Carpathian 23 - Dark Storm

tendon.
    Writhing, screaming, ripping, biting, the two giant beasts plummeted toward the burning
     ground. Seconds before impact, the two dragons ripped apart, wings spread wide to
     catch the wind and send them soaring in opposite directions.
    Mitro pushed hard, pumping his wings with desperate speed to climb back up into the
     air. The red dragon pursued him with single-minded determination. The calm, relentless,
     determined hunter who never surrendered the chase.
    He couldn’t outrun Dax and, though it still made no sense, clearly couldn’t best him
     with strength alone. Mitro needed an edge, an advantage. His eyes narrowed to obsidian
     slits, focused on the ash cloud billowing from the erupting volcano. Putting on a
     burst of speed, he flew straight into the boiling black heart of the plume.
    Through the Old One’s eyes, Dax watched Mitro dive into the superheated ash cloud.
     As he disappeared from view, the wind shifted, beginning to spiral around the cloud.
    What was he doing? The circling winds gathered the particles of hot ash in an ever-tightening vortex
     around the wounded vampire. Did he think he could hide in the cloud?
    The Old One let out another roar of challenge and dove straight toward the vampire,
     eager to end the threat.
    The concentrated debris in the air dropped visibility to zero, but the dragon’s vision
     saw more than even Carpathian eyes. He could see the changes in the density of air,
     the solid form at the heart of the whirling black ash cloud. The black vampire was
     motionless, wings outstretched, letting the unnatural cyclonic winds keep him aloft.
     Dax could almost feel the vampire healing his wounds from the inside. Closing tears
     in vital organs and stopping blood loss where the dragon had sliced and torn.
    The red dragon was practically on top of Mitro when all the rock and debris in the
     air solidified into a packed wall that completely blocked the vampire from view. Fearless,
     certain of his dominance, the red dragon brought his hind legs and forelegs into position
     for another strike, and plowed through the relatively thin barrier, shattering it
     on impact.
    But instead of finding a vulnerable, wounded opponent on the other side of the ash
     wall, they slammed full force into the hard point of the black dragon’s tail—a point
     Mitro had transformed from simple flesh, scale and bone into a razor-sharp trident
     of silver spikes, each two feet long and glinting with evil, serrated at the tips.
    Screaming in surprise and pain, the red dragon impaled itself on Mitro’s spiked tail.
     Dax gasped in agony, feeling the spikes as if they were tearing through his own flesh.
    Luckily, instead of taking the speared tail through the heart, the spike embedded
     deep in his stomach. The serrated edges were making quick work of the Old One’s insides,
     but because they’d missed the heart, it bought Dax and the dragon a few precious minutes.
    Once more, the two dragons were locked in a death battle as they plummeted from the
     sky. Mitro stuck fast to the other dragon, claws and tail spike digging deep. The
     Old One continued to claw and shred at Mitro’s belly and limbs, teeth snapping at
     Mitro’s neck and head. The black dragon rammed his tail spike up under the red dragon’s
     ribs, seeking the elusive heart, but just as before, Mitro’s shapeshifted dragon form
     was no match for the might of the Old One. Mitro reeled back in pain.
    That flinch gave the Old One the opening he’d been waiting for. His teeth bore down
     lightning fast just above the shoulder, wrapping around the smaller neck, powerful
     jaws snapping shut with extreme force. The black dragon returned a bite on the other’s
     face, his fangs sinking deep beside the Old One’s left eye.
    The dragons crashed into the mountainside, rolling down the steep sides, crushing
     trees in their path. A hard jolt broke them apart. Mitro came to a stop first, while
     the larger, heavier Old One continued to roll almost to the base of the volcano. Wounded,
     one wing torn and bloody, the red dragon struggled to its feet and screamed its defiance,
     eyes still locked on its combatant, refusing to lose sight of his goal.
    Inside the body of the dragon, the Old One’s rage and pain buffeted Dax with a maelstrom
     of emotion. The Old One was determined to win despite its injuries. Dax wasn’t sure
     how much more their shared body could take, but the Old One fought off his attempts
     to control the red