Ears ringing, Tank shook his head vigorously, trying to regain some sense of what was going on. In less than a minute, things had all but turned on their head. From out of nowhere help had arrived in the form of Flash and a whole host of others. That they must have succeeded in Antarctica was the only conclusion to be drawn. And if that were the case, the stunning looking naga at the head of the group must be the naga king, and the no nonsense, tough looking human shape just had to be Peter's grandfather and founder of the Crimson Guards.
'My God, how on earth have they achieved such a feat?' he wondered briefly. But now was not the time. Much as he was glad to see his friend and the reinforcements that accompanied him, he had no doubt that a battle to end all battles was only moments away. Part of him hoped that Manson, that evil witch and the rest of the wickedness that pervaded this place would surrender. Realistically though, he knew it would be a cold day in hell before that happened. Swallowing nervously, mentally he tucked away his fear and tried to prepare himself for everything that was about to unfold.
Anger, adrenaline, passion and rage could no longer be contained, not that they necessarily had been. Watching Tim's murder had flicked a switch somewhere inside her. To be honest, it hadn't taken much. What she'd done to Casey back in Salisbridge had left her feeling tainted. Touched by darkness which had continued to consume her on the solo journey that had led her to this point, in killing Troydenn, she'd felt nothing. Well... strictly that wasn't totally true. There'd been a rush, so brief she'd almost missed it. Momentary exhilaration had been replaced by a deep seated satisfaction, not at the act itself, but at exacting revenge on the dark dragon from another time.
What was odd though, was Manson's reaction. She'd been watching him in her peripheral vision, hoping against hope for some kind of response, assuming all along that he'd been bluffing. On enacting the deed, there'd been no sign of remorse or anything remotely resembling sorrow from him, only a smug satisfaction, and she could be sure because she knew that look, and the feeling, well.
'Strange that Manson would want his father dead,' played over and over in her head, almost taking her mind off the approaching enemies. Flash's timely arrival had given her moments of breathing space, allowing her to expunge at least a small part of the darkness that had taken her, allowing her for the first time since her lover's death to see the situation for what it really was. Before she hadn't cared, wanting nothing more than to take as many of them with her as she could; now though, she could see a way out, a way her friends could survive this, with some semblance of normality a possibility for the rest of the planet. But the one thing it wouldn't be was easy, even with the added assistance of the mighty Flash and the add-ons he'd brought with him. Momentarily she wondered exactly what he'd been through. To be here, now, and achieve what he had was nothing short of miraculous. Indeed he was a legend and songs should be sung about the ex-Crimson Guard. But they were some way off songs being composed. First they had to fight, fight for their lives, for their domain, for their planet. And so with the lacrosse player deep within her screaming out that they needed to work together, light pushed away the darkness as she sought eye contact with those she needed to keep her on the straight and narrow.
From behind his ragtag bunch of young dragons, proud and terrified in equal measure, Yoyo sized up the situation that they had stumbled into the middle of. Instantly he recognised Peter, despite his horrific injuries, standing next to a nightmarish, witch-like figure, purple lines dissecting her face, madness and insanity radiating from her eyes.
'Tank looks in better shape,' he thought, before clapping eyes on the king, a broken and beaten dragon. Aware of just how dire things appeared, he found his composure, readied a number of healing mantras and said a brief prayer, to whom, he wasn't quite sure. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
Ready to send the signal to those under her command, Amelia Battlehard's breathing had decreased to all but nothing in an attempt to focus fully on what was unfolding. It is not a well known fact, but dragons can slow their heart rate and stop breathing for almost ten minutes if they have to. Of course all of King's Guard had trained at this over and over again at the academy, but it's not something that presents as useful in real life. Well, not up until now anyway. Another reason for holding her breath was the dull, black blade that rested against the scales lining her throat. Worried that the slightest movement on her part could result in a separation of her head from her body, it was abundantly clear that the deadly looking swords were sharper than a razor. In the moments since the newcomers had shown up, she'd figured out how she'd get out of her hopeless situation, or at least how she'd try. Readying the signal, she tapped into the mana that flowed throughout her prehistoric body and prepared to let loose what she hoped would be a rather unpleasant surprise.
'Whole again?' What did that even mean? And why was the weapon (sorry Fu-ts'ang, she should know better than to refer to him as an object) why was Fu-ts'ang jabbering on and on about it, all the time referring to Flash? It didn't make any sense. Just as she thought all this, her mind became still. At first she thought she'd offended the weapon, but she could feel its reaction when that thought occurred to her. That wasn't it. Without any sound or any one specific thought, using only its feelings, Janice got the sense that it was time to prepare, to be ready for what was about to happen. The frightened bar worker had long since been replaced by a being that could get the job done. Powered not by a sense of right or wrong, or fear of failure, her entire being was consumed by love. First and foremost her love for Peter, the being she wanted to share the rest of her life with (be careful what you wish for. This might well be your last sixty seconds) and love for those around her whose friendships she'd made, valued and trusted. For her, giving herself over to the weapon, to do what she had to in an attempt to save each and every one of them, was a clear no brainer. As long as they lived, she believed. Believed that the life she so desperately wanted was possible. And so she would fight, and although only human, she would fight with all the purpose, desire, strength and violence of a... DRAGON!
For him, it was unusual to feel puzzled. For as long as he could remember, he'd always been in control of his destiny, even more so now with the death of his father only minutes ago. Of course he recognised the naga king. Who wouldn't remember one so striking, particularly if you'd kept them prisoner for that many years and enslaved most of their race to do your bidding? Now though, he remembered the human shaped dragon, the unusual one, the one they'd tortured for decades trying to get the truth out of him. The one that he'd at least got to speak on his last visit to Antarctica. What he couldn't understand though, was how they'd been freed, and just what kind of magic had transported them here? Glaring across at the naga king, he assumed it was related somehow to him. While he'd mastered quite a lot of everything magical, he supposed that while the captive nagas had been acquainting him with their magical ways, it should come as no surprise that they'd left things out. Rather deliberately he now assumed. Oh well, it didn't matter. They were here now, and would have little or no influence in what played out. After all, there were only a handful of them. What good did they think they could do? That many wouldn't even scratch the surface of his force.