"That's better. And don't you forget it," threatened Troydenn, more than a little lunacy coming across in his words. Turning to face his nemesis, the being responsible for his icy incarceration, he menacingly asked,
"The trident... where is it?"
With little interest in the weapon, Manson remained silent, not wanting to provoke his father further than he already had.
"OUT WITH IT!" spat Troydenn furiously. "I can't tell you how long I've looked forward to getting my hands on that thing. It will serve as a reminder of everything I've been through, and just how the tables have been turned. I won't ask again, where is it?"
Caught more than a little off guard, George's mind started to race at the first mention of the trident. A weapon steeped in history, forged by another race and keyed to the individual DNA of the dragon monarch of the day, it was as formidable a weapon as there could possibly be, easily matching Fu-ts'ang and Aviva's laminium dagger in both grace and magical power. For most of his reign, he hadn't let it out of his sight, with it always on hand in one form or other, there to boost his confidence, give him reassurance and provide that extra element of protection against any unwarranted threats. One of the supernatural properties it had been instilled with was the ability to transform into another object with just a mere thought from the one whose DNA it had been bound to. And so for many, many decades, George had carried it surreptitiously around with him in the form of his magnificent walking stick, up until quite recently that is. Something inside him had become bored of it, feeling it more of a burden to carry around than anything, particularly given that he'd never had cause to use it in anger. So it had been secreted away, deep within the recesses of his private rooms, ironically, not that far away from where he currently stood. Right at this very moment, he wished it were here more than anything, because just maybe it could turn the tide of everything that was playing out around him. For now though, he just had to lie. That weapon in the hands of Troydenn was a nightmarish scenario, even without it being keyed to the psychopathic dark dragon's DNA. And so he did.
"My... my... my predecessor lost it while battling a horde of mentally unstable, rogue vampires across Eastern Europe and Russia. Throughout the decades I've sent many out to search for it, but none have come even close to finding it," he stammered, hands shaking, unable to look directly at the dark dragon.
"REALLY! How convenient!"
"I never inherited it, only the ring, I swear."
"In all of my research about the ring, father," put in Manson, "not once did I ever come across an account of him with the trident. I think he's telling the truth."
Considering this for a few moments, much to the king's relief, which he most certainly didn't show, the matt black monster seemed to concede defeat, turning his attention to other matters.
"NOW show me this supposed White Dragon that I've heard all about for all these years," bellowed Troydenn, "I'd very much like to take a look at the dragon domain's so called saviour."
Standing beside Tim, Peter's focus now was solely on controlling his own body, stopping it from shaking, vomiting or peeing, in the hope that he himself wouldn't get noticed.
For his part, Tim tried to do the same, but with the ominous looking prehistoric beast stalking its way towards him, as Manson pointed him out, his legs shook violently, barely able to support his weight, and tears started to fill his eyes. His heart felt one beat away from stopping altogether.
"So you're it!" spat Troydenn contemptuously, his booming voice ruffling the hair of both Peter and Tim.
"Dragon got your tongue?" he goaded.
Tim, to his credit, at least had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, something both Peter and the king knew to be best.
"Does it speak?" Troydenn turned to ask Manson.
"It does," answered Earth from off to one side. "I do believe that because it was still only human just a short time ago, it is absolutely terrified of everything in the dragon domain. Also, it's not quite sure that this is entirely real."
"Entirely real!" scoffed Troydenn.
"Indeed," answered Earth.
Giant primordial jaws swivelled slowly round to face George, the dragon king, Troydenn's glistening yellow eyes holding much menace.
"So this is what will save you, your precious White Dragon, the being from the prophecy that was predicted thousands of years ago. It's almost too amusing to take in. And just how is that supposed to happen, pray tell? Will he suddenly transform and take us all out?"
"Rumour has it that he can barely fly," chipped in Earth, adding to the king's consternation.
During all this, Janice still had her eyes closed, hugging her knees to her chest, having not gotten up from being knocked down during the melee in which Tank had been tossed viciously at the king. With her mind set firmly on one goal, she was certain she was getting blessedly closer to full on communication with Fu-ts'ang, or at least, that's how it felt. Although not able to see the dragon killing weapon, she could feel exactly where it was, gripped in two hands by a slimy naga two rows back from the front. She was so close. Giving up now was not an option.
Hook couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing. He'd recognised the prisoner standing next to Peter as Tim, the treasurer of the Sports club. But all this talk of prophecy and a 'white dragon', what the hell was that all about? There'd been no mention that Tim was a dragon, or that he was anything to do with a prophecy. Hard as it seemed, for Hook things had just gotten a whole lot stranger.
Keeping a straight face, George wondered where on earth all this was going. Playful, could best describe Troydenn's mood at the moment, having changed from chillingly terrifying at the flick of a switch. He knew it could turn back the other way at any moment, something he couldn't allow to happen. The prophecy (which had to be believed... it just did) described how the White Dragon would save them all. Without the White Dragon they were doomed, it was a well known fact about the prophecy taught throughout the dragon race. He and just about every other dragon on the planet believed it with all their hearts. If something happened to Tim, there was no saving dragonkind or the earth itself.
"TROYDENN, YOU ARE SUCH A SELF ABSORBED..." that was as far as the king got in providing a distraction.
Out of the blue, Troydenn whirled, almost unseen so fast was he, catching Tim full on in the stomach with the punch to end all punches. Heavyweight champions across the world winced. Tim cried out as he cut through the air, a blur to Hook, who still couldn't believe what he was seeing. Landing with a dull 'THUD' and the sound of breaking bones, some way away, the supposed White Dragon found himself in a heap, almost directly below the vent that Richie hunkered down in.
Instantly, the king took a step forward. Manson brought his cane around and swept the monarch off his feet. Peter rallied against his chains. Earth gave him a slap that caused his head to ring like the inside of a church bell. Throughout the residence, the King's Guards set themselves ready, only to find vicious looking bastard swords drawn, ready to carve them in two. Amelia Battlehard had been ready to give the order, go all out in one last stand to save not only her king, but the White Dragon as well. But in the blink of an eye, her troops had been neutralised; any attempt now would end up with nearly all of them dead, she knew. From across the shining marble floor, with the ancient text smattered across it, she caught the king's eye. And that said it all. She knew what was coming next.