As soon as he crosses the threshold between the beach and the tower, a dozen wall torches come to life one by one, revealing the tower’s circular interior.
'Oh, come on,' Hector starts. 'You have got to be kidding me.'
The room is large. Seven pillars are placed against the wall, spread out evenly with several metres between them. Stone gargoyles are perched on top, one for each pillar. A bowl of fire sits in their twisted hands. They're brighter than the torches, bearing a cold, white centre.
And, before him: a Thesucles Blackscale.
A small dragon compared to most species found in Thesucles, but large enough to take up most of the circular room. Hooked claws and curling obsidian horns made the fact that it was wingless almost insignificant.
That was its most distinct feature, aside from the void-black scales that gave it its namesake.
But if the books held true, then the dragon could breathe fire well enough, and its lack of wings is the least of Hector's problems.
The Blackscale cocks its head, gold eyes studying the intruder. A serpentine neck set in an elegant curve. A clicking sound came from its jaw. Hector breathes slowly.
He's trying to figure out a way around it.
He thinks the Blackscale is trying to figure out if he's worth eating.
They come to a conclusion at the same time.
Hector flips out of the way as its jaws come snapping down. Maker, its breath stinks! The Blackscale rears back and roars, and the whole tower feels like it's about to come down around his ears.
He ducks and rolls to his left as claws slash at him, springing to his feet as another vicious swipe blocks his view. The sound of its claws dragging against the stone is like nails on a blackboard. Hector cartwheels and somersaults out of the way, cursing all the while. He had been taken off-guard with Eaughshy; he can't afford such a costly mistake here.
As the next swipe comes, Hector moves under the Blackscale's arm instead of away and redirects a large portion of magic to his legs. His hands had healed faster than he thought they would, and he can feel he still has energy left to spare. He launches off the ground and delivers a kick to the side of the dragon's head.
Next thing he knows, he's being flung across the room. Air rushes from his lungs. The only thing that stops him from smashing his head against the wall is his helmet and a brief flare of magic to cushion his spine. Lucky. He lands on his feet, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. His ears are ringing from the impact, the metal helmet rattling against his temples.
A ball of fire hurtles towards him next: Hector throws up a shoddy shield of magic, but it does its job. Two tracks of smoke stream out of the Blackscale's nostrils as the flames dissipate. Hector licks his dry lips and lets the shield come undone, poised to either run or jump.
The Blackscale rears back—and Hector sees it. Finally. A perfect, brief view of the Blackscale's one true weakness.
It's not an enormous window of opportunity, in both a literal and figurative sense. The bit of exposed skin on its neck, just below its chin, is roughly the same size and shape as the curved scales covering the dragon from tip to toe. But it pulses with a deep red light. It pulses just like a heartbeat.
If he can get to that, then…
The fight is over.
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