—Trailblazer Realm—
The sun had set over the horizon. An ominous night. Ignia kneeled at the land’s edge, marking the start of the steep gorge and the garrison. He lifted his hand. The wind was dry and warm, just like the desert.
“There.” He pointed it out to his soldiers. “From here till there.”
The soldiers followed his finger and found that Ignia meant the distance between their position on the plain till the flag fluttering at the top of the garrison on the deep end. They snickered as they understood their lord's desire.
“Hik! Khuk!” A hand tapped on Ignia’s broad arm in vain. He mumbled some incoherent words as he struggled to get his neck out of Ignia’s clutches. Ignia coiled his arm viciously around his neck, flexing his muscles, stronger than ever. The man struggled for breath, his chest against Ignia's elbow, and his eyes went blank.
When the friction between the captive’s heels and ground died, Ignia released the dead soldier’s neck and let him slump down on the ground with a sound. The hot-blooded male stood towering over the body, admiring his craft, and turned to face his loyal warriors. His smile stretched into a cynical grin with all his teeth visible. He pointed downwards with his golden eyes. His twenty warriors, adorned with black armour on their chest and joints and dark tunics, estimated the height best with their eyes.
The gorge was pitch black.
“We’re ready to follow you. Whenever you're ready.” They saluted Ignia as they tossed the dead bodies of a few of their enemies down the gorge. Well, Ignia wasn’t the only maniac.
“Isn’t time for them to return?” one of them asked, as he painted charcoal on Ignia’s face with his fingers.
Ignia reached for a pocket on the back of his tunic and brought out the palm-sized paper that King Rael had smuggled to him. He traced the lines on the paper with his finger, figuring the expedient route amongst the many passages to the garrison.
“Sid, signal Jenda. Tell him to locate the enemy platoons.”
A robust humanoid bowed and ran a distance to send the signal. A hoot echoed in the air and a few minutes later, the answer came. “They have entered the canyon.”
“Go, convey the same to the units at the edge.”
With that, Ignia leapt as the others followed him. The plan was as simple as reading alphabets—To kill the enemy on their retreat.
The garrison was built by a dead river inside the gorge, three sides surrounded by the steep cliffs. A trail followed the river through the canyon. The garrison was the pillar of their enemy's defence, impenetrable with its construction and geographical superiority. It had no contact with the gorge’s walls because the weathered walls quivered at the slightest disturbance. Its immediate back was the weakest. Hence, the enemy could never bring armies to just collapse with the rocky structure.
The fire dragons built garrisons inside the canyon for yet another reason. Their body temperature was the highest among any species of dragons. So, they found solace in lower temperatures. Deep inside the gorge, it was cool, and the tired soldiers could rest well and prepare for the next fight.
Ignia and his men occupied the side at the back of the garrison in secrecy. And from his sources, Ignia learned that in recent times they had installed arrows to shoot down any flying objects. The only option left with was to climb down into the gorge.
One by one, the warriors followed Ignia and jumped into the gorge. Ignia found a crevice between the rocks and hung on it to break his fall. He then climbed down a little, only to realise that it wasn't even strong enough to withstand a person’s weight. A proper pressure on the walls could chip away the rocks and chances of falling were high. So he back flipped. As he came down a little, he jutted his tough fingernails inside the rocks, gathered power in the muscles of his legs and kicked the wall to flip again. The warriors copied Ignia and they kicked the wall to break their velocity and continued to fall without stopping for a breath.
The idea behind wearing black was to camouflage perfectly with the walls during the night, making them invisible unless one made a noticeable sound.
Twenty pairs of feet landed on the rivulet. The smooth pebbles crunched under their feet and the water only reached the sole of the boots. Ignia waved his hand. The unit divided, and a part of them headed towards the mini dam on the rivulet. The other two-thirds started climbing the wall of the garrison, dropping two each at a window as the rest, led by Ignia, made it to the terrace. They went their own ways and infiltrated the headquarters within minutes.
As feet shuffled across the corridors, an on duty soldier spotted a few of the warriors. Both parties froze and stared at each other for a few seconds. When he realised that their uniforms didn't match his, he took a step back and dashed to gong the bell. To his surprise, he crashed into a chest and found his face shrinking in their hands. The heat from that palm burned the soldier’s tough dragon skin, his eyes and lips, and the latter exploded splattering blood and intestines on the wall. The scent of fresh, warm blood diffused into the air adding humidity to the place. Fresh blood dripped from Ignia’s face and hair as he lifted his hand to wipe it off his eyes. Somehow, he found the blood prettier than a rose. He laughed as he rubbed the blood off on the wall, hand imprinting his existence on the garrison. "Hah! This is fun."
The ground shook when a sudden explosion in the left wing alerted everyone. Sirens blared. Soldiers ran from room to room in disarray. They were at their weakest, with none to lead, while Ignia attacked them with the best of his troops. The one sided attack piled dead bodies after another as Ignia and his men showed no mercy.
“Ron!” Ignia looked at him and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Take control of the arrow system!”
Ron and a few others pulled back their punches and ran towards the arrow system. Then, an enormous creature flapped its wings, manoeuvring the wind at its crest, followed Ron and hurled him up in the air. It stored its breath, ready to shoot a fireball at him. Ron registered himself away from the ground and didn’t panic. His nails grew, skin broke and scales took their place. He caught hold of the dragon’s lower jaw and broke it in half. He conjured a huge fireball of his own and spewed it inside its mouth and kicked it hard towards the ground. The two fireballs collided inside its stomach and it exploded. Its burning chunks fell on his fellow mates like fireworks during festivals.
Ignia raised an amused eyebrow as he watched the scene unfold and scornfully chortled. The metallic stench of blood filled the stagnant air enough to make people gag. But he was high on his adrenaline rush, excited till the point of no return.
On the side, over the mini dam, the last third of Ignia’s men had completed their preparations. Two stayed back while the rest joined Ignia's pillage on the soldiers’ barracks.
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Ignia had no shame in acknowledging that his noble blood raised his stats against those poor soldiers. Their infiltration was complete by half an hour, as the enemy was far too feeble. Ignia slumped down on the terrace, fixating his eyes on the trail after the garrison’s massacre.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Ron,” he called the slender male, “go and tell Baru and Rudy to be with the arrows and arsenals. The fireworks must be ready. Our guests are near.”
His cheeks lifted in a megalomaniac fashion, as if he had the best day of his life. He wrung his arm around the boisterous Baru who settled on his left. Ron crept to his lordship's other side and fastened his pauldron back to its place.
That day must have been jarring for his mother's faction. He bet they would devote their souls to evil to wrap their heads around his army’s crude performance on the battlefield. He imagined how the commanders would look disappointed. Their faces riddled with worries—What if everything was a ruse? The whole situation was fishy. The soldiers would be merrymaking, right? Bumping fists, sharing strides as their metal shoes dance a clippity-cloppity on the boulders—They might see the glimmer of hope. Just one more day. One more day, they fight the same way they did today and then, Lord Ignia would be done for.
As night fell, a distant train of candle wisps marched through the canyon. One by one, Ignia’s men stood to have a better look. Ignia stared the hardest at the retreating army. His vision blurred, and the wisps blended, resembling the serpent-like Great Aide momentarily. And he hated it with passion.
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Contemporaneously, the retreating army was in high spirits. The foot soldiers marched the two sides while the injured and rations rolled along with the carriages in the middle. Commander Pyrrhus held his helmet by its helm between his cuisses, deep in thought. His face glistened with content, no doubt, but somehow everything was amiss. He scratched his head in irritation and patted his hound to assure it. His worries affected his partner. The sweat had evaporated long since they had begun the journey back, but the sticky feeling remained.
Behind him was the minister, brave enough to support Mrs Moon, timid enough to sit back and watch them fight on the battlefield. “Commander Pyrrhus! Have a drink!” The minister raised his arm in the air as his figure swayed along the stride of his fashionable hounds.
Commander Pyrrhus shook his head. “Thank you for offering the drink, Milord, but I’m still on duty. It's preferable not to drink right now.”
The minister eyed him in disgust and cursed him under his breath. “You do as I say!”
“Your safety is my priority,” he said. And your victory is the path to my payment.
“Whatever, he he!” The minister grooved to the beats he made with his own tongue. “Ya think I can get Moon with thisss… Maybe we can get married during Ignia’s funeral?”
Disgusting bastard
They were on the last curve of the trail, and behind it were the garrison doors. Yet, their joys didn't remain intact for long because right in front of the doors, their flags were biting dust on the ground.
The commander squinted his eyes. Someone was standing with a torch in their hand. In the dark, it was difficult to navigate who it was. He borrowed a torch from the minister's carriage and hopped off his transport and marched up to the silhouette with caution. “Open the gates already, soldier!” he shouted.
He stopped short, his breath caught in the trachea. He took back half a step while a shiver ran down his spine. It raised his scales in fright. He remembered a proverb amongst the soldiers—When you wish upon someone's death, their shadow haunts you for life.
With amble steps, the silhouette approached Pyrrhus. The wavefronts of their torches diffused and formed a halo of light around them.
“If it weren’t Commander Pyrrhus,” he said and snickered.
Flame-like hair, and a pair of golden akin to a forest ablaze. But today, his face wasn't the usual tan toned. It felt as if his red tresses had transformed into rivulets mixed with the charcoal, dripping down his face. Awe took over his system as for a few seconds he didn't recognise where he was standing. Such was the noble blood. “Lord Ignia?”
The commander blinked his eyes. What was Lord Ignia doing here? His presence was making the troops nervous. He secretly gulped the lump in his throat as he felt his spine shivering. A troop of lower dragons would feel intimidated by him, a higher dragon. But the noble…
He did a second take at Ignia's face and yet again quaked in his boots. Noble dragons were a totally different league.
“Looks like someone forgot where they are standing.” Commander Pyrrhus heard a voice from the back. It was the minister. “Unfortunately, there’s no going back.”
The minister muttered something under his breath and his hands brewed fire. In the dark, it glowed to match the intensity of Ignia’s golden eyes. He stretched his arms up and dotted the sky with fireballs. And with a flick of his wrists, the fireballs headed towards Ignia.
With utter calm, Ignia gazed at the fireballs racing to fall on him like shooting stars. He stared at the calluses on his palms, the ones that harden the skin after repeated use of fire. And before the first wisp of fire could touch him, he caught it in his fist and lured the rest to form a mega ball into his palm. The fireball crackled in his palm as if the voracious fire were eating fire. Its intensity grew. His signature grin sported on his lips.
The commander was terrified. How could the minister commit such a mistake in his drunken stupor!
Commander Pyrrhus scrambled back to the army when he realised who was the target of the counterattack.
“Step back!” he shouted as he defied his superior. The soldiers shifted their gears on his command, but the aristocrat cussed at him for his disobedience.
“He’s going to attack!” the commander shouted.
He wasn’t wrong, but too late. Ignia pressed the fireball between his palms. Scales resurfaced on his skin. His armour cracked open to accommodate his transition. It wasn’t the heat of a fire anymore. Everyone could see millions of particles running hayward colliding to build even more heat. As Ignia raised his arms above his head, the ball radiated light to rival the sun.
They knew by then that the garrison wasn’t in their control anymore. The situation was delirious and the crazy heat was burning the soldiers into crisps.
Ignia popped the ball, and a heat wave engulfed the whole canyon. The earth cracked, boulders burned like coals. The fire raging disturbed the silent night as the soldiers’ screams terrified the canyon.
Soldiers dragonified and sought the sky. Tens of them flapped their wings to get out of the canyon.
Standing on the apex of the Headquarters Ron shouted at the top of his lungs. “Shoot!”
With careful vision, they loaded hundreds of arrows into the system and shot the dragons down in the fire pit. Normal arrows were of no harm, but these were the best grade arrows which exploded on contact.
Horror took Commander Pyrrhus in its clutches. His superior was at a loss for words. What happened and how?
Still, the commander instructed the soldiers to keep retreating out of the canyon.
“Where are you running off to?” Ignia shouted for him to hear. “My army’s standing there at the entrance to greet you.”
The commander stopped. Was this how things would end?
Ignia cracked his fists and cackled. “Is it too hot? Shall I cool you down? Haha! Where do you run!”
He clapped his hands. And, at the sight of the commander, the canyon wall behind the garrison collapsed. But if Ignia thought he would drown the rest, the river could never flow backwards!
“Is it so?” Ignia snickered, as if he read the commander’s mind.
But that was it. Horrified eyes turned and fixed on the main gates of the garrison. The wooden gates creaked and cracks and holes appeared. Water spouted out of the holes, and then the commander understood what was happening. Ignia blasted off the cliff to block the usual path of the rivulet and guided the water into the garrison using the backdoor!
Ignia dragonified. In an instant he stood as a bat-winged, seventeen feet long creature. He snorted and puffed smoke out of his nostrils. The layer of skin pulled back to reveal his eyes from his sockets. He stood on his hinds, stretched his wing web and took off.
Behind him, the door broke and gallons of water rushed into the canyon, wiping out an entire flank of soldiers. Ignia roared. His units on the edges of the canyon blasted off the remaining walls.
The retreating army was defeated. Hundreds of them drowned, burned and were shot.
The commander roared with a war cry. With a last attempt, he jumped. His body elongated, armour shook off, and a dragon pierced the atmosphere to challenge Ignia.
Both of them cried at the other and the tussle began.
The sky was on fire as the two attacked each other with vast arrays of fireballs. Ignia blasted a batch, and the commander responded. With a precise drift and turn, the young lord choked the commander’s path as he jumped in his line of sight. He back flipped and struck him with a wick of his barbed tail. His sharp spade stabbed in the commander’s back and pulled away, ripping off some flesh. The commander’s neural spine met the air, vulnerable, and he screeched in pain. At that point, Ignia caught his neck with his pointy teeth and blasted another beam, killing him on the spot.
The rebels had won over the garrison.
A new arc began in the history of the Trailblazer. As the streaks of sun rays touched the ground, Ignia and his men sat at the top of the garrison admiring their art. Whatever minuscule remained were the dead bodies of their own brethren killed in the name of ideology.
Ron broke the stick of the flag and handed it over to Ignia. The tanned prince took the flag and stared at it. Grease, sweat and blood, mixed with the black paint and soot, dripped off his face and onto the flag. With a final touch, he set it on fire.
His warriors celebrated and laughed as their Lord Ignia joined them.
The gruesome deaths of the soldiers and the annexation of the garrison deprived Moon of her supporters. And in two days, the rest joined Ignia, fearing for their lives.