The prisoner told him, “We have arrived.”  All this time, Zeomora hoped that it would all turn out to be a vision.  

    “Get out!”  Said a soldier, holding a spear in both hands.  When they were dragged out he saw that other people had already reached and were waiting for them.  Among those who were waiting, was a priest.  He smiled and said, “Your days are finally over.  You’ve killed many, now their souls cry for vengeance and they shall be avenged today.”

     Zeomora’s body was shaking, hoping for someone or something to save him.  Tears began to roll down his face, as they formed slightly warm streams down his cheeks.  ‘How can I die, even before I ever accomplished a thing,’ he hit the ground with his fists, ‘this life has always been cruel to me.  Never giving me a chance to prove my worth.’  Looking at the guns pointed at him together with the other two prisoners. ‘So, I shall die like a fallen soldier in battle, who has trained for years but never landed a hit on any of his enemies.’

         He looked to the sky and said, ‘Forgive me, queen of the elves, for I never got a chance to do as you wished.  Too bad all that magic shall go with me to my grave.  I wonder,’ pausing, ‘where will I go this time?”

       The commander raised his hand, “Ready,” then dropped it, “Fire!”  And the soldiers pulled their triggers, shooting them countless times.  When they stopped, Zeomora fell to the ground, warm blood soaking his filthy cloth.  He looked at the other prisoners and seeing that they were already dead, he decided to close his eyes to fasten his death.

     Then his blood began to turn black.  The priest said, “Something is wrong, why is his blood turning black?”

         The commander ordered, “Turn him around, search for anything that must have triggered the reaction."

        They turned him around and a broken crest fell from the inside of his chest.  A soldier picked it up and gave it to the priest, he took it with shaking hands.  “This is bad, the crest’s power has already been used, it’s already inside him.”

     The commander asked, “Is there anything wrong?”

 “Yes, all this time the dragon crest was inside him,” going towards the general, “order your soldiers to continue firing at him.”

       Confused, the commander ordered the soldiers to continue firing.  Blood from Zeomora’s body, spilt to the ground as they fired at him.  

      Zeomora appeared in an atmosphere where everything was slightly red.  “Where am I?  Did I die again?”  He heard the wind becoming stronger and stronger, then a dragon came flying his way.  Zeomora froze in his position then murmured, “Please ………, please ………., please don’t kill me,” his face sweating greatly.

       The dragon said, “I am not here to harm you, but to help you.”

  “What do you mean by help?  I am already dead or do you mean reincarnate me once more?”

  “You are not dead, you still live, my energy is what keeps you alive.  With ought it, you would be dead.”

       The dragon’s eyes became black in colour and Zeomora’s eyes also became black.  The commander asked, “Is he dead?”

    The black fluid began to float in the air, making the humans present, move behind.  Then all the bullets that were on the ground and in him began to rotate in the air at great speed, firing themselves and heading towards the soldiers.

         The commander shouted, “Run!”  As everyone took cover, some were shot having been too late to evade the bullets.  The commander stood to his feet, grunting in pain while holding his bleeding arm.  He shouted once more, “Fire!”  And more soldiers began shooting at him, but the bullets on reaching him were suspended in the air.

        The commander said horrified, “What on earth is happening?”  Zeomora put his hands apart and the bullets gave him way as he slowly walked forward.  

     He breathed in deeply then said, “It feels great to be back once again,” having memorise of how he was defeated centuries ago.  He smiled and then said, “It’s been 500 years since my last visit.”

          The priest said, “Dragonlord, it can’t be, you were defeated.”

     Zeomora smiled, “So, you have heard of me, then you must have heard of my massive destruction and what am capable of doing.”

   Horrific thoughts ran through the priest’s mind, making his face to be like that of a madman.

 The commander said, “There is a great army with skilled soldiers, I wouldn’t bet on your survival.”

         Zeomora smiled again and said, “That cannot be a threat, because I defeated a kingdom and by the end of the day, it was in rebels.  But, if you insist on a demonstration you’ll get it.”

      The commander shouted, “Fire!”

   Zeomora brought his hands together, then slowly separated them creating a sword that was made from magma and dragon scales.  Armour collected on his body enclosing his body except his head.  The commander said while moving backwards, “Every weapon and armour he has, are all legendary.  Maybe the priest was correct, we should have never approached him.”

         Zeomora continued moving forward in small steps, he said, “Tornado blade.”  A tornado was created, pulling most soldiers and cutting them with blades which were inside the tornado.  Most soldiers ran away, trying to escape the tornado while some continued attacking him.  He dug his hand to the ground and a large hand appeared which had clenched its hand, smashing the soldiers in front of him.

      He was about to cast another attack, but the body became weak and he fell on one of his knees, “I have already used too much power, this body can’t handle it all at once.  He looked at the commander and said, “We shall meet again,” and he disappeared.