The ragged cliffs struck the sky, breaking it apart in a stormy, grey cloud that was said to herald one's ultimate demise. If it had been a true omen, ravens would have cawed and flapped across it, disturbing the dark glamour with their raggedness, but Xigfeldo was the true omen and portent of death on the face of the cliff, stones crumbling away as he hung there like a giant bat, something borne from nightmares. To the wrong dragon or any other creature, he was worse than a soul's worst nightmare, jaws slavering with thick, drooling ropes of saliva.
He could eat so many up in a single bite and yet the opponent he faced at the outpost, a vantage point that overlooked the far edge of his territory, already bore the scratches and scrapes from battling him. Xigfeldo's flanks rose and fell heavily in breath but the red dragon that had come there to challenge him still circled lazily high above as if he had not a care in the world, scales glittering as if he carried his own personal sunshine around with him. The black and silver dragon could not help but be grudgingly impressed by such splendour, even though his scales shifted between black and silver in that particular lighting, branding him as both kinds of dragons despite only being a single dragon.
It was funny how things could come together like that. But he only had a single scrap of a crimson dragon to defeat and he crawled to the top of the cliff like a serpent, a hydra with that serpentine mobility and deadly intent, hissing and hunkering down, watching the red circle and swing back and forth. At a moment's notice, he was ready to strike, although even the red drake was hardly an intimidating opponent or a threat in the slightest to him. It was all a matter, of course, of just where and when he would strike and take him out for good.
It was just a shame that the red dragon was too young and stupid to know or understand that he was up against a better male, a powerful drake who wasn't about to go down in a hurry. It would never be his time.
"Xigfeldo!" The red dragon bellowed. "You cannot defeat me! I am one with the wind and the sky! There is nothing that your power can do to me!"
If a dragon such as Xigfeldo could have rolled his eyes (it was demeaning in the highest order for a silver or even a black dragon to demonstrate such vulgarity), he would have. Just who did the pompous youngling think he was to invade even the furthest outreaches of his territory? It was his and his scent marked it through and through, something that he maintained on a weekly basis, if not more frequently. He should have known that the territory was his and, well, Xigfeldo was sure that he did. That was just why he'd chosen to invade the land of a silver-black drake.
In the gloom, the storm flickering and flashing with a hint of lightning in the background, the promise of thunder in the air, Xigfeldo let out a long, roiling hiss, wings mantled over his back, the sharp angles making him look more terrifying, larger and more intimidating. Of course, he was intimidating enough as he was but there was always something more that could be done, all to seal himself in his place in the world, eyes flaring with darkly sickening intent.
The red dragon would fall.
It was quicker than the red dragon would ever be proud to admit in his recounting of the story. Xigfeldo leapt to the air and they collided in battle, falling down the face of the cliff, kicking and scrabbling, jaws snapping. The drake in charge was merely playing with him, allowing him to think that he got the upper wing, the top position, snarling and snapping and warding him off. Back and back! He would have his place and he would have his territory, for he could not believe that it had ever been stolen from him in the first place and least of all by such a weakling.
And that was just what the red dragon was to him as they crashed into the pine trees, the red drake scoring a line of red down Xigfeldo's flank, blood steaming, hissing, even though his body typically ran on the colder side. Angered, the chill of his frost breath rose up in the back of his throat, begging to be released, but he did not expend such a luxurious power on the red drake as he called on a little of his magic, wielding it only enough to throw his opponent aside with a mere flick of his wrist.
Branches and trunks splintered like kindling as they crashed down to the forest floor, although Xigfeldo rolled easily to his feet, chest heaving, the narrower point seeming to dare the red to get up again. Of course, he tried, but Xigfeldo merely bore down on him, his clawed foot at the red drake's throat, holding him there, stretched out like an offering but it was an offering that he had taken for himself through sheer force of will.
Squirming and snarling, he put up a pathetic show beneath Xigfeldo, fighting and snapping, even as his struggles grew weaker and weaker. His spines pressed into the forest floor and the silver-black drake leaned down on him, his scales taking on a darker shade under the shadows of those trees. And those pine trees may have existed for many, many years but never before had their aged and wizened boughs seen anything like what was taking place beneath their shivering needles right at that moment.
"Admit defeat, young one," Xigfeldo drawled, relishing in his power. "For this is not a battle that you have won. Do not dare to make it a war."
A war, of course, would have ended right there and then but the red dragon did not have to lose his life to a better dragon. He may have squalled and writhed like a hatchling but he knew too that he was bested, the paw on his throat ensuring that he was not able to breathe fire, the flame that gave his kind their colour and, well, their fiery demeanour too.
"I...I... Unff..."
He could barely get out the words, his windpipe closed off for air, but Xigfeldo could not chance letting him up as he tried to challenge him, groaning and grunting and snarling breathlessly. But he could not struggle forever and he had to give in, whimpering and groaning, eyes losing their light in the realm of the waking.
And yet Xigfeldo would not completely allow him to lose consciousness, lifting his forepaw enough for the red to snatch a breath, their bodies pressed closer together than ever as he used his bulk and mass of scales to ensure he was pinned against all odds and causes.
"Face it, you are defeated. Are you not even going to give me your name, youngling?" Xigfeldo teased, tail pressed up against the crimson drake's cloaca, too easily demonstrating his power. "This is it for you and I am due the name of my fallen...ah...foe."
Some foe he was. The red drake hissed and snapped but Xigfeldo easily lifted his muzzle out of the way, not even needing to rush.
