Without warning, Trearch laughed—a sound that echoed like crackling thunder across the cavern—as he raised his staff and pointed it straight at the wyrm's glistening crystalline head.
"A crystalline wyrm located this close to the city…?" he muttered, voice tinged with curiosity and faint amusement.
Suddenly, the massive wyrm slammed into the ground with an earth-shaking crash, its serpentine body pinned as if invisible hands had forced it down, every inch of its shimmering form straining against a gravity far heavier than natural.
"Looks like Oswald was right…" Trearch said calmly, watching the beast writhe, its limbs scraping against the ground in vain. "This is no normal dungeon…"
The roses beneath it, impossibly soft moments ago, now prickled its armored scales like acidic needles, slicing into its supposedly impervious hide as if it were mere butter. The wyrm let out a guttural growl, low and guttural—a sound that made even the stone walls tremble.
