The beast before me was some twisted fusion of man and wolf; a bipedal creature whose long, crooked fingers ended in crescent claws, and whose torso was consumed in coarse fur that gave way along its dark neck, only to swarm with renewed fervor around its vulpine face. Jaws lined in sloping, glistening fangs, gaped wide as it howled in feral challenge, and crouching low, spread its long arms wide as if to embrace me.

Without warning or preamble, it lunged: flame swelling in the palms of his foul hands. I ducked low, avoiding a wide swing that seared the air, and bathed the wall beyond in a river of fire. Rolling forward, I passed between its wide set legs, coming up behind and raking my blade of slate along its back of obsidian, carving a long, deep gash. Perhaps it was weariness, or merely ignorance born of overconfidence, for I did not predict its reaction: without so much as a cry of fury or agony, it turned on bare heel, and slammed an iron fist against my face, staggering my. Its next blow hammered against my stomach, then snapping its claws out, it pierced my flesh, lifting me easily over its head, as if I were no more than a child, and perhaps to it, one so ancient and long steeped in darkness, I was.

It slammed my haggard, beleaguered form against the stones, shattering rock and bone, shrouding the battlefield in a cyclone of sundered rock and swirling dust. Growling, I flared the Cinder, rising to my feet and immediately throwing myself upon it once more. Blade raised level with my shoulder, I paused a moment, gathering my strength, then thrust with all my power, yet it merely deflected the ragged, stained stake upon its leathery wrist, and turning its hand, closed fingers of steel around my forearm. I lunged forward, surprising it; and pivoting, I used momentum as much as my fading strength to drive an armoured fist against its ribs.

Now it was the beast's turn to stagger, to fall to its knees in surprise and pain. I shook my weapon arm, the stake-driver sliding free and clattering to the earth with a resonant, mournful clang. I sank into a pugilist's stance: low with feet spread wide, turned slightly toward my foe, fists raised before me. The beast fixed me with radiant eyes of deep scarlet, then smiled -a sickening expression upon its twisted face - and with sibilant, rough voice spoke.

"Child of the Light, slave of Cinder, you shall not escape this place."

"Oh hell no!" Or'do's voice rang through my skull. "That bastard can't stop you, Aleorn. Not now, not ever. No foe is too mighty, nor are we ever too frail. It is our right to change this world, mine and yours."
 
"Neither," I grinned despite my agony. "Shall you."