The Battle of Death Mountain: Gamma

[Miranda Frost]

Go in, kill Volvagia's brood, then go home. Simple. 

 Nah, nothing was ever this simple. When they approached the battle site, she saw how complex the situation was. Twenty four of Nealaph's allies against a thousand dragons. From the distance they appeared as a dark menacing cloud, but she knew they were closing in and quick. As the group began to space themselves out and break formation to prepare for the assault. She couldn't help but grin behind the ornate steel mask she wore. Now was the time she could break loose. What was there to lose? What could they do? Kill her? Hah.

 She stepped forward towards the charging horde, a fist hovering above her core. Her blood boiled and in that blood she found a spark of power. She followed that  spark throughout her body until it led her to the dark crystal in her chest, resonating with power. Like a hammer and chisel, she struck mentally at the crystal, and its retaliation filled her body with power a normal human could only hope to obtain. Her breathing increased and her teeth gritted together. She was furious: Angry at this horde that dared to challenge her, Angry at the world (This godforsaken, false world), angry at the little white man that sits upon all of it.

 Externally, Miranda's transformation was something to behold, if one was unfamiliar with such transitions. Translucent flames radiated from her entire body, and crimson, fiery wings sprung from her back and a blazing  halo flickered to life above her head. Her steps turned into a full-blown sprint as the cloud came in quicker. She didn't care if the others were charging with her or not. She had long lost the capacity to give a flying rat's ass about them, at least not now. The first few minutes of her transformation is filled with unbridled rage. For all that she is concerned, there is only her and her enemy.

 Soon they were upon her, flashes of reddish brown flying past her screeching angrily at the intruding party. Miranda only sighed, a little pissed that they largely ignored the  glowing fireball bracing against their torrent of scaly bodies. She'd have to grab their attention, and what better way than to leap up and catch the leg of one of Volvagia's dragonlings. Her grip tightened like a vice and the motors in her arm worked like clockwork, allowing her to drag it back down to earth. The dragon yelped and struggled, but there was no use. Miranda was too heavy to carry. Once her feet touched the ground, she grabbed hold of its wing, her grip shattering the dragon's bone, before slamming the heavy body to the ground and stomping her foot into its neck. The scales gave way and then bone.

 One down, nine hundred and ninety nine to go. She turned to find another roaring at her, the little thing starting to spew a jet of fire over Miranda's being. It was hot yes, but her transformation was more than capable than tanking it without much damage. Perhaps a few of her hairs were singed, but this young dragon was not doing any damage to her. She dove into the flames and grasped the smaller dragon's neck. This one was too fragile, but at least it was brave. A quick squeeze and it was toast.

 In her ear she could hear chatter on her communicator though Harry's came through on top.  She needed to get back, but she'd do a little more damage on the way. Immediately she turned and sprinted back to the others. All around her were dragons but they were all focused on something ahead, rather than the danger within their ranks.

 "Not smart", she breathed, her grip catching the tail of another dragon, allowing her to slam the creature to the ash, her heavy footsteps finishing the job as she trampled over it. A few more left this world this way before she was able to break through their lines, sliding over the icy buildup before she braced herself with the others. Harry released a massive wall of ice, which shielded them from the firestorm the horde produced. Her demeanor had cooled a bit after a few minutes, but she was still itching to fight. "Come on, run out of flames, out of breath. My fists never get tired", she muttered, her fists balled up at her side.