lifted up and flew out of the canyon. Thor controlled its mind as it continued to fly, farther and farther away. Thor hung on for dear life, the wind and the mist whipping his face as they climbed higher and higher, flew faster and faster. Soon, the ground was just a speck below them.
Thor directed the dragon to turn over the sea, and they continued to fly. Thor whispered to the dragon to dip down, close to the shore, praying that it would.
It did. As soon as they flew over the shore, Thor took the opportunity. He held his breath and jumped off the dragon’s back, hurling through the air, hoping he made it.
He landed in the waves, chest deep in the churning sea. He surfaced, gasping, and turned to watch as the dragon flew away, over the sea, farther and farther away.
With Thor’s last ounce of strength, he waded to the shore, and collapsed on the sand, unable to move another inch. He was still clutching the scepter. He could not believe it.
He had made it.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Andronicus sat on his throne, surrounded by a dozen servant girls, chained naked to the floor, fanning him, placing fruit into his mouth, as he leaned back with a smile and watched the festivities unfold before him. In the circular floor of his massive throne room, the night’s games were beginning.
Spread throughout the room were hundreds of Andronicus’ closest followers, contingents that had arrived to pay homage from every corner of the Empire, wearing every possible color. They feasted, dancing, drinking, drugging in this room, as they had night after night. There was a never-ending stream of dignitaries who wanted to pay tribute to him. If they did not, he would have his armies crush them in an instant. And these games, the center of the night’s festivities, were a nice complement to a long day of drinking and feasting.
The first game of the night was always the most exciting, and this promised to be no exception. They had found a massive Spokebull, with three horns, a jaw twice as wide, eight sets of long fangs, and they had paired it against a Livara—a massive, lion-like creature with four sets of wings. In the ring, the Spokebull charged the Livara, roaring, and the Livara charged back. It promised to be a good matchup.
The two creatures, each enraged, met in the middle, snarling, each sinking its fangs into the other’s hide. They hit the ground and rolled, and the room became filled with the sounds of their vicious snarls. Within moments, blood and saliva was spraying all over the room. Andronicus smiled wide, thrilled as some of the blood sprayed through the gate and hit him in the face. Inspired, he reached over, slipped one hand around one of the naked girls, and pulled her up onto his lap. Before she knew what was happening, he extended his huge fangs, and plunged them into her th
She shrieked as he drank her blood, feeling the hot liquid gush down his throat, holding her tight until she finally stopped writhing. Finally, she slumped there, dead, in his arms, and he wiped the back of his mouth, and let her lie there. There were few things he enjoyed more than holding a freshly-dead corpse in his lap. This was turning out to be a great night, indeed.
An agonizing howl rang out, and the crowd jumped to its feet, roaring, as one of the animals got the best of the other. Andronicus stood himself, and looked down to see that the spoke-bull had won, piercing the Livara’s chest with his third horn. It stood over it, snorting, tapping its foot.
The crowd cheered as an attendant opened the gate, preparing for the next bout.
As he did, though, something went wrong: the spoke-bull, enraged, charged right for the attendant. The man could not get out of the way quickly enough, and the animal gouged him with its horns, piercing his stomach and sending him up high over his head, pinning him to the cage of the arena. Instead of rushing to help him, the crowd screamed in delight, as the attendant hung there in agony. No one came to his help; on the contrary, they all enjoyed it.
Three more attendants rushed in, holding spears, and they kept the beast at bay as they went to rescue their co-worker. The beast charged them, biting their spears and breaking them—until finally another attendant stepped forward with a huge double axe, and in one clean swoop, chopped off its head. Its corpse fell to the side, blood gushing everywhere, and the crowd roared in excitement.
Several more attendants rushed in to clean up the bloody mess, and a door opened from another end of the arena and two more animals were led in for the next round. They were identical. They looked like rhinoceroses, but were three times the size, and one was led to each end of the ring, grunting and snarling, barely able to be contained by four attendants with ropes.
As the cadavers were pulled out and the gate barely closed, a whistle sounded, and the two animals were released from their ropes. Without hesitating, they charged each other, ramming heads as they met in the middle. There was an awful crash as their heads met, their hides as hard as iron, shaking the entire room.