The air thickened with ash and fire, the battlefield crackling with the heat of two titans locked in combat. Arthur’s molten eyes narrowed as he tracked Elyra’s shadow, her dark, bat-like form weaving effortlessly between basalt spires. She was fast, too fast, and every molten feather she unleashed rained hell upon the earth, leaving scorched craters and bursting ash clouds in her wake.
Arthur growled, the sound reverberating deep within his massive frame. He braced himself as another volley of molten feathers streaked toward him, each one glowing with the heat of a falling star. The ground exploded on impact, showering him in molten debris and forcing him to stagger back. Elyra’s voice slithered into his mind, cutting through the chaos like a knife.
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"Look at you. All that strength, all that bluster, and yet here you are, flailing in the dirt. Tell me, Drake, does it hurt to know you’re completely outmatched?"
Arthur’s growl deepened, his claws digging into the fractured earth. "Outmatched? You’re a coward with wings and a loud mouth."
Elyra’s laughter echoed through the canyon, sharp and mocking. She swooped low, molten embers trailing behind her as she circled him like a vulture. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? That brute force will carry you through every battle? You’re pathetic." Her tone shifted, dripping with venom. "Do you even know what it means to fight for something more than yourself? To bear the weight of a legacy?"
Arthur’s tail lashed the ground, carving a deep trench into the scorched earth. "Legacy?" he spat. "You cling to a pile of bones and ash. That’s not a legacy—it’s a grave."
Elyra’s molten eyes blazed with fury as she climbed higher, her wings beating with enough force to scatter the ash around her. "You don’t understand, do you? Of course you don’t. You’re nothing but a walking disaster, incapable of building anything but ruin." She unleashed a barrage of fireballs, each one erupting against the ground with enough force to send molten rock flying in all directions.
Arthur roared as the fireballs exploded around him, the shockwaves pushing him back step by step. He raised his claws to shield himself, but the relentless assault forced him to retreat, his mind racing. She wasn’t just taunting him—she was controlling the battlefield, keeping him off balance. Every attack was precise, calculated to exploit his size and limit his ability to counter.
Elyra’s laughter rang out again, cruel and triumphant. "You think I enjoy this?" she hissed, her voice heavy with venom. "Do you think I wanted to be the second child of Volcranax? The one who had to clean up his messes, keep his lands in order, and suffer the burden of his failures?"
Arthur gritted his teeth, firing a Destructo Beam toward her silhouette. She twisted mid-air, evading the blast with infuriating ease. "Sounds like whining to me," he snarled. "If you’re so miserable, why not roll over and die?"
Elyra’s wings snapped outward, her molten feathers flaring brighter as she hovered above him. "Because unlike you, I don’t take the easy way out. Unlike you, I have responsibilities. Do you think these lands survived the fall of Volcranax on their own? I’ve fought for centuries to hold them together, to keep scavengers like you from tearing apart what little remains!"
Arthur snarled, firing another beam, this time aiming ahead of her trajectory. Elyra dipped low, narrowly avoiding the blast, but her laughter returned, dripping with scorn. "Oh, don’t think you’re clever, Drake. You’re just flailing harder because you know you’re losing."
She darted between spires, her form blurring as she unleashed another wave of molten feathers. Arthur’s claws scraped against the ground as he dodged, the feathers scorching the earth where he had just stood. He forced himself to think, to push past the rage and focus on her movements. She was erratic but not random. Every strike came from a position of control, forcing him into predictable patterns.
Then he noticed it—a subtle rhythm, a faint hesitation in her attacks. She wasn’t as untouchable as she wanted him to believe.
Arthur took a slow, measured step forward, his molten eyes locked onto her. "If you’re so powerful," he growled, "then why are you still fighting for scraps? If your legacy is so great, why does it look like hell?"
Elyra paused mid-flight, her molten eyes narrowing as her wings flared wide. "You wouldn’t understand," she said, her voice quieter but no less sharp. "You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything, to see your kin fall one by one while you’re left to pick up the pieces. You don’t know what it means to bear that weight and still keep fighting."
Arthur tilted his head, his gaze unblinking. "And whose fault is that? Your bloodline failed. Volcranax failed. And now you’re just a glorified vulture scavenging his corpse."
Elyra’s molten feathers flared like an inferno, her voice rising with a mixture of fury and anguish. "Do not speak of Volcranax as if you know him! He was more than you could ever comprehend, and his bloodline is more than you could ever hope to destroy!"
She dove toward him, her wings folded tight as she streaked through the air like a comet. Arthur braced himself, his claws digging into the ground as his Psychic Sense flared, attuning to the shifts in her energy. He waited, muscles coiling with tension, and just as she closed the distance, he moved.
Arthur spun, his tail whipping around with destructive force. The crackling energy caught the edge of her wing, the impact sending her spiraling off course. Elyra hissed in pain, her flight disrupted as she veered away, her molten feathers trailing behind her like a broken comet.
For the first time, Arthur saw her falter.
He straightened, his molten eyes narrowing with satisfaction. "That’s all you’ve got? The great Silent Stalker, second child of Volcranax, knocked out of the sky by a single strike?"
Elyra landed on a jagged spire, her wings trembling as she steadied herself. Her molten eyes locked onto him, her fury tempered now by cold, calculating focus. "You think that was a victory?" she growled. "You’re more of a fool than I thought."
Arthur felt it then—a shift in the air, a dark, oppressive pressure that pressed against his mind. It was subtle at first, like a distant hum, but it grew rapidly, clawing at the edges of his thoughts. Elyra’s voice returned, but this time it wasn’t taunting. It was a whisper, soft and insidious, that burrowed into his mind like a parasite.
"You don’t even see it, do you?" she said, her tone almost pitying. "You think you’re the hunter, but you’ve been in my web from the start."
The pressure intensified, twisting his thoughts and warping his vision. The battlefield blurred, the basalt spires stretching and shifting into grotesque shapes that loomed over him like specters. The ground beneath him felt unstable, as though it might collapse at any moment.
Arthur roared, shaking his massive head as he fought to push her presence out of his mind. The destructive beams around his horns flared, crackling with energy as he prepared to unleash them, but Elyra’s voice stopped him.
"Go ahead," she whispered. "Waste your energy. Fire blindly into the darkness. It’s exactly what I want."
Arthur hesitated, the weight of her words pressing against his thoughts. She was baiting him again, manipulating him with the same cunning that had kept her ahead throughout the battle. He growled, his molten eyes narrowing as he steadied himself. She was dangerous—more dangerous than he had ever anticipated. But he wasn’t going to let her win.
Not yet.
"Got you."
Instantly, a sharp pain rang through Arthur’s head as Elyra pierced through his mind with a psychic attack.