"RĪZTILĀ NOVĀ !" (Burn them all!) Ryka shouted.
A low, subterranean rumble vibrated through Rhegalyion's chest before the first spark ever touched the air. When the torrent finally broke free. It came fast—a violent, expanding cone of orange that tore through the formation like a torch through a spiderweb. One moment, the air was a chaotic blur of screeching bats; the next, it was a rain of soot and falling cinders. The heat hit like a physical blow, carrying with it the sickening, sweet-and-charred aroma of burning hair that signaled the swarm's total collapse.
But against the horde, it was merely a scratch.
For every bat that fell, ten more took its place. The swarm adapted instantly, spreading out to avoid the worst of the flames. They came at Rhegalyion from all sides, latching onto its wings, its neck, its legs.
The wyvern thrashed, trying to shake them off, but they clung tight. Their teeth sank into its scales, drawing blood.
"Rhegalyion!" Ryka shouted.
