Rage of the Rathalos (Saga)

[Harry Dresden]

Harry had used a lot of magic during this encounter. He'd been tossing fire at the red drake, pitching in with the hail of lasers and storm of swords. It had all started with the swordsman talking to him, asking if he needed more energy. Harry had shaken his head, squared his shoulders, and marched forward to do battle with the dragon along with the others while the demon battled the green one in a brawl that shook the cave and threatened to break his concentration. He'd been forced to resort to circles multiple times before casting even a simple fire spell. Well, not forced, but he'd had the time while the others caught the dragon's attention and it seemed safest to work the forces of magic with every precaution, especially with all the dark energy that Ganon was practically sweating.

The orange-armored woman had had enough, it seemed. She stepped forth, called for the rest of the adventurers to stand aside. Harry obliged, casting a shield up in front of him in case of a stray fireball as he gathered his focus with deep breaths. It didn't look like it would be required to block anything except the shards of debris; the armor's shoulderpads rose up to reveal veritable missile launchers. Harry wondered with a gulp why he hadn't hexed any of this technology yet, but it looked like whatever luck kept these devices running would hold just a little longer. A volley of missiles assailed the dragon, scales chipping off under the intense force and rocketing across the cave like shrapnel. Quite a few were caught on the shield, more on Harry's spell-woven leather duster. Not that they were sharp enough to hurt anyone, anyway.

Ganon reminded them that there was a second dragon, slamming it to the ground with a mighty roar and goring it with his tusks. The beast turned to face them, or, rather, turned to face the kid in green. The wizard stepped forward, blasting rod in hand and glowing menacingly, while the beast advanced on the kid. Harry was about to commence roasting a pig when suddenly the beast stopped moving, falling apart to reveal a soaking-wet warlock. The green drake stood up and roared, and the man turned to face it, saying something about round two. Harry stepped up beside the towering warlock, staff and rod in hand, the former glowing with a soft blue light. He spoke with clipped tones to the dark-skinned man. "You never did get my name. It's Harry Blackstone Dresden. We'll talk after this." He didn't trust the man enough to reveal his full name, but the use of a middle name could be construed as a gesture of that trust. Harry supposed he had his father to thank for giving him two of those. He slammed his staff on the ground and mustered his energy, forcing his breathing into a regular pattern as he used Soulfire for the third time today. "Forzare!" Not much to say, except "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." Yet again, the luminous blue hand seized the Rathian's snout and forced it towards the ground. "Try not to kiss the wall this time, shortstuff."