As the end of the bridge shuddered with every one of Troydenn's laboured steps, most of those held captive averted their gaze, desperate not to catch the attention of evil personified. Only the king watched, forcing himself to out of a mistaken sense of duty, well aware of what was to come.
One of those too afraid to look directly at the monster reaching the end of the bridge, Peter glanced across at his nemesis... Manson, and was surprised to see just the vaguest hint of fear embedded in his face.
'Odd!' he thought. 'Why would he be so afraid?' But there was no time to dwell on that, as the aged matt black beast spoke.
"Ahhhh... how delicious. Do you see how the roles have reversed, old dragon? Now I'm in charge of your fate, and by God you'll pay for encasing us all in that icy fortress. And I don't mean a little. I'll make sure you're tortured to within an inch of your life, and then brought back from the brink. Over and over it'll go. Years will pass as steadily you lose your mind, loathing and regret at losing not just the dragon domain to me, but the entirety of the planet will slowly consume you. And once your mind is lost, I'll parade your broken husk of a body across the earth so those that are left can see who and what was responsible for this sad turn of events. Don't worry though, those here won't be around to study your shame. They will have long since died."
While the nagas' faces remained deadpan, sickening, twisted grins writhed across most of the dark dragons' prehistoric jaw lines, at the thought of what was to come.
Momentarily, George considered taking his own life, denying Troydenn everything he wished for. But that was gone in an instant. Not only was it a coward's way out, something he most certainly wasn't, but it would have been difficult to achieve without the power of the real ring, something Tank now carried in the miniscule pocket of his right shoe.
Thrusting out his right arm, palm facing upwards, Manson stepped up to the king.
"Hand it over, old timer. NOW!"
A look of utter resignation ingrained on his face, George forced tears from both his eyes, determined to give no hint that anything was out of the ordinary. Slipping the ring from his finger with one hand, and wiping the tears from his eyes with the other, he searched for the words that he needed.
"I don't know what's wrong with it, but it hasn't obeyed me for some time. At first its conscious will rebelled against me. After that, it just fell silent. I have no idea what's going on. Good luck with getting it to work."
Snatching the ring greedily from the king, Manson smiled smugly.
"It'll work for me. I assure you."
Tank and the king knew otherwise.
During all this, Janice kept her eyes firmly shut. The reasons for this were threefold. First, she didn't want to see any of it. Having caught one glimpse of the monster crossing the bridge was more than enough to see its evil intent and to know that things had gotten impossibly worse. Secondly, inside her mind, she was fighting against the pain of her injuries, trying desperately to put it to one side. That, however, wasn't really working. And last, but by no means least, she was trying to take a leaf out of Flash's book. And by that, I mean trying to contact what she now considered an extension of her... Fu-ts'ang. Having watched in awe back at the marketplace in Salisbridge as Flash had used just his mind to alter the trajectory of the deadly weapon as it had cut through the air, the young bar worker had wondered if it was at all possible for her to do the same. After all, it had spoken to her, and she did feel the resonance of some sort of connection, almost black and white if you will. Total opposites bonding because of that, the dark soul of Fu-ts'ang, designed expressly to kill, complemented perfectly with the purity of her beliefs. They say opposites attract. In this case, they couldn't have called it better. Through the haze of the pain, she was almost sure Fu-ts'ang was there, hidden somewhere just in the background. Wishing and pleading hadn't worked so far, unless of course he was just ignoring her. Doubling her determination, she delved further into the depths of her mind, searching for that elusive connection.
Shivering involuntarily, Tim found himself riddled with fear, wishing to be anywhere but here. Nightmares and horror movies had nothing on what was going on here and now. It wasn't possible. He'd told himself this dozens of times, but however hard he tried to believe, his surroundings remained, and the dreadfulness playing out in front of him continued. Throughout his suffering, one thought occupied his mind:
'I'm the White Dragon. I'm supposed to save them all. Just what am I expected to do?'
Full of himself as usual, and making a big play of it in front of his very 'captive' audience, Manson ruefully slipped the ring deftly onto his finger, ready and waiting to make its consciousness do his bidding. With everyone but Janice watching, the evil, dark dragon prepared to wrap whatever magic was within the ring, up into his overinflated will, forcing it to surrender to his every wish. But as every being there looked on with wonder and curiosity, the seconds ticked by, and as you might well have guessed, nothing happened.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, it was all the king could do not to smirk or laugh. Just watching him probe the inert ring with his mind, was utterly hilarious. Now he just waited for the impatience to show, his temper to rise, and he knew who would bear the brunt of it. It didn't take long.
"YOU! You've done something to it haven't you?" raged Manson at the king, from only a metre or so away.
"I've told you already. It's answerable to no one. I would have restored the bridge with the magic from it if I could have. But it would not obey my will. It refused steadfastly, before going totally silent. I have no control over it. Only the ring itself will choose whether or not to cooperate. It's happened in the past, but never quite on this scale. I don't know what else to say."
Sensing at least a hint of sincerity in the king's words, Manson turned to face his father Troydenn, hoping he would provide a different insight into the workings of the famed magical artefact.
"I sense no deception from him," grunted the matt black prehistoric monster, weaving his jaw around like a tree being blown in the wind. "I do know, however, that when the ring is passed down from king to king, it can often take days or even weeks before it responds to its new owner."
"Why the hell didn't you mention that before?" bellowed Manson, continuing to screw the ring up and down his finger.
From out of nowhere, one of Troydenn's gargantuan wings swept through the air, knocking Manson's feet from under him, causing him to crash to the ground unceremoniously. A sharp intake of breath from nearly every being there echoed off the walls.
"I don't know why you want that stupid bloody thing anyway. I've told you before it's the trident that you want, not the ring."
Much as the sight of both of them scared the living daylights out of Peter, in his mind he egged them both on, recognising the same madness in each, hoping that they would battle each other here and now, making each weaker, with the distinct possibility of death for one of them.