Apocalyptic Dragon Riders

chapter 10

“Damn it! What the hell happened? Where am I?” a young man groaned, his voice echoing through a narrow, secluded alley. The metallic screech of metal scraping against brick accompanied his words.

Bang! A fist encased in a metal gauntlet, bristling with spikes, slammed against the red-brick wall. Just a little pressure sent dust and fragments tumbling to the ground.

The young man wobbled to his feet. If anyone had been in the alley, they would have been stunned to see a figure fully encased in obsidian-black armor, standing there like a living statue. The armor’s design was otherworldly, an exquisite blend of artistic flair and alien motifs. Faint mystical runes traced across its surface, radiating a subtle, enigmatic energy. Behind him, a colossal sword — taller than a man — rested on his back, enough to make anyone’s jaw drop.

Click. The black-armored figure lifted his helmet, revealing long black hair and a youthful face barely in his twenties. He wiped a smear of dark blood from the corner of his mouth, then leaned heavily against the wall, greedily gulping in the air.

“Where… where is this?” The young man, slowly regaining some awareness and strength, scanned his unfamiliar surroundings. His eyes suddenly caught something glinting nearby — half-buried in a pile of random junk, a golden object shimmered in the sunlight.

He staggered toward it and picked it up.

It was about the size of an egg, entirely golden, metallic in appearance. Its surface was covered in intricate, scale-shaped micro-runes, each as small as a sesame seed, etched as if naturally part of the material. Occasionally, faint arcs of electricity sparked across it before disappearing. Holding it, the young man felt an unexplainable familiarity — it felt alive.

“Goldcoin! Goldcoin!” he shouted hoarsely, looking left and right, hoping for a response. Only the faint noises from outside the alley answered him.

From a hidden compartment inside his chestplate, he drew out a strange-looking flute and tremblingly brought it to his lips.

The alley echoed with the flute’s sharp, eerie, prolonged notes, over and over again. Disappointingly, nothing happened. No sign, no magic, nothing. He blew the flute a dozen times, but the alley remained deserted, save for occasional bird calls that seemed to mimic his notes.

He glanced around, then stared blankly at the sky and the ground. His eyes widened with a lost, desperate look. Slowly, he slumped to the ground, aimlessly stowing the flute back into his chest compartment. The metallic egg in his hand seemed to warm slightly, faint golden light flickering from its runes — though he didn’t notice.

“Ah! Lin Mo! What are you doing sitting here like a fool? Hurry up! We’re gonna be late!” A crisp, melodic female voice called, accompanied by the sound of light footsteps approaching.

Lin Mo barely reacted to the voice or footsteps. Then, suddenly, a pair of hands gripped his wrists, tugging him. Startled, he looked up and first noticed a pair of slender, shapely legs. Moving upward, a cornflower-blue robe adorned a delicate, curvy frame. Its hem was embroidered with six-pointed stars and intricate, elegant patterns. A young black-haired girl with a fine, ornate mage’s tiara stood before him.

In her hand, she held a slender staff inlaid with gemstones, sparkling like a cluster of stars.

Lin Mo stared, dumbfounded. Was she a High Mage? A sorceress? An apprentice? He couldn’t tell. Her outfit didn’t follow the strict hierarchical style typical of magical professionals; it was chaotic, almost rebellious. Normally, self-important mages adhered strictly to rank and tradition. How could such a young girl dress so unconventionally?

Even stranger, though adorned with numerous fine magical ornaments, not a single piece of her gear, nor her staff, emitted a hint of magical aura. Lin Mo simply froze.

“Lin Mo! Stop spacing out! Come on, we gotta go! If I hadn’t overslept today, we’d have already joined the group. Didn’t expect you, who’s never late, to be tardy! Luckily I ran into you — if we miss the schedule, I’ll make you regret it!” The girl scolded, tugging him firmly as though they were old friends.

Lin Mo, clad in hundreds of pounds of black armor, wasn’t easy to move. Yet he couldn’t resist — he allowed himself to be led from the alley, still dazed, his mind struggling to process the chaotic surroundings.

What were all these strange, wheeled boxes? Red, white, silver, black, all sizes and shapes, crammed into his view? Why were people dressed so oddly? How enormous were these buildings, and the streets made of some unknown material? The doors and signs flickered with lights — magical signs? How extravagant! Was magic really so cheap here?

God… what kind of world is this?

From near to far, the visual overload of bizarre sights left even a seasoned dragon knight’s mind spinning.

At the Hangzhou Expo Center, the 8th China International Animation Festival had gathered countless animation fans from home and abroad. On this day, age, gender, and profession didn’t matter — the festival was a feast for the soul.

On the festival’s third day, the International Cosplay Grand Finals elevated the excitement to its peak.

From Naruto, World of Warcraft, Saint Seiya, and One Piece, to domestic animations like Kuiba, exquisite cosplay teams showcased highly realistic costumes, detailed makeup, and flashy poses — sending fans in front of the festival’s main stage into wild cheers.

Cosplay wasn’t just about appearance and poses. Performers needed to bring characters and stories to life, capturing both the look and the spirit. Judges’ and fans’ eyes were sharp; there was no “cut” like in film — once on stage, it was do or die.

After two rounds of selection two months prior, only the elite teams reached the finals at the Expo Center, all aiming for the top prize worth nearly 100,000 yuan, including an iPad 3. Each team was fired up, preparing meticulously.

“Where are Lin Mo and Zifi? Are they slacking off now? Could there be foul play?” muttered a minotaur cosplayer backstage, hefting a double-bladed battle axe while glancing at his phone.

“One hour until our turn! We were supposed to gather right here at the start of the competition. Everyone checked in, so where are they? This is live TV! Ding Tuo! Tell the host to move us back if they’re late. If Lin Mo and Zifi don’t show, all our prep is wasted — we’ll make a fool of ourselves,” complained a dwarf cosplayer carrying an oversized musket. He was barely 5’ tall, rotund, juxtaposed next to the tall minotaur, yet used the height difference to his advantage.

“Alright, alright, Ding Tuo, Qian Jie — stop moving around, your makeup’s already at risk. I’ll talk to the host. You two call Lin Mo and Zifi until you get through. This performance has to succeed. Failure isn’t an option.” Their makeup artist quickly applied touch-ups to the minotaur and dwarf cosplayers.