It was now a one on one fight between Damien and the Bonewing Wyrm which had easily annihilated over two dozen black dragons.
He stood, barely. His body was already knitting itself together, but the pain screamed in his nerves. He blinked through the blur. The Wyrm was charging again, bones humming, talons out.
He dodged, barely. It clipped his shoulder, tearing silver-flesh into ragged meat. Blood splashed the water, hissing as it touched the Wyrm's bone-forged aura.
"It's soul isn't flickering. It's fused."
This wasn't a beast that died and lingered.
This was a beast that became death.
Every attempt Damien made to unravel it was rejected. Its soul was like obsidian, smooth, sealed, inviolable. The Core couldn't read it. The runes couldn't penetrate it.
His refined spells were too clean.
This thing demanded violence.
