The smoke stuck close to his heels for a few seconds, then suddenly stopped. Rughoi pulled on his worg's hair, slowing it to a halt. A few agonizing seconds of relative silence followed, the din of the swords sounding so far away. Then, a hand shot out of the darkness and wrapped its long, thin fingers around Rughoi's neck. The mount under him barked in surprise, then ran off, leaving its master to die. Rughoi pried at the fingers with one hand, while the other went for the sword at his side. With a deft pull, he released the blade from the scabbard, taking the hand at the wrist. He scrambled out of the now lifeless fingers, already blackening from unnatural rot. Quickly, he replaced the large shield on his back, moving it to his off hand. The smoke parted then, revealing Merat in his horrific form, arms and legs in a tangled mess as he himself fought an entire company of dracons. Most of his heads were locked in a deafening roar, but one turned itself on its neck, far past the normal bounds of a neck, and peered with a withered eye at Rughoi's comparably tiny frame. A jolt of fear, far stronger than the others, ran through his back, stretching up his spine like Hetuis itself has nested in his tail. His arms began to tremble, and the sword, once a confident symbol of protection, now felt too light, too weak. It shook in his hands, as if it too wished to escape from his grasp. Slowly, he forced his legs to move. He blocked out any and every sensory input he could, focusing just on his feet and the ground. One advance, two . . . he could not go further. He was stuck there, frozen by Merat's evil spells tearing at his mind. 

"Rughoi," boomed a voice, roaring in his head. "Surrender. I am Son of the Dragon." He could not respond. Neither tongue nor mind would dare move. Fool! While he dawdled, dracons are crushed under the many feet of Merat with nary a second thought! He raised his shield and glared back at the eye. He was Son of the Dragon! The dragon does not negotiate with lesser creatures! This spurned him forward another one, two steps, to meet Merat's new arms. Flesh hung loosely on these new additions to his body, peeling away at various points. Under that was nothing but bone. Bracing himself, Rughoi met the first, which struck his shield with a clang. The next Rughoi took the initiative, and brought his sword up, leaving a stump. Despite this, however, Merat didn't seem inconvenienced in the slightest.