able to pull him up in time? Maybe he could plow into a row of Watchers and die in a blaze of glory. Why not? With the prophesied storm gaining strength, he was destined to die soon anyway.
His wings caught the air, leveling his body. After snorting a barrage of fiery cannonballs, he curled into a sphere and crashed into the evil squadron. As his body rolled, demon after demon toppled over. When he finally came to a stop, he looked up. Samyaza, the leader of the Watchers, towered over him, a derisive smirk spreading contempt across his face.
The Seraph laughed. “A remarkable show, young prince. Your father would be proud.”
Makaidos strained to speak. “He will be proud . . . when I blow you . . . into a million blazing pieces.”
Samyaza kicked Makaidos in the belly. Pain streaked through his body, radiating all the way to his tail. The black worms crawled over his eyes and drew a curtain of darkness across his vision. His ears burned as Samyaza’s mocking voice pierced his brain. “When we kill the Oracle, his shield will collapse, and we will destroy the refuge boat. Now, give in to the darkness. Everything you have worked for is lost.”
As the darkness spell swallowed Makaidos, doubt and despair flooded his mind. He moaned softly. Why had his father trusted him to protect the Oracle? He and Thigocia were too young, too inexperienced to stand against such powerful fallen angels. He had been a fool to take the assignment, too proud to have any doubt in his abilities. Samyaza was right. All was lost.
As he drifted toward unconsciousness, the sound of bestial roars and a flurry of wings sounded in his ears. He released a long sigh, perhaps his last breath. Surely the battle would be over soon. Thigocia would die valiantly. The feeble Oracle would put up a futile last stand and then be crushed by the cruel Watchers. And no one would hear their cries for help.
Heat flared across Makaidos’s body, and a soothing voice awakened his mind.
“Makaidos? Can you hear me?”
Makaidos squirmed. Father’s voice? How could that be? He turned his ears to listen. The voice caressed his senses like the sun’s gentle beams on a spring morning.
“Awake, my son. You have fought well. Thigocia told me of your heroics, and she is now burning away the darkness. Take in her fire. Breathe the warmth through your scales. Restore your strength and renew your confidence. When I chose you to guard the Oracle, I chose well. You have made me proud.”
A flash of heat melted the blackness away from Makaidos’s eyes. Two dragons stood at his side. The tawny one, Thigocia, breathed a stream of fire at his body, melting away the black resin. Arramos, his father, stood at his side, his magnificent red scales reflecting the flames.
Makaidos struggled to his feet, pushing with his tail to balance his wobbly frame. The sky seemed darker, the clouds, thicker, and rain continued to pelt the meadow. The glow from the Ovulum rings had vanished. “The Oracle!” Makaidos cried. “Is he safe?”
Arramos lowered his eyes and shook his head. “Samyaza killed him and destroyed the Ovulum’s shield. Clirkus is flying his body back to his people.”
Makaidos slumped his wings to the ground. “Then all is lost. We have failed.”
Arramos curved his neck, positioning his head directly in front of Makaidos. “Not yet. Hilidan and the others are chasing the Watchers, and I will join them. There is no time to lose, but I wanted to make sure of your safety first.”
“My safety? What about the Oracle’s safety? You would have done well to choose other guardians for him. We failed you.”
“On the contrary, you wounded enough Watchers to allow Thigocia to fend them off until we arrived.” Arramos stretched out his tail and prodded Makaidos’s shoulder. “Spread your wings, Son, so Thigocia can finish her work.”
Makaidos obeyed. A new surge of heat massaged the more sensitive coat under one of his wings. It stung, but each second of burning away the darkness seemed to sharpen his mind.
“We had been tracking them,” Arramos continued, “and we were patrolling nearby, close enough to sense the danger. Now that the Watchers have come out of hiding, we can finish them off for good.”
“For good?” Makaidos bared his teeth, grimacing at the pain of Thigocia’s healing massage. “But the Oracle is dead, and the shield is gone! What good can possibly come from this disaster?”