As I rounded a darkened corner, my lungs burning for air, I froze. The alleyway was choked with them. Dozens of the shadow-possessed citizens of Qohor turned their pitch-black, void-like eyes toward me. They raised their blades and butcher's cleavers, advancing in deathly silence.
Behind me, the deafening roar of falling masonry announced that Caraxes had broken my binding curse once more. The Blood Wyrm was coming for me.
Trapped between a horde of dark magic abominations and a wounded, furious dragon, my wand hand finally began to tremble. Fending off either of these threats required absolute focus. Facing both, utterly exhausted and drained of magic, bordered on impossible.
There was no room left for subtlety. The narrow alleyway was completely choked with the shadow-possessed, their void-like eyes fixed on me as they advanced in a silent, suffocating tide.
I raised my ashwood wand, aiming directly into the centre of the horde.
"Bombarda!"
The explosion was catastrophic. A volatile sphere of yellow light detonated within the tightly packed ranks, blowing dozens of the possessed to absolute smithereens. Shattered stone, severed limbs, and thick, dark ichor rained down upon the cobblestones. But as the smoke cleared, my stomach plummeted. The deafening blast had acted as a beacon. Down the intersecting streets, hundreds more of the shadowy husks turned their heads toward the noise, shambling relentlessly in my direction.
A heavy, shuddering impact shook the earth beneath my boots.
I whipped my head around. Down the main thoroughfare, Caraxes had located the source of the explosion. The Blood Wyrm let out a furious, bubbling shriek and charged. But the beast was noticeably hindered. The deep, jagged Sectumsempra lacerations across his chest were bleeding profusely, leaving a steaming trail of near-boiling blood in his wake. His thunderous gait was uneven, dragging slightly on his left side.
He is bleeding out, I realized, my mind desperately seizing the opening. His magical resistance is lowered.
I braced my boots against the bloody cobblestones, tracking the furious, uneven charge of the wounded dragon. I waited until I could feel the blistering heat of his open maw, until the suffocating stench of sulfur washed over my face.
"Somnium!" The concentrated beam of heavy, magical lethargy shot from my wand and struck Caraxes squarely on the snout.
The effect was instantaneous and violent. The dragon's eyes rolled backward. The colossal beast went entirely limp mid-stride. Hundreds of tons of Valyrian scale, muscle, and bone crashed into the earth with the force of an earthquake. Caraxes plowed through the mud and shattered stone, a massive wave of debris washing over my boots as his heavy, unconscious snout slid to a halt a mere five paces from where I stood.
I let out a ragged, trembling breath, but there was no time to rest.
The horde of shadow-possessed poured into the thoroughfare, clamouring over the rubble to reach me. I holstered my wand—my magic practically screaming from depletion—and drew my Imperial gladius.
I met the first wave with cold, brutal efficiency. I hacked a butcher's cleaver aside and drove the short sword up through a possessed man's jaw, ripping it free to sever the arm of a screaming woman beside him. I slashed, parried, and gutted, wading into the dark ichor, but the physical toll of the night finally crashed down upon me.
My vision swam. The edges of the burning city bled into a dark, fuzzy vignette. I stumbled, my boots slipping in the gore, barely managing to deflect a rusted axe aimed at my neck. I was utterly exhausted. My arms felt like lead; my lungs burned with every breath. If I stayed in this street, I would die.
I turned and ran.
My escape path forced me to skirt the edge of the massive, steaming crater where Caraxes lay. I kept my sword raised, my breathing ragged as I hurried past the dragon's colossal, scaled head.
I was barely three paces from his snout when a low, vibrating rumble shook the cobblestones.
I froze.
With a sickening, wet sound, the dragon's massive eyelid snapped open.
My heart seized in my chest. The sheer, suffocating horror of it rooted me to the spot. The eye was larger than a round shield, a burning, molten yellow split by a razor-thin, pitch-black pupil. And it was focused entirely, unblinkingly, on me. I was so close I could see the reflection of the burning city—and my own pale, terrified face—mirrored in the glassy surface of the beast's eye.
Caraxes had not succumbed to the sleep. He was awake.
I abandoned all dignity. I dropped my exhausted guard and ran faster than I had ever run in my life, driven by pure, primal terror.
Behind me, the Blood Wyrm rose. A deafening, furious roar shattered the night, accompanied by the blinding heat of ignition in the back of his throat. I threw myself forward, diving headlong through the shattered doorway of a ruined manse just as the world outside erupted into hellfire.
But the fire did not reach me.
I scrambled up to the broken windowsill, panting violently. The horde of shadow-possessed had mindlessly swarmed the plaza, interposing themselves directly between the dragon and my hiding spot. Caraxes, enraged by the dark abominations clawing at his bleeding scales, unleashed a devastating, sweeping torrent of dragonfire, burning the possessed to blowing ash by the hundreds.
I slumped against the soot-stained wall of the ruined house, sliding down to the floor. I was trapped. I could not outrun a dragon, and now that the beast was fully roused and enraged, it was only a matter of time before he took to the sky and rained fire upon the retreating legions again.
I closed my eyes, searching the dregs of my magic. I could not fight him with spells. I lacked the stamina and power to fight him with steel. I needed to fundamentally alter the battlefield.