Chapter Twenty-One Continued
A Fiery Death
Drake jumped down to sit on Falkor, leaning his body forward and digging his legs into the dragon‘s side. At once, Falkor duplicated Drake’s pose so that his head pointed towards the ground, their bodies shaped like a bullet.
Eyes sharp, bodies alert, two beings became one.
They hurtled silently downwards, focused only on their target.
One hundred metres suddenly became seventy-five. Seventy-five became fifty and only a fraction of a second had gone by. Forty…thirty…
They were nearly there; they could smell Fenrik‘s cigars, taste the smell of animal blood in the air, feel his wild excitement as he stood in the centre of his circle, the Emerald Key open in his hands.
Shit! Thought Drake, as he realised Fenrik was holding the complete Emerald Key in his gorilla-like hands; he’d already managed to bind the two parts of the book together. Now, Drake knew, he was summoning the Fiery-death to complete his supremacy over Devilsgate.
Drake tightened his hold on Falkor and he, sensing Drake’s urgency, cranked his speed up to its limit.
Drake could now smell the more intricate aromas of lavender and the sweetness of honey intermingled with a more foul odour; sulphur, ammonia, the putrid smell of the grave and petrol.
The petrol smell of Pyro.
Drake cast his eyes over to the Demon. Shit, no! Fenrik was using Pyro as a vessel to receive the Fiery-death! He was mumbling an incantation, the foreign, otherworldly words rose and fell rhythmically as Pyro’s body convulsed and swelled.
Pyro was no longer recognisable; his burning body, still smelling of petrol, had expanded. His head was grotesquely misshapen with several glistening fangs emerging from under his snout and two twisted horns breaking out from his forehead.
‘PYRO!’ shouted Drake, but his shout was lost as a blood-curdling scream ripped through the darkness as two great wings burst forth from Pyro’s arms.
Pyro was no more; in his place stood a majestic Fiery-death, the Demonic Dragon and Slayer of Cities, conjured up from the deep bowels of Hell.
‘DESTROY!’ commanded Fenrik. His voice was cold, crazed, bordering on the hysterical. He turned abruptly to look at Drake, his eyes glowing a fearsome white, his mouth twisted in a strange, unnatural way.
The Fiery-death exploded off the ground, its sole purpose to destroy Drake and Falkor – raging in its eyes.
Drake snapped his body up and dug his feet sharply into Falkor’s side. At once Falkor threw open his wings and extended his back legs, his splayed out claws acting like brakes. Within seconds the energy stored within Falkor’s body propelled him skywards, away from the ground, and away from Fenrik and his demonic creation.
They had to lure the Fiery-death away from Fenrik and into the wide-open skies if they were to stand any chance of winning this battle.
The Fiery-death was fast, already it was snapping at their heels.
Two hundred and fifty metres…
The sky behind them cracked, a great bolt of lightning split through the clouds illuminating the air around them. Electricity fizzed in the atmosphere, its crackling clearly audible above even the pounding of Drake‘s own heart. The threat of rain loomed once more as the clouds swirled menacingly above them but a demonic dragon such as this could not be vanquished by mere rain.
Drake wrapped his hand tightly into Falkor’s crest and gave the instruction for Falkor to turn and face their enemy.
The Fiery-death, now fully formed and twice the size of Falkor, had an angular snout with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth, two long twisted horns perfect for gouging, knife-like barbs running along its arched back and a muscular tail that cracked at the air like a whip. But probably its most potent weapon was the fact that the dragon was a living, breathing fireball; a flying inferno. It looked like molten rock oozing from a volcano.
In one swift sweeping action, the Fiery-death opened its gigantic mouth and spewed out white-hot fire. The erupting fireball hissed and sizzled as it hit the cold air then evaporated, leaving only the smell of petrol behind. Why would it last any longer when the briefest of touches could extinguish the enemy in seconds?
Its demonic roar, summoned from deep within the belly of the beast, shook the very foundations of Hell itself.
Eyes raging with the desire to kill, it launched itself at Falkor.