Thswoner reacted quickly. Unlike the other elves, in that fleeting instant his face showed neither fury nor surprise as he watched the arm of the creature of chaos pierce Fiarah's chest. The general simply reacted.
The dragon's movement tore through the air, generating an impact that hurled the other elves backward and opened a hole in the sand hill.
Krarvathar withdrew his arm from the elf's body and, in the same instant, blocked with the back of his hand the strike of the khopesh wrapped in dark mist. He felt the corrosion again — lighter than before, but still present.
Garhlieash attacked right after, advancing with his flaming scimitar toward the enemy's face. Thswoner pulled his blade back upon noticing his ally's attack, and then the black mist rippled like dark fire as he lunged again, aiming for Krarvathar's abdomen.
The fact that he had eliminated the other elf first had not been instinct — it had been a choice. He could have attacked the two strongest directly… but the fight would have ended too quickly. And now, unlike before, he wanted to prolong it.
"Is this fire? Against me?" Krarvathar asked.
He grabbed both elves' blades, locking their attacks. He smiled, preventing them from pulling back.
"No. It is sacred life, demon!" Garhlieash replied.
The flames engulfed the blades and burned Krarvathar's hands. It was not fire — it was something worse. A corrosion that seemed to reach beyond the flesh.
The Meanings brought him the answer: that energy — harphesh — did not only sustain the elves, but existed to destroy creatures like him.
This time, the pain was real. The moment of agony was enough. The elves attacked again.
Krarvathar retreated, dodging by a hair's breadth, and planted his foot in the sand. He leaped backward, feeling the sun's heat pulsing through his body. But there was no respite.
Thswoner, Garhlieash, and the others advanced at the same time, surrounding him as he retreated toward firmer ground near the destroyed rocks.
Then Krarvathar realized: that last attack had cost them dearly. The effort had drained Thswoner and Garhlieash. Maintaining it demanded more than they should have spent.
Krarvathar flexed his arms and let out a deep sigh. Before they could reach him, he struck the ground with his fists and roared.
The impact exploded.
The earth shook, the sand gave way, and the rocks split apart, hurled into the air. The shockwave flung the elves backward, making them lose their balance. The sound echoed like dry thunder. A massive crater opened beneath their feet.
Fighting was still a difficult exercise for Krarvathar. In some moments, his instinct wanted to take over; in others, he wanted to fight in a more technical way after analyzing the elves' combat.
But he tried to fight in a free form that expressed his two natures — draconic essence and human form — without one trying to subdue the other.
The ground split open for dozens of meters on both sides, between sand and rock.
From the rock where he was falling, Krarvathar leaped toward Thswoner. The elf defended the attack with both blades and retreated, jumping to another rock.
"Don't run, elf!" the dragon shouted, dodging the arrows from the other elves. They no longer had as many, and the harphesh chains no longer affected Krarvathar as they had before.
Five elves had leaped toward him, surrounding him in the air with spears to pierce him. He spun his body and arms, knocking the tips of the blades aside. The dragon chose two and grabbed their heads before they could escape. They struggled, but they had no strength to break free from the dragon's hands.
In that instant, Krarvathar's golden eyes shone. Holding their faces while falling through the air was pleasurable. Having their lives in his hands.
"See, Thswoner, what I am!" he thought, and tightened his fingers.
"No!" others shouted.
Krarvathar squeezed their heads until they exploded. This was what he wanted: to kill elves. His hands filled with blood, their heads almost disintegrated and incinerated, with a thin trail of smoke rising.
The dragon's body then froze.
In the same instant, distracted by the slaughter, Garhlieash slashed his back with the flames of life, and Thswoner pierced the back of the dragon's neck. The khopesh went straight through to the other side, burning with black flames and tearing open his throat.
"Die, die!" they shouted.
The elves pulled their blades free, leaped onto the fallen rocks, and, with the help of the others, retreated from the great collapsing hole.
Krarvathar looked back and brought his hand to his throat. Blood flowed, but the physical pain was smaller than the pain in his mind.
"This… burns… hurts… I am…"
His back slammed against the rocks, and his body was sucked in and flooded by the sand. He looked upward — the sun was disappearing behind the dunes — as he fell into the darkness of his own destruction.