Arios's entire focus was on the beast before him. The broken hilt of his sword clattered against the stone floor, a sound swallowed by the cavern's vastness, discarded. His hands were empty, his breathing uneven, ragged, and sweat poured down his face, washing away the grime and soot. Across from him, the dragon crouched low, blood dripping from its grievous wounds, but its eyes burned hotter than ever, twin pools of molten gold and crimson rage. Its fury hadn't diminished; if anything, the pain had sharpened its malice.
Arios flexed his fingers, testing the tendons and joints. His arms trembled, weak from the hours of combat, but he clenched his fists tight, refusing to yield the ground he had fought so desperately to gain. He had overcome every tactical and physical challenge the illusion could throw at him; he would not fail at the final, brute-force confrontation.
