They rained down from the sky like a meteor shower, hundreds of them, a torrent of destruction that sought to drown Gabriel completely.
There was no way out.
Or so the dragon believed.
Gabriel looked up at the incoming barrage. His golden wings beat slowly, maintaining his position. The fireballs grew larger as they descended, their heat already scorching the white floor below, turning the marble-like surface to blackened glass.
But his expression was not one of fear.
It was one of disappointment literally.
Throughout this battle, he had noticed inconsistencies. The dragon's movements, while powerful, lacked the fluid grace of a true ancient dragon. Its magic, while potent, carried a faint echo of artificiality—as if it had been copied, not learned. Its eyes, fierce as they were, held no spark of genuine draconic wisdom.
