The consuming, incinerating flames would spew forth into tall walls as soon as the Lagiacrus's tail had cleared its hearth, allowing for a closed off arena. The smoldering ruins of Moga Village produced a smell of charred flesh and wood - such pleasantries to a brutal tyrant such as herself. Within the heavens, the monarch successfully had persuaded the female to step into her pit and proceed so honorably that the Fatalis was forced to consider her a diminutive, but well-mannered serf. The atmosphere within the arena would have been arid and exceedingly hot - simply unbearable to a creature vulnerable or not used to such uncomfortable climates. Any water droplets upon a wet person would have experienced flash evaporation, with an memory or knowledge of such an event occurring with a mere hissing sizzle.
This was the monarch's domain: Tartarus for those who knew not how to handle such situations and Elysium for her and her kind. The swirling inferno captured the essence of the destructive power that lingered just beneath the surface of a Fatalis's being: sheer wrath fell upon those who brought themselves up in an attempt to conquer and prevail. Warriors, berserkers, armies: all had fallen before her piercing gaze and had been cast into her hellfire. She was the epitome of supremacy, the antithesis and archenemy of defeat and submission. Conquest fueled her engine of cataclysm, spurring her on towards the greatness that awaited their kind in the after life.
Yet such a bountiful, inflated reward was to be eons and eons away, for Death itself feared to turn itself upon her. The ages had left her growing stronger and faster, the centuries had left her crown of protruding horns splintered and elongated, and now this tyrant was to be challenged. Lightning was sharp and painful, but dissipated so smoothly across her metal-laced hide. What rules and pros were there for this land dweller, who could only rely upon the safe haven of water to shield her from such devastating blows of licking flame and spear-sharp talons?
Nothing.
Not in this monarch's inferno.
The blazing, inescapable walls of the arena blossomed considerably as the queen listened with growing amusement as such superficial words - an attempt to enrage her would be blessed with arrogance. Perhaps the fire that surrounded their future sparring ground understood this, for promptly they grew thick and tall; they stood proud and strong, threatening to burn even the most leathery hide. They curled in towards this challenger, as if to taunt and mock, but never could reach more than what their mistress would allow. She would not allow them to devour her opponent before she had an opportunity to do so herself, and the very thought of caramelized, charbroiled Lagiacrus was so appetizing that saliva rolled down from her lips. A hungry bubbled from within, and thus she was left with a drive to pursue her quarry.
"Why does the pupil challenge his master? Why do the lowly rebel against the monarchy? Why do males who dwell in herds duel against the alpha? It is for the ability to seize power and test themselves; to prove to the world that they are worthy and able to succeed. Often they are squashed, but some vain attempts do prove fruitful - you forget, however, that you are but a lowly servant for those who will devour your kind. My lifetime is but the blink of an eye to those who proclaim themselves powerful, but age will claim them and my generation will rise."
A laugh akin to booming thunder was given, her eyes narrowing in pleasure as she continued her lecture, "Youth must be foolish and suffer hallucinations if they are to achieve and conquer. If the young stag did not, then he would not ever challenge the other and earn his right to breed. For the greater good, youth's stupidity fuels them on. My delusions? I have lived a one hundred times your lifetime. I have seen great monsters rise and fall as Death collected them for his own. I have witnessed the births and deaths of far better, worthier opponents than yourself. I have faced opponents with teeth as sharp as swords, with breath as dangerous as explosives! What are you to me?"
"So tell me, child," she would growl forth, a contempt-laced sneer smeared across her face, "who is the fool suffering from 'illusions of grandeur' for so willingly leaving one's natural element and throwing themselves into the fiery domain of another? You have ensnared yourself in your own thoughts for believing that your kind's honor and rules of dueling are the same as mine!"
A trap well set, too. The flames, fueled on by the burning of corpses and excellent timber raged forth in thick, impenetrable piles. The dryness of the air and the ample supply of kindling provided an excellent base for them to thrive and burn any who drew too close to them. A nasty, painful burn would be inflicted upon any that crossed them, and imagine how the entire body would be if they were to thrust themselves out! While the flames would languish and withdraw not, the poor victim would be in incredible, searing pain. From high above, their mistress would greedily observe, the circle designated for their duel was far too small for her to successfully fit into. It might have appeared as such to her stunted opponent, but surely a monarch would never have lowered herself to an inferior species's level.
With her trap successfully sprung and her prey cornered, the dragon merely coiled back her head and released multiple fireballs onto her opponent, attempting to scorch her in her inferno. She would begin her sacred, age-old dance within the heavens, spinning and rotating like a decapitated adder, and allow her wrath to explode against her targeted ground. Checkmate.
jacobvanloon
baratheonpilled
dededos
titsay
stormborns
janainaart
discoholicmusic
origamiaround
ellievsbear
