Chapter 47: Dragon's Fire

Both doors to the main gate swung open, and Ronan was nearly face to face with a gray-scaled dragon.

It was as tall and wide as the giant burning tapestries illuminating its jagged, black teeth, each one as large and wide as Ronan’s own body. The dragon exhaled thick mounds of soot from its nose, the force of which blasted back Ronan’s hair and made him need to ground himself.

Martiza tugged at his arm. “Run! Come with me!”

Ronan shook his head and held his sword outright. It gleamed a black so strong even the dragon winced.

“Go with Illia and take out Wallace,” Ronan said, not casting his glare away from the dragon’s deep, dusty red eyes. From the corner of his mouth he added, “I know you can defeat Wallace.”

Without another word and without wasting another second, Maritza dashed off with Illia through the left hatch.

Ronan could hear Scindo, Ike, and Clove beckoning out orders as the three dozen Seahorse Nightblades rushed to the grassy fields. Just beyond the dragon and its sprawling bat-like wings, Ronan saw that the fields were a gentle purple from the rich moonlight, and that patches of grass were set ablaze by the dragon’s fire.

Standing in a perfect crescent was The Order of Thirteen. At the head of the crescent was Wallace. Rather than his traditional navy blue uniform, he was sporting a purple cloak like the other twelve members of the Order. Wallace’s slicked black hair had since grown down to meet the edge of his neck, and his skin had a ghastly complexity to it. His hands were outright at his sides just wide enough for his sleeves to have rolled down, and Ronan noticed that the veins near Wallace’s wrists were black. Wallace seemed to smirk at him, though he whipped out a sword from a sheath at his hip and locked blades with Maritza and Illia, his attention focused on the women.

The dragon spread its wings further and tried to shove its massive head through the stone archway of the gate. Ronan took a step back as gobs of black sludge stormed from its mouth as it hacked its jaw together over and over, trying to bite him.

Then, the dragon was tugged back by a black metal chain around its neck, and for a moment Ronan saw Farrier guiding the dragon and positioning it towards the Seahorses in a flurry of blows with the order. Farrier did not so much as look at Ronan, but Ronan saw enough in a glimpse of the man to realize that Farrier was merely a husk of his former self. Smoke plumed from Farrier’s Mark of the Butterfly on his shoulders, though the smoke was a nasty yellow. The markings itself were glowing a sickly black, only parts of Farrier’s wildfire red hair retained its color, while most of the perfectly parted strands had turned a silvery gray.


“Farrier!” Ronan called out. “It’s me! Please, stop this!”

At this, Farrier stopped, and the dragon bound by the chain he was holding thrashed and reared its head from side to side. It tried to shoot fire out from its mouth but the grip on the chain was too tight, and instead only spurts of ash were coughed out from the dragon’s lungs.

“You can fight this, Farrier!” Ronan shouted. He eased his way towards the dragon, who from the corner of its menacing red eye saw Ronan. Its pupil dilated and its nose scrunched, and the dragon whipped its spiked tail over Farrier's head and into the wall of the temple. Stone fell to the ground, yet Farrier still stood unphased. As the dragon tried to pry its tail from the wall, Ronan continued his pleas.

“Don’t let whatever the hell is inside you beat you!” he yelled at Farrier.

Tears welted the sides of Ronan’s eyes. Farrier had been the first man to treat him like a father, and he had risked his life for Ronan to make it to the Temple of the Seahorse in the first place.

“It’s me! Farrier, it’s Ronan.”

Very stiffly, Farrier turned his head towards Ronan.

Only flecks of red could be seen past the ashy color his goatee had taken on, and his face looked like cracked wet clay set out to dry. Smoke continued to billow from Farrier’s marking, and even while looking at Ronan, he helped to guide the dragon’s tail out from the wall. He did so without so much as even grunting, unlike the time during the Butterfly exams, where he had been huffing and puffing and covered in sweat to control a beast the fourth of the size.

Ronan didn’t want to admit it, but as he stared into Farrier’s lifeless black eyes, he thought that Farrier truly was gone, and that nothing of the man he had known remained.

That’s when the black veins coursed down Ronan’s forearm.

“They use our power for evil!” The Shroud whispered to him. “Black Serpent, only you can put an end to this. Only you manifest the markings of all Nightblades with complete ease.”

The three tattoos of the animals glowed intensely, and he saw his ranks light up: five in Serpent, five in Butterfly, and four in Seahorse.

“Please,” Ronan muttered, hoping The Shroud would hear him, “Tell me there is a way to free my friend.”

There was a pause, and a chunk of Farrier’s cracked face fell to the ground. Through the hole in his cheek there was nothing, no bone, no flesh, no muscle.

He was completely empty.

“The only freedom you can grant your friend,” The Shroud whispered sympathetically, “is one where he is no longer a Corrupted fiend who can’t control his own actions.”

Ronan nodded, and a tear fell to his wrist holding the Hellblade. The sword jounced, then aimed its tip at Farrier.

Although Farrier was gone, the husk understood that it was being threatened. It released the dragon, and the beast freed its tail and flew to the sky, blocking most of the moonlight from reaching the battlefield. At least ten Seahorse Nightblades were dead, and while Ronan could spot a few of The Order of Thirteen butchered in their purple cloaks lying in the dirt, Ike and Clove were still struggling to fend off the remaining attackers.

The dragon roared and screeched, and Seahorses and Butterflies alike lost their footing and tumbled to the ground. Everybody, except for Ronan and Farrier, who were both far enough away from the force to remain caught in each other’s glare.

“I’m sorry, friend,” Ronan muttered.

Farrier held his sword outwards, then wrapped the chain around his arm, ready to use it as a whip.

Ronan growled as he sprinted towards Farrier, knowing all too well that if the dragon was to remain in the sky, it would distract Maritza and his friends from completing their objectives. As more tears rushed down his cheeks, he thought of a plan to bring it down.

But first, he would need to get through Farrier.

Ronan lifted his Hellblade and angled himself for a diagonal slash.

Farrier tried to whip the sword out of Ronan’s hands with the chain but its metal links clanked off the Hellbade’s side as the sword burned black with fire.

Ronan struck Farrier in the stomach, and Farrier’s clay colored skin caught fire. He made no noise and Ronan tore through him.

“I’m so sorry,” Ronan muttered.

He thought of all the kindness Farrier had bestowed upon him, and how he never had the opportunity to properly thank him.

From the corner of his eye, Ronan saw Maritza kicking up dirt.

She and Illia were back on their feet and exchanging mighty strikes with Wallace. Maritza then caught a quick strike on the flapping bottom of Wallace's cloak. It tore and fell down the side of his leg, revealing that his bottom half that had been crushed in the alley were replaced with two strong, sturdy metal legs resembling that of the Black Blades.

Farrier's corpse dropped to the ground, and Ronan kept moving right past him, pumping his arms back and forth as Wallace's metal leg swept Maritza to the dirt.

Wallace leapt into the air and with both hands thrust his sword down her way.

As Wallace got closer to Maritza, Ronan’s heart stopped.

He let out a shout that was a mixture of fear for her safety and anger at having sliced through Farrier.

Finally, Ronan was blown off his feet, though not from the dragon.

A cloud of smoke enveloped Maritza and Wallace, and Ronan could see no sign of either of them.