Carpathian 23 - Dark Storm

fire-red hue, but
     the shimmer was . . . dragon-shaped?
    Dax shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. The image was still there . . .
     hazy, translucent, a dragon formed of insubstantial red mist. He stretched out his
     senses, but could detect no concentrated stench of evil.
    The Old One offers you his strength. You were not ready before, but we have made you
     so. Take what is offered. Without it, you cannot defeat your enemy. Take it. Quickly,
     before it is lost to the volcano. The earth continued to whisper to him, pushing at him to take a chance that could
     result in his death.
    Dax moved closer. The heat from the magma was so intense, he half expected to burst
     into flame at any moment, yet his burnished skin didn’t even blister. Another step
     brought him close to the dragon’s head and a mere five feet from the widening magma
     pool. Now, he could sense the power radiating from the crystallized dragon. Where
     had it come from? He’d been here in this chamber before. He’d found the crystallized
     dragon, half-crushed but still an awesome discovery, but he’d never sensed this pulsating
     energy. It almost felt alive.
    Stepping closer still, Dax reached for the shimmering veil of energy. The instant
     he touched it, a raw, savage wildness roared in response. Power slammed into him like
     an iron fist, plowing into him with enough force to knock him off his feet. He landed
     hard and pain streaked across his back and jaw, which had taken the brunt of the strike.
    Take the power. Take what is offered.
    “That was an offer?” Dax got up, dusted himself off and rubbed his aching jaw. “No
     offense, dear friend, but whatever that is clearly doesn’t want to be taken.”
    Without the Old One’s strength, you cannot win. You must take it. But first, you must
     prove yourself worthy.
    “Wonderful.” Dax moved his head, stretching the tendons and cracking the joints in
     his neck. He regarded the translucent image of the dragon shimmering in the hot air.
     “So be it, Old One. Let us roll the bones.”
    This time, as he approached the crystallized dragon carcass and the veil of energy
     hovering above it, he braced himself for attack. The blow, when it came, struck twice
     as hard as before. Power tore into him with diamond-hard claws. The sheer intensity
     of it threatened to rip him to pieces, but he set his jaw and leaned into it, firing
     back a blast of his own, meeting power with power, force with force. The shimmering
     dragon roared and flexed its wings.
    And the fight was on.
    Waves of energy swirled around the room. A powerful force built underneath and around
     him. The walls of the chamber began to tremble. Tiny particles of rock and sand fell
     from the ceiling. Dax thrust calming waves into the ground, stilling the rupturing
     earth.
    The flow of magma into the chamber increased, forcing Dax to step back. Gases bubbled
     and spat in the magma pool. The heat increased. The air sparked. The gases caught
     fire in a flash of boiling orange flame. Dax closed his eyes and flung up a shield.
     Heat poured over him like an ocean wave.
    A voice that sounded like thunder growled and rumbled in his brain. Only the strongest may hope to hold a dragon’s soul. How strong are you, Danutdaxton
     of the Carpathians? The dragon spoke in his ancient language, Carpathian, allowing Dax to understand
     him.
    Each word boomed and burned inside his mind as if a hammer made of flaming lead were
     pounding against his skull. Dax fought the urge to cover his ears, knowing it was
     useless.
    “As strong as I must be to defeat my enemy,” Dax replied. A dragon’s soul. Was that
     what fought him now? Or had Mitro found a way to trick him after all? “Do you think
     me your enemy?”
    Does a lion name the flea his enemy?
    “A flea, am I?” Dax was mildly insulted at the thought. He reached for the heat rising
     from the magma, drawing it to him, shaping it between his hands into a ball of fire,
     which he flung at the center of the insubstantial creature. But rather than punching
     a hole through the shimmering red mist, the fireball exploded against the surface,
     spreading out in tongues of flame that were swiftly absorbed. The red-mist dragon
     seemed to grow larger, as if the flames only made it stronger.
    The enemy of heat was cold. Dax tried to drain the heat from around the veil of mist,
     but the heat was too intense for him to do more than cool the room a few degrees.
    “If you