Apocalyptic Dragon Riders

Chapter 12

“Dummy, get up already!” the magical girl shouted, frantically signaling to the black-armored warrior.

“Hey! Hey! Lin Mo! Stop spacing out, get onstage!” Chen Ying, his dedicated makeup artist, was practically panicking. She pushed against his back repeatedly, but there was no moving the three-to-four-hundred-pound black steel armor combined with his own weight.

“Wow… so many people!” The black-armored warrior froze, stunned by the massive crowd outside the stage. He had never faced such an overwhelming audience before. Waves of humanity stretched as far as he could see, surging as if ready to crash over him.

Noticing the hesitation, the host quickly improvised, grabbing the microphone: “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the noble Knight of the Shen Zhan Team!”

“Knight…!” The familiar title jolted the black-armored warrior. Feeling Chen Ying pushing behind him, he instinctively stepped forward, reaching the edge of the stage.

“Sir Knight, what about your steed?!” the host teased, winking at the new arrival. Of course, bringing an actual horse onstage was impossible.

Lin Mo didn’t even glance at the host, brushing past him without acknowledgment.

Crack… c***k… the nearly inch-thick tempered glass stage groaned under his weight, though the booming background music masked it from everyone but the host. Even the stage designer likely never imagined someone in full heavy armor walking across it.

Boom! Boom! Boom! A row of three-to-four-foot-tall silver pyrotechnic fountains shot up from the front of the stage, revving up the atmosphere.

The black-armored warrior flinched at the sudden silver firework display, stepping back cautiously. Everything around him was alien: the crystal stage held the weight of all the performers, multicolored lights flashed in his eyes, and the crowd’s excitement was beyond comprehension. He froze, overwhelmed, moving awkwardly.

The audience below saw the imposing black-armored warrior onstage, but he looked utterly panicked, shielding his eyes from the harsh spotlights.

“Kid, I even set off the cold fireworks early — don’t screw this up now!” the host muttered nervously, beads of sweat forming. A dead stage would not only embarrass the organizers but him personally; he had just signaled the crew to ignite the effects.

“What’s wrong with Lin Mo? After all these events, still stage fright?” Ding Tuo, the minotaur with the double-bladed axe, sighed in relief. “Stick to the script, don’t mess this up!”

This team didn’t just enter cosplay competitions for fun — they often performed at commercial events to help offset the costs of makeup and props. Ding Tuo flexed his huge axe, letting out a practiced minotaur roar, and strode forward.

Across the stage, the magical girl in the blue robe chanted an unintelligible spell and flicked a tiny fireball toward him. It wasn’t a real fireball, just a meticulously crafted pyrotechnic effect, the result of the team’s combined creativity and effort — something other teams simply hadn’t achieved. Backstage, rival cosplayers watched with envy.

The judges in the corner were equally impressed. The black smoke, the musket’s smoke effect, the small fireball — subtle, yet cleverly executed with precision.

“Is this an arena?!” The black-armored warrior’s mind raced as he watched the minotaur stomp toward him, roaring over the audience’s screams. He recognized the scene — a gladiatorial spectacle. His nerves tensed. This had to be a trap.

Squeak! His steel boots scraped the glass stage, a faintly piercing screech. His hand reached for the massive sword on his back. His training drilled one rule into him: never underestimate an opponent, no matter how small. Many powerful figures had fallen due to carelessness; even a rabbit could be deadly if unprepared.

“Ha! Lin Mo, finally in character!” Ding Tuo’s minotaur leapt, axe raised, perfectly channeling his intimidating presence.

The axe came down in a dramatic overhead chop, the kind that required real physical effort to convincingly emulate. Cosplay here wasn’t about lazy poses; judges could pick apart every flaw.

Clang! The black-armored warrior swung his enormous sword, intercepting the axe. The force of the blow dissipated in a flash of blinding steel light. As a top-tier strategic fighter, he maximized precision and impact — his first strike was far more brutal than an ordinary warrior’s.

The sword, nearly two hundred pounds and almost as tall as him, barely completed half a swing before Lin Mo realized the minotaur’s attack was all for show. There was no real danger — just theatrics, momentum, and bravado. The attack could have been neutralized by a casual step aside.

So the supposedly muscle-brained, all-powerful minotaur was playing fake?

Lin Mo’s mind raced. A subtle flick of his wrist slowed the descending sword arc, redirecting it horizontally while he stepped back.

Whoosh! The stage erupted with a sharp whistle as the axe’s forward momentum evaporated into nothing. Half the blade shattered midair, undone by the lingering force of the sword.

Ding Tuo’s minotaur eyes widened in shock, lifted off the ground by the counterforce, and crashed backward off the stage — taking the Evil Mage along for the ride. The stage exploded into chaos. Only Qian Jie, the dwarf musket wielder, froze, mouth agape, trembling in place.

“Wait… this isn’t in the script! Weren’t we supposed to go a few rounds first?” Qian Jie stammered.

Swirling sword arcs sliced through the air, the steel gleaming with lethal intent. Lin Mo’s blade finally decelerated, leaving the stage shivering under its force. The chilling aura radiated outward, sending shivers through the audience — many had never felt such pure combat energy before. Hearts skipped, legs weakened, the instinct to flee nearly overwhelming.

The crowd’s uproar seemed paused in time, the background music the only audible sound. Only the minotaur’s collapse and the Evil Mage’s pitiful screams broke the eerie silence.

“Who are these people?” Lin Mo thought, assuming a defensive stance with the massive sword, now handling it with absolute control. Had he not restrained himself, the minotaur would have been cleaved in half. Even the dragon-slaying sword’s residual force was enough to intimidate a real warrior — let alone a cosplay minotaur with a flimsy axe.

The dwarf musket wielder shook uncontrollably, unable to hold his prop steady. A gust of sword wind had stung his face, leaving him feeling physically shaken.

The flimsy-looking twin-bladed axe left Lin Mo skeptical. Light, hollow, probably not metal — even if he were unarmored, it couldn’t harm him. This was supposed to be a minotaur?

WHOOSH!~~~~~~~~~~

Like a torrential downpour, countless impacts thundered across the stage. The audience erupted. Lin Mo had never imagined such simultaneous noise from so many people, unleashed after moments of silence.