Page 117 of The Last Dragon
She jumps to her feet, pulling a second dagger from her boot. Her stance is steady—ready to take on her opponents.
“No,” I choke out, but she doesn’t flinch. Is she really going to fight?
“You’re. Not. Touching. Him,” she says, voice sharp as a blade.
I fade in and out of consciousness, catching fragments—soldiers wailing, metal clashing, heavy footsteps pounding the floor. Then her scream—loud, full of pain—and suddenly silence. Darkness. I don’t feel anything. I don’t hear anything. I don’t see anything.
Then, a whisper. Or a collection of whispers.
Stand.
Fight.
Cold rushes into my lungs, spreading through my arms and body. But instead of pain, there’s calm. I drag myself forward, fingers searching for the pins holding my chains. Anger roars inside me, uncontrollable.
I have to break free.
Ice snakes through my veins, flooding my body with strength—power I’ve never known before.
I’ll—
Fight.
Muffled screams. The sound of my heartbeat—louder and louder.A whisper.
Fight.
I hear voices urging me to break free. Break these chains.Fight.
A surge of heat rips through me. I twist my wrist, pulling harder and harder, muscles burning. Then—a faint scrape of metal against stone. The guards shout, but it’s too late. I refuse to stay bound to this wall any longer.
Anger boils in my blood and my pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out every voice in the room. Darkness swallows my vision, silhouettes blurring at the edges—but I don’t need to see. I hear them. Feel them. Anticipate them. Like the contraption in the training room.
I let the rage I’ve carried all these years consume me. It blazes through me like fire and I feel everything—heartbeats, blood rushing, dust and stone crunching beneath boots. I grab the chain once more. Pull. Pull. Pull.
Once.
Twice.
The room drops silent. The soldiers turn to me before slowly backing up.
“Shit,” one of them whispers, dropping his weapon on the stony floor. They won’t make it out of here alive.
I pull the chain, the hooks coming free in one clean motion. The stone wall crackles and dust and small stones rain down on the ground.
I grin, my vision clearing. One of the soldiers hurls a dagger at me, but I dodge it. The metal clatters against the wall, falling next to me. I crouch to grab the dagger—this will do perfectly.
Another soldier hurls himself forward with a knife in hand, aiming for my vitals. I move to the side, then swing the chain around his throat. With one pull, his neck snaps, and the silver metal is covered in dark crimson. Six more soldiers storm in, armed with daggers.
“You won’t get away with this!” a soldier yells, moving forward. He thinks I let my guard down. He’s wrong. I turn, dagger in hand, and plunge it straight to his throat. A gurgling noise escapes him—the last breath he’ll ever take. His warm blood drips over the dagger’s hilt, spreading over my fingers and wrist and elbow. Then I drag it out, and he collapses to the ground, his skull cracking against a jagged stone jutting from the earth.
My eyes dart to my left, meeting Nida’s fearful gaze. As if she’s terrified of this side of me.
I guess I really am a monster. A Demon.
A foot shifts—barely a sound—and the blade hisses as it leaves its sheath. My body tenses. A soldier’s about to lunge. Shouts erupt—soldiers yelling, cursing me, fear thick in their voices. I scan the room. Half a dozen of them. Two of us. Brainwashed lives I’ll have to end. I remember everything they did. Everything they took. They let my mother die. They tried to kill me. Tried to kill Nida.
I won’t forgive that.
