Rage of the Rathalos (Saga)

[Harry Dresden]

The level of sanity in Harry's immediate vicinity was dropping fast. The newest arrivals were a woman in armor that barely deserved the title, looking like it was made from the creature they were fighting, and a red-armored preteen on some sort of massive bird. Harry growled at the kid; "What are you doing here? It's dangerous, kid!" The bird-rider paid the wizard no mind, so Harry hefted his staff and blasting rod and strode forward. The new red-armored arrival was doing something that Harry really couldn't make heads or tails of. There was no power gathered from the world, no spell constructs formed, no burst of magic. The fact remained that the kid leapt off his bird, high into the air, and fired a blast of energy straight at the dragon's head. The energy didn't seem to do anything but piss the dragon off more.

The beast's maw flickered with fire as it glared at the kid, and Harry kicked himself into gear. He forced his will into his shield bracelet, blue sparks falling and forming into a disk of force as Harry planted his six feet and two inches in front of the kid, raising the spell between himself and the fireball. The force behind the attack was enough to force the wizard back a few inches, almost touching the armored preteen, and flames licked around the disk, singing his coat and skin. His left hand twitched with phantom pain as much smaller flickers of real pain touched wherever his spellworked duster covered. "Stars and stones, kid! What are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?" Harry lowered the shield and raised his blasting rod, flames of his own flickering around the tip as he launched his own bar of fire back at the dragon, aimed at its throat. "Fuego!"