Ch. 135

Ch. 135
I want to argue, to help somehow, but the words die in my throat as Coach unfurls his wing and surges forward to meet the other dragon’s renewed assault. The two massive drakes collide in the center of the chamber with a sound like mountains crashing together. The floor beneath my feet buckles from the impact, and I stagger backward, nearly tripping over debris.
Walderon's jaws snap at Coach's throat, missing by inches as Coach twists his massive body with unexpected agility. Coach counters with a sweeping tail strike that catches Walderon's hind leg, sending the blue drake sliding across the fractured floor. Ancient artifacts shatter beneath Walderon's bulk as he crashes into a row of display cases.
Quicker than I can comprehend, Walderon recovers, his massive chest expanding as he draws in air so cold it crystallizes around his maw. Coach sees it, too, his amber eyes narrowing as he inhales deeply, his throat glowing with a building fire.
The elements clash in the center of the chamber—absolute zero meeting dragon fire in a catastrophic explosion of opposing forces. Steam erupts in a violent cloud that instantly fills the space between them, obscuring everything in a boiling fog. The temperature in the vault swings wildly, from freezing cold to scalding heat and back again, the rapid changes making my skin feel like it's being alternately flayed and frozen.
Through the billowing steam, I catch glimpses of the battle—massive silhouettes crashing together, separating, circling for advantage. Their roars shake loose more stones from the ceiling, raining debris that forces me to duck and cover my head. A chunk of carved cornice smashes into the floor inches from my feet, and I scramble away, heart pounding against my ribs.
"I can’t sustain a shield this size under these conditions," he says through gritted teeth, blood continuing to flow freely down his chin. "The two of you need to leave. Get as far from here as you can."
The steam cloud dissipates enough for me to see Coach and Walderon fully engaged now, claws raking against scales, tails lashing with enough force to shatter stone. Coach strikes with fierce intention—calculated, measured, each movement designed for maximum effect with minimal wasted energy. Walderon fights with cold fury, his attacks relentless and powered by centuries of pent-up rage.
They slam into the western wall together, the impact dislodging an entire section of ancient masonry. The wall groans, then gives way, revealing another chamber beyond—some kind of ceremonial space filled with more artifacts and strange, glowing crystals that pulse with internal light.
"The vault's magical core," Professor Bellamy murmurs, his eyes widening at the sight. "If they damage that—"
He doesn't finish the sentence, but the tightening of his expression tells me all I need to know. Whatever that room contains, its destruction would be catastrophic.
Coach seems to realize this too. He disengages from Walderon, putting himself between his brother and the newly exposed chamber. The wound on his flank pulses darkly, the corruption spreading visibly with each exertion. When Walderon's tail catches him in the side, striking directly over the black stain, Coach's roar of agony vibrates through the entire vault.
I press my hands against Professor Bellamy's barrier, my throat tight with fear. "He's hurt! We have to help him!"
The Professor shakes his head, hands continuing their intricate patterns. "We'd be crushed instantly. This is beyond the scope of our intervention, Desdemona."
Coach staggers, his massive body slamming against a stone pillar as he tries to regain his balance. The pillar cracks, listing dangerously before breaking completely. Coach catches it with his wing, preventing it from crashing into the exposed magical core, but the effort costs him. Walderon seizes the advantage, lunging forward to sink teeth like crystalline daggers into Coach's shoulder.
The sound Coach makes will haunt my nightmares for years to come. The black corruption around his wounded flank flares in response, spreading faster as if feeding on his distress. Frost forms where Walderon's teeth penetrate crimson scales, a deadly cold that seems to accelerate the corruption's advance.
Despite his injury, Coach twists violently, breaking Walderon's grip. He sweeps his tail across the floor, sending a wave of debris toward the blue drake's legs. Walderon leaps to avoid it, his massive body briefly airborne before crashing back down with enough force to crack the floor into spider-web patterns.
The entire vault shudders, more violently than before. Large sections of the ceiling break free all at once, plummeting toward us. Professor Bellamy's hands move faster, reinforcing the barrier as massive stones crash against it. The impact sends him staggering back a step.
"They need to stop," he gasps, visibly weakening under the strain. "The entire structure is failing."
Coach hears this, his amber eyes darting toward us momentarily. That split second of distraction costs him as Walderon unleashes another blast of his ice breath, catching Coach's wounded side directly. The corruption there erupts in a display of writhing darkness, spreading so rapidly I can track its progress across his scales.
Coach roars in agony but doesn't yield. He counters with his own breath weapon, a stream of fire so intense it glows white at its core. The flames catch Walderon across his chest and neck, sending the blue drake reeling backward into the wall of fallen rubble that partially separates the chambers.
More of the ceiling gives way, massive stones crashing down between the battling drakes. One particularly large piece clips Coach's wing, spinning him to the side into a still-standing display case. Ancient artifacts scatter across the floor, some shattering instantly, others glowing with the sudden release of magical energy.
"The enchantments are destabilizing," Professor Bellamy warns, his voice barely audible over the continuing collapse. "If those containment vessels break completely—"
As if in response to his words, one of the fallen artifacts cracks open, releasing a cloud of swirling purple mist that rapidly expands toward the battling drakes. The mist touches Walderon first, and the effect is immediate—the blue drake roars in pain, scales smoking where the vapor makes contact.
The ceiling continues to come down in larger chunks, the ancient vault surrendering to gravity and the violence unleashed within its walls. Through the storm of falling stone and magical chaos, I can only watch helplessly as Coach struggles to remain standing, his wounded side now almost entirely consumed by the spreading corruption.