Ron dangol johnson's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Ron woke against the dragon's jaw. The sword lay where the tail had curled around it, warm now, humming under the purple veins. He crawled to it. His small fingers closed on the hilt. The hum climbed into his arm and stopped at his shoulder, blocked by something he could not name. He pulled. The blade lifted, but the edge felt dull against the air, as if the sword were holding back. He swung it at a chunk of black stone. The stone split. That was strength, not the sword. He knew the difference already. The blade wanted to do more and would not. He hit the stone again. Sparks jumped. Nothing else came. The dragon watched with one yellow eye. Ron ignored it. He dragged the sword across the crater toward the broken tower. Water still fell from the high arches and stopped mid-air. Under the spinning rings stood a growth of black crystal, taller than the dragon's shoulder, wrapped in soft yellow mist. The mist moved against the wind. Ron walked up to the crystal and set the sword's point against it. He leaned his weight in. The tip did not chip the crystal. The hum in the blade climbed higher, past his shoulder, into his teeth. He bit down and pushed harder. The crystal answered. A thread of yellow mist crawled up the blade and sank into the veins of purple light. The sword shook in his hand. Ron held on. The shaking climbed his arm and rattled his ribs. He laughed through it. The blade split open along its length. It did not break. It unmade itself. Metal peeled into pieces smaller than sand, then smaller than that, until a cloud lifted off the hilt and hung in the air above his fist. The cloud shimmered. Tiny machines spun inside it, each one a box of gears and light, packed against the next. They moved as one thing. They waited. Ron stared. He opened his hand. The cloud drifted down and settled on his palm without weight. He closed his fingers. The machines flowed between them like water and did not spill. He thought of the stone he had split. The cloud jumped from his hand and struck the nearest boulder. The boulder came apart into gravel in one breath. The cloud returned to his palm. Ron laughed again, louder now. He had wanted the sword's edge. He had gotten something else. The blade was gone. The hilt lay empty at his feet. Behind him, the dragon rose onto its claws and backed away one step. The yellow mist around the crystal thinned. Ron looked at the empty hilt, then at the swarm resting on his hand. He had no blade anymore. He had a swarm, and it obeyed. He picked up the hilt and imagined the sword again and they re made the sword but lighter faster and full of light and dark energy.