Baruka's shadow fell over him like a tombstone. The dragon's bloodied tongue writhed, half-severed, drooling sizzling green fluid onto the shattered rooftop. The liquid hissed where it struck, corroding stone into bubbling mush.
Zakar dragged himself backward, ribs grinding. Every movement was agony, but still he clutched his sword. His chest heaved like a forge-bellows, fire clawing up his throat.
> [System Warning: Vitality—3%. Catastrophic damage imminent. Recommend immediate disengagement.]
He coughed out a laugh, bitter and broken. "You keep… saying retreat. There's nowhere left to run. Besides if I run then I will be on the a rampage eating players. Better I die trying to win."
Baruka's talon came down. Zakar rolled, the claw missing his skull by inches and smashing the rooftop into rubble. Dust blinded him, but he slashed blindly upward. The blade bit shallowly into a joint between scales, carving a thin line of blood that sizzled against steel.
