Leon stood over the fallen dragon, his gaze cold and unrelenting as it locked onto Greg's battered form.
The blue dragon was a wreck. His right eye barely opened, his scales were cracked in several places, and his wings hung limp and torn, they were too damaged to ever catch the wind again without months of recovery. The last slam had drained the life out of him, leaving only a trembling mass of blood, scale, and pride.
"I…m so…rryy…" Greg rasped through shallow breaths. His jaw hung at an odd angle, words slurring through the broken bones.
Leon heard him clearly, but he only shook his head. "It's already too late for that."
Greg's one good eye widened in disbelief. For the first time in centuries, tears welled up in the dragon's gaze. "Ple…ase… ple…ase… I a…m sor…ry…"
The tears fell freely now, glinting faintly in the dirt below as Leon raised his sword—its edge glowing faintly in the blood-red twilight.
Then a voice cut through the air, sharp and furious.
