She choked violently, her entire body convulsing under the torture. Her bloodshot eyes began to roll slightly in their sockets, consciousness slowly slipping from her asphyxiated mind. Her hands, once combative, now clung desperately to Belgaroth's arm in a final attempt to alleviate the pressure on her trachea, her nails leaving bloody trails on the scaly skin that closed up almost immediately.
It was at that precise moment that Naesha, like a specter of vengeance, emerged from the shadows that seemed to have birthed her. Her movement was so fluid, so perfect, it seemed choreographed by Death itself. Her twin daggers, imbued with a toxic essence glimmering with violet hues, shimmered with a deadly light, tracing phosphorescent arcs through the tainted air. She descended upon the dragon with the precision of a peregrine falcon, her blades aimed at the junction between the skull and the spinal column that vulnerable spot even in the oldest of creatures.
