The moment Damon channeled the new lance, everything else fell away. The screaming, the battlefield, and even the wyrm's howls of rage.
The world condensed into one moment. His vision reddened, not from damage, but from the overwhelming surge of power coursing through his veins. Blood essence twisted around him like a cocoon of storming serpents, wild and alive.
He charged forward using this momentum, and in one huge leap, he landed right on top of the wyrm.
The wyrm, broken and blazing, tried to rise again, its wings flapping weakly, molten blood dripping from every joint. It turned its head, half-blind, one eye glowing dimly as it recognized what was coming.
Damon didn't give it time. His feet dug into the wyrm's charred scales as he raised the weapon high, the lance thrumming with every ounce of his fury and fire-forged will. Time slowed as the wyrm opened its ruined mouth, and he brought the lance down, holding nothing back.
