Chapter Four: The Enemy (Part II)

Like the temperature gradually dropping after sunset, the atmosphere grew colder. They all felt it. The torture began just before dawn with handlers banging on their cages awakening them from restless sleeps to hose them down. The humans liked to fake decency on days they held their auctions.

As fire-breathers had their lungs temporarily frozen, Aiden snapped at anyone who tried to put a muzzle on his face. Handlers waved fire in his face threatening to burn his skin black if he didn't cooperate. Snarling, one of the humans pulled out an iron cast with a single black stripe and jabbed it into his shoulder blade. Aiden roared out, flaring his wings and displaying them. Opening his mouth wide, ice swept over the men who couldn't get out the way in time. Their skin instantly turned a sickly blue as the ice corroded it away. Screams and shouts erupted filling the humid, pungent air.

Aiden crouched into his corner; knees tucked tightly under him as he tentatively felt the branding. He had done it. He wouldn't be a slave. Something dropped in his stomach and his tail curled around him in the pale lighting. His collar scraped at the infected skin making it painful to swallow.

Today was the day he would die.

It was a painfully honest thought that comforted him as the smell of burning flesh mixed with the acrid smell of fear, piss, and feces began to grow too strong that even he almost passed out. Aiden was no stranger to these "auctions" that the humans dubbed them. Dragons would be displayed in front of the humans like jewelry and snatched away, almost never returning. Most were forced into labor intensive jobs or sold as pre-mature mates to done away with by humans that had no respect for a dragon's right to display themselves. It was a sacred thing to a dragon to be vulnerable and only to their true mates would they do so.

It was degrading.

Aiden winced as a bright light turned on beaming down upon his pale body. The intense heat began to make his skin crack. Too hot and panting, his raw flesh stung as he howled in pain. His throat felt like glass was splintering it. He cried out for water. For them to stop. Trembling against the cool floor, his body temperature refuse to drop any flower. Feverish and angered he snarled, jaws wide and teeth sharpened at the world.

A caged animal was a dangerous thing and Aiden's eyes darkened resembling an obsidian night sky without a glint of light in them. He could feel his senses giving way as something truly terrifying lashed out in his mind. Aiden heard the cries of beasts being tortured like him. He heard their half-drowned, droned roars as they were burned, beaten, drowned, or branded. Steam rose as both fire and ice were added to opposing elemental dragons to dampen their prowess.

Aiden bit into his own arm drawing blood as he tried to recall where he was and who he was. If he lost all sense of self now, his death would be for nothing: the humans would get what they wanted.

His sensitive ears flick up at the sound of the Door opening- the only entrance that allowed the humans buying in. The presence of more humans didn't stir him from the corner of his cage as his black brand began to take its shape. Against his red skin, the single black stripe was resembled a dark burn running down his left shoulder blade.

It would deter any human from wanting to see him.

No one ever adopted dragons with a black stripe.

These dragons were damaged.

These dragons were deadly.

These dragons were monsters.

When the door slammed shut, Aiden couldn't help but flinch in his chains. This was the initial announcement of the enemy arriving. Like the monsters that haunted his dreams, their footsteps echoed through the unnaturally silent hallways. The cages rattled as dragons tried to hide themselves from plain view hoping it was not them to leave. Once you left, there was no guarantee what was to become of you.

Cyan wanted to go home.

In fact, the elegant idea of dropping out the army seemed more appealing than going through with whatever it was that they were doing. He held on to this thought as his steps echoed against the cement under his feet. Trying not to bend over and hurl, Cyan swallows back the vile building up in his throat. His nose burns as the putrid scent of clustered unwashed bodies attack his senses. Eyes watering, he blinks the tears away as he bites his lips trying to focus on his surroundings.

White-washed lights hang haphazardly above their heads sway lightly. The cell's bars were dull against the poor lighting not providing anything to the imagination. The hum of the lights droned on as the low moans of living creatures sang with them. It was all too loud and Cyan balled up his fist as he tried sneak glances at the human-like beasts. Their yelps when he looked their way pained him more than the burning of his eyes at the sight of them. He should be the one scared as their bodies show years of neglect and torture.

Turning his head to his superior, Farse's face is hard to read. The man seems neither concerned nor bother nor interested in any of this. Instead, his gaze is focused on what's ahead as it unimpressed by the selection so far.

Mr. S, however, wasn't as unfazed and reached for a metal pole that hung on a beam in the middle of the hallway. Cyan only recognized it by the faint red glow at the end of it: branding sticks were used as a more extreme form of discipline and usually discouraged as it marked the dragon's skin making them less likely to be appealing to the eye. Running it across the silver bars, the clink of the pole against them made the dragons curl even further into their cages trying to avoid this man's wrath. Unfortunately, a younger eastern dragon wasn't so fortunate as Mr. S burned his hands as he reached out to touch Royce who shrank back in recoil. It looked no younger than eight as it screamed out. Cyan flared his nostrils as the burning smell of flesh assaulted him. He began to step forward, but a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, holding him back.

Cyan glared at Farse who held him back, shaking his head lightly. Rage boiled under his skin as he watched this mistreatment. This is not what he was expecting and yet he was not surprised. Shrugging off Farse's hand, he settled towards the back of the pack, sneaking worried glances at the youth who passed out from the pain. No matter how much he tried to sugarcoat it, Cyan knew he didn't want a slave: he didn't want this.

And on top of that, he would have to be in close living quarters with this thing. Cyan wasn't a dragon but even he was looking at Mr. S with a murderous intent.

There was no joy in watching as that man gleefully tortured the dragons just because he could. Cyan had been told stories about his mother how beautiful these creatures had once been. Like him, she was also a huge dragon enthusiast finding them more enchanting than anything. He doesn't know why she died the way she did, but maybe it was fear. Fear like he felt now. Fear of the unknown and not fully understanding.

The fear reflected in these creatures' eyes were the same as his. Though his mother died by dragon attack, he didn't hold a grudge. His mother had only been trying to help- to soothe a trauma of a dragon triggered and hurt by other humans. There was fear and remorse in the dragon's eyes when its claws tore open his mother's chest.

Cyan doesn't dwell on the details. Seeing her lifeless, sheared flesh and the dragon lying beside weeping softly as it covered her body with its own, he saw the fear when it looked up at him with wide eyes. A simple servant that would help his mother around the house after the divorce.

They stood staring at each other until the authorities came. Cyan never spoke about it again. He didn't dwell much on the thought either nor could he harbor hate. Living in Providence C had taught him many strange things can cause a person's death whether it is love or simply a case of wrong place at the wrong time. His views didn't harden at the fact that dragons, like humans, were beings of emotions. He was angry and he missed her and a part of him resented dragons, but the part of her that he loved, that still lived in him, could never hate them.

"Cyan," Royce calls to him. After a moment, his voice comes through snapping him from his thoughts. Cyan looks up at the young man who beckons him to keep walking. He hadn't realized he had paused seeing as Farse and Mr. S were five cages ahead of them. While catching up, he noticed Royce's expression is a calculated calm though his brows are creased. Cyan is shocked at this and slightly relieved to know his friend felt some type of way after witnessing the same evils as he had moments ago.

Mr. S turns to the men and tosses Farse the branding pole.

"Well boys, this is where we part. An auction is being held this afternoon, so you get the place to yourselves for a couple of hours. It's free reign, except the ones branded with black stripes- other than that go to town ladies."

He lets out a haunting laugh as he disappears in the direction, they came in.

"Oh and boys," he hears the man call from behind them, "feel free to pleasure or punish them... make 'em yours."

Cyan nearly gags at this last statement while Royce's face turns a deeper red before he shuffles closer to Cyan, grabbing his hand and dragging him into a random direction. They run so fast they can barely make out Farse's warning about opening cages of the black-tiers and needing protection.

Royce tightens his grip and slows down as they stop. Cyan bumps into his broad back before freezing. He can't see well through the cages but he can make out shapes- he can hear the shuffle of scales and skin shifting in the darkness. Tails swaying against the hard ground. Predator's pretending to be meek prey.

Surrounded on all sides, the enemy turns its attention onto the two humans as glittering eyes glow catching the glint of fluorescent light hanging overhead.