Chapter 23 A Dance With Dragons
A Dance With Dragons
The sleek flyer descended toward an obsidian monolith skyscraper, its polished surfaces reflecting the ambient bioluminescent light of Enia’s skyline.
The craft touched down on the roof of a soaring tower.
Idan, Molan, and Sheba stepped out from the gangway onto the reinforced glass of the landing pad.
They all wore evening wear, given the late hour: Idan and Molan in dark suits, and Sheba in a strapless, ankle-length champagne gown courtesy of Mirage.
The dress featured studs and a sweetheart neckline, accentuating her shoulders and décolletage.
Idan couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
Fokk, she was beautiful.
‘Welcome to the rooftop of The Royale. A venue that exists as less of a social club and more of a monument to unimaginable pleasure,’ Mirage told the trio as she appeared before them.
‘Follow me. Miko took the privilege of sending me encrypted credentials, which should get us through security without question.’
To illustrate her point, a phalanx of armored sentinels who stood at the entrance to the building shifted aside without protest as they approached.
They stepped into an elevator that descended whisper-quiet through a succession of levels, finally opening onto a lush atrium.
A decadent atmosphere they strolled into was saturated with the perfume of exotic flora and the thick haze of premium tobacco.
Wyvern emblems, embossed in brushed chrome, snarled from the velvet upholstery, their bejeweled wings glittering in the radiance of chandeliers above.
Deep, bass rhythms throbbed through the floorboards.
On a series of elevated stages danced spinning, gyrating bodies, their skin coated in a sheen of oil and powdered gold.
At the bar, mixologists flamed cocktails, sending arcs of violet and orange licking toward the ceiling before the concoctions vanished into crystal tumblers.
Beyond a barrier of heavy plum-colored velour half-open doors, he glimpsed a private sanctum hummed with the murmur of currency and high-stakes desperation.
Idan noted the flash of jewel-toned dice and the crisp snap of cards, as well as a dizzying number of credit exchanges that might destabilize a planetary government.
The place overflowed with a wild variety of wealthy punters and rapacious guests. Idan kept his woman close, his hand sliding to her lower back, all the while appreciating the looks she attracted in her stunning gown.
Mirage led the trio toward a set of stairs that rose to a glass-walled cube.
It hung over the club’s chaos, a corral of silver and black glass, its mirrors reflecting the sins of the crowd below back upon them.
The demi-urge paused before the entrance, lined with the obsidian-masked guards, and received an ionic sweep of her form, her entire contour glowing with an amethyst light.
With a dulcet beep, the privacy plexiglass doors whispered open, switching from opaque to clear as they walked into the threshold.
The sliding aperture shut behind them, enclosing them inside the cube.
At one end was a desk, a massive slab of volcanic stone.
Shelves displaying artifacts of ancient carnage flanked it. Above, a rotating celestial map bathed the room in a warm glow.
The man behind the work surface rose, tapping the tip of a synth-cheroot into a diamond ashtray.
Idan got hit with genuine shock.
It was rare for him to encounter a soul who matched his energy.
However, in the last few days, since meeting his brother and the Riders, he had come to appreciate that men of immense power existed beyond Sacra.
Nevertheless, this man was no human, as Idan spotted the flare of a lethal spectral dragon swirling around their host.
Still, his humaniform was impressive.
His sable hair swept back from a broad forehead, and thick brows framed eyes the color of molten copper and hazel fire.
Below the glowing orbs was a hooked nose and a sculpted mustache, emphasizing lips that suggested a capacity for both extreme cruelty and calculated ecstasy.
A cartography of scars traced his jawline, the old claw marks cauterized with inset diamonds that glinted with every movement.
He towered over them, his shoulders stretching the silk of a tailored ebony shirt.
Gold sigils, etched like forbidden constellations, drifted across the sinewed flesh of his half-unbuttoned chest, shifting with a life of their own.
‘Welcome, friends,’ the spectral force rasped, in a timbred growl that thundered with potency. ‘Lord Zavier Phanos Draquis at your service.’
‘Sante,’ Molan murmured, proceeding to introduce his companions.
The Draquis leader gave Sheba and Mirage an old-fashioned bow and a nod of genteel politeness to the brothers before raising his hands and slashing two fingers through the air.
In a whirl of dracolich energy, a muscled, tall figure materialized in the room.
‘The Most Honorable, Marquess Maxim Dorrien Pierce. My second, and right hand,’ the dragon master drawled.
Maxim offered a cool smile of welcome.
His black hair featured a single argent slash, and he appeared as if he could unravel the fabric of the galaxy with a whispered incantation.
‘I shall admit,’ Zavier continued, his star-savage eyes locking onto the brothers, Mirage and Sheba.
‘I harbored a deep wariness when Miko passed on your request. Our history with Sacrans is written in betrayal and ash. But she assured me you are kin to Kainan Sable, and we all know the man cannot be turned down.’
His gaze pivoted, landing on Sheba with the force of a spotlight. ‘Your identity?’
‘Sheba Munene,’ she replied, raising her chin. ‘Human. No one of consequence.’
Idan stepped forward, his hand resting possessively on her waist, claiming her. ‘She’s Kainan’s sister-in-law and my woman.’
Zavier’s expression shifted, arching a brow as his molten eyes flicked from the warrior-god to Sheba.
‘Selene’s sister, ay?’ he growled, a flicker of respect crossing his scarred features. ‘In my world, that makes you a queen. Sit. Tell me why you have come to the Cinder-Born.’
Sheba and Mirage occupied a divan along one of the silver-and-obsidian walls while Idan and Molan dropped into armchairs across from Zavier.
Maxim crossed his sinewy hands over his muscled chest and leaned a hip on the massive desk his Domini sat behind.
‘Before we begin our entreaty, sell us on why we should trust you,’ Idan started.
A smirk ghosted over Zavier’s scarred face as he stroked his chin.
‘A cautious deity? I like it. It’s a refreshing change of pace from the reckless, narcissistic Sacran pricks I’ve had to deal with over the last few centuries.’
Zavier tilted his head, the diamonds embedded in his jaw catching the violet strobe from the club floor.
‘You need us because we are the only ones capable of beating you Sacrans at your own freakin’ game,’ the Paladian stated, his timbre dropping an octave.
‘We’ve warred with your kind for more years than I care to count, and pardon my candor, but you’re all absolute ruthless bastards.
We learned the hard way how to play hardball against your specific brand of divinity. ’
Suddenly, a cold, psionic incision slid into Idan’s cognition, a psychic breach that bypassed his Sacran protections.
His jaw locked, a flare of heat radiating from his skin.
Damn, Zavier was scrolling through his neural archives at such speed he’d no time to parse or stop it.
‘Get out of my head,’ Idan hissed, the threat as tangible as a kinetic round in a laser weapon chamber. ‘Right fokkin’ now!’
Molan too cursed under his breath as Idan realized his brother’s mind had also been breached.
Zavier disengaged, though his gilded copper eyes remained fixed on Idan’s, ignoring his outburst, his expression softening somewhat.
‘My apologies, but I had to be sure of your intentions. I see you’ve had a turbulent past and that your father has not helped whatsoever. I’m quite familiar with the scorched-earth policy of power-drunk deities and the parasitic entities they drag behind them. I feel your pain.’
The Dragon-Shifter’s features shifted into a professional mask.
‘We’ll hear you out, then debate whether to help you.
First, you need to grasp our purpose so you never say we didn’t tell you when you step out of line.
What I’m about to share is hard-coded with a lethal hex.
If you leak this to anyone outside this room apart from the Riders, I’ll fokkin’ rip you to pieces and scorch you to the atomic level. Savvy?’
Molan, Idan, and Sheba exchanged a brief, tight glance of shared understanding.
‘Got it,’ Idan growled.
Zavier’s eyes narrowed as he inclined back from his obsidian desk and deeper into his chair.
‘In public, we’re the Dryāgan Corporation, just another conglomerate moving credits and influence.
Off-grid, we are Pegasi’s unofficial guardians.
We built the Starfall Shield, a celestial firewall that’s been blocking wraith-horde incursions for eons.
My kadze and I aren’t the corporate elites the rumors speculate of us; we’re Daemons.
We’re immortal custodians of sub-rosas potent enough to fracture a galaxy, and we’re stuck with an undying mission that might never end. ’
A heavy, static-charged silence filled the office, broken only by the muffled, primal bass thumping from the dance floor below them.
Idan exhaled, the tension in his frame yielding to the sheer scale of the operation. ‘That’s a hell of a burden, Phanos.’
‘It’s a freakish nightmare. Now, your turn,’ Zavier commanded. ‘Who are you to each other? Kin, as I see it.’
Idan took a deep inhale. ‘We’re half brothers, sons of Sulfiqar.’
Zavier and Maxim exchanged surprised glances.
‘The fokk? The fallen King of the Seven Heavens? Damn,’ Zavier murmured. ‘So what might I do for you, scions of the Dispossessed God Emperor?’
Molan mapped out Sulfiqar’s goal to retake Sivania and his ultimatum. He also detailed the plan to shackle their progenitor for good, to strip their father of his ability to wreck Pegasi if he didn’t get his way.