Syris slithered through the thick, necrotic mud, his massive emerald coils dragging slightly. He was panting, a cold sweat dampening his pale, sharp face.
His usually elegant robes were torn, and several deep, jagged puncture wounds marred his arms and the thick scales of his lower half. Sluggish, dark blood oozed from the bites, mixing with the foul swamp water.
The feral, infected snakes had not gone down quietly. When Vipersan had made the fatal mistake of demanding Tanith, of implying that Syris's precious, innocent daughter should have been here in this wasteland.
Syris went berserk.
He hadn't just fought his father. He had eradicated him.
The Snake King, arrogant and blinded by his own toxic pride, had not realized how unfathomably powerful his exiled son had become over the years.
It had taken less than two minutes. Now, Vipersan's headless body was sinking into the very mud he had ruled over, his crown of bone and swamp-vines shattered into dust.
