111. Abomination vs Archdemon
It took time, a long trek, and blasting his way through solid stone, but he was finally there.
The Dead Trenches.
They yawned before him, deep and wide and seething with darkspawn. This was where they lived when not terrorizing the surface world. This was where they bred, and waited, and bided their time until the next Blight.
This was where they would die.
He could feel the archdemon's song thrumming through him, curdling his blood and making it itch and burn. He embraced the feeling, wbecause it meant he was close. It as nearby, and all he had to do now was locate it.
Kazar smiled, working his way along the lip of the canyon. He nursed his magic in his hands in anticipation, letting lightning dart between his hands and laughing at the rush each bolt sent through him. Close. So close.
As he walked, he mused about what he'd do, once the Blight was over. Everyone would owe him… they wouldn't be able to deny how strong he was. They wouldn't be able to deny him anything, because he'd roast them alive if they did.
Maybe he'd return to the Circle Tower. Raze that blemish on the skyline to the ground… kill everyone who ever held him back from his true potential. Once the Blight was done, none of them would be necessary. Let every Templar and mage in Ferelden feel his ire, including that backstabbing old man, Irving.
And yet, his demon half whispered, that still wasn't thinking big enough. He was the most powerful creature in Thedas. He could be a Blight unto himself… remake the world to his own desires. Maybe start by setting fire to this entire dog-smelling nation. Maybe go to Tevinter, where mages of his power were not only tolerated, but respected.
Possibilities stretched before him, and all of it was within his reach. All it would take was to do what those idiots hadn't had the balls to try. He was going to do it.
He was going to kill the archdemon.
He sensed it now, the roaring of the song rushing through his blood. It was below him… in the crevice. Sure enough, he leaned over the edge and spotted it, swooping low over its minions. It wheeled upward and flew toward him, and Kazar stepped back in time not to be knocked off the ledge by the wind of its wings as it flew up past him.
Last time, he'd seen it, he'd hunkered behind a rock with the other Wardens, shuddering in fear as they watched the powerful monster fly past. Now, however, Kazar could feel the power thrumming through him, and he could feel the gnarled magic that kept the archdemon alive. He was going to unravel that magic.
The archdemon banked around the top of the cavern, turning sharply to land on the ledge right across from Kazar. It had sensed him—he'd hoped it would—and now the gigantic violet dragon turned to face him with a guttural roar. Across the fifty foot canyon, Kazar admired the way the fire from below glittered off its scales. A mighty beast, carrying with it all the corruption of the Black City itself. The demon in him drank in the feel of its proximity, delighting in the twisted mix of material realm and Fade.
It was fitting, to have one such beast be the instrument of the other's destruction. His demon half appreciated the irony in a way that his mortal half never had. It made him chuckle in the face of the archdemon's aggression.
It drew its head back, and Kazar could see the magic it gathered into its breath weapon. He laughed, and charged a fireball around himself as it did so. When it fired, so did he.
The air between them burst with power as the fire rolled though the spirit burst, scattering it apart. The chamber around them rocked, and Kazar laughed full-throated at the sheer thrill of it.
The archdemon was not nearly so amused. It leapt into the air, its great wings beating.
"I don't think so," Kazar laughed. He slapped his hand down on a sharp rock, cutting a gash across his palm and drawing blood. The familiar aura immediately surrounded him as his blood mixed with the magic around him. It crackled, and he had to keep himself from laughing at the heady rush.
And to think the mages had always warned against this. Idiots, all of them!
The archdemon swooped toward him, but Kazar was ready, sending a shot of pure force through the air that slammed the dragon up against the cavern ceiling. It shrieked, bobbing in midair as it regained its bearings.
The archdemon's magic felt slimier than Flemeth's had. Churning with ever-present corruption, unstable by its very nature. It made it difficult to get a grip on the monster's form and pull it down. Still, it was nothing that sheer force couldn't accomplish, so he merely shoved more power into the hold.
He bound the archdemon in magical ropes, and it thrashed against him. He yanked it clear out of the air, sending it tumbling, spinning down into the crevice. It bounced off the sides of the canyon before it managed to break his grip.
When it did, it was angry, but that only made Kazar grin more. It rushed up toward him, a force of inexorable darkness. It seemed unstoppable, and that was what made the battle sweet.
Kazar rained lightning down upon it. The archdemon dodged the first two bolts, but the third hit it square on the wing. A paralyzed wing didn't fly, and the dragon careened into a canyon wall.
The thrumming of the song had changed in cadence, to a murderous, angry roar. He could feel the anger of the other darkspawn in the trench, and that only made him laugh harder. Their rage was futile; he was an unstoppable force of destruction.
The archdemon landed at the bottom of the crevice and shrieked its rage, and Kazar rained fire and lightning down upon it to keep it down. Then, he stepped back from the lip. It was time for the finishing blow.
He closed his eyes, feeling every string of magic around him—both his own and someone else's. He felt the hoarde of darkspawn beneath him, the trench stretching in either direction like a river. An army of seething, living corruption.
He seeped his magic into the earth above that river, taking hold of the rock that loomed over the armies. He spread his influence long and wide, until he could feel every inch of the cavern in his mind. He was the Dead Trenches. He was stone, and he was going to crush the horde.
Once he was spread long and wide, and he was gasping for breath for how so very much he was holding, he tugged. The stone around him creaked and groaned. He did it again, and the chamber trembled, knocking a spray of rocks loose into the crevice.
Checking one last time to make sure that the archdemon was still down below (it was, though regaining its feet), Kazar grounded his feet and gave one last mighty pull.
The trench rumbled and roared and fell apart. The lip of the canyon in front of him and around him cracked and tumbled down, the once-solid earth becoming a deadly mass of stone and dirt. The darkspawn song turned discordant as the masses were crushed under the weight.
Laughter bubbled deep in his chest as the cavern crumbled around him. He was destruction. He was power. Not even the darkspawn horde could oppose him, as proved by the enraged dragon's roar that shrieked through the cavern, abruptly silenced by the tumble of stone.