“It’s hesitant,” Moe whispers.
“It’s smart,” I murmur. “It’s probably weighing the cost versus the benefit.”
“The egg is not enough?” Moe’s eyes widen.
“Itshouldbe. But it’s wary. Perhaps it’s faced a Raffia before and is scared of it?”
She presses her lips together. “We’ve come too far to have our plans ruined by that. I have an idea.”
I glance at her in surprise. “I’m all ears.”
She asks hesitantly. “Do you have another vial of Zantrax?”
Understanding dawns on me. She wants to increase the benefit.
Without a word, I retrieve it from my proto-realm.
“How good are you at throwing?” She asks as she eyes the vial.
“I guess we’ll find out,” I answer drily.
Moving out of the hiding spot, I get up and aim at the center of the egg. At this point, the domain of air might have served me better to reach my target. But I decide to cheat a little and use the propelling force of fire to push the vial exactly where I want it.
I channel a string of fire to follow the vial, increasing the speed right when the Raffia’s attention is on the Wilka.
The vial breaks upon contact and the liquid meets the energy inside the egg.
The reaction is instantaneous.
An overwhelming amount of energy erupts.
It’s an explosion of light and power that saturates the clearing, warping the air itself.
The Wilka’s posture changes. Its nostrils flare. More saliva drips onto the ground.
It lowers on its hind legs, muscles coiling. Then it moves. It crosses the distance in a blur.
The Raffia lunges at the same time.
The impact is catastrophic.
The ground quakes beneath them as the two creatures collide, the Raffia’s immense strength meeting the Wilka’s speed in a violent clash of force.
The Wilka darts, striking fast and hard, its movements almost impossible to track. The Raffia counters with sheer power, each movement capable of crushing bone and shattering stone.
We keep ourselves hidden in the bushes, watching the battle with bated breath and pure awe.
The fight is brutal, relentless. The Wilka circles, avoiding direct hits, its horn glinting as it searches for an opening. The Raffia grows more aggressive, more frantic. Its territory has been encroached upon, its offspring has been destroyed. If it fails here, all of its eggs will become prey.
But just as the Wilka gains the upper hand, it commits a grave mistake. It lunges too close.
The Raffia’s beak snaps forward with devastating force, catching it mid-motion.
A sickening crack echoes through the clearing.
The Wilka releases a cry of pain, struggling to free itself. But the more it moves, the deeper the beak penetrates its body.
Seconds feel like an eternity as the Wilka refuses to give up. It pushes its horn forward, aiming for the bird’s body.
