Thrall - Christie Golden [110]
Angrily Thrall clawed at his right arm with his left hand, the pain helping him focus. His thoughts were being twisted, crippled. He looked up and saw the figure astride Chromatus extending his hands toward the orc—and that figure was now shades of purple-blue, an undulating shadow about him. Thrall growled, digging his nails deeper in his arm, and wrenched back his mind.
Chromatus shook his ugly heads. The sickly purple glow that radiated from all ten eyes was a dark imitation of the radiance that enveloped the Aspects as they flew acrobatically around his larger, comparatively squat form. The purple illumination highlighted his misshapen features ghoulishly, and when he drew back and opened his mouths, Thrall felt as though he were again fighting something as dark and evil and unnatural as the Burning Legion itself.
Whereas before, the five heads of the monstrosity attacked as separate entities, now they acted in eerie unison. Each head drew back, inhaling deeply, and then five sets of jaws opened to attack. This time, instead of five separate hues from five separate heads, the flames the creature spewed were dark violet and attacked the shimmering gold-white illumination. More than one of the Aspects bellowed in pain, and Thrall watched as Kalecgos and Ysera faltered for a moment. Their colors darkened as the radiance subsided but then flared to renewed brilliance.
They dove as before, coordinated and elegant, and when they opened their mammoth jaws, white fire exploded forth. It was not the slightly lavender tint of arcane magic, nor did it look like any spell Thrall had ever seen. It was breath in the shape of a flame, the purest white hue Thrall had ever seen. They all aimed for the same place: Chromatus’s chest, exposed as all five necks reared back up to draw a second breath to attack.
Thrall had to shield his eyes, so blinding was the light as it struck. Four streams of brilliant white from each Aspect slammed into the great dragon, sending him tumbling wildly. Chromatus screamed in agony. He fell out of control for a long moment before awkwardly flapping his wings to bring himself back up. His heads, no longer acting in beautiful unison, but jerkily and wildly, again breathed dark flame, but missed their targets widely. In his struggle to bring himself back into the battle, he did nothing but expose his already-blackened chest. Again the Aspects, drawing in breath as one, breathed this strange flame that was not flame upon the chromatic dragon’s heart.
He bucked and spasmed, his heads contorting and screaming curses even as his body convulsed.
“You cannot stop me!” the blue head cried, and then it fell back, eyes closed.
“I know all your secrets,” warned the red before its eyes, too, ceased to glow with life.
And, most chillingly of all, the black head cried, “It took all of you to even attempt to destroy me! Think you Deathwing will be easier? He will rip this world apart to crush you for what you do! And I will be there with—”
There was one final spasm, a hoarse croak from the black head, and then Chromatus fell.
The Twilight Father clung desperately to Chromatus as the two of them hurtled earthward. His mind was numb with horror. He barely had enough wits about him to cast a protective shield about himself. Moments ago, after the first strange breath that had so harmed the dragon, the Twilight Father’s mind had reeled with questions. What had happened to the Aspects? Where had they gotten this newfound ability? What was it? How could this possibly be happening? Chromatus was invincible!
And then all those questions vanished before the frantic terror of clinging to a dead dragon as he fell toward jagged rocks and snow.
He closed his eyes. The great body landed with a huge thump, and the Twilight Father cried out as he slid into a pile of snow. Shivering, frantic, he clawed his way out of the powder, grateful to have somehow survived, terrified of the repercussions of failure. He reached out to Chromatus, trying to sense any signs of life.
There were none. And yet … the dragon was not