Considering their options and the battle royal between rioters and the guards was about to begin. The group had limited options, but then again, the simplest solution is the best. Al turned to his comrades, eager to tell them his brilliant plan.

“Listen, guys.” He said, drawing them in a huddle.

“Once these guys smash each other's to bits. We run for it.” He explained with a bright smile.

All he got was the dead pan looks from his comrades. Except for Alek, the vampire just tried to copy everyone else. He made a poor impression of seriousness, one eyebrow down, eyes squinting and one fang out. Al gave him a mental A for effort.

“Well, that’s dumb.” Joan said.

Her eyes were dilated, and she was panting. She was fidgeting, like standing still was such a chore.

“How about we rush them, like stab them over and over until they can't stop us from leaving?” She spoke in a rush, making fake stabbing motions with her invisible dagger.

She reminded Al of a Tweaker high on study aids. He would put a pin on that for now. Escape was paramount.

“Love your enthusiasm Jo, but I think running is a...” He trailed off, his gaze cast above.

“Actually, better idea. How are you guys with heights?” He asked.

Even the crazy Tweaker looked shocked. Felix seemed to be more worried about his slightly crazed sister. Alek was, of course, being Alek. Felix, despite his concern, spoke up first, raising his hand.

“Not keen on heights. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I guess you will not like my new plan.” Al remarked mischievously.

Withdrawing his engraving pen, he pressed it against his lips in thought.

“Now I can probably fly up with Alek, but we're going to need another flier. If Felix is too much of a pussy, guess we need to continue our experiment dear Jo.” Fixing his gaze to Joan, he readied his pen.

A few moments later, she had a brand-new tattoo on her other shoulder. Al then when on to explain the plan. It was short and sweet but got the gist across. Felix was psyching himself up while his sister, now sporting a brand-new tattoo, was excited to do something crazy.

Al placed his arm around Alek. The vampire didn’t even flinch. Testing a slight levitation, he knew he could handle sustained flight with the weight. Alek was remarkably chill with flying. Perhaps it was a lack of vitals and certain hormones to produce a fear response.

Joan wanted to princess carry her brother. He wasn’t having that. So she ended up giving him a piggyback ride. With her amped up, something Al will investigate later. She easily held her brother's weight. Instructing her on how to use the new rune. She activated the diagram with her will, causing it to glow faintly.

The glow spread across her body and passing over her brothers as well. Slowly, the pair levitated, Felix gripping tightly.

“I will direct you with wind magic. Just following along.” Grasping the air, he surrounded the siblings with an air current.

The four ascended, landing on the roof of the building. Assessing their surroundings, they could see the two sides having at each other. The rioters were clashing with the guards in a brutal melee. Magic was being flung all over the places, and the civilians were trying to flee through the gate. The situation was a perfect distraction. Soon after, they prepared to fly, and then a sonic boom echoed through the air. An intense gust of wind passes by, and a figure comes into view.

“Holy superman!” Al remarks, his eyes widened at the sight.

You could only describe the figure, passing by like a blur before stopping in mid-air, by calling him a medieval superman. With a cape, armour, broad shoulders, and a superhero physique. The man looked like a Grecian demigod, decked out in pristine Draconic armour and a cape. The group ducked down, not wanting to be seen. They watched as events unfolded.

The flying man descended to the warring masses. Looking down like a god judging wayward children, he roared a sonic scream. The act drove everybody to their knees, clutching their bleeding ears. Satisfied with their listening postures, he spoke.

“People of Helgos, I am the Blue Dragon, your saviour!” Amplifying his voice, he directed his words to all comers. “I beseech you to stop this foolish conflict, embrace each other as subjects of this great kingdom!” He added, not exactly pleading but gently insisting.

The reaction was visceral and not what the Dragon wanted. Before he could get another word, projectiles came flying towards him. Ignoring these minor attacks, he tried to speak again. A rotten tomato hit him in the face, stopping him mid-sentence. The putrid fruit smeared across his jawline, falling limply.

Looking down, he inspected his armour, trying desperately to keep his temper in check. "Appearances must be maintained," he repeated, forcing the words to be a mantra. The armour had suffered no damage, just a few stains he could easily wash out. The fact made him seethe his armour made him the hero he is. Without it, he would look no different from a commoner.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He understood this line of thought was irrational. His powers made him better. It was foolish to think that a piece of attire could change that. Yet he did so and hated whoever threw that rotten piece of filth. Scanning the crowd, he could find several potential suspects. In that moment, he wished he could just vaporise them right now. But his orders prevented him from doing that. He must inspire, he must become a beacon of hope to the masses.

“I’m really sick of all the marketing bullshit.” He spat, feeling his mouth grow hot.

He could taste the heat on his tongue. He tried to ignore it. Realising that he was getting nowhere, he tried another method. Descending to the ground, he came in between the two groups. The rioters had been the ones that threw the fruit. He wanted to rip them limb from limb, but kept himself in check. Now, between the rioters and the guards, his presence was a calming factor. At least that’s how he saw it. They were not fighting, just glaring and throwing insults.

“Is this another dog of the empire? Come to keep us in our place!” The leader of the rioters accused.

He appeared to be a man in his early fifties, wearing a battered wizard's robe. Likely a veteran of the guild or former member.

“Stop this now in the name of his imperial majesty!” One guard bellowed.

He was nondescript, and the Dragon didn’t care to acknowledge him. The leader of the rioters was his target.

“We all need to calm down. I’m sure we can resolve this peacefully.”

His words fell on deaf ears, chanting over him. Repeating down with the empire over and over. They were not keen on talking; they wanted to fight. To express themselves in a base instinctual manner. He knew he couldn't reason with them and that all of this was pointless. Still, public relations were important and so he tried again.

Before he could get out a word, someone lobbed another piece of fruit at him. This one splattered across his armour, drenching the pristinely crafted artefact with juices. That was the last straw, and he knew it. There was a quiet voice at the back of his mind that told him to ignore the rising impulse. It sounded remarkably like Stillson.

Opening his maw, he breathed white hot plasma on the insect, vaporising his upper half. The act felt good. Finally, he had silence. The rest of the morons were stunned stiff. Now he could assess the damage to his armour. He saw the complete ruin of his armour. If only that idiot didn’t die so easily. He could have taught the man the error of his ways.

Just as he was about to clean his armour. A high-pitched feminine scream resounded, the origin of such a scream came from a weeping woman. She was openly crying over the subdivided corpse he had just made. It was obvious why she was wailing; she was likely the man's wife or sibling.

This event struck everyone with fear. Many backed away, but others roared indignantly. Somehow, their protesting zeal overcame their fear. It was something he never understood with humans. Perhaps superior beings should not try to understand the minds of those lesser than them. These were his thoughts as they threw insult and condemnation towards him.

“Please, it was an accident.” He pleaded, as honest as he could be.

In truth, it kind of was an accident. He let his temper get the better of him and someone died. It wasn’t his fault the man provoked him. Yet despite his words, the crowd only got rowdier and rowdier. He couldn’t take it, those glares, those eyes of pure horror. How could they look at him like that? He was a hero. He saved these little people from themselves.

“You killed him. How could you?” The wailing woman announced.

The rest of the people joined in, admonishing his actions. He found it utterly pathetic. They who had rioted against the Empire. They were not admonishing him; no, he would not take this. Others joined in, and all he could see was the slowly encroaching red. His breath grew hot. They were crowding him, sapping away his space. Crowding him like a swarm of insects, he couldn’t breathe. He needed to end this and end it now.

“Down with the Empire!” They repeated.

Everything blurred. It was so frustrating. Glaring down, he tightly closed his eyes, trying to regain his calm. A few more attempts to calm them failed and in that moment, he decided enough was enough. He targeted the leader; subdividing him from shoulder to knee. Turning his head, his breath encompassed much of the populace. The screams started, but he ignored them, trailing a wide beam of death across the street. He swiftly decimated the rioters, leaving behind scattered body parts.

Next, he turned to the guards. They were smart, already fleeing. He cut them down with a wide cross beam, slicing most of them in half. His anger was still boiling, so to relieve the stress, he tilted the beam downwards. To ensure everyone was dead, he tilted the beam downwards. Some turned to ash, while either were further subdivided into a chunk of singed meat.

His bloody deed ended, and his calm returned. Casting his gaze across the nightmarish landscape. He saw bodies, or what remained of most, scattered everywhere. He had quelled the riot, with the death of most. There was no horror written on his face, merely a morbid fascination. He had never killed this many, the realisation of that struck him. Another notion arrived as well, and that one was a big problem.

This was not good marketing; he was supposed to be a hero. He couldn’t allow this to come out. While trying to figure out a plan, he received a lucky break. He saw a surviving, yet traumatised wizard. Flying over to the shivering worker of magic, he landed beside him. With no hesitation, the Dragon grabbed the man by the neck and ascended.

“So, this is how it's going to go.” The Blue Dragon stated.

“You are going to blow yourself up like a good little terrorist. Now you may wonder what’s my incentive is to commit suicide. Good question, my boy, because if you don’t, I will burn your skin off piece by piece. You can either die for whatever cause you people believe in. Or suffer tremendously at my hands.” He explained, giving an ultimatum.

The wizard terrorist struggled for a bit. Clearly trying to find a way out. The Dragon took this as a refusal and start gearing up to sear flesh. Ultimately, the wizard obeyed the instructions. Chanting under his breath, the man's body glowed brightly. Exploding in a massive cloud of white light. The fire consumed the street.

When the dust settled, only the Blue Dragon remained. Calmly wiping the dust and filth off his armour. It was an enormous task; he would need to get it professionally done. He turned to leave before remembering he should sweep the area. Witnesses would not be ideal. Closing his eyes, he directed all his concentration to hearing. Soon after, he heard three distinct heartbeats.

It was strange. The first two heartbeats sounded normal. The third was softer, beating in a steady yet slow rhythm. Another strange occurrence was the fact he could hear the movements of four figures, yet only three heartbeats. I didn’t matter, we would need to eliminate them.