As goads went, he wasn't sure it would work, not knowing her personality all that well. But what he did know was that she was already steaming mad from watching the White Dragon having been torn in half directly in front of her. A few provocative words might just help rile her up.
Peter and Tank had exactly the same thought simultaneously.
"UH OH!"
Knowing their friend as well as they did, and having a pretty good idea of just how she felt having witnessed the brutal death of the one she loved, there was now no doubt in their minds that things had just taken a huge turn for the worse, if that were at all possible given the current situation. It would be all but impossible for the young lacrosse player to ignore everything Manson had just said. If he'd wanted to provoke her and prod her into killing his father, he'd probably just achieved his aim.
Huffing at the disgust she felt for the words aimed towards her, deep inside Troydenn's belly her hand wobbled almost imperceptibly, as fury and rage roiled off her and a smoke-like fog clouded her normally clear thinking brain. 'WANT!' There it was again, that word, fully encompassing her body, pumping through her blood stream, weaving in and out of every sinew, every fibre of her being. What did she WANT? The answer stared directly back at her, already there, not taking any time at all to form... she wanted to kill him. Here and now. It was an overwhelming urge, irresistible, overpowering, almost an addiction. Normally, she'd have been one of the most equipped beings on the planet to fight off all of these things, loaded to the core with self confidence, belief and faith that she could achieve anything she set her mind to. But not now, not after seeing what had happened to Tim. Her defences were not just broken, they'd been fully swept away by the onslaught of pain. Her suffering was not there for everyone to see, but it was there and had left her vulnerable and in a position to be abused and manipulated. Manson had known that, and was in fact counting on it to achieve just one of his many goals. And no matter how hard she fought (and she tried, by God she tried) there was never going to be any other outcome. Boiling with rage, anger and wrath crushing her soul, eventually she conceded defeat and let the darkness consume her. Mustering every ounce of strength and as much magic as the dagger would let her, in one passion filled act of revenge, as much for her as the one she'd lost, she shoved the dagger as far as she dared into the prehistoric creature that had caused so much trouble for the dragon domain over the centuries, and be damned with the consequences.
Glass splintered, books dropped from shelves up in the library, pages torn, scattering everywhere, as every being there winced in pain at dying Troydenn's last, shrill roar. Eardrums of those closest exploded, apart from Richie who'd gained limited protection because of where she stood. As the grotesque scream subsided, the mammoth dragon's sinister black body wobbled somewhat, before shaking uncontrollably. Still consumed with her act of vengeance, Richie remained rooted to the ground firmly below the dying dinosaur. Her mind screamed, "RUN," but her body ignored it completely.
Exactly the same thought ran through the heads of two beings on totally opposite sides of events playing out.
'SHE'S DONE IT! HE'S DEAD!' For George it was nothing short of sad, despite what had gone on in the past and the fact that his nemesis had promised to torture him for many months to come. A small part of him had hoped to talk him round, maybe even provide some sort of redemption and a turning point in everything that was going on.
For Manson, it was majestic, and he was nothing short of ecstatic. Washed away were his fears. No longer did he have to worry about his father invading his mind, controlling not only his thoughts, but his body as well. For that, he had to thank the young lacrosse player. Perhaps it was time to get right on that.
As the giant prehistoric corpse finally collapsed, almost on auto pilot Richie leapt and rolled from under the mighty beast, jumping to her feet right in the corner below the secretive entrance she'd appeared from a little earlier. Glancing up at the now exposed housing, she knew the only way back up there was to take dragon form and fly, something that in her current condition was a complete impossibility. Having her memories back was one thing; unlocking the bonds of her DNA that maintained her ape like form was something else entirely. As the tiny particles of dust started to settle and the ground stopped shuddering, Manson closed his eyes and directed his commands telepathically towards the guards.
Leaving the King's Guard dragons they were watching over, half a dozen of the vile looking dark prehistoric monsters stalked forward towards Richie, all of them drawing their swords from their black scabbards, a high pitched metal ring splintering the air.
Panic consumed Peter. They were going to kill her here and now and he had to stop it, he just had to. With everything he had, he fought to break free of the magical binders constraining him.
Tank was of the same mind. They weren't going to take her, not as long as he breathed. And so all thoughts of the king's magical ring put to one side, he readied himself for action, knowing that in all likelihood, he'd be dead in only a matter of moments.
Although most of her mind was elsewhere, she knew exactly what was playing out around her. She was in trouble. Big trouble! Janice had a pretty good idea of what was coming. Peter and Tank would not see their friend harmed, and would most certainly lay down their lives to prevent that from happening. Redoubling her efforts, she fought to persuade her friend, the living weapon, to do her bidding.
Broken and feeling as though he'd been hit by a freight train, the rugby player in him bubbled to the fore, watching what was about to unfold in front of him. Although she didn't play his sport, their bond had been forged, as he knew they were pretty much the same inside. And knowing that others around him were almost certainly about to give their all in a futile attempt to save the young lacrosse player's life, Hook pushed aside the pain and prepared for one last hurrah.
Despite things looking as hopeless as ever, Amelia Battlehard recognised her one and only opportunity, and with a polished black blade twitching against her throat, she doubted she would survive long enough to join in. But the others, those under her command, deserved a chance, no matter how remote, to fight for their lives, their king, their domain. Closing her eyes, she prepared to send out the go ahead.
Startled from the shock of seeing his ancient nemesis killed in front of him, all the king could think of was just how wrong things had gone, and how much worse they were about to get. Part of him longed for the ring, but given that it had done nothing but ignore him, he couldn't see how that would help the current situation. Helpless, all he could do was look on and pray for some sort of miracle.
38
Gatecrashers
A pinprick of light, somewhere in the middle of the private residence, that's how it started. Barely visible, even with the super enhanced senses of the individuals present, it wouldn't be long before the magic feeding it lit up the room, announcing its presence to all and sundry.
Gripping the laminium dagger so tightly that the impression of its hilt almost burned into her palm, Richie faced her attackers with all the gusto she'd lived her life. Unafraid, well for herself anyway, the only reservations and fears she had were for her friends. Unfortunately though, even those thoughts hadn't managed to manifest themselves anywhere near the forefront of her thinking. Still clouded by darkness, anger, fury and thoughts of more retribution, she had little awareness of the trouble she was actually in.