Barbatos, in his full dragon form, now looked every bit the Dragon of Destruction his name implied.
His colossal black body coiled above the shattered cavern, wings spread wide enough to blot out the light. Each scale was edged with faint violet lines, as though molten energy pulsed beneath his hide. His claws dug into the rock, carving deep trenches with casual ease.
He raised his head toward the sky.
His roar tore through the air.
The ground shook. Distant trees rustled violently. Loose rocks tumbled down the mountainside. Even the clouds seemed to shiver and ripple from the sheer force of his voice.
Arthur stared up at him, breathing hard.
His left arm dangled uselessly at his side, broken bones throbbing with sharp, steady pain.
He reached into his inventory with his good hand.
He pulled out a healing potion—a small vial filled with glowing liquid—and downed it in one smooth motion.
The potion burned down his throat.
Heat spread through his body.
