Sometimes, when his fear turned into a low, constant rumble in his ears, the world seemed to growl and shake like an angry dragon. Moordryd hated it—the anxiety that forced him to bend, to make himself seem smaller, ready to cringe away from a hit. The fear pulsed in time with his heart, snarled, grew strong enough to make his knees buckle.
As he came up out of the underground, up into the sandy arena, he realized that the growling wasn't coming from inside his head. The shaking wasn't his own unsteady nerves.
Dragon-City was trembling. Rust, grime, showers of electric sparks rained down from the higher levels. The entire superstructure shivered as it pulsed, as if the gears deep inside itself were turning too hard.
Kitt and Parm were already mounted on their dragons. Lance had to take several seconds to properly saddle up Fracshun, while the last golden glow of Artha's armor spiraled up around him and Beau. All of them looked expectantly at the streets above, scanning the edges of the stadium and the gates, looking for any sign of wraith dragons or Armeggadon or city security, anything.
"It's gotta be Armeggadon," Artha said to his father on the screen. "We're next on his list."
Connor was drawing on his top armor, seating himself on his own dragon. "We've got to find out where those pulses are coming from. It doesn't feel like it's on the surface. It feels higher up."
"Then we're going up," Artha said. "We'll be able to see better from the race track anyway."
"If you face Armeggadon," Connor said, snapping on his helm. "Then you're facing eight dark dragons and any more he's rallied to his side. Wait for me!"
By now, Moordryd had activated his own gauntlet just as Decepshun magged him and drew him in. The shadows covered him in his armor as he landed on her back, and the shadows didn't retreat. Black psionic energy crackled between them, and once again he lost himself in her thoughts, the sensation of her hide on his skin. And she felt his fear, his nervous excitement.
She let loose a roar, startling the rest of them. A moment later, her own flight of black dragons roused out of the stable and came to her side—unarmored, without gear, fanning out in a loose formation behind her. The intent was obvious.
"I think we've got that covered," Artha told his father with a reassured smile. "And we'll start gathering dragons of our own. They have to be scared up there. This way, maybe the dragons can help save the city."
Connor's frown wasn't reassured, but he didn't argue. In a line, Artha led the rest of them at a gallop out of the arena, heading up the major roads that would lead them onto the race circuit and the onramps that would ultimately lead to the streets and routes above the clouds. They chattered between themselves, calling out warnings as people ran out of shaking buildings, as the lights flickered and went dark, and their own energy provided the way through the smoky gloom. Decepshun roared occasionally, calling dragons to her, and panicked solitary dragons followed her voice, joining the ancient vysox's confidence as the world began to shear at the seams.
Moordryd discovered a new advantage to being Decepshun's rider. He could leave the race to her and focus on human matters. Behind the rest of the boosters, listening with half an ear, he rushed to send his own communication. His saddle was no longer there with its convenient video screen, but he could at least use his helm to dial in his father's frequency.
He wasn't surprised to hear his father's voice through the rasp of the Drakkus armor, over the heavy growls of the dragon Abandonn.
"I assume plans have changed," Word said.
"I assume you aren't out to catch me?" Moordryd said, ending on a question.
"Seeing as my tower may collapse, that doesn't seem the best place to store you," Word said. "So no."
"We're heading up to the top," Moordryd said. "Can you tell where Armeggadon is?"
"I am sending the wraiths up as your support," Word said slowly. "There are surges in the city's energy—I'm trying to pinpoint them, but the search will take time."
"Fine. I'll call if we find anything." Moordryd paused. "Were you being honest before? About…mom?"
"…Drakkus out."
The line clicked off. Moordryd growled to himself and opened another line. "Cain? Cain, are you—?"
"Ah! We're all gonna die!"
Moordryd rolled his eyes, wishing his friend could see him. "We are not going to die. Get your crew—"
"Moordryd? Moordryd! Where are you? What's happening? What—"
"Get. Your. Crew." Moordryd growled, and he put as much of a threat into his voice as he could. "And ride up as far as you can get. Get to my father's tower and go as high as—"
He grimaced, tightening his grip on Decepshun's hide as she suddenly halted and heavy debris crashed down in front of her. A chunk of road twice as large as her slammed into the street, showering them with stones and gravel, and she swerved hard to the left, heading up the supports of an advertising billboard. Several dragons had to peel off, finding less acrobatic routes.
"—Moordryd?"
"—and watch out for falling slag!" Moordryd yelled. "Everyone! That means the dragons, too!"
He cut off the communication. He hoped that Cain would follow orders.
Payne Tower was more than home and more than his father's command center. It was a support pillar for the entire city. There were several pillars clustered through the city, and if the tower fell, hope wasn't lost. But an entire crew defending the tower would help his family and stabilize all of Dragon City, especially if his father wasn't there manning the defenses himself.
And Dragon City felt like it needed all the help it could get.
The attacks were coming rhythmically now, pulsing in time with his heart. The Boosters had abandoned trying to sprint through the streets, using the rooftops and the midcity race circuit to make it to the ramp up to the top level of the city, out of midcity and up to the sunlight layer, but they were forced to a stop at the access ramp.
Despite being nearly forty feet wide and a hundred feet long, the ramp was absolutely crowded with people—many of them fleeing in both directions along the street, some mounted on dragons, others on foot, crushing together so that anyone who vanished beneath the mob or slid off their dragon did not rise again.
Kitt tightened her grip on Wyldfyre.
"This is crazy," she said. "They're killing each other down there—they're—"
Another shockwave rippled through the city. Parmon instinctively anchored Cyrano to the roof and put up a shield that spread umbrella-like over the five of them. Concrete and asphalt tumbled down, warping his shield, then dropping to the roof, knocking off bricks and machinery. When his shield began to buckle and shake, Kitt added her own energy, thankful that she'd learned to sync her power with his before.
Something powerful cracked and broke. As if in slow motion, a massive piece of steel and iron fell from somewhere above, striking the side of the ramp, tumbling into—
Artha and Beau's energy struck the debris, shoving it against the ramp's central support, holding it above the crowd but unable to move something so heavy. Beau groaned, driving his claws into the concrete, struggling to push it back.
"I can't…" Artha said through grit teeth, "I can't stop it!"
"If we blast it, it'll crack in half!" Moordryd yelled over Decepshun's matching energy. "It's just too big!"
Even together, the debris sagged toward people either in shock or simply too slow to run so far so quickly. As the center of the ramp cleared, Moordryd's eyes widened. The bodies of the fallen lay prone, many of them clearly dead, many of them still horribly alive, broken and watching their death suspended above them.
The blue lightning bolt surprised all of them. With a powerful thunderous rumble, the air tingled and suddenly screamed in a flash of blinding white. The debris blasted in all directions, reduced to chunks no larger than a curled fist. The impact sent the crowd reeling, bloodied by flying shrapnel, but it wasn't the killing smash that had been intended. It left victims, not corpses.
All of them stared in surprise at Lance, who held his hands out straight, his gloves still smoking.
"Energy Booster, indeed," Parmon said. "If I had to guess, I'd estimate the power differential at—"
"Later," Artha said. "Lance, are you okay?"
"…y-yeah." Lance wasn't looking at his hands but rather the carnage before them, the dark liquid running down the street, pooling in the gutters, streaking behind people's footsteps. "They…they're…"
"They're on their own," Moordryd said harshly, cutting through Lance's shock. "Let's go!"
Without waiting for him to finish, Decepshun roared and leaped down from the roof. Her mag-inversion was small and precise, just enough power to let her land easily, but it remained in place for several seconds as her flight of black dragons followed in her shadow.
"I don't think Moordryd's in charge anymore," Parmon said as he unanchored Cyrano. "That was pure Decepshun."
"I hope she remembers he's not just a piece of gear," Kitt said.
Artha didn't reply. He made sure that Lance nodded and started guiding Fracshun, following them down among the crush of people and dragons. The smaller dragon shied away from the bodies and squawked nervously, hopping after Cyrano's more confident steps. Lance squeezed his eyes shut, simply following.
At least the bravado had been beaten out of him in an instant, Artha thought. But it was a cold reassurance, and if Lance wasn't cocksure, then it was also possible for Lance to freeze up when the fighting started.
As they came up into the highest layer, he realized he didn't have to worry about his little brother. Sunlight sparkled across the vast open sky and over the gleaming spires of the wealthiest part of Dragon City. The professional race track ran like a silk ribbon throughout the entire level, raised above the street on high supports, its smooth edges now tattered as it shuddered. And the wraith dragons, Word Payne's hidden army, surrounded Lance in a protective circle of rippling light.
"Is that your dragon's doing," he asked Moordryd, "or you?"
Hanging low on Decepshun's back, his jack stick readied in one hand, Moordryd couldn't afford to look around. The sudden movement might throw off his dragon's balance or his own. But he didn't have to look—Artha's teasing voice made it obvious.
"He's still a mini-brat," Moordryd grumbled, "even if he's taller. She agrees it's better to treat him like a cannon."
Far away from battle, letting loose powerful blasts. Artha nodded. They'd come into this battle with better odds than he'd realized. Decepshun had her flight, and she was a powerful dragon with an original bonemark in her own right. The wraith dragons served at Moordryd's command, or at the very least, his suggestion backed up by Decepshun. They had all five boosters of legend.
And behind them, two ancient dragon warriors came along the Sun City track, looking down at them from above. Word Payne in his Drakkis armor, Connor on Tyrannous Pax—their strength was a welcome sight.
"He is dropping parts of this level like bombs," Word said, not needing to say who. "When he has punched enough holes in the substructure, he will move to bring the entire city-tower down."
"Where is he?" Artha demanded.
"We can't go in without a strategy," Connor said. "Fighting him head-on is too risky."
"Then we flank him," Word said. "Us above as a distraction. The children can wrench the track out from under him."
"He'll just catch himself in the fall," Parmon said, flinching as the dark flaming eyes focused on him. "He knows all the moves you do, and then some. You have to do something he won't expect."
"It's worse than that," Connor said. "He knows more tricks than we do, the fighting style of the ancient dragon war. And even if we have more dragons now, his dragons have fought as one unit for a millenia. He's a practiced warrior."
"And we're not," Kitt groaned. "We just started doing this."
"Maybe you have."
Having paced farther ahead for a better view, Decepshun turned and stepped deliberately between the boosters, staring up at the two adult warriors. She faced them for long seconds, gathering her thoughts, with the deep rumbling of Armeggadon's attacks thrumming somewhere out of sight.
Artha half expected her to start talking. Instead, Moordryd lightly jumped from her back and stepped forward, twirling his jack stick once and planting its end on the asphalt. Artha was struck by the movement. It wasn't Moordryd's usual style, none of the straight wrist or arm that he favored.
This was the move of a stronger fighter—the original Shadow Booster, shown to him by Decepshun's memories. He stood and lifted his head, serving as her voice.
"We are not humans," Moordryd said, surrounded by her black energy. "We remember this war—it can only be fought as one. There must be no hesitation and no doubt."
"Doubt of what?" Connor asked. "We know Armeggadon has to die. But it remains to be seen if we are up to that task."
Decepshun snorted. And her gaze turned from Connor to Word.
"Who must lead this attack?"
Word didn't answer for a long moment. He didn't look away, although his body half turned, uncomfortable in his saddle. The question lay between them, and he tightened his grip on his controls.
Below, Parmon and Kitt shared a look, then glanced at Artha. He shrugged. He didn't know why that question mattered so much. They thought that the adults would come up with a strategy, they would follow that until it failed, and then they would play it by ear until they won.
Connor shifted in his seat. There was something else here, something obvious that he knew he'd missed. She was demanding control of this fight, establishing her rightful place among the adults despite her youthful rider. He blinked. No. That wasn't it. She was—
Lance realized it before the rest of them did.
"Moordryd thinks dragons should rule."
And so did Decepshun.
The question was…would Word Payne follow his own beliefs? Would his dragon Abandonn continue with their arrangement of rider and mount?
"You have enough black draconium to assist in this," Decepshun demanded, her voice cold and unyielding in Moordryd's mouth. "But not if you try to command."
Word stared at them for a long time, fighting with himself.
He had lost everything in his childhood for this belief, this heresy that dragons should rule. Stronger, faster, smarter sometimes…for Word Payn as a child, this had seemed obvious. As he had grown, however, stealing Dragon Priest secrets and growing his own vast corporation and stronghold, idealistic faith had given way to day to day practicalities. Yes, dragons should rule…but he would steal and breed and augment them as needed. Yes, dragons should rule, but he would create dragons who obeyed his commands. Yes, dragons should rule, but he was Word Payne. He was the one who would free the dragons and release them from bondage…did that not deserve some recognition? Power? Command?
He looked at his son, a puppet to a dragon he'd created. A willing puppet. A partner. A powerful weapon wielded by a master, the human chosen by a dragon who would clearly rule over her flight. A Shadow Booster of sharp edges and vast abilities, still young but clearly growing into his strength.
Word remembered that, if he was a powerful warrior, the energy came from the dragon. He had forgotten that for a long time. She was simply reminding him.
"…yours is the command," Word said. "If Abandonn will follow you."
That was a matter between dragons, not humans. With her authority clarified, their conversation clearly done. She magged Moordryd not to her back but her side, holding him even as he put one hand out to clasp her spines, one leg braced, the other dangling as he waited for her to move.
"Wait," Connor said, "we can't just—strategy must be decided, not fed to us as we go—"
She didn't answer, focusing instead on Abandonn. As the two black dragons communicated through their psyionics, it was Moordryd who looked to Artha and Connor.
"It's a black draconium thing," he said. "You'll feel it in your head, all of it. And then…well. It's up to you if you follow it."
"Wanna clue us in a bit—?" Kitt started.
And then the plan was suddenly in her head. Decepshun's touch flashed over them, lingered a moment, and then vanished. The map of their strategy lay in her wake.
The boosters would sprint in close, harrying Armeggadon and his dragons like wasp-drakes, stinging, attacking, hopefully tossing his dragons off the Sun City levels into the darkness below. The two warriors would begin the attack in earnest, wearing Armeggadon down. And then, with any luck, the dragons of the city would heed their call. Otherwise…
"It'll be a long fight if we have to do this alone," Kitt whispered, seeing any number of outcomes. They might be caught by a magburst, thrown off the track themselves. Crushed under Armeggadon's power.
"Anyone have any better ideas?" Moordryd asked, both for himself and Decepshun, who gave him a sidelong glance but didn't argue.
"Keep the Energy Booster back for targeted strikes," Artha said. "And send the wraiths up with us."
Decepshun shook her head once. It would be difficult enough to safeguard the younger booster. And too many wraiths meant they would be tripping over their own forces.
Artha wasn't sure how he understood that. But the psychic web between them, forged by Decepshun and strengthened by Abandonn, made the communication easy.
With a last look at Word Payne, she snorted once, then turned and began the charge.
Artha felt a fleeting touch, Moordryd's voice brushing against his thoughts, indistinct but worried. Even afraid. Artha wished he could reassure the other boy. Could reassure even his friends. They shared a last look. They were children rushing into the last battle of the ancient war.
He hoped they all returned.
Note: One more chapter, I think. My thanks to the people who commented on the previous chapter. You're the only reason this one was written.