A blinding streak of explosive orange light shot from my wand, tearing through the air and slamming directly into the side of the dragon's long, serpentine neck.
The explosion was deafening. The concussive blast blossomed against Caraxes' scales, violently knocking the massive beast off his trajectory. The dragon let out a high-pitched, almost canine whine of pain, his fire breath misfiring wildly into the empty ruins to my left, showering me in a wave of blistering heat and stone shrapnel.
Caraxes crashed heavily onto the rooftops of the adjacent manses, crushing timber and slate beneath his immense weight.
He stopped. The battlefield grew terrifyingly quiet, save for the crackling of the fires.
Slowly, the long, twisted neck snaked downward. Massive, reptilian yellow eyes locked directly onto me. The sheer, ancient malice burning in that gaze was suffocating. Caraxes realized I was the source of his pain.
The Blood Wyrm let out a bone-shaking, furious roar. He did not take flight this time. He began a charge, his massive claws tearing the street to pieces as he lunged directly at me, his jaws parting to unleash a concentrated torrent of fire.
I dug my spurs ruthlessly into my mount's flanks, hauling the reins hard to the right to clear the dragon's path. But I had drastically underestimated the sheer, serpentine reach of Caraxes' neck. It whipped around with the velocity of a siege ballista.
I saw the rows of black, smoking teeth a fraction of a second before they connected. I threw myself sideways from the saddle, my ashwood wand slashing downward.
"Protego!" The shimmering blue shield snapped into existence just as Caraxes' jaws clamped down. The sickening, wet crunch of snapping bone and tearing flesh echoed over the roar of the flames. My beautiful, barded warhorse was bitten cleanly in half, its agonised scream cut terrifyingly short. A shower of hot blood and torn viscera rained across the cobblestones as I hit the ground hard, rolling wildly to absorb the impact.
I scrambled up, my chest heaving, and threw myself behind the crumbled, smoking ruins of a merchant's wall just as a wash of dragonfire completely incinerated the remains of my horse.
I leaned against the scorching stone, my lungs burning as I blindly aimed my wand over the barricade. "Confringo!" The blasting curse struck the dragon's armoured flank with the force of a thunderclap. Caraxes roared, shaking off the impact, but his attention remained entirely fixed on me. Good, I thought grimly. I must keep his fury anchored here. If he takes to the sky, he will turn the retreating legions into blowing ash.
I frantically cycled through my magical arsenal, discarding hexes and curses by the second. The Conjunctivitis Curse? No. Blinding a dragon in the middle of a dense city would only send it into a blind, thrashing frenzy, indiscriminately breathing fire in all directions. The Imperius Curse? My grip tightened on my wand as the temptation flared, but my father's ancient, iron-clad warning echoed in the back of my skull: Never look into the mind of a dragon, Octavian. It is a most complex yet chaotic place. Only fire, blood, and madness will reach you. Caraxes let out a deafening trill, his massive, blood-red wings snapping open as he prepared to launch himself back into the sky.
I stepped out from the ruins, levelling my wand directly at his chest. "Petrificus Totalus!"
The Full Body-Bind Curse struck true. The magic seized the dragon mid-motion. Caraxes' wings locked rigidly, his jaws snapping shut, and the colossal beast crashed heavily back down into the mud like a felled statue. But the triumph lasted only a second.
A low, vibrating whine built within the dragon's throat. The scales along his neck began to glow with a terrifying, incandescent heat. Caraxes was fighting the magic with sheer, primordial fury. With a violent, earth-shattering roar, the dragon unleashed a torrent of fire, the internal surge of magical heat shattering my binding curse entirely.
I stumbled backward. Fifty years. It had been nearly fifty years of a life well lived and never before had I undergone such desperate physical adversity. I was the Princeps of Rome; I fought wars greater than any mercenary or general had claim to yet a duel with a magical beast is worse than a hundred mortal men. Father was right I truly did not know what desperation on a battlefield is until I have experienced it myself.
I gritted my teeth, throwing my moral restraint to the wind. I will have to truly hurt this majestic creature if I am to have any chance.
I slashed my wand in a vicious, tearing motion. "Sectumsempra!"
At the exact same moment, Caraxes opened his maw, unleashing another blinding river of hellfire.
"Protego Maxima!" I roared, pouring every ounce of my rapidly depleting strength into the shield.
The roaring flames slammed into my magical barrier, the kinetic force driving me to my knees. The heat was unbearable. Sweat poured down my soot-stained face, my chest panting in ragged, painful heaves as I felt my magic scraping its absolute bottom.
But my curse had landed.
Through the roaring flames, I heard Caraxes shriek—a sound of genuine, startled agony. The invisible blades of the Sectumsempra curse had carved deeply into the beast's broad chest. Severe, jagged lacerations tore through the crimson scales, splitting the thick hide to the bone.
Near-boiling, steaming blood poured from the colossal wounds, hissing violently as it struck the cobblestones. The stench of copper and sulfur was sickening. Yet, the horrific injuries only seemed to enrage the Blood Wyrm further. Caraxes shrieked, snapping his jaws as he fired another blistering torrent of fire to force me behind cover.
Using the flames as a distraction, the bleeding beast surged upward, his massive wings beating the air to take flight.
I threw myself out from behind the wall, my muscles screaming in protest. "Petrificus Totalus!"
The curse hit him squarely in his bleeding chest just as his claws left the ground. Caraxes went completely rigid mid-air. With his momentum unbroken but his wings frozen, the colossal beast fell out of the sky like a hurled boulder.
He crashed violently through the roof of a towering manse, the stone and timber exploding outward in a shower of lethal shrapnel. His thrashing, paralysed bulk levelled ancient monuments and completely crushed a dozen of the shadow-possessed citizens who had been blindly attempting to swarm him.
I did not stay to watch him recover. I turned and sprinted, retreating deeper into the winding, claustrophobic streets of Qohor, desperately trying to lure the wounded beast away from the Roman lines.
But the nightmare was far from over.