The moment Damon launched himself forward without any restraint, the wyrm's eyes, vertical slits of molten gold, instantly moved to lock on to him. For a fleeting second, there was a flicker of surprise in that monstrous gaze, as if the wyrm hadn't expected a mere insect to charge straight into the maw of oblivion.
But the expression vanished just as quickly, replaced by a huff of scorn. A rumbling snort burst from its nostrils, sending twin jets of superheated steam curling into the air, the embodiment of contempt and unshakable arrogance.
To a creature like this, Damon was nothing more than a flicker in the storm, a spark before the wildfire. But that flicker had dared to rise. And that, more than anything, caught the wyrm's attention.
Its massive head tilted ever so slightly as if to say: Very well, let's see how bright you burn before I turn you to ash.
