The top of Fort Drakon was a scarred, ruined mess. Several sections of the ceiling had collapsed, and the Archdemon's talons had left massive gouges in the stone surface. Corpses were strewn about the area: elf, human, dwarf. No race was exempted from the slaughter. Shrieks crawled over the bodies, gorging themselves on the scorched and bloodied flesh. One looked up and screamed triumphantly, gobbets of meat in its fanged mouth. The Grey Wardens had been defeated; not killed, but pushed back. The Archdemon rustled its wings indignantly as it watched its soldiers feast on the dead. The fools had crippled it, but soon its attendant mages would arrive and it would be able to take to the air again. The Archdemon smiled to itself as well as a dragon could. It would fly, yes, and burn and destroy this pitiful human city until it found its enemies. Their death would not be quick; they would burn in dragon fire until they were nothing but ashes.
The Archdemon was satisfied with this course of action. However, unbeknownst to the demon and its army, something was coming up the stairs, its gold armour ratttling as it approached the doors that led to the twisted, corrupted dragon. A long, ornate spear it clutched in its hands, and as it came into view the Archdemon looked up, growling at the intruder. As it got to its feet and glared at the gold clad knight with all the hate it could muster, a brief and uncharcteristic burst of fear flashed across the forefront of its mind.
The knight glared back at the dragon through his lion-shaped helm. The crimson plume blew behind it in the slight breeze, and his armour gleamed in the light of the half burning city below. The tip of his spear crackled with lightning as he pointed it at the snarling Archdemon's head. And then he spoke, his voice loud and mocking.
"Are you the best this casul land has to offer? I have slain better dragons than you while I was in training. I bet I could just spam one attack and win," the knight said. He walked closer to the Archdemon, and the sight of him up close caused most of the Shrieks to flee elsewhere. The Archdemon roared at him, wishing it had the capability to speak so it could trash talk the knight back.
I bet, thought the Archdemon, that you have an incredibly stupid elemental weakness, Goldie.
"No matter. I, Dragonslayer Ornstein, shall send you back to the Abyss!" with that, Ornstein leapt into action, his spear pointed forward as he flew through the air, thrusting his weapon into the dragon's chest. The Archdemon screamed in an agony that even the Warden's spells had been unable to inlict upon it. It collapsed onto the ground, shuddering weakly as lightning coursed through its body. Ornstein smirked benath his helm and yanked the spear out, black blood coursing from the wound. He swiftly turned and plunged the spear into into its head, killing the monstrous beast.
"Bitch. You wanna see a real dragon? Go visit Kalameet. He'd probably fuck you up as soon as he saw you though. Hell, now that I think about it, even Seath could kick your pathetic ass. Grigori would taunt you throughout your visit, most likely. Don't even get me started on Firkraag," Ornstein said with a sadistic grin. "My point is, you are a failure as a dragon, and a boss fight. In fact," he continued seriously, "Ancient Dragon is a better fight than you. That's right, I went there. Ancient Dragon is a better boss than you, Archdouchebag. In short: Get rekt and git gud, you goddamn scrub."
Shaking his head, Ornstein strode off...more than a little disappointed. So much potential, to be wasted on something like that. Surely, they couldn't have thought of a better boss? But no. Instead of a proper dragon, the gods of this generic world had created an extremely banal creature. It didn't matter how many spikes it had, or how crooked its jaw was. It would still be crap.
Oh well, thought Ornstein, at least it doesn't have broken hitboxes...oh wait. He looked back at the corpse, and merrily "Well, What Is It?" 'ed the dead monster, before Homeward Boning his way out of Ferelden.