The orc warlord's scream split the air.
"Shoot it down! Bring the beast down before it burns us all!"
But even as he bellowed, the Ashwing Dracolisk opened its molten jaws.
A roar thundered out, not just sound, but force. Fire and stone magic fused into one explosive cone of destruction. The Volcanic Roar struck like a living sunburst, heat searing flesh before the sound even reached the goblins. Tents collapsed, bodies shredded, bones turned to cinders. The shockwave lifted dozens into the air, flinging them like ragdolls against sharpened stakes.
Those not burned outright scrambled to obey the order. Bows bent, arrows loosed. Spears and javelins arced skyward. For a heartbeat, the sky darkened with missiles.
Then the dracolisk beat its wings.
Pyroclasm Wings.
The gust erupted in firestorms. Ash and molten sparks spiraled downward, cinders devouring arrows midflight, wooden shafts burning before they could land. The rain of fire swept across the camp like a scythe. Goblins shrieked as their skin blistered, armor glowing red-hot against their flesh. Orcs bellowed in rage, only to collapse as the ground itself caught fire beneath their feet.
Within moments, half the camp was gone.
"Spirits save us!" an orc howled, clutching his face as molten spit dripped from above, searing through skull and bone. "It's no beast---it's---"
His words dissolved into a scream as a talon the size of a ballista bolt crushed him into paste.
The camp was no longer a battlefield. It was a slaughterhouse.
---
On the dracolisk's back, Loid watched with cold eyes. His hand rose, palm outward.
"Enough. Conserve mana," he said evenly.
The dracolisk obeyed, wings folding as it descended to the scorched earth. Its molten glow dimmed, though heat waves still rippled from its body, baking corpses to charcoal.
Angela leapt from its back the instant claws touched dirt. Stormfang Blade glinted in her hands, golden lightning flickering around her massive frame.
"Finally," she growled, voice thick with anticipation. "Time to make this interesting."
Her feet struck the ground with a quake, Juggernaut's Rush flaring around her. Golden arcs spiraled down her legs as she charged into the remains of the orc ranks. The first swing of Stormfang cleaved three at once, torsos separating from hips in a spray of blood. The knockback hurled the halves into those behind them, toppling ranks like pins in a game.
Each dash reset her stamina, each kill feeding her momentum. Angela moved like a living avalanche, carving a path straight through the orc line.
Selvara was already gone from sight. A blur of black hair and silver eyes, she slipped through the smoke like a phantom. Goblins shrieked as her estoc darted through armor, flesh, and bone, piercing cleanly then vanishing before the victim hit the dirt. She toyed with them, sidestepping wild swings, slipping behind them in silence, then skewering spines with unerring thrusts.
One goblin tried to flee. Selvara appeared in front of him, her sword already pressing against his throat. For a heartbeat, he stared into silver eyes that held no pity. Then her blade punched through the roof of his mouth, and he dropped, twitching.
Her veins glowed blue now, Lightning Veins. Sparks danced across her skin as her speed doubled, every fifth strike sending goblins spasming before the needle-thin blade finished the job.
From above, Isolde extended a palm, golden hair whipping in the heated winds.
"Pathetic," she sniffed. "To think I wasted mana on scum like you."
Lightning crackled between her fingers. Shock Current lashed outward, frying a cluster of goblins that screamed as their bodies convulsed. She smirked, lifting her chin high.
"You should be grateful your last sight was me."
Another chain arced, this time striking an orc archer who toppled backward with smoke hissing from his eye sockets.
The dracolisk itself did not rest. With a guttural growl, it swept its tail through a half-collapsed palisade. Wood exploded into shards, bodies splintering beneath the impact. It stomped forward, claws crushing barricades, jaws snapping down on an orc rider and his wolf both, devouring them in molten flame.
The battlefield became an orchestra of screams, steel, and fire.
---
Loid stood at the edge, arms folded, watching. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes tracked every move. He could have activated the Soul Mirror, copying Selvara's assassin speed for himself but the cooldown would waste his chance for the day. No. He would save it for emergencies.
For now, his mercenaries would prove themselves.
And prove themselves they did.
Angela bellowed as she drove Stormfang into the chest of a towering orc captain. The blade tore through ribs, the shockwave blasting out behind him, scattering a dozen more. She wrenched it free, grabbed another by the skull, and slammed his head into the dirt with enough force to crater the earth.
Selvara dashed through, her estoc carving so precisely it looked almost delicate. Yet every strike crippled, knees punctured, arteries severed, throats collapsed. She moved with the patience of an assassin conserving energy, no wasted movements, each kill efficient and merciless.
Isolde, perched high, spread arcs of electricity in contemptuous waves, her laughter sharp. "Run, then! Flee like the vermin you are, see if lightning spares cowards!"
The dracolisk's head reared back. With a snap, it spat a ball of molten rock, Magma Spit. The orb struck a wooden tower where goblin archers had gathered. In a blink, the structure dissolved, wood and flesh alike reduced to molten sludge.
---
Half an hour later, there was nothing left resembling an army. Only stragglers, crawling, limping, screaming.
Angela seized one of the last, a hulking orc commander still barely clinging to life. She dragged him by the throat to the center of the camp and slammed him against a shattered totem.
"You'll talk," she said flatly, pressing Stormfang against his chest. "Where is the next camp?"
The orc spat blood at her face.
Angela smiled grimly. "Wrong answer." She twisted the blade. The sound was wet, sickening. "We can do this for hours. I don't tire easily."
Selvara lingered in the background, her estoc dripping. She said nothing.
The orc lasted perhaps two minutes before breaking, voice hoarse. "South! South of the ridge---three more warbands---"
Angela drove the blade through his stomach, pinning him to the totem. "Good boy." Then she yanked it free, letting him slump in agony until he bled out.
---
That was the scene when the army arrived.
Zayden led at the front, cloak snapping in the heat. Behind him marched soldiers, adventurers, and the Five Prodigies. Scholars trailed, eyes wide, clutching charred scrolls to their chests.
They expected resistance. Instead, they found a graveyard.
The camp was ash and ruin, corpses littering every corner. Charred bones stuck from blackened earth. Tents smoldered. The stench of burned flesh hung heavy.
At the center, Angela stood with her blade still wet, an orc's corpse twitching at her feet. Selvara drifted silently through the wreckage, finishing the few survivors with surgical thrusts. Isolde lounged against the dracolisk's claw, sparks crackling lazily between her fingers. The beast itself prowled among the ruins, molten cracks glowing as it exhaled smoke and flame.
The Five Prodigies stopped cold.
Malek muttered, "This isn't a battlefield… this is a massacre."
Cassian scoffed, though his voice trembled. "Mercenaries, are they? More like monsters unleashed."
Elera's eyes narrowed, studying Selvara's movements. "Did you see? Not once did she stumble. Every strike was… perfect."
Silas clenched his fists, his green runes flickering. "They'll burn out soon enough. No one fights like that forever."
Selene's voice was quieter. "Maybe they don't need forever."
The scholars whispered furiously, debating whether the dracolisk was ancient, cursed, or divine. None dared approach it.
Zayden simply surveyed the ruin, jaw set. "Efficient," he muttered.
Loid noticed them then. He stepped forward, brushing ash from his coat, voice calm.
"You're late," he said flatly.
Zayden's brow twitched, but he didn't rise to the bait. "No matter. The job's done. I'll give you the next target."
Loid tilted his head. "Where?"
"South," Zayden said. "Half the army's already marching there. You'll join them, unless you intend to show off again."
Loid smirked faintly. "Selvara. Isolde. We're moving."
Selvara silently appeared at his side, estoc flicked clean. Isolde pouted, crossing her arms. "Tch. I was just getting comfortable." Still, she hopped up onto the dracolisk's back with a toss of golden hair.
Angela rested Stormfang on her shoulder and followed without hesitation.
Loid gave Zayden one last glance. "We'll handle it."
Then he climbed atop the dracolisk. With a beat of wings, the beast rose into the sky, casting its shadow over the stunned army.
The Five Prodigies watched in silence as it disappeared toward the south.
Selene whispered, "…How are we supposed to compete with that?"
No one answered.