Aragon himself cut a deadly swath through the ranks of the disintegrating forces. His blade was a blur of shimmering steel, parrying and slashing in a dizzying dance of death. Those slow enough to be caught in his whirlwind of bloodshed met their demise with the master's sword. Within the cramped halls of the battered estate, the dead and dying quickly piled up at Aragon's feet.
The remaining soldiers, witnesses to the dragon's wrath and the ferocity of Yuki and Aragon, swiftly abandoned their duties. Some fled outright, others merely shrugged off their allegiances as the hopelessness of their situation became clear.
Soon, only Osalde remained amidst the smoldering ruin that was once his home. He fell to his knees, his arrogant bravado extinguished like a candle's flame before a hurricane.
Eliviraa's gigantic head descended until her molten gaze met his at eye level, smoke furling from her nostrils.
