The ruins trembled as another beast emerged hulking, serpentine chimera with scales of obsidian and molten veins glowing beneath its hide. Its head, crowned with jagged horns, loomed over us like a shadow of doom.
It roared, the ground quaking beneath its weight. The heat radiating from its body scorched the earth, turning the battlefield into a smoldering wasteland.
Bran stepped forward, but a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him.
Draven walked passed without a word, his twin axes glinting in the faint light. His serious gaze locked onto the beast and the air around him grew suffocating.
"Draven," Bran called, his tone cautious.
This massive man didn't reply. He simply rolled his shoulders, flames flickering to life around him.
The chimera lunged, its massive jaws snapping toward Draven. But with a speed that defied his size, Draven sidestepped, his axes flashing. One clean strike severed the tip of the beast's horn, molten blood hissing as it hit the ground.
The serpent hissed in fury, whipping its tail. Draven caught the blow with one axe, the force of it splitting the ground beneath him. The other axe came down in a brutal arc, embedding itself into the beast's flesh. Flames erupted from the blade, spreading like wildfire across its body.
The chimera recoiled, its molten blood spilling everywhere. Draven didn't flinch, his burning aura intensifying. He stepped forward, his axes spinning in his hands, and delivered a flurry of blows that sent chunks of the beast's flesh flying.
It roared, the sound shaking the air. It lunged again, but this time, Draven didn't dodge.
With one axe, he caught its massive jaws mid-snap, his muscles bulging as he forced them open. With the other, he plunged deep into the creature's throat, flames surging through its body.
The serpent thrashed wildly, its molten blood spraying in every direction. But Draven didn't move, his cold, unflinching gaze fixed on his target.
"Burn," he muttered, his voice low and final.
The flames surged, consuming the beast from the inside out. Its body writhed in agony, then collapsed in a heap of ash and molten slag.
The battlefield fell silent, save for the crackling of flames. Draven stood amidst the ruins of the beast, his axes resting at his sides.
He turned, his piercing dark eyes meeting Bran's. "Next?" was all he said before walking away, his flames extinguishing as if they'd never been there