The night sky above Camelot was on fire.
The dragon's wings beat with great force, spreading the already existing flames across the shattered city.
Below, the streets had become rivers of fire, the air thick with smoke and the smell of blood.
All available warriors, the knights, mages, and hybrids, fought hard, driven by desperation rather than hope.
Each spell that struck the beast was like a pebble hurled against a mountain.
Bolts of lightning, torrents of ice, blades of wind, all collided against the dragon's hide and most burst harmlessly across its scales, with only a few causing real damage.
Still, they fought.
The dragon, wounded yet unbroken, reared its head and bellowed. The force of the roar sent men flying.
Its tail swept through the streets, demolishing buildings and reducing entire platoons to mangled remains.
A line of archers on the rooftops unleashed a storm of arrows infused with spells or skills.
