Wings of Fire • Path to Ascension [Book 3]

scene xiii.

He snapped at the Workers who were trying to chain him up. Even though each twist of his body caused him immense pain, he still fought with all his fury.

     "Do you want another wax dip?" hissed the AntWing who was chaining his talons, "or should I just cut it off?"

     "Wax," he spat, and grit his teeth as his electric organ was once again submerged in the hot substance. He tried in vain to wiggle it free, but the pain in his chest mixed with the weighted metal clamps made moving almost impossible.

     And now, while one Worker coated his tail again, the other locked the clasps on his talons. They'd chained them in opposite sets so his front right leg was chained to his back left and vice-versa. It put him in an awkward curled position that left his broken rib feeling like it was on fire. His wings were also clamped, and one was quickly falling asleep. He was helpless.

     "And now for the head," purred the first Worker, who seemed to be the most depraved of the two. "If you bite me, I'll pull your teeth out before the General sees you."

     But Ghost, exhausted from thrashing and blinded by the pain in his tail and torso, finally collapsed.

     "There, that's better," said the Worker, admiring his submission. "The General will see you shortly," it sang as they left, slamming the metal door behind them. Ghost listened to the locks click. One, two, then three.

     For a moment, he stared blankly into space. Beyond the door he could hear the distant roars of his allies who were similarly being cruelly detained. Someone was screeching like their wings were being ripped off, but he might as well have been on the moons with how far away they sounded.

     There was no getting out of this.

     Almost in vain, he tested the bindings, but as he already knew they were too tightly closed on him to offer any leeway. His spine was straining from the strange curled position he was in – not to mention the blinding pain in his chest. He stared into the blackness again, thinking, this is it. It's over.

     All he could do was lie and wait for death.

     Because there was no mistaking it, this is where he would die. Even to his weak nose, he could tell the floor was stained with the smell of blood. Fifty years of it. Corruption like that did not go away even after the hardest scrub, and now he supposed that they were fools to think a fifty-year regime built on psychological control could be overthrown in a night.

     The smell of blood had been on the talons of the Workers who'd chained him. They must be specially picked for their jobs, or hatched and brainwashed from a young age because Ghost couldn't imagine a regular dragon being willing to do this. They were completely under control from the moment they took their first breath – or perhaps even before.

     And then, with startling clarity, he realized that that was all of them. Anyone born under the protection of the Fortress was also enslaved to it, cursed to never leave or conditioned into liking their prison.

     He also knew from Eight's stories that this was where she and Seven had been before the Northern Alliance's attack. Hearing about it was different than actually being there. When being told it was just a story that happened to someone else; a nightmare that was not his.

     But now they were here. He was here. Eight had only survived thanks to that lucky timing. They had nothing.

     All of them had been captured. All of them had underestimated the level of brainwashing the AntWings had received. Atta and Viceroy had expected changes as a result of the Invasion – they weren't stupid – but Atta had hoped that news of the Queen's death would be enough to shock them into listening. K-12's confusion had cost them Phase Two. She'd seemingly taken it back, but by then it was too late.