Echoes of the Past: Sorahn vs. Koran

[Sorahn]

((Really sorry about the delay, just got my internet back. This ends my leave.))

Sorahn stood, not entirely sure of what had just taken place in the past few seconds. All he could see was the torrent of fire rush through area where his opponent had stood and in the next instant he descended upon it.

But his blade met not flesh, but an abandoned sword, glowing red. Instantly his vision was filled with sparks and then finally dust and debris as his black spear crashed into the stone floor with a loud “clack”. The shock of the impact flew up his arms and rattled him, just as his feet connected with the ground. Disoriented and badly shaken, the Ranoan collapsed onto the floor and was showered with dust and tiny bits of stone.

Coughing, he shakily stood, trying to see through the thick cloud of dust that had built up. But his opponent was nowhere to be found. He could make out the orange shape of a sword laying on the floor near him, but not its wielder. His sharp eyes narrowed, trying to make out where Koran had gone. Thankfully, the dust was beginning to thin.

“Heheh... come out, come out.” He said sinisterly as he slowly walked the great hall, scanning the debris for his opponent. His tail swished behind him anxiously. His large ears perked to hear the slightest sound amidst the quiet.

Suddenly he heard it, a soft rustling of debris shifting. Instantly he turned toward the sound: a large pile of rubble near the wall. He slowly made his way toward it, spear at the ready, a large grin growing on his face. “Come out, come out.” He said again, with a hint of maliciousness in his voice.

Then in a flash he leapt over the rubble and swung his spear down where he knew his opponent sat. But a horror washed over him when he heard the “whiff” of his blade meeting nothing but air. His eyes grew wide as he realized he was now vulnerable and had no idea where his opponent was.

Just as the thought crossed his mind he heard a footstep behind him.

Oh no...

[Koran]

This battle was getting away from him. The cyborgs mind raced; he need to find a way to turn the tide, and in his favor, fast.

First lesson in battle tactics, the thought lanced through the boiling panic that flooded through the cyborgs mind. Keep your enemy guessing. Which meant, for the cyborg at least, that he needed to keep moving and a quick glance over the pile of rubble told him that he needed to move, and move now!

The dust was beginning to thin when he opponent came too from his earth cracking blow and true to his nature, the Ranoan didn't spare any time in contemplating where his tall nemesis had run off too. (The cyborg had long since made it plain that he could move and hide well enough despite his height and weight issues.) He instead set himself to searching for his slippery white haired opponent, scanning the surrounding debris and dust filled air, his ears flickering slightly as he strained for even the slightest sound.

The cyborg smiled briefly, a quick, fleeting gesture, sensing an opportunity and reached up behind his head to grasp a hold of a small piece of wood. A few moments of waiting with his breath held tight within his chest, his blood pounding in his temples so loud that he feared it would give him away, and then the cyborg moved.

Tossing the piece of wood just beyond his feet, so as to allude to he presence behind the pile, the cyborg rolled quickly to his left and came up onto his finger tips and tips of his toes, crawling forward as he did so. It was a common trick, moving silently as he did, and one that he had long since gotten a strong handle on. The key was to not think about it and just do it. Thinking caused you to be over analytical, and that was something he did not need now. Especially now.

Crawling his way around a decrepit pillar the cyborg caught a fleeting glimpse of his opponent moving slowly across the tiled floor, straight toward the pile he had just abandoned. A grin split the cyborgs face and he rose up to a crouch, waiting for precisely the right moment too -

His opponent leapt up onto the pile and swung his massive spear down where the cyborg had just been, only to find it empty. Horror washed over the Ranoan's face as he just realized what had happened, but by that time it was already too late. Having already started sprinting toward the exposed back of the beast, still half crouched, the cyborg rose to his full height and took two full steps before vaulting himself forward into a classic drop kick style kick that would land just below the small of his opponents back.

In spite of his best efforts, the cyborg found it impossible to resist crying out with a very loud "Hyaaaah!" as he closed toward his opponent.

Surprise!

[Sorahn]

The next second seemed to last an hour as he tried to turn around to face his opponent, but it wasn't fast enough. The quickest moves feel like molasses when your opponent is already upon you. He had made an inexcusable mistake and he would now pay the price for it. Managing only to turn his head around, he was just in time to see Koran's foot flying toward him.

Instantly he felt like he had just been shot point blank with a cannon as the kick connected solidly with his back. His feet left the ground and he sailed a good ten feet before crashing to the ground with a painful thud. A deep, throbbing pain washed over him as he gasped for breath, desperate to regain all of the wind that was forced from him. He felt like a poor wretch, laying on the floor taking deep ragged breaths and trying to ignore the pain. Koran was surely bearing down upon him, eager to capitalize on his vulnerable state.

This is what happens... A voice from the back of his mind suddenly spoke to him. This is what happens when you become arrogant. Look at yourself; boasting and jeering, fighting maliciously as if the battle was already won. This is why you are losing. Not because of skill or chance, but your own overconfidence, and your wickedness.

You have yet to land a solid blow on your opponent. Instead you are getting out-maneuvered and set up for amateur mistakes, and already they have cost you. And still you laugh and taunt. You are disgraceful.

It was his own voice, reminding himself of all he had been taught. As the breath returned to him, he slowly stood and looked to his adversary, shaking the dust off his white fur. He closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles, standing still; obtaining a calm, prayerful state. Ronah, forgive me. My arrogance is inexcusable.

Suddenly he shot forward with unbelievable speed. Time seemed to slow for him as he felt the stone beneath his foot crack and shatter as he launched. Dust and stone seemed to float behind him as he ran. He was detached from the world, existing in a different time and speed foreign to this realm.

He closed the distance between him and Koran in a heartbeat and lunged forward with the tip of his black spear. Spinning right he brought the blades around to slice diagonally upward then turned again and pulled them back crashing down upon the cyborg. A loud crack echoed off the pillars as the very tip of his spear broke the speed of sound.

As quickly as it had come, the burst of speed was gone and time returned to normal as he was re-synced with reality. His muscles complained painfully at the feats they had just performed, forcing him to assume a defensive stance rather than continue the attack. But he knew now never to underestimate his old friend Koran. Rather, he had always known, but for some reason he had forgotten.

The maliciousness... that's not like me... so strange... He thought as he tried to remain focused; ever alert and ready to react at a moment's notice of his opponent's attack.

So strange...

[Koran]

The cyborg realized something as he flew through the air, his body almost flat as he drifted toward his opponent, and that was just exactly how was he going to land? This will hurt, was the only answer he could come up with before he felt his feet hit the small of his opponents back.

The world slowed then, the impact of his body slamming into the other sending ripples up through his bones and for a moment after his opponent was sent sailing forward he hung suspended in mid-air, motionless. Then he began to fall, slowly at first and then with increasing speed, his body resorting to its natural flail like motions to try and catch itself before it was hurt, until his efforts were met with vain and he fell hard onto the pile of debris. There was a loud snap as wood and thin pieces of plaster and tile crunched beneath his body weight and for an instant he thought he had broken something, but he quickly rolled up onto his hands and knees, nullifying the thought of such an injury.

His head swiveled to where his opponent had flown and he locked eyes with the man as he slowly regained his feet. The cyborg peeled his lips back into a smile, sensing more than seeing the immense hurt in the creatures eyes at being fooled into such a classic pinch and quickly stood up, his left arm raised in front of him, mouth just beginning to move. He was never even given a chance to take a breath however, when his opponent retaliated.

It happened faster than he could blink, faster than he could think, but all he knew was that one minute his left hand had four fingers and a thumb and the next, had only one thumb and four tiny stumps. There wasn't even any pain, it was just a feeling of them being there and then, abruptly they weren't. A half second later a loud explosion shook the inside of the building, causing the cyborg to stumble back a few steps. He instantly wished he hadn't.

Pain, sharp and hot, seared his chest as he twisted, the absence of feeling his fingers momentarily forgotten by this new feeling and he looked down in confusion. A thin red line was beginning to seep through his cleanly sliced robe and as he traced it with his eyes, he realized something. I've gone and gotten in over my head. Mouth agape and his now very bloody hand still up raised before him, the cyborg stumbled back a few more steps.

His foot clanged against something metallic and he looked down, his vision spinning and blurred as the shock of his injuries and what had just happened to him began to settle in. He blinked, squinting in an attempt to focus on the object but it was no good. He blinked again and felt something click in the back of his mind as a small cybernetic implant triggered working to ebb the flow of blood from his wounds, increase the endorphin and adrenaline levels in his bloodstream and calm the growing fear in the forefront of his mind. After a few instants of teetering on the brink of complete mental shutdown and a possible faint episode, the cyborgs vision cleared, as did his foggy head, and he was able to make out what it was that he had run into.

My sword. Except, there was something very different about it. It glowed faintly, reddish-orange, pulsating slowly to some unearthly beat, and it was spider cracked for the entirety of its length. It looked like it would crumble to metallic dust at the first sign of disturbance, the cracks were so fine. He reached down to grasp a hold of its hilt and raised it up to stand by the point in front of him.

He was instantly over taken by a short period of dizziness and nausea; his implants dulled the pain and lessened the shock, but did nothing to prevent the natural drunkenness that resulted in such actions. He closed his eyes and lifted his left hand to his face to steady himself, the warm, wet and sticky blood instantly covering his face, filling his nostrils with its metallic scent. He pulled his hand away from his face slowly, the long slender clots of blood sticking to the surface of his face, looking like long wet strings, and stared in bewilderment at it, as if seeing it for the first time. I'll have to do something about that, he thought numbly as he called up a memory from deep within his mind. His red hand shimmered for a moment and then elongated itself, solidified and became a three foot section of steel blade. There, fixed.

Then, something happened. Emotion, pain, fear, joy, rage, everything, simply and suddenly fled the cyborg, leaving him hollow. He knew that maybe he should have been surprised, but he knew that this had happened to him before, a long, long time ago. When he had first awoken to his new life as a cyborg and slaughtered the research crew working with him. He knew he should have been surprised, frightened even, at the reemergence of this strange ability, but not so surprisingly, he wasn't.

He smiled then, sickly and hollow.

His eyes drifted back up to his opponent, forgotten, for the most part, up until that point and he lifted his sword hand to point at the man. "You," he said carefully. "Are going to pay for that." He kept his sword hand up, pointing at the man, and then, abruptly, took two steps back and lifted his pulsing great sword up in front of him. Come and get me, Sorahn.

He waited, eyes dulled from his pain and natural pain killers, and his clothing slowly becoming more and more blood stained as his wounds slowly seeped blood from within.

[Sorahn]

PAY for that?! Suddenly he felt the maliciousness rising in him again, forming snide remarks and trying to fill him with anger and over-confidence. He struggled to retain his recently regained composure, knowing what would happen if he gave in to this newfound arrogance. This effort to control himself showed visibly on his face, which looked more like one struggling to keep from lashing out in rage.

Calm down, Sorahn. This is not like you. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply. When he opened them again he felt more serene; more focused. The black blades sang as he twirled the spear and assumed an open stance.

It was then that he noticed Koran's sword for the first time. He stared it down as Koran waited patiently on his next attack. But he was entranced by the orange glowing weapon. He watched as it seemed to pulse with energy. Suddenly he remembered the orange glow when he crashed into the ground only moments ago. So that must be how he avoided the fire.

The gears in his mind began turning; calculating. It didn't look entirely stable. In fact the numerous cracks and the pulsing glow all seemed to give it the look of a time bomb, ready to explode at the slightest inclination. A slight frown formed on his face as the implications of this surfaced in his mind.

He felt with his magic to the pile of debris behind him. A short piece of timber began to twitch very slightly. In an instant he shifted his weight forward and took off running toward Koran, just as the piece of wood shot out of its place amongst the rubble to fly past him, straight toward his opponent.

The Ranoan warrior followed directly behind it, letting out a roar as thrust his spear forward, then twisting his wrist and swinging the blade to the right. He followed its momentum, spinning quickly and swinging the blades back again.

It was going to be difficult to fight and avoid that orange glowing bomb at the same time, but Sorahn was up to the challenge. Either way, he knew this battle was going to be one to remember.

[Koran]

The cyborg blinked slowly, his mind foggy and sighed. He silently scolded himself for falling this far back into his blackened soul, but the distant rage slipped from his mind and he was once more empty, clean and pure. Well, he thought distantly, not clean and pure in the conventional sense.

His opponent was moving he realized and he focused his attention on the creature, his eyes narrowing slightly. No, he realized, it wasn't his opponent, it was the pile of debris behind him that was moving. His glazed eyes widened slightly and he twisted, his body feeling as though it were wrapped in a thick gel, gaze following the thrown plank of wood as it whisked past his head. Woah, he thought dully. Close. His head twisted to where his opponent was and he blinked a second time. Where did he come from?

Some distant part of his mind told him that very little he could have done would have saved him from the tip of the creatures spear, so the cyborg did the next best thing he could. He continued his falling twist and inhaled sharply as the closest tip of the three headed spear grazed his already wounded chest, opening a fresh wound on top of his already present fissure. His arm moved like a retarded slug, but some how, in some strange and mysterious way, he managed to deflect the second strike away from his flesh and he stumbled backward a half a step.

He straightened with a groan, that new wound had sapped more out of him than he had hoped, and blinked a third time. He paused for a moment, and then his eyes widened a second time. Oh, he thought, I guess that means it's my turn. He followed the head of spear back up the long shaft to his opponents body and blinked a fourth time. Why is he still extended like that? Like all of his thoughts up to that point, the cyborg simply watched it fall from his consciousness, and then thought nothing else of it. He only reacted.

His sword hand glinted in the dust filled air, the slender blade seeking the soft flesh of his opponents underbelly. A new thought surfaced in the vast emptiness that had become the cyborgs mind and this one, unlike the others, didn't fade quite as quickly as they had.

What happened the last time I felt like this?

He blinked a fifth time and the blade drew closer and closer to the creature.

[Sorahn]

“AAAHH” Sorahn yelled loudly as he stumbled back a step. A sharp, fiery pain had suddenly surged through him, overcoming him with such force that he dropped his spear, which promptly vanished. He looked down to see a gash just above his navel, trickling hot red blood down his front.

He was neither dead nor dying, which was a good sign that the blade had not reached any vital organs. But neither was this wound superficial. He glanced down at his left arm which was also painted red and finally he began to realize the full extent of his wounds.

He looked up at the great pillars and noticed their edges were getting rather blurry. He knew he was losing a lot of blood and he would be in no shape to fight if he didn’t act fast. Turning to the wall next to him, he noticed an old tapestry, delicately woven to depict Ronah leading the Ranoans out of their torment. Forgive me, Ronah, but it is I who need rescuing now.

With a wince he did what he had to do. Without taking his eyes off Koran, he stuck a claw into the tapestry and tore it down the length. Again he cut and sliced, defacing the great art in order to produce a long strip of cloth. He carefully wrapped the fabric around his midsection several times and pulled it very tight, causing him to grunt with the new surge of pain, and tied it with a strong knot. He wasn’t sure if the bandage had already begun to do its work or if it simply eased his mind, but he instantly felt better.

A quick glance to his upper arm told him this wound was already taking care of itself. The blood was beginning to dry, all but halting the flow. His arm felt sticky and dirty with the dried blood and the dust that had settled on it. He worked his elbow a few times and felt satisfied with its condition.

He nodded to Koran. Words need not be spoken, for Sorahn knew Koran believed the same as he did. True warriors did not seek victory by chance scratches. They wanted to be sure they had bested their opponent.

The black spear appeared in his hand again and he simply stood for a moment. He was definitely worse for wear. Dried blood covered most of his face and right arm, and the new bandage was already turning red. His white fur was dingy with layers of dust. On top of that he was visibly tired. His stance was loose; his mouth hung slightly open, drawing deep, ragged breaths. But his deep blue eyes, framed by the black ritualistic markings, still held that same fire. The fire which had only been extinguished once when the emperor had broken his will, but which would never be extinguished again. He would fight until his soul was drug from his body.

He clenched his sharp teeth and dropped into a fighting stance once again. His muscles instantly tightened up, and the look of weariness had gone. Again, he sprung forward, ready to lock blades with Koran one more time. He pulled the black spear around, sending the blades toward the shape shifter. He let out a yell as he called upon what was left of his strength to put behind his blade. They whistled their compliance as they cut through the air, seeking their fleshy target. Again he turned, using the blunt end of the spear as a club toward Koran’s face, before bringing the blades down again.

He was determined to give this fight every last ounce of strength he had, and he had plenty left.

[Koran]

His blow had done the trick, his opponent, realizing that his rage was only leaving himself with openings, had backed down long enough to calm himself and collect his thoughts. Long enough for me to catch my breath, he thought distantly. The near overdose levels of drugs in his body was beginning to show, he was slowing, considerably, and soon he knew he would collapse from either exhaustion or an excess of bodily wounds.

Perhaps both. If he was going to end this fight, and end it well, he would have to do it soon; sooner than he had originally hoped.

His opponent, also having taken the time to bind his wound, a luxury the cyborg had failed to take advantage of, nodded that he was ready but the cyborg noted it dimly. He'll try something fancy, a voice in the back of his head said. Perhaps get in close, trying to use his spear as a club. The sword is - the thought halted mid sentence as the slim fur covered beast pounced forward, his spear flashing toward the cyborgs flesh.

The cyborg saw only one way out and distantly he knew that it was both utterly insane, and suicidal, but he was going to end this fight on his terms, well, then it was the only way. He twisted, letting the spear points whisk by his arm by no more than a quarter inch of clearance and instantly leaned his torso backward as the butt end of the spear lashed out at his face. He side stepped back then, twisting further to avoid the downward slashing of the follow through strike. This left him in a rather good position he noted and he hesitated only a brief instant before bringing his massive blade down onto where the creatures shoulder should have been. He was so close that the cyborg simply let the blade fall, not putting any real power behind it, the weight alone should be more than ample enough to inflict hurt upon the creatures flesh. He distantly thought that if he had been stronger, and more mentally present, he could have easily severed the mans arm at his shoulder, but that was neither here nor now. Now however, was time for the cyborg to pull his final wild card from his sleeve.

Even as he sword blade fell the cyborg closed his eyes, drawing up a familiar image to his minds eye and within less than a second, had changed his appearance from a humble looking old man dressed in white, to a shorter, stocky well built elf, gleaming black wings protruding from his back just between his shoulder blades. His toothy smile was hidden behind a loose black veil and in a brave show of false hope, lashed out at the creature with his wings, attempting to push him beyond the maximum reach of the black spear.

"Catch me Ranoan, if you can." And then, with one great snap of his black leathery wings, the cyborg vaulted himself into the air and through the massive hole in the temples roof. I only hope my strength can hold out long enough. Beating at the air with tightly controlled beats, the cyborg gained altitude, circled tightly around the temple once and then winged steadily off to the west.

The bright orb that was this planets sun seemed to burn holes into the back of the winged elfs eyes as he soared steadily toward it. It was a distant reminder of the pain he was so selfishly blocking from the rest of his mind.

[Sorahn]

The black blades sailed through the air, but gathered none of the fresh blood they longed for. Koran had nimbly avoided his attacks. Just as Sorahn heard the sharp *whiff* of failure, a huge blade descended upon him. Gracefully, he leapt to the right. The massive sword fell harmlessly beside him, but before he could launch a counter-attack, he was attacked by –

Wings?! Sorahn thought; a split second of confusion locking his brain just long enough to allow him to get pummeled by the wings. He stumbled backwards and looked upward in time to see a winged elf soar into the sky over the temple.

The elf looked back at him to taunt him and upon seeing his face, a rush of memories flooded back into Sorahn’s mind. This was the same elf he had seen shoot into the sky after Koran had pretended to fall off a building. The one he had jumped on and ridden into the sky. The one whose wing Sorahn broke a thousand feet in the air, sending both of them careening back toward the ground in a death-spiral, still fighting. This elf was the closest to the old Koran he had seen in years.

Quickly he was brought back to reality and was now faced with the same problem he had faced those many years ago: Koran could fly, he could not. Fortunately for him, many things had changed since that epic battle.

Are you ready?
Yes, master.

Sorahn stood motionless for a moment, watching the elf sail away into the sky. A devious grin slowly grew on his face. “Leaving so soon, Koran? But there is still someone that I would like you to meet!” He said softly to himself, his grin ever widening.

Suddenly he held up his arm and shouted. “Rehkelath tehnmah shenahthes Nyvahriseth!” A black cloud began to form in the sky above him; swirling oddly. Within seconds, however, the cloud formed the figure of a dragon. The dark cloud trailed away, revealing Nyvahriseth, Sorahn’s great black dragon familiar, materializing in much the same way as his spear and looking just as fierce.

He soared through the air proudly, exuding an aura of majesty as he flew. His mighty wings flexed as he banked toward the temple. He landed gracefully directly in front of the temple and kicked in the massive mahogany doors, causing the temple to shake and more debris to fall from the ceiling. Sorahn ran out the doors to see the great dragon waiting for him. He leapt onto his back and with one powerful stroke of his wings, they were off.

The large wings beat strongly, propelling both of them toward Koran with amazing speed, slowly closing the gap between them. The air whipped through Sorahn’s fur and hair, making rushing noises in his large ears. He gripped the saddle handle tightly to stay on and steered the dragon mentally. His very soul was connected to the dragon’s, allowing them to share thoughts, emotions, locations, and perhaps other things. The full extent of their connection was unknown to Sorahn, but he could feel the dragon as a part of him; almost as if he were a limb that could think for itself.

Let us see how well Koran can maneuver.

Immediately Sorahn could feel the dragon’s belly expand as he took a great breath, then exhaled a huge stream of black fire. Sorahn waved his hands in the air and the fire responded; swirling and turning at his command. He shot the fire straight toward his winged elf opponent.

This is going to get interesting.

[Koran]

Bunnies approved.

His strength was failing, rapidly. He could literally feel his life, leaking out of his body, blood and sweat aside; his life was now being measured in minutes, instead of years. But I will not give in!

The sun, beating down on his flesh like some soul stealing disease, didn't help his current condition either. For with each passing second, it seemed that it too, was draining his life away from him. I will never falter!

His teeth grated against one another loudly as he mashed them back and forth in his mouth. He would never give up, he would never falter; But I'm so god damned tired!

It was true. Even now, as he beat his wings against the cool air rushing over his flesh, invigorating him even as he drained the last of his strength, he could feel the cold embrace of death creeping up on him. Minutes, seconds maybe, is all I have. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he felt himself become weightless; fear spiked in his heart and his eyes snapped open as his lungs filled to near bursting with the ice cold air rushing past him.

God dammit! Keep it together you old fool! Taking a few deep breaths, the cyborg steadied his lopsided flight path and spared a quick glance over his shoulder. A part of him wondered why it was that he had taken to the air and fly the direction and way he did, for how could a solitary man afoot keep up with a winged creature, regardless of how wounded it really was? The answer, almost as if he had some sort of premonition of the events to follow, made itself painfully clear in the following seconds.

It began as a billowing, black and death like cloud, materializing out of thin air and swirling above the temple like a ominous shadow of pain, sorrow and death. From this great cloud a great black shape, proud, majestic, deadly and full of power all at once, descended, circled once and then landed with a distant thud just before the great double doors. Instants passed and then the creature was airborne once more, its path of flight painfully obvious and even from this great distance, the cyborg could see the malicious hatred filling the great, glowing red eyes.

He thought that he should have felt sadness, sorrow maybe, a heavy depression perhaps, at his losing this battle. For he truly had, regardless of what any outside power said. He had inflicted only minor flesh wounds, perhaps stirred some darker power in his opponent to the surface, but nothing new. Nothing, significant. His opponent on the other hand, had bested him at almost every turn. He had even seen through his new, his original form, his true self. The cyborg felt his heart sink, and his mind began a steady downward spiral into final collapse as he watched the great beast close on his position.

But, without warning and without prior thought, rage suddenly filled the cyborg. Great rage. Rage that he had never known to have dwelled in his cold, forsaken breast. He knew what it was in an instant, knew it and embraced it. It filled him like water fills an empty cup and he drank deeply, savoring its bitter sweet taste.

He was enraged that despite his numerous conflicts with this man, this beast, this friend of his, he had never been able to truly best him. Never. Not once! He was enraged that despite his best efforts, despite his putting his all into everything he had done, he hadn't found this friends greatest weakness, his greatest flaw. His heart filled to near bursting and his eyes filled with tears.

God damn you, you bastard!

The massive creature, a dragon the cyborg now realized, had finally closed the distance between the two of them to less than a thousand yards and the cyborg knew, without having to see, that the end of his life was near. Not if I have anything left to say about it! The cyborg ground his teeth together and tensed his muscles, preparing himself for the coming strike. The dragon heaved and its massive jaw opened to emit the most twist and evil spray of fire the cyborg had ever seen, twisting this way and that as it was possessed.

It was possessed the cyborg realized in shock, for in that same instant he had spotted his friend, his nemesis, his most hated and loved of enemies, astride the great beast, weaving his arms back and forth in the air like some kind of exotic dancer. He is controlling the fire with his thoughts! This was all the realization the cyborg was granted, for the fire had closed to lethal distances and his shock melted away as his body reacted.

Rage was a potent thing in a body that was on its final death legs and his was no exception. Filled with energy and strength he could have sworn was long since gone, the cyborg snapped his wings closed and rolled to his right, plummeting a good twenty feet almost instantaneously and closing the distance between the two combatants to less than four hundred yards. I will never give in!

His wings snapped open and he twisted his body up, using his momentary momentum to zip his way back up to slightly above where he had originally been and facing toward his opponent. His mouth opened and he roared defiance at the pair, his voice filling the air for hundreds of yards in either direction. The dragon, as was true in any fight with the majestic beasts, roared back defiantly, the air seeming to vibrate with the massive sound energies it employed. The cyborg roared a second time and then shot himself forward, directly toward the pair and the eager, hungering jaws of the waiting dragon.

I only have one shot at this! The dragon roared a second time, the sound energies and warm air rushing over the cyborg with such ferocity that he nearly lost control of himself, and then it too, charged forward to meet the attacking winged cyborg. It's massive jaws opened wide to admit the smaller creature neatly into its mouth, but the cyborg, as was true of his very nature, had a different plan entirely.

The two closed the distance between themselves with lighting speed and when all others would have lost hope and simply have surrendered, at the very last possible instant, the cyborg snapped his wings hard down and shot himself up a few precious feet above where the dragons level head was. It easily compensated, as its reflexes were comparable to no other creature alive, or artificial but thus placed itself exactly where the cyborg wanted it to be. Its head was now slightly above the natural inline of its spine and thus, within the sight line of its rider. The cyborg was just slightly above this and his heart soared even as his mind shut down in light of his impending doom, his body carrying out his final wish.

His great black blade, perhaps the most misused and misunderstood weapon of the entire fight, was finally coming into play. The cyborgs fleeting hope was that it worked as well as he hoped it would, because if it held true to the properties he thought it possessed, then the resulting explosion of it hitting the much harder armored plates of the dragons head, in conjunction with the dragons head and neck position, would not only kill the cyborg, and possibly wound the great beast greatly, but it could possibly kill its rider.

And that, was all the cyborg wanted.

He roared one last time, and brought the blade up and to the side, slamming it hard into the side of the great beasts head.

(What happens now, is up to you.)