The Midnight Storm (A New Dawn #2)

Chapter 57 - Fox

Fox curled his shoulders over his chest, shivering. The bleary blue eyes staring at him hardened as rough fingers lifted the blaster from his hand. Despite the raw, unbridled power of Wrath raging through him, the guilt of what he had done was pulled him down. He sunk to his knees, speechless. Defeated.

"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Caracal said. "Should have done this weeks ago, lad. Would have saved a lot of trouble."

Fox swallowed repeatedly to push away the tears. He wasn't successful; they kept on pouring. Real men didn't cry—Lord Brandon used to say, and he was right. He was no real man. No, he was a stubborn Foambrain who had caused too many deaths. Katla's death.

"You magicians have always been troublemakers. Cunning, deceiving, and pretending like nothing is ever your fault." Caracal glanced up. "Storm, you traitor, I know it was you aiding the boy." He snapped his fingers, eying the guards. "Seize him."

Loud footsteps pounded behind him.

"I don't think so," Storm said calmly. He snapped his fingers.

The footsteps stopped abruptly.

Caracal lifted a single eyebrow, his mouth slacked open. "I'm not in the mood for this, Storm. Release them."

"They're not being harmed."

Fox turned his head. The two bulky men were running from one end of the throne room to other, hacking and slashing. Yet neither their sword, lance, or iron chain could penetrate the invisible wall. They were on their half. He, Caracal, Storm, Hawk, Cobra, and the new Queen on theirs.

Sweat was pearling on Storm's brow. His age lines were deepening, especially the creases around his mouth as he groaned. The barrier wouldn't hold for long, so what was the Prince waiting for?

"Release them, Ician!" Caracal shouted.

"I don't see why I should."

He shot up from the throne. "Because I will have your guts!"

The blaster remained on the cushion, untouched. 

Fox reached for it, not to use it, but to prevent Caracal from being a worse King than he already was.

"Cal!" shouted the new Queen.

Caracal turned around, grinning at him. "Take that blaster, boy. Did you really think I would have let you push that against my head if it had been loaded?"

"It's not loaded?" Fox murmured.

"It'll fire some air at high pressure, the equivalent of a fart in my face." He glanced at Storm, muttering, "Like this whole farce."

Storm's light hair was rapidly turning black as the smaller one of the guards was bashing his chain into the barrier. The clattering sound revealed the hole was getting bigger. Soon, they would come crawling towards them.

"End it now, Ician! Or lose the last ounce of respect I had for you!" Caracal roared.

Storm scoffed. "You never had any."

Fox wiped his cheeks clean. He had to do something, but what? He couldn't use his magic, not with the iron still binding him. No sword at his disposal. The weapon he held was useless.

Unless...

"I can't hold this much longer," Storm yelled. "Hawk, what are you waiting for?"

Hawk shouted back, "I'm not sure if I can do it. My magic is—"

"Now, Hawk."

The Grandmaster curled her hand so her thin fingers resembled a claw. As she twirled it, Caracal's eyes widened. He clutched his throat, gasping, wheezing as he struggled to talk.