Closing Captain Battlehard's wound properly, eager for them both to retake their defensive positions, George felt a surge of pride at how well the dragon he now tended to had fought. Surely they could prevail if each and every one of them battled like that. And then he sensed it. Astonished, dismayed and terrified all at the same time, he knew without a doubt that it was far too late for him to do anything about the sneak attack one of the dark dragons had just launched. Barely able to turn half way towards his adversary, he wondered if this was just the beginning of the end, as the tip of the matt black blade thrust down towards his neck, a smile of deep satisfaction etched across the unhinged dragon's face at just the very thought of the killing stroke. Stuck in a moment, George steeled himself to meet his maker, if such a thing should ever happen. But something in that instant changed. The look of utter delight on the dark dragon's face transformed at first into puzzlement, followed immediately by anguish, as the apex of a frost shrouded cutting edge burst through his chest, hissing and spluttering, throwing tiny particles of cold into the air all around it. Mesmerised completely by not only the beauty of the weapon, but by the cool, elegant blanket of brilliant, white frost that continuously circled the blade, it was only the echoing clang of the dastardly, black sword bouncing off the top of the shield, that startled the king back to reality. Shaking himself alert, he wondered who had just saved his life, hoping to see Flash's smiling face appear from behind the deceased form of the prehistoric monster that had come so near to ending his life. But he was about to be disappointed. With the tiniest of wriggles, the blade pulled itself free of the monster that it had just impaled, allowing the despicable creature to slump on to the shield, spewing brilliant, thick, green blood this way and that. With the dragon out of the way, the futuristic foil floated closer to the king, all the time pointing upwards, as if to say it offered no threat to the incumbent monarch of this world.
'Fascinating,' thought the king, eyes glued to the most amazing weapon he'd ever seen. 'Does it have a will of its own? Is someone controlling it? How was it made, and by whom?' All these questions scurried through his mind at almost the speed of light. At the moment though, the answers would have to wait, because right at that second his tingling, magic enhanced sense of danger kicked in, shocking him out of his reverie, forcing him back to reality, which in this case represented half a dozen murderous looking dragons, all speeding towards the top of the dome, all looking to tear the duo apart. Readying his ethereal birthright, George watched with a certain amount of amusement as the weapon seemingly bowed in front of him before turning to face his attackers, and then zipped off at speed towards them. Mere moments later, when it was time for the king to use the power he'd already prepared, half a dozen had been whittled down to two, something he was not only grateful for, but more than confident he could cope with. And so ripping off one of his attacker's wings, whilst continually blasting the other with freezing cold darts of ice, he wished his ultramodern ally good luck, as a part of him wondered if the famed master mantra maker had anything to do with it. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that he had.
Eyes closed, bathed in an inner tranquillity she'd never, ever known before, the love of Peter's life was bowled over at having saved the dragon king's soul through her newly found bond with the ancient blade. Fu-ts'ang... not quite so much. In his case, it was more a mutual respect kind of thing; having taken the tiniest of glimpses into the soul of the dragon monarch, he knew beyond any doubt that he was a righteous, kind and good being. Whether that was enough to turn the tide of what was happening here, he had no idea. The cold, logical part of him screamed out that it wasn't, and that if he didn't leave now he'd be captured, put in the hands of these foul and wicked criminals and used for dreadful and despicable deeds. He might have been right, but he just couldn't leave. Besides, he wasn't able to go on his own, he'd have to take the girl with him, and having shared her memories and feelings across their link, he knew there was no way in hell she was leaving, not without her love and the rest of their friends. Accepting that it was now a full on fight to the death, Fu-ts'ang continued on his destructive rampage, fulfilling his purpose, destroying evil in all its forms without hesitation, all the time having one eye on friends and allies strewn across the battlefield with a view to protecting them at all costs, thanks in no small part to the human whose mind he shared.
Sliding to a halt on the shiny marble next to Yoyo, he waited patiently for the experienced Australian healer to finish his ministrations, gawping at the stunning looking ring that now adorned his right hand. It didn't take long.
"PETER!" exclaimed Yoyo, "what on earth can I do for you?"
Grinning inanely, the young hockey playing dragon relayed Richie's appeal, asking his friend if he had any idea of exactly how they could get themselves out of this seemingly impossible spot and take the fight to those that were trying their best to crush them. Scratching his chin whilst at the same time wriggling his jaw, Yoyo pondered Peter and Richie's request.
"No, no... that wouldn't work at all," he mused. "Hmmm... maybe, maybe... NO! What about... no, that probably wouldn't cut it. Hang on a second... that might just work. Yes... out of all the options, that's the one that gives us the best chance... I'm sure of it."
"Sure of what?" urged Peter
"I've nearly healed every dragon here. We're almost all ready to re-enter the fight. What about if we kept the shield up around us and, as one, moved out into the battlefield, all the time attacking, making our way towards those we care about, able to offer protection and a temporary safe harbour?"
It wasn't quite the idea Peter had been hoping for.
"It would never work. Richie says she can't maintain the shield whilst moving, even powered by what's left of the laminium in the necklace and the dagger."
"I wasn't thinking of letting our superstar leader do it all by herself. We can share the load around. Now that they're healed there's enough of us to take on some of your friend's burden, and knowing my lot as I do, I suspect they'll all have a few ideas about how to build on the shield that she's developed. It won't be easy, but I do believe it's most certainly doable. What do you think?"
"If you're sure, then it sounds good to me. I'll let Richie know."
"Just give me a couple of minutes to finish up here and inform the others of the plan. When I'm ready, I'll contact Richie telepathically."
"Sure thing," replied Peter. "Good luck!"
"Right back atcha!" remarked Yoyo, smiling.
With that, Peter turned and headed back towards his friend, buoyed ever so slightly by Yoyo's plan, knowing from all his life experiences and in particular the hockey, that if you work together you can far exceed what you can do alone. Deep down inside, he just hoped it would be enough to overcome these insurmountable odds.
Arms stretched wide open, standing atop the largest pile of rubble within the private residence, Manson, eyes closed, willed his force on, willed them over the bridge, willed them out of the council building, all in an effort to finish things off. Bored and unable to see how this would end in anything but a victory for him, thoughts of how he would dominate this world, ruling not only the humans, but what would be left of the dragons as well, played through his mind. They'd be his slaves until the end of days, subjugated and robbed of any life they would ever have had. Part of him especially liked the thought of using humans as sport. Dragons chasing humans through cities both on the surface and here underground, with a specified destination in mind... If the human reaches it before the dragon catches up with him, then he or she may prevail that little bit longer, perhaps to try again another day. Should the dragon catch up with the human... that would then be another matter, with a tasty morsel of a snack always being appreciated, no matter what time of day. In his experience, human flesh tended to taste a little like chicken, rather nice if chargrilled. Once he was king, he'd make sure it was available everywhere, twenty four / seven, for every one of the beings that had helped him achieve his goal. There'd be queues at slaughterhouses a mile long as they looked to keep up with the demand for delicious human kebabs. Children, he found, were especially tasty. Stomach rumbling at the mere thought of food, gently, and very slowly, he allowed the magic to flow out of him, to wander through the air, connecting with as many of the beings that had pledged him their allegiance as he could, implanting one thought, and one thought alone. ATTACK, ATTACK, ATTACK!