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Blood splattered across his face, but he didn’t even flinch- his eyes were hungry for more. His soul was already consumed by the madness of the slaughter. He turned to face his next victim, but before he could lift his hammer, a spear pierced his throat from behind with the tip bursting out of his neck in a spray of blood.
He fell forward, gurgling and desperately trying to obstruct his lifeblood from spilling out beneath him.
He was unsuccessful.
On the far side, a group of fighters clashed in a frenzy. A woman whose face contorted in rage drove her dagger into a man’s chest, twisting it cruelly before pulling it free, leaving a gaping hole in her wake. The man dropped to his knees while desperately gasping for air but the woman didn’t stop.
She kicked him over and raised her blade high before plunging it into his back repeatedly, each thrust accompanied by a savage scream of the effort she expanded.
However, just as the fifth stab of hers found its mark in the man, someone else rushed up to her and severed her dagger-wielding arm before decapitating the shocked woman.
Everywhere I looked, chaos reigned. Men and women who might have once fought with honor now resorted to utter savagery, clawing at each other like animals. With eyes wide due to unadulterated fear and the instinctual fight for survival in their heart kicking in, they stabbed, slashed, and bludgeoned anything that moved.
Wrinkle had long since fled from the podium from upon which he looked down on the contestants as he started the event.
Every few moments, another combatant fell, whether by sword, spell, or the sheer, crushing weight of bodies piling onto each other. Blood stained the stone walls, dripping down like rain from a horror movie. I’m very impressed by myself, my team, especially those of us who are new to combat and death, for remaining undisturbed by the sights we were seeing.
A culling. It was a fitting description for the first test, I had to give it to Black Fang. Only those willing to embrace the carnage, to dive headfirst into the abyss of violence, would emerge victorious.
“It’s a graveyard for the weak and unfortunate.” Lucille muttered under her breath.
“Yeah. However, we can get more XP in places like this than we could in the labyrinth or while running across the forest, looking for greenskin scout parties. As I said in the beginning, this is an amazing opportunity.”
“Say that to your internal organs that almost gave up the fight.” Ayame scoffed.
Aurora, who still clinging to me, whispered tearfully, “So much death… I’ve never seen anything like this.” Okay, she might’ve been more affected than I thought before.
I decided to stroke her robed head gently, though my eyes never left the battlefield. “You’ve been doing amazingly, Dream. All of you did, my Ascendants. I’m very proud of every single one of you.”
<That’s an elf. No, that’s not exactly right. That’s an entire Phenom team made up of elves.> Seraphiel muttered into my mind while she was squinting in order to see far into the distance.
<You mean those robed, masked rogue-types?> I asked after focusing on where her gaze was.
<No. The five archers standing behind a single tank. They’re all elves. I can tell just from looking at their graceful, lithe moves. Well, the tanker not so much, but I somehow sense her to be my kind too.>
The setup seemed downright comical. Five archers who were all masked and robed, hiding their elven heritage from humans quite successfully, were clustered together in an awkward huddle, clearly out of their depth when it came to battlefield positioning.
Instead of spreading out and taking advantage of their ranged superiority, they were standing so close that their quivers almost bumped into each other as they drew their arrows.
‘Forest dwellers.’ That’s what came to my mind while watching them. Seraphiel could function in our party from the get-go because she gained army training when she got conscripted.
However, from a single glance I could tell that these five were only trained to fight in their natural habitat, not in an underground cave swarming with enemies with no trees to hide behind or climb upon which to shoot down at their opponents from.
If it wasn’t for the one lone tank desperately throwing herself into the fray, they would’ve been picked off ages ago.
The tank was an entirely different story. Dressed in full battle armor, they were holding their own against multiple attackers at once. Every time the enemy tried to break through to get to the vulnerable archers she would rush forward with her heavy warhammer raised high.
THOOM!
The tank’s hammer came crashing down with enough force to shake the ground, splintering bones and caving in shields. The sheer power behind their swings was awe-inspiring, so much so that I could feel the weight of each blow from where I stood. As they bludgeoned one enemy into the dirt, they cast a spell that made the very metal of their armor groan under pressure.
“[Armor Crush]!” they shouted, and the enemy’s plate crumbled inward, squeezing the poor fool like a tin can under their hammer’s weight.
With the intonation of the spell, I could identify ‘them’ as a woman.
But she didn’t stop there.
“[Hammerfall]!!!” she roared while lifting her weapon high again. Transparent energy surrounded the hammer’s head before she brought it down, creating a mighty impact that sent a shockwave that knocked her enemies off their feet, leaving them dazed and exposed. They soon found themselves riddled with arrows from her backline rangers.
When one particularly bold warrior attempted to circle around her to reach the archers, she threw up a taunt spell- “[Rallying Cry!]” Her voice echoed across the field, filled with a commanding presence that left enemies no choice but to focus on her as their attention locked onto the juggernaut that she was.
<Are you sure that’s an elf and not an orc?>
<Master, that’s racist. We can be physically imposing too!> Seraphiel chided me with an uncharacteristically energetic tone.
