Arthur’s world twisted into chaos, his thoughts snarled in a web of foreign whispers that scraped at the edges of his mind like nails on brittle stone. The psychic assault was relentless, each pulse from Elyra driving deeper into his consciousness, warping his sense of reality. Fractured images—visions of flame, ruin, and shadows—flickered behind his eyes, distorting his perception of the battlefield. The jagged spires around him shifted and writhed, as though they too were alive, closing in to suffocate him.
His Aura of Dread flared instinctively, a pulse of primal terror rippling out from his massive frame, forcing the oppressive weight to falter for a fleeting moment. But it wasn’t enough. Elyra was relentless, her presence invasive and sharp, a predator’s talons raking through his mind.
Above him, her dark, molten-feathered form cut through the smoky air, her wings tracing arcs of fire that lingered like blazing scars in the sky. She moved with a haunting grace, weaving between the shattered spires as if taunting him with her freedom. Each beat of her wings left a trail of flame that began to take form—a burning net tightening around him.
Arthur snarled, shaking his massive head as he tried to dispel the psychic haze. The whispers grew louder, twisting into mocking laughter that echoed through his mind.
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"You’re floundering, Drake," Elyra’s voice seeped into his thoughts, cold and venomous. "Your power is nothing but a blunt instrument. Crude. Predictable. Do you feel it yet? The futility of fighting me?"
Her words dug deep, not because of their cruelty, but because of the bitter truth laced within them. She was in control of the battlefield, dictating the rhythm of their fight while he stumbled, reactive and enraged. Arthur forced himself to focus, to ground himself in the weight of his body, the heat of the scorched earth beneath his claws, and the steady hum of his Destructo Beams orbiting his horns. He was not prey, not a creature to be toyed with. He was destruction incarnate, and she would remember that before this was over.
Elyra dove, a streak of fire hurtling toward him. He barely managed to pivot, his tail lashing out in defense, but she was already gone, her laughter echoing through the ash-choked air. Another volley of molten feathers rained down, each one piercing the ground like a blazing spear. One grazed his side, the searing heat cutting into his Obsidian Skin and leaving a glowing, molten gash. He roared, the sound reverberating through the canyon, but Elyra’s mocking tone only grew louder.
"What’s the matter, beast?" she taunted, her voice slithering through his mind. "Does it hurt?"
Arthur’s molten eyes locked onto her as she ascended again, her form blurring into the smoke. The flames she left behind coiled and twisted, forming an intricate web of fire that shimmered with a predatory intelligence. She was closing off his options, boxing him in, and he hated her for it.
But he would not give her the satisfaction of seeing him break.
Snarling loudly, he forced the psychic fog from his mind, his fury mounting with every taunt, every strike. The Destructo Beams flared brighter, their energy surging as he unleashed them in rapid succession. The sky lit up with streaks of molten energy, each one aimed with precision and purpose. But Elyra was faster, her movements erratic and unpredictable.
She darted between the beams, her wings slicing through the air with a speed that defied her size. The fiery net above him grew tighter, its burning tendrils casting long, jagged shadows across the cracked earth.
Arthur’s frustration boiled over, his claws gouging deep into the ground as he steadied himself. He was being cornered, forced into her trap, and he could feel the weight of it pressing against his resolve. But he refused to be caged. Not by her. Not by anyone.
Elyra’s voice pierced his thoughts again, more insidious this time, as if she could taste his frustration. "You fight like a cornered animal. Thrashing."
"Roaring."
"Desperate."
Arthur’s growl deepened, his tail smashing into a nearby spire and sending shards of molten rock tumbling to the ground. "I don’t need a purpose to crush you," he snarled, his voice like the grinding of stone. "You talk like you’re better than me, but all I see is a coward hiding behind her tricks."
Elyra’s laughter rang out, sharp and scornful. "Coward? You think this is cowardice? This is survival, Drake. This is intelligence."
"This is-"
"FEAR!"
Immediately, the pain inside Arthur’s head felt ten times worse as his horns blared to the extreme to resist the psychic, mental fuck he was suffering under. Shit, shit, shit!
Arthur’s roar shook the canyon, a deafening sound that tore through the thick air. His beams lashed out again, slicing through the fiery web, but Elyra was already moving, ascending higher, her molten feathers blazing in her wake.
From her new vantage point, Elyra began to weave another attack. The air around her shimmered with dark, fiery energy, coalescing into molten blades that hovered in formation. Each blade glowed with an intense heat, the edges honed to a deadly sharpness. Arthur watched as she raised her wings, the molten weapons aligning with her movements like an extension of her will.
Elyra’s voice returned, colder now, filled with a cruel satisfaction. "You’re out of time, Drake. This is your final lesson in futility."
The blades descended in a rain of fire, each one streaking toward Arthur with lethal intent. He braced himself, his Obsidian Skin flaring as he prepared for impact. The first blade struck, slashing into his side and cracking his armor. Another followed, then another, each one carving into his massive frame with surgical precision. Blood, thick and molten, seeped from the wounds, hissing as it hit the scorched earth.
Arthur staggered, his massive form heaving as the assault continued. Pain lanced through him, sharp and unrelenting, but he didn’t fall. He couldn’t fall. His molten eyes locked onto Elyra, who hovered above him, her molten feathers blazing brighter than ever.
She circled him like a vulture, her voice cutting through the haze of pain. "In the end, you all fall." She said it like it was an eventuality for those who faced her.
Like he was just another little challenger.
Like he was going to fucking lose.
Arthur growled, blood dripping from his wounds as he straightened, his molten eyes never leaving her. He was bloodied, battered, but not broken.
Not yet.
As Elyra prepared for another strike, Arthur’s claws scraped against the ground, his mind sharpening with a singular focus. She thought she had him beaten, thought her web was unbreakable.
But the Drake of Destruction wasn’t finished yet.