11
Draco felt the world around him only in fragments – a distorted mess of light, shadow and the frighteningly loud screams of his enemies. But these screams, as shocking as they were, only reached his ear muffled, as if from a great distance. A feeling of lightheadedness had gripped him, as if he was in another dimension that separated him from reality. But that was not all. There was a scent in the air that almost suffocated him—the burning undergrowth that clouded his senses like a heavy, poisonous mist. The taste of blood, both foreign and his own, was in his mouth. It was warm and metallic, and it reminded him of how brutal this fight had been.
His body felt strange, as if he was redefining himself. Every muscle was tense, his skin ached as if countless threads were running through him. But these pains were nothing compared to the tremendous, pulsating feeling of power that ran through him. It was as if each of his movements made the ground shake beneath him, as if the earth itself felt his strength. And then it hit him – the flash of knowledge that went through his body like a shock.
His claws dug deep into the ground, the sharpness of the clawed metal shattering the ground beneath him, as if even the elements weren't strong enough to stand against the new power he now carried. His skin was covered in scales, hard, shiny scales that sparkled like molten silver in the sun. He felt the force of the transformation in every fiber of his body. The air around him was permeated with an energy that he had never known in his human form. His eyes burned with an intense gold, infused with the wisdom and ferocity of a dragon. His vision was sharper, as if he had suddenly developed the ability to grasp the smallest detail in the environment—every blade of grass, every rock, every movement of his opponents was like an open book to him.
Draco had transformed. He was a dragon.
With a deep, thunderous breath, he lifted his head and let his gaze glide over the battlefield. What he saw made his heart stand still for a moment. His enemies—the cinphanxes, as he now recognized them—stood before him in an eerie silence. The smoke that thickened in the air seemed to coil around her like an impenetrable veil. Her eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, but even they seemed to pause in front of him at that moment. Some of the enemies backed away when they felt the ancient power emanating from him. But Draco felt no fear, no insecurity. Only anger. Anger at the attack, anger at the threat they posed. Anger at the fact that Charlie—the man who meant everything to him—was now in danger.
And then he saw him. Charlie. The sight of Charlie's motionless body in the grass sent a cold shiver down Draco's spine. The image burned itself into his memory: Charlie's face, pale and contorted in pain, with a bloody wound on his shoulder. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The battle that surrounded him, the chaos of magic, the screams of his opponents – all of that disappeared when he was fixated only on Charlie.
Draco's heart, or what was left of it, contracted. A painful sting ran through his chest. His teeth chattered, and a deep, angry growl rose from his throat. It was the sound of a dragon sensing its prey, and it grew into a tremendous cry that tore the air. The Cindermonics backed away, uncertain and frightened by the power that Draco radiated at that moment.
And then he pounced on her.
The ground beneath its massive claws shook as it swept forward, spreading its wings. With incredible force, his tail swept through the air, hit one of the attackers and threw him to the ground. Several opponents staggered back, surprised and helpless. But Draco knew that this was only a brief moment of weakness. He knew that the Ash Phoenixes were prepared, that they specialized in the weaknesses of the dragons, and he could literally feel their dark magic in the air.
The first spell struck him unexpectedly—a black bolt of lightning that tore the air and crashed against his gleaming scales. He felt the pain as the magic broke through his defenses, and a painful rift ran through his flank. But he could not be stopped. With another hiss, he plunged into the next group of Cinphonies, flapping his wings with such force that the air around him seemed to vibrate.
But the attackers were tough. Her spells were precise, penetrating, and soon Draco felt his strength begin to wane. Every movement slowed down, the blows of his claws less effective. The dark magic ate through his scales, leaving bleeding wounds on his body. Another spell hit him, this time directly on his right wing, and he felt the bones crack under the impact. With a cry of pain, he staggered backwards, his huge figure crashing against a rock that shook under his weight.
The pain was overwhelming, but he couldn't give up. Charlie was still in danger. There was still hope. But when he tried to sit up again, it was as if the pain was pulling him further and further into the darkness.
He knew he couldn't fight much longer. The Cindermonics had almost defeated him.
And then she appeared.
The woman who came out of the shadows was like a nightmare. Her appearance was unnatural, almost supernatural. Her hair was like liquid fire—red, alive, and of a glow that discharged itself in the air with every movement. Her eyes shone in a golden, almost hellish light. She was not like the other Cinphonies. Her presence radiated power, a dark, ancient power that Draco felt immediately. It was different. It was more dangerous.
A mocking smile played around her lips, and when she looked at Draco, she didn't seem to feel any fear. More of an amused amusement. It was as if she were watching an insect trying in vain to escape.
"Oh, little dragon," she said in a voice so soft that it almost sounded like a whisper, but there was an uncanny menace in the deep, glowing contempt that ran through her. "Don't you know that you should never get in the way of a phoenix?"
Draco let out a deep, warning growl, ready to fight back one last time. But she only raised her hand, and the spell she unleashed was so powerful that it threw Draco back with a single blow. A burst of fire shot from her fingers, and the force of the spell hurled him through the air like a doll. The impact against the rock made his body tremble, and he could hear the rustling in his ears. The pain was almost unbearable, and the darkness crept closer and closer.
"You are weak, dragon," she said softly, almost lovingly. "It's too late for you."
Draco could hardly stand on his feet, but something in him refused to fall. He couldn't give up. Not now. Not here.
With the last of his strength, he changed back into his human form. The transformation was painful, every bone, every joint seemed to bend and break. But he didn't let it get him down. He was still able to fulfill the task he had set for himself.
He knew he had to take his last chance.
With a tremor he reached for his wand and pointed it at Charlie. His voice was little more than a whisper, but the words of a powerful transport spell produced a trembling wave of magic. Charlie had to be brought to safety. He had to know what had happened.
Draco's magic worked, and Charlie disappeared.
The woman watched him with a cold, sneering smile as she saw what he was doing. "A wise decision," she said as she bent over him. "Not that you had a choice."
With a last, desperate look at Charlie, who was now safe, Draco fell to the ground. The weight of his exhaustion pulled him into the darkness, and even before he lost consciousness, he felt her nearness. She bent over him, and her glowing eyes were the last thing he saw.
"You're perfect for my collection, little dragon," she whispered.
And then everything was black.