Rosinanti_Rise of the Dragon Lord

by Kevin J. Kessler

  “NO!” Kayden screamed in fury, suddenly slamming both of his fists down upon the floor. The ground beneath them crumbled and caved inward. Her connection to Kayden’s mind was broken, and she fell. It was not simply the floor of the rebel headquarters that had broken but the ground beneath it as well. Seraphina found herself plummeting into the vast circular tunnels of the catacombs beneath Kackritta City.

  She slammed into the ground, feeling pain reverberate through her body. She slammed her hip more forcefully onto the rocky surface and felt a snap. The pain was practically electric, filling her entire side with stabbing agony. She managed to throw a force field around herself to ward off the falling rocks and debris, which smashed against its glowing, blue surface. A pile of brown stones mixed with clumps of the black, tarnished floor of the rebel headquarters moved just ahead of her, and with a mighty scream, Kayden threw the debris from his body, standing in a fury to glower down at the princess, eyes aglow with purple energy. Seraphina tried to reach out once more with her mind, but Kayden was ready for this now. Her psyche bounced off his with a rebounding shockwave that threw her head back with so much force she nearly suffered whiplash.

  “YOU DARE?” Kayden roared, flesh shaking with seething anger as saliva dripped through his clenched teeth at the force of his violent exhalations. Seraphina had touched a guarded section of his mind. One where the real Kayden, the boy she had known all of her life, still resided. She could feel the darkness swirl within him, and soon the amethyst shine of his power was so bright she needed to shield her eyes from the glare lest her corneas be scorched.

  As the glow subsided, Seraphina kept her eyes shut tight behind the barrier of her arm. Then she heard it—a growl that sounded more like a landslide. The floor beneath her shook, and the large circular tunnel filled with a noticeable humidity. The princess gasped, knowing what lay beyond the veil of darkness covering her field of vision, but childish superstition promised her that if she just kept her eyes closed then it wouldn’t be real. But Seraphina was no longer a child. She was a grown woman, and she had to face that which was before her.

  She lowered her arm and slowly opened her eyes. Through the haze of adjusting eyesight, she saw the scaled, ebony goliath, wings folded down against its bulk to fit in the tight confines of the tunnel, glowing purple eyes narrowing at its intended prey, lips pulled back, baring long, pointed teeth that could rend her to shreds. The dragon reared back and roared, the force of its powerful voice sending debris flying farther into the tunnel. Seraphina tried to flatten herself against the ground as the creature’s breath blew her hair back.

  As the noise subsided, she looked into the eyes of the black dragon as it continued to growl and glower at her. Seraphina had never felt so small, so helpless in her life. She remembered the sight of it, hovering over Lazman, raining purple death upon the unsuspecting village while she was wracked with grief and despair. This same monster had laid waste to her home, slashing its destructive energy down into the streets of Kackritta, murdering her people by the hundreds. But then, she remembered this was not a beast. This was a man, a man she had known since he was a boy. And men could be defeated. She was far from powerless.

  Though she had not attempted her own transformation since her spectacular defeat of Aleksandra’s doppelgänger three months ago, Seraphina felt confident that she could draw upon its power. She focused inward, unlocking the wellspring of magical energy she kept behind walls of control. The blue light of order returned to her eyes and soon spread to encompass her entire body. She could feel her flesh, her bone, her muscle melt away, and her consciousness settled into a new body, a larger more powerful form that materialized around her, rippling with raw energy. The light faded, and Seraphina stood face to face with the black creature, still markedly larger than her but suddenly not so frightening. Her blue-scaled dragon form, almost more fish than reptile, glowed in the darkness, pushing back the black uncertainty of the shadow. Her finned tail slapped the subterranean floor of the tunnel, and she roared into the larger dragon’s face, accepting his challenge.

  The order filled her with calming serenity, and the blue dragon charged against the black.

  XIII: Heart of Fire

  The flames of chaos spread and chewed upon the dirt-covered ground of Karminia’s battle arena, rendering the littered corpses of animal and human alike to ash. The only area not engulfed in the red-hot blaze was a small circle of activity, twenty meters in diameter, where Zouka stood in wide-eyed fascination, staring at the specter that was once Valentean Burai silhouetted against the oppressive heat. He looked like a shadow, a perfect formation of dark might, betrayed only by the points of crimson fury that were his eyes, blaring like burning coals through the refractive humidity.

  At first, he was rendered speechless, his flesh nearly sizzling as the fire superheated his black armor. But through it all, Zouka felt extreme excitement at the prospect of finally seeing what The Rosintai was truly capable of. He waited with baited breath to see what the creature would do, but Valentean remained stoic and motionless, his expression hidden behind the shroud of shadow. It would be wise to simply stand and wait for his opponent to make the first move, but Zouka’s excitement had reached near euphoric heights, and he could not wait a second longer. The Gorram bounded forward, his powerful right hand balling into the tightest fist he had ever made. Yellow energy formed around it, pulsating like a tiny sun.

  This would be his finest hour, in which he would test the might of the Gorram people against the power of a god. It was here that he would either see his greatest triumph or slip into the embrace of an honorable death. As he neared his target, Valentean’s features came into view, and his face lay slack with stern, stoic indifference. Zouka locked onto a point between the Rosinanti’s glowing red eyes and aimed the fastest, truest punch he had ever thrown. His body tingled with mana. His soul screamed for this moment, his power flexing through his impressive musculature. So, it was quite disarming when Valentean casually moved his left hand up, and caught the incoming strike ten centimeters from his face with the casual ease of grabbing a ball tossed by a child. Zouka gasped in shock and pressed down upon his foe’s palm. Valentean’s grip was like iron, his arm budging not one bit. Zouka’s face contorted in effort as he attempted to bear down upon his smaller adversary, but Valentean continued to hold him perfectly in place without so much as a bead of sweat pouring down his brow.

  “What?” Zouka screamed, needing to give voice to his confusion. He struck out with his left, trying to cave in the side of the creature’s face. Valentean’s arm moved like a blur, coming up to bat Zouka’s strike aside with such force that a crunch and burst of searing pain was all the general needed to know that his wrist had shattered.

  He tried to stagger back, but The Rosintai kept a tight grip upon his captured fist, forcefully pulling him. Zouka pitched forward with such extreme force that he was about to collide with the crimson-clad animus warrior. But before any impact could occur, Valentean gestured forward with his empty hand, summoning a concussive burst of fire that exploded against the general’s chest, sending him soaring back. Zouka felt the oxygen pressed from his lungs as he struck the ground, then ricocheted off it back into the air, then again and again until he rolled to an uncomfortable stop. He was right at the edge of the inferno boxing them in together until the flames behind him pulled apart like demonic stage curtains born of a theatrical performance from his darkest nightmares.

  The blaze centered around Valentean, piling up behind him, growing in height and intensity. Zouka, in his dazed stupor, pressed his good hand to his chest at the point of impact and found himself touching liquid. The flames had burned so hot that a portion of his breast plate had melted and was hardening once more as the remnants of this protective coating dripped down his abdomen. Zouka felt the skin on his chest sizzle and blister beneath the liquefied armament. He snarled through the pain and accepted it, using the agony to fuel his anger, drawing upon it for strength.

  What w
as happening? This was absurd! He was Zouka of the Gorram. He was the last surviving member of a warrior race. This was supposed to be the battle of his life, the two-man war he had sought to give purpose to his existence. How then was he being brushed aside with the casual ease of a common housefly? He was meant to equal the dragon’s might with the lineage of a doomed race compounded into one form, one man. So how was this happening?

  Zouka saw his sword lying just out of reach. He sprang toward the sharp stone blade, rolling as he gathered it up into his gauntleted hands once more. He charged Valentean, bellowing in rage as he swung down to cleave the young man in two. The animus warrior bent his body away from the attack, and Zouka redoubled his efforts, lashing out with a stab toward the torso. Valentean leaned back parallel to the ground as his feet remained firmly planted. He held himself in that position with unfathomable upper body strength. Zouka reversed his grip on the sword and tried to stab down, but Valentean was gone in a blur of movement so fast Zouka could not even see it. The towering inferno before him spread out once more to surround the area, and when Zouka looked back, standing directly across the circle of crackling orange stood Valentean Burai with a curved Karminian sword in each hand. The Rosinanti’s grip tightened upon their handles, and Zouka gasped as both blades erupted in dancing flame. Valentean twirled the twin swords around his body with a complex series of swipes that moved with such speed it appeared as though he were surrounded by a ball of fire.

  Seemingly satisfied that his challenge had been laid out, Valentean ceased his theatrics and pointed one long, curved, crackling blade directly at Zouka. The general snarled through his fury and spat blood upon the ground. A scream of rage and pride erupted from his throat, and he sprinted toward his ultimate foe, weapon held high above his head.

  Black and blue scales entangled upon one another in a slamming, pounding mesh of tooth and claw. Seraphina, in the body of the blue dragon, was far smaller and sleeker than Kayden’s ebony bulk, and thus the cramped terrain of the catacomb tunnels worked to her favor. Kayden attempted to bear his full weight down upon her, but Seraphina’s spine was flexible in this form, and she bent her body nearly in half to turn away, scrambling farther into the darkness before whirling back toward her charging opponent. Her size made it easy to turn fully around within the tunnels, whereas Kayden was so massive he hardly fit at all and could move only forward. Of course, the downside to this was that Seraphina could easily become corralled in the unfamiliar landscape with no hope of backtracking.

  Kayden lunged forward with jaws snapping toward Seraphina’s neck, but the agile queen-turned-dragon bobbed to the side and slashed out with her powerful front claws, catching the dark beast along the snout. Kayden recoiled and roared in frustration, but Seraphina was on the attack. She ducked beneath the reach of his long neck and lashed out at Kayden’s exposed belly, where she knew the natural armor of his scales was weakest. She scratched long, hard swipes into the soft flesh and was rewarded with an oozing spray of black blood that erupted from the dragon’s wounds as it jumped back and screeched in pain. Seraphina followed and clamped her powerful jaws onto the gaping slashes with all of her considerable might. Kayden’s pained shriek shook the tunnel walls, raining small rocks and dirt down upon them as hot ebony blood washed into Seraphina’s mouth.

  Just as she began to believe the battle may have been won, Kayden’s right front leg snapped toward her, battering her backward. A chunk of the black dragon’s flesh tore off in her mouth as she hurtled down the tunnel, rolling several times before coming back to her full height, snarling at her foe. Blood cascaded down Kayden’s scaled torso, pooling to the cavern floor by the liter.

  Kayden was hurt, and he clearly knew it because he began to throw caution to the wind. Seraphina gasped inwardly as purple light began to build within Kayden’s maw. A beam of destructive energy flew freely from the dragon’s mouth and struck Seraphina’s glowing scaled body with the impact of a comet. The blue dragon was flung back, azure scales smoking in the aftermath of Kayden’s assault as the tunnel around her once more shook. Larger rocks began to tear free, several striking along her broad back. She shielded her head and neck from the avalanche with her wings, the stones bouncing harmlessly off her finned appendages. Kayden was going to bring the entire tunnel down on them if he kept this up, and Seraphina knew not whether she could survive such an ordeal even in this powerful form.

  As she struggled to rise again, Kayden rushed forward, a wall of black slamming into her, driving her farther back. Seraphina spun back to her four legs and turned to retreat, feeling the air grow hot behind her. An instant later, a deafening explosion tinted the world a deep purple as the tunnel shook once more. Kayden had fired upon her again, and this time, he had missed. The concussive energy had instead impacted the tunnel itself, and more large boulders began to fall from the walls and ceiling, slamming into the blue dragon with renewed strength. A wall of rock and stone had formed between the two, but Seraphina knew that would not stop Kayden. She braced her legs beneath her and stood at the ready.

  Seconds later, Kayden’s bulk burst through the debris, and Seraphina was prepared to meet him, gathering the blue energy of order within her own mouth, firing it off into Kayden’s face at point-blank range. The magic exploded across his snout and eyes, collapsing the bleeding goliath, sending him slamming into the rapidly expanding pool of his own blood. Seraphina braced to attack once more but was momentarily distracted by a tingling heat that spread throughout her mind. Something was wrong in a very faraway place. She could feel anger, taste hate, and her mind’s eye was scorched by the blaze of chaos. What took her further off balance despite the severity and suddenness of it all was the figure she sensed at the center of it. The emotions poured out with the intensity of a raging inferno, and they belonged to him.

  Val…what have you done?

  McNeil had always prided himself on his ability to betray no emotion. Throughout his long and storied career as an animus warrior, the emperor’s protector had earned the moniker “The Stoic Slayer” for his ability to carve through scores of opponents while never altering his expression. But as he watched the Dragon-Lord do battle with nothing held back, his mouth hung open in silenced awe.

  The Rosinanti’s bladework was sloppy. He was clearly not used to fighting with a weapon, but at the speed his blades were moving coupled with the strength behind them, technique was almost pointless. The Karminian crowd seemed equally dumbfounded at the encounter. This arena had seen bloodshed over the years, contests of champion vs. champion, beast vs. beast, brutality unmatched anywhere else on Terra. But this…this contest defied explanation. It defied reality itself, and most of the audience sat in quiet reverence. When the flames had first erupted from the arena floor, there had been many who fled in terror. The presence of the Dragon-Lord was already a source of much anxiety for the Imperial populace, given the Aleksandryan propaganda that had become the subject of gossip amongst the wealthy and poor of Karminia alike.

  The emperor was far from silent.

  “YES,” he screamed down from his throne, his voice echoing throughout the silent arena. “YES! FIGHT! KILL! RAISE THE BAR!” He continued to shout ridiculous encouragement through the chaos, and McNeil gripped the handle of his sword with renewed intensity. He hoped the Dragon-Lord could see reason through the inferno he was creating and, once he dispatched the Gorram, would see fit to end Tek’s reign once and for all. Beside the emperor’s seat of power, Baus loomed like a monstrous specter, rubbing his hands together and smiling as he watched the contest unfold. His cryptic fascination with the Rosinanti made McNeil shudder in revulsion. The arcane healer always brought one word to McNeil’s mind, which he felt summed the imposing man up perfectly: wretched.

  Valentean blocked a downward slash meant to cleave him in two, by catching the general’s massive blade while crossing his swords above his head in the formation of an X. The two struggled for a moment, or at least Zouka did. Valentean continued to stand perfectly still, un
movable, unbreakable. The Gorram, on the other hand, cried out, grunting in frustration as he lacked the strength necessary to budge the twin swords of his foe. Valentean’s blazing blades churned as fire continued to dance along the metal’s edge. Suddenly, a burst of crimson erupted from one of them, striking the general in the face.

  The larger man recoiled, nearly tripping over his own booted feet as he stumbled blindly, wiping at his face with his armored gauntlets. Valentean advanced slowly, and McNeil knew exactly what emotions were running through the Dragon-Lord’s mind. He had felt them many times himself. The arrogant superiority, knowing that you face an opponent who can never hope to match you. The slow lingering anticipation, the power of knowing that you can end the contest whenever you wish. McNeil often found it akin to being a god. But this Dragon-Lord actually seemed to be a god made flesh, and the Imperial animus burned with white-hot jealousy.

  What must it feel like to command that level of power and skill? What must the world and its inhabitants look like to one so mighty? McNeil cursed the limiting weakness of humanity. He yearned for such power; he needed it. Even should he become Emperor of Karminia, that kind of power was still so simplistic. He needed godhood. He needed to know what immortality tasted like. Anything else would simply not do.