In his frenzy, hadn't he forgotten that? In his mind's eye, the Blackscale's weak point is a glowing ruby red, beating with a life that could be extinguished with just one hit.

The Blackscale catches his next blast, but Hector can see the intelligent surprise in its eyes as it realises that it would have been dead if it had been any slower. Hector licks his lips and smirks.

'Faster,' he tastes the word with relish.

He feels almost leisurely as he makes his way to the next pillar— there are only two left, but he only needs one. A plan solidifies as he hangs briefly in the space between the pillars, and he makes sure to thank his brothers later for the idea.

Hector lands, magic already coming to life in his left hand. The light stretches and grows, rearranging itself to fit the image in his head. Magic was malleable, after all, and his brothers used that constantly to their advantage.

Eli, with his command over barriers, and Alex, who could summon anything he wanted so long as he could imagine it—

Have a clear head, Eli would say. Buy yourself time and make sure you have the magic.

Then, Alex would add, wreak havoc.

With his right hand, Hector shoots a large sphere of magic towards the Blackscale. Showier than the last few blasts and slower. Swivelling its neck to face Hector, the Blackscale bats the magic to the side. Lazily. When it bares its teeth, it looks like a grin.

It doesn't see the spear made of blue lightning fly straight and true from Hector's left hand, past its distracted guard, and into its neck.

Everything falls silent.

Even the hum of Hector's magic dissipates as the spear sinks into the exposed bit of flesh. The Blackscale burps out a plume of black smoke. No more fire.

Hector Argyris jumps down from his perch as the Blackscale lurches to the side and falls with a dull thud that sends a final tremor throughout the room. The dragon stays down.

Relieved, Hector expels the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He buries his face in his hands and lets the hysteria bubble up inside of him. It escapes in a cracked laugh that turns into wild cackles that have him in tears. He crouches, head between his knees, and considers throwing up.

After a minute of dry-heaving, he stands and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

'Time to keep moving,' he says.