The night soaked the sky like spilled ink. Garoth and the Cliff Serpent Dragon darted through the dark clouds like two lightning bolts tearing through the night.
As the distance closed between them, the Cliff Serpent Dragon struck first. Its elongated body lashed out like a whip, its forked tail tip burning with dark green venomous flas.
Garoth's body froze montarily as his wings arched high. The fine scales on his dragon wings rubbed against each other, sparking dense clusters of embers. The razor-sharp edges of his wings glowed crimson before his body suddenly pivoted around the tip of his left wing in a dramatic spin. Like a guillotine blade, his wing slashed toward the Cliff Serpent Dragon.
Facing this Wing Cyclone attack, the Cliff Serpent Dragon refused to back down. It twisted its body, swinging its thick tail toward Garoth's wing.
Clang! Tear!
First ca the tallic clang of weapons colliding, followed by the sound of sharp edges tearing through tough dragon scales and flesh. After encountering slight resistance, Garoth's spinning wing slash severed one of the serpent dragon's three forked tails, his wings now sared with the creature's sticky blood.
"I'll devour you!"
The wounded serpent dragon growled in garbled Draconic, its front claws suddenly thrusting toward Garoth. Garoth tilted slightly, eting the attack directly with the dense explosive scales on his back.
Boom! The powerful claw strike shattered Garoth's back scales while simultaneously absorbing the kinetic energy and converting it into heat, erupting into brilliant flas. Caught off guard, the Cliff Serpent Dragon was blasted backward.
"This thing can't fight head-on."
Suddenly, excruciating pain shot through Garoth's wings. It felt like countless tiny files grinding his flesh, like venomous snakes burrowing into his body—an incomparable agony.
"But this venom... it's exactly as potent as the records described."
Even with Garoth's high pain tolerance, he couldn't help but frown. The Cliff Serpent Dragon's sticky blood clung stubbornly to his wings despite the strong winds, staining the contact points dark green. Every part of the serpent dragon—its fangs, claws, and especially its blood—carried deadly venom.
As Garoth's poison resistance was low, his wings gradually numbed from the toxins. The Cliff Serpent Dragon charged again. Though more severely injured than Garoth, its crimson eyes burned with madness and excitent, appearing determined to drag Garoth down with it even at the cost of its own life.
A mad dragon defied conventional reasoning. Fighting it to the death offered no benefits. Instead, asured skirmishes would serve Garoth better.
"Keeping it alive ans it'll keep returning to Crescent Valley to provoke . Its venom can gradually build my resistance. Tonight's enough—my current resistance is too low to risk excessive exposure."
With this thought, Garoth beat his wings to maximum speed, creating distance. The Cliff Serpent Dragon's scales hissed as high-temperature vapor erupted from beneath them, its burst speed chasing after Garoth. But as Garoth accelerated fully, each powerful wingbeat generated fierce gales that even the serpent dragon's enhanced speed couldn't match. The gap between them steadily widened.
Unable to catch up and still bleeding from its severed tail, the Cliff Serpent Dragon's energy reserves depleted from the speed burst. Reluctantly, it halted, watching the fading sparks from Garoth's wingbeats until even those vanished monts later.
With an angry howl, it turned back toward the Graymane Werewolf territory.
"Food! I want live prey!"
Descending into Crescent Valley, the Cliff Serpent Dragon landed in the werewolf settlent, demanding fresh offerings.
"We've already given you all our live prey today," the werewolf shaman replied nervously, forcing composure. "Only preserved or dried at remains, but there's plenty to satisfy you."
The serpent dragon roared, "I want living prey!" It sought to vent its frustration from both its injuries and failing to kill Garoth by brutally tearing apart live creatures.
When denied, it snarled, "Then I'll take my own!" Springing forward, it snapped up an adult werewolf in its jaws. But one victim wasn't enough—it wanted more.
"Enough, Rogoth! Return to your nest!"
An elderly werewolf stepped forward, eyes blazing, gripping his oak staff tightly as a massive wolf spirit apparition materialized behind him. The Cliff Serpent Dragon circled the elder warily but didn't attack. Clutching its screaming prey, it slithered back to its cliffside cave.
The elder's imposing aura faded as his posture slumped further. "I never should have retrieved that egg... never should have hatched it... never raised it," he muttered bitterly.
This sixteen-year-old juvenile Cliff Serpent Dragon was the monstrous result of the elder's own nurturing. Years ago during an expedition, he'd discovered the egg in a bone-filled cave and brought it back, unaware it would hatch into one of the most vicious dragon subspecies—known for their cruelty and bloodlust. Mistaking it for rely an unusual serpent, he'd hoped to raise it as the tribe's guardian.
But serpent dragons, despite their intelligence, were inherently savage. While weak, it had restrained its nature, allowing the werewolves to nurture it while eliminating so of their enemies. Yet as it grew stronger, it began attacking even its caretakers. Only the elder shaman—who had imprinted bonds through shamanic rituals during its youth—could barely restrain it, and even that influence waned daily.
"Elder, it grows more uncontrollable. The cost of keeping it is too high," the current werewolf chieftain said gravely, joining the shaman as they stared at the dark cave. "It's wounded from battling that unknown dragon. This may be our chance to gather warriors and slay it."
The eldest shaman, the tribe's most respected figure, sighed. "A siege would be disastrous—losses could cripple us beyond recovery."
The chieftain pressed, "Then we must abandon Crescent Valley. We cannot coexist with it any longer. One day, it may slaughter us all."
Nodding wearily, the shaman vowed, "Trust —I won't let our people face extinction." As the chieftain left to calm the shaken tribe (whose mbers risked permanently transforming into feral beasts if overly agitated), the elder gazed at the night sky, recalling the dragon that had flown past earlier.
The Cliff Serpent Dragon had eagerly given chase but returned furious and mutilated. Clearly, it had t its match. Perhaps... they could enlist draconic assistance?
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