Dragon: A Histories of Purga Novel

Chapter Twenty-One

Rone made no move to conceal his presence. Darvian cloaked himself again but Fiona remained as she was. The spear was in her left hand and that wicked helm still covered her head.

In front of them sprawled Detention Sector 1, usually reserved for the worst criminals the Kingdom of Roanoke had to offer.

Rone stared at the massive underground prison in shock. Housed in the thousands upon thousands of cells were ordinary citizens. Men, women and children. Each one looked miserable and terrified. A lot of their faces were bloodied or dirty. Walking along the narrow walkways outside each cell were Blak Soldiers. A lot of Blak Soldiers. With them were men clad in shabby, green prison clothes, and Rone realized that the soldiers must've released the criminals willing to fight for them.

Disgust rolled through Rone. He clenched the railing in front of him until his knuckles went white. When the anger washed completely through him, he stood back up.

His face was grim and determination flickered in his blue eyes. Without really knowing what he was doing, he stepped forward. There was a strange sensation in his head. It felt like something was tugging at his brain. He didn't know what it was and for the most part, it was buried underneath all his emotions and forgotten.

"I am Prince Rone Varlamagne," he shouted, his voice loud and booming. For a split second, his eyes lit up with white blue light. Everybody inside the prison clamped their hands over their ears as the wave of sound smacked into them. "You have violated my realm and imprisoned my people! I will not tolerate it anymore!"

People were shouting out in pain. Nearly everyone was on their knees, their mouths open but their screams lost in the tidal wave of sound coming from the Prince.

Then Rone raised both hands above his head, crossed at the wrists, and brought them down at his sides. His mechpaks opened and millions upon millions of the tiny robots surged into the air. They humped and converged and formed into twelve gigantic fists that flew forward so fast they were only blurs.

Rone's eyes flashed with bright, white blue light again and as they did, powerful gusts of wind surged forward from out of nowhere and slammed into only Blak Soldiers or green-clad ex-criminals, tossing them into the air like pieces of trash.

Darvian and Fiona watched men go tumbling and pin-wheeling in every direction.

After that, everything was chaos.

Each one of the giant fists flew down the walkways next to the cells. The mysterious winds screeched along behind them and made them go insanely fast.

They smashed into Blak Soldiers and green-clad criminals alike and the vicious rebels were tossed aside like ragdolls. Some of them flipped over the railing and plummeted to their deaths hundreds of feet to the ground floor. Others were merely squashed flat as the fists rampaged over them or they were thrown into the bars of the cells with enough force to kill them on impact.

The big, metal fists continued to decimate the ranks of the Blak Soldiers and ex-criminals.

"Rone?" Darvian asked, his cocoon of camouflage gone.

"What's happening?" Fiona asked as well, shouting to be heard over the howling noise of the winds. There was a bit of blood coming out of her ears from when Rone's voice assaulted them.

Rone didn't answer them. He was lost in a cyclone of emotion and power. He could feel it inside him. It whirled around, threatening to tear him apart at the seams. Fear fluttered in his heart, but he was powerless to stop whatever it was he just unleashed.

He cried out in pain as two more giant fists emerged from him--these made of nothing but dense air--and went shooting off to either side of the trio.