Relieved that the torture beneath their faces had subsided, Peter and Tim were cajoled across the bridge, towards the waiting monarch, each of them wrapped up in their own robes of despair and hopelessness, their bindings rattling around behind them.
Resonating across the bridge from far off behind them, a self-righteous, conceited and rather slimy voice caught everyone's attention.
"Ah... my love. It seems that once again you've surpassed my every expectation. What a wonderful ruler and consort you will make. Those fortunate to survive should be honoured to live under your rule."
"Eloquent words, my darling," replied Earth, licking her lips sumptuously, before blowing a kiss off in Manson's direction. "Why don't you join us and get acquainted with the last dragon monarch? I know he's just DYING to meet you."
Manson chuckled at her witty reply as he strode purposefully across the replacement structure, taking little interest in the magic that had created it.
Reaching the king's end of the bridge, Earth thrust each of her tortured captives to the floor directly in front of the monarch, as a large contingent of nagas spread out amongst the pathetic dragon force left. Here and now, the king knew that nothing but despair and wickedness was to come. It was hard for him to see it all end like this. Still he fought to contact the ring. Still the enigmatic band was having none of it.
Slowly, and very deliberately licking the blood off her fingernails, Earth caught the king's eye. It was a moment she'd been longing for, anticipating, relishing almost, for many, many decades. Now it was here. And it didn't disappoint. To her satisfaction, he was broken... once a mighty warrior, feared by many, respected by all, she could remember being in his presence as a youngster, being in awe of both him and... hmm, someone else. No longer... now he stood before her. It seemed only fitting that he bow.
"BOW BEFORE YOUR QUEEN!" she bellowed.
Broken, full to bursting with self pity and much more fearful than he would ever let on, he knew only one way to behave, to act. Needless to say, he didn't bow.
Approaching the end of the bridge, the tap, tap, tapping of his walking stick alerting all to his company, he wondered just how the next few seconds would play out, knowing full well that his beloved queen did not generally play well with others.
Eyes locked fiercely on the belligerent king, she could see him revel in what he thought to be the smallest of victories. He would kneel she knew, and it wouldn't take very long. Looking across to a dark hued naga in the middle of a group of dragons, she gave him the most imperceptible of nods. Faster than the eye could see, matt black metal scythed through the air with a ring of alarm to it. As the THUMP that marked the dragon guard's skull dropping to the floor rebounded across the king's private residence, a look of total and utter surprise remained engraved across the prehistoric beast's face.
Instantly a struggle started, but it was quelled before it had a chance to get out of hand.
Earth locked eyes once again with the king.
"BOW!" she ordered.
Trapped in a well of despair, tumbling out of control... he gave in, slowly dropping to his knees, head cowed for all to see.
"There... that wasn't so hard, was it?" Earth mocked.
For those on the side of light, the last vestiges of hope died there and then, their mortal bodies no doubt soon to follow.
Arm muscles bulging, still trying to break free from the impossible chains, vomit raced up Peter's oesophagus at the sight of the king kneeling before Manson's evil queen. Whatever had been going on, clearly a climax had all but been reached. Death, he knew, was only moments away. Part of him almost welcomed it, not wanting to see the planet and its many citizens burned, destroyed, hunted for sport or the king tortured mercilessly. It was easier just to die, to be the first of many and just get it over with. Swallowing loudly, he forced the bile back down his throat, wondering exactly how many minutes he had left.
As the tap, tap, tapping arrived, its source spoke.
"Graciously done, my queen."
Earth smiled at Manson's freely given approval.
Wheeling around, arms wide open, cane pointing high up to different points in the walls, the dastardly Manson pondered a different kind of effort than war, a redecorating effort.
"I must say it's all a bit more drab than I expected. Haven't you heard of colour? I think while you're suffering unbearable atrocities at the talons of someone you know quite well, I might have to remodel. Blood green or blood red might well be my first choice, but I wonder if I'll be bored with it by then... having of course seen so much of it... decisions, decisions."
Every being there who served the king fought to hold their tongues, knowing the words were designed to provoke, cause a reaction. Having seen just how easily one of their brethren had been slaughtered by a single evil naga, each of them knew that now was not the time, should a time even exist. Forcing his teeth together, cowed down on the floor in front of what he knew to be a wicked being, the king fought against his overwhelming urge to speak up. It was hard not to, but the thought of getting another being that he was responsible for, killed, kept him in line. For him, it was hard to see just what would happen next. All he knew was that it was the end of the line for dragon monarchs in general. There would be no more. He'd failed, totally and utterly, not just the world here and now, abundant with humans and dragons, but history itself. He couldn't help but ask himself if the great kings of the past would have done anything different, or fared any better.
Pumping furiously through her prehistoric veins, Amelia Battlehard's viscous green blood all but boiled, having witnessed the king's humiliation and the death of one of her own, igniting a rage and anger almost directly emanating from her DNA, coursing through her, unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Only her iron will prevented her from taking action, but even then she knew it was only a matter of time.
'Better struck down in battle, than killed like a defenceless youngling,' she thought.
Wandering casually over to his queen, before leaning in and planting a sticky wet kiss on her cheek, much to her amusement, the psychopathic Manson slowly stepped behind the king's prone frame.
"I think it's time you gave me what I want... old man!"
Out of sight, the monarch's weathered old face contorted in rage, having quite a good idea of exactly what he was talking about.
"GET TO YOUR FEET!" ranted Manson, suddenly seeming to have something of a psychotic episode.
Gingerly, looking frail and showing every year of his time on the planet, George stumbled to his feet and turned to face the purple faced Manson. Across only a few feet, their eyes met, madness and insanity jockeying for position.
"The ring... it's mine now. Give it to me!" he ordered.
An echoing scream of, "NO!" reverberated throughout every molecule of the king's ancient body as the sentient artefact realised exactly what was going on. The pain was excruciating and lesser beings would have dropped to the floor, but not this one. It was almost exactly what he needed, all but waking him from a despairing, self pitying slumber.
30
Shafted
In an almost trance-like state, the young lacrosse playing dragon, barely breathing, sat cross legged at the end of the shaft overlooking events playing out below her across the king's private residence. Emotions deeply under wraps, she'd chosen meditation, something taught to her what seemed like a lifetime ago during the fourth year of her fifty year tuition at the Purbeck Peninsula nursery ring. Used primarily to enhance the restoration of dragon magic or mana as it was widely known, the near catatonic state did at least offer the benefit of replenishing energy and banishing fatigue, something she found herself in desperate need of.