Morgan Rice - A feast of dragons

Fire came hailing down like a tornado, singing the side of the canyon wall. As the dragon moved its neck, the fire spread-and that was when Thor heard the screams.

Several Legion members screamed out in horrific pain as Thor watched them get burned alive. Thor watched helplessly, before turning and sprinting with the rest of the boys, running for their lives.

The dragon lowered a leg, and as its foot met the ground, it left another canyon-sized hole, shaking the earth so much that Thor and the Legion members were thrown into the air, a good ten feet. Thor landed hard on his side, and rolled several times.

Thor scurried to his feet and looked up, and saw the dragon getting closer as the rest of the boys ran. Some of the older boys broke into action. One of them, who had carried with him a long rope and grappling hook, distributed the ropes to several others, and soon, the group ran in circles around it, looping the ropes around its legs, trying to trip it up.

It was a valiant effort, and the boys moved quickly and fearlessly, managed to wrap the rope tightly around its legs twice, to Thor’s surprise. They expected the dragon to trip and fall as it took its next step.

But they were all horrified as the dragon merely looked down, noticed the rope, and snapped it like it didn’t exist. Then it raised a foot and brought it down, crushing several of the older boys into the earth as it did. It swiped with its claws and sliced other boys in half.

Thor watched in horror as O’Connor got hit in the swipe; he missed its claw, but the dragon’s foot still sent O’Connor flying through the air and smashing into the canyon wall. Thor prayed he wasn’t dead.

The other boys began to flee again, all their options exhausted, and Thor knew he had to do something quickly. At this rate, they would all be dead in minutes. There was no way out of this canyon, and the dragon had them trapped.

As everyone around him continued to run, Thor mustered his courage, and stopped. He stood there, in the center of the canyon floor, and turned and faced the dragon. His heart was pounding, and he knew this might mean his death-but he had to do this.

Thor tried to muster everything that Argon had taught him, tried to summon his spiritual power, whatever power he had. If he had any innate power, he knew that now was the time to draw on it. Now was the time he needed it most.

The dragon suddenly stopped and focused on Thor. It threw back its head and roared, as if furious at being challenged, and in that moment Thor wished that he had ran with the others.

As he stood there alone, facing the dragon, Thor raised one palm, determined to use whatever supernatural powers he had to combat the beast.

Please, God. Please.

The dragon pulled back its throat, opened its mouth, and shot flames right down at Thor.

Thor kept his palm out, hoping and praying that this would work.

As the flames came down, showering down all around him, Thor was stunned to see that his palm created an energy shield around him. The flames harmlessly parted ways around his hand, leaving him safe.

The other boys stopped and watched.

The dragon was enraged. It lifted a foot and brought it down, preparing to crush Thor.

But Thor kept his palm out, and as the foot came down, he was able to use his energy force to stop it with his hand, the foot hovering in mid-air several feet above Thor.

Thor could feel the energy of the beast, feel its strength, its intense desire to kill him. Thor’s entire body was shaking as he used all he had to keep it at bay. But he could not hold it back much longer.

Finally, Thor, unable to hold it any longer, released the energy shield and ran. As he did, the foot came crashing down, missing him by feet, plunging into the earth.

The dragon roared, enraged.

The other Legion members stopped and watched, in awe.

The dragon, madder than ever, charged Thor. It dove right for him, opening its rows of teeth, aiming to swallow him whole.

Thor felt a heat rising within himself, and he summoned his energy again. This time he used it to jump-higher than he ever had-and as the dragon ducked down, Thor leapt over its head and landed on its back.

Thor grabbed onto its scales, hanging on for dear life as the dragon bucked. It was like riding a mountain. Thor could sense the dragon’s energy and it was the most powerful thing he had ever felt. Thor used his power to try to direct the dragon’s energy. He implanted the image in the dragon’s mind of flying away.

And that was exactly what the dragon did.

The dragon suddenly lifted up and flew out of the canyon. Thor controlled its mind as it continued to fly, farther and farther away. Thor hung on for dear life, the wind and the mist whipping his face as they climbed higher and higher, flew faster and faster. Soon, the ground was just a speck below them.

Thor directed the dragon to turn over the sea, and they continued to fly. Thor whispered to the dragon to dip down, close to the shore, praying that it would.

It did. As soon as they flew over the shore, Thor took the opportunity. He held his breath and jumped off the dragon’s back, hurling through the air, hoping he made it.

He landed in the waves, chest deep in the churning sea. He surfaced, gasping, and turned to watch as the dragon flew away, over the sea, farther and farther away.

With Thor’s last ounce of strength, he waded to the shore, and collapsed on the sand, unable to move another inch. He was still clutching the scepter. He could not believe it.

He had made it.

Andronicus sat on his throne, surrounded by a dozen servant girls, chained naked to the floor, fanning him, placing fruit into his mouth, as he leaned back with a smile and watched the festivities unfold before him. In the circular floor of his massive throne room, the night’s games were beginning.

Spread throughout the room were hundreds of Andronicus’ closest followers, contingents that had arrived to pay homage from every corner of the Empire, wearing every possible color. They feasted, dancing, drinking, drugging in this room, as they had night after night. There was a never-ending stream of dignitaries who wanted to pay tribute to him. If they did not, he would have his armies crush them in an instant. And these games, the center of the night’s festivities, were a nice complement to a long day of drinking and feasting.

The first game of the night was always the most exciting, and this promised to be no exception. They had found a massive Spokebull, with three horns, a jaw twice as wide, eight sets of long fangs, and they had paired it against a Livara-a massive, lion-like creature with four sets of wings. In the ring, the Spokebull charged the Livara, roaring, and the Livara charged back. It promised to be a good matchup.

The two creatures, each enraged, met in the middle, snarling, each sinking its fangs into the other’s hide. They hit the ground and rolled, and the room became filled with the sounds of their vicious snarls. Within moments, blood and saliva was spraying all over the room. Andronicus smiled wide, thrilled as some of the blood sprayed through the gate and hit him in the face. Inspired, he reached over, slipped one hand around one of the naked girls, and pulled her up onto his lap. Before she knew what was happening, he extended his huge fangs, and plunged them into her throat.

She shrieked as he drank her blood, feeling the hot liquid gush down his throat, holding her tight until she finally stopped writhing. Finally, she slumped there, dead, in his arms, and he wiped the back of his mouth, and let her lie there. There were few things he enjoyed more than holding a freshly-dead corpse in his lap. This was turning out to be a great night, indeed.