Biracial Edgelord Can't Make Immortal : Power of Ten, Book Seven

Well, the lads and ladies had a rip-roaring good time over the next week, as a stopover became enthusiastic zipping around and striking fear into the hearts of local evil-doers with great enthusiasm and more than a few Fireballs of the Invulnerable World.

That particular spell was also quickly in high demand among the local elves. A blazing battle spell that wouldn't set the woods on fire was an incredible innovation they were only too happy to learn for themselves!

I watched as they got into trouble, got themselves violently out of it, got into more trouble, did some more violence, got into trouble yet again, wised up and got out of it with a little cool magic, good timing, fast talking, and beating feet.

The next time, it was the other party who walked into trouble and couldn't get out of it in time. They all agreed that worked much more effectively.

It turned out the Mick had more live combat experience with things than the rest of them, and he turned out to be pretty good at the whole commander/strategist thing, riding herd on a bunch of magical cats who all wanted to show off, but none of whom wanted to die while doing it.

I introduced to them the special operative team-based planning concept, where information was pooled, everything was laid out, and ideas were taken on how to take down the targets with minimal effort, maximum lethality, speed, surprise, the works.

Information-gathering soon proved its place, and, well, the mages were geniuses once they got their heads and their egos in the right place.

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The Mick burst around the corner, howling like a madman, sword aflame in three colors, eyes bulging, veins protruding, every inch the highlander ready to cut the hobgoblins down where they stood.

They bleated, panicked, and ran as he split the skull of the first one and came howling after them.

Another panicked squad of hobgoblins came fleeing around the side of the hill, Braun and his Axe pounding after them, the two groups turned and sped into the open area nearby, which one of the chiefs had just raced into. The wine-skinned hob roared out for them to turn and fight, that there was only two of them.

With all the hobgoblins in one place, Messime Ievynder, crimson-haired Sidheduiche elf and budding dracologist, decided that it was the proper time to Fireball the lot of them, although hers looked a lot more like a big flaming exhalation of burning doom sweeping across the clustered-up hobs than a proper exploding globe, and it was accompanied by roaring sound effects that rather precisely mimicked the roar of an attacking dragon.

Another incensed roar rang out close by, infuriated at the intrusion on its territory. Heedless of whatever minor dangers might be in the way, the owner of said roar came barreling towards the clearing where a good chunk of its servants had just died to a single fireball.

Owshiva came leaping in from the side, a whole pack of werewolves on the hunt after the gray-pelted rakasta, howling in exhilaration at the thrill of the chase… and then she was leaping and grabbing a rope as the ground fell away underneath her, and the entire pack of werewolves fell down onto waiting silver-tipped stakes protruding from the magically-formed pit below, their howls of alarm turning into yelps that were cut emphatically short.

Rika, up on a tree above the pit, coolly drew down and finished off any that were still twitching with precise and methodical shots of shining silver-tipped arrows.

The young green dragon, one of the spawn of the mated pair that was well-established in the Ruge Lowlands, saw the humans ahead of it, and breathed out promptly, while its breath weapon was at its strongest.

They all dove away, cursing, while flickers of blue danced over its scales to the eyes of Isadora McMikal, the wizardess tasked with discerning the dragon's defenses.

She announced her discovery with a Lightning Bolt, promptly backed up by both Laurentine and Entelia, and the dragon screamed as thick, writhing bolts of electricity colored pale blue, raging yellow-silver, and curling red and green crackled over its hide and scales, the Resist Fire it had in effect doing nothing to mitigate the power of the magic. It had been expecting a red dragon to be present with the blazing power of the unleashed flames it had seen, and had instead received a painful surprise.

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The outraged dragon leapt for the three wizardesses, confident in its chances in melee… and found, to its dumbfounded surprise, that it barely received any lift from its wings at all as it attempted to pounce at them. It looked down just in time to see the spikes erupt out of the ground to receive it.

Some of the stone spikes shattered against thick natural scales and a heavy body, but some did not, impaling the green dragon just as if it had jumped onto a whole hedge of spears.

A glowing claw with ruby scales appeared out of nowhere and lashed across the dragon's throat, discharging another blast of electricity into the parallel wounds it left behind as it did so.

Nico Bastionelli hurled a sparking, popping vial of alchemical fluid directly onto the side of the dragon, more lightning blasting forth and blasting away scales and part of its right wing. A second later, a heavy bolt from Chekwort's crossbow hit the opening with a feathers-deep impact, further adding to the woes of the dragon.

At about that point, the dragon realized it was in real danger and was likely to die if it stayed. Although it would miss its territory and the destruction of its careful schemes, and its hoard, all of that was worth nothing unless it lived.

Unfortunately, more humans were coming in from all directions, two with blazing Axe and Sword charging right up to it to block its path and hack towards its wings as it instinctively reared up to prepare for a lunge at them.

More arrows hit its belly, and then like a dozen or more Shards converged onto it from every direction, unerring missiles of force that sent their cellular disruption spraying through the dragon's vitals as they concentrated on its chest.

Its last dying snap at the Mick was barely batted aside as he leapt away. Braun's Axe bit deep into the spine at the base of its skull, while the Mick plunged his Claymore Laird into its eye to truly finish the job.

There was no spontaneous cheer. Braun actually left off trying to rip his Axe free for a moment as everything went still, listening for sounds of activity around them.

Owshiva flicked one of her pointed ears back the way the dragon had come. "There's something moving by its lair," she hissed out from her position up on the limb of a large tree, her own bow out now and scanning for something to release on.

Braun and the Mick braced their boots against the dragon's skull to slide their weapons out of the still-twitching carcass of the creature, the spells on them accenting their own minor Enchantments nicely.

"Maechuvigan!" came the pained roaring in Draconic, clearly calling out for the slain dragon, and rising into an infuriated bellow accompanied by the sound of more foliage being trampled underfoot by a large body.

This was the most dangerous moment for all of them, as much of their offensive magic was already spent, and they were left with more utility spells… but there had been a lot of talk about how utility spells could be a 'We win' button all their own if used properly, and in conjunction with one another.

Case in point, a dragon charging headlong at them and the two human warriors he rapidly caught sight of, their flaming Weapons raised up and ready for him as they stood over the corpse of his sister.

The billowing cloud of chlorinic gas, powerful enough to melt skin and flesh from bones, blew out towards them, but both men were ready, reaching down and yanking up the wings of the dead dragon and taking cover behind the wing leather. The blast of flesh-stripping acidic poison blew past them as they let it do so.

"Gor, ye huff and puff like a damn old wolf hunting pigs or sumthin'!" the Mick shouted at the thing. "At least yer sister's finally good for something in her short an' unlucky life, aye? Make a good umbrella, she will, when we are all said an' done with her!"

"Filthy human vermin!" cursed the young green, nearly a twin to the one lying slain there, although it had more ripples in its crest, and a sharper horn upon its nose in comparison, a horn that was now lowered and aimed right at the Mick as it burst out of cover.

The rough wall of stone burst up out of the ground right in front of him, giving him no time to stop. The dragon crashed into it at full charge, breaking it down as he did so, but also leaving him sprawled and stunned for a moment as it rocked the concussion that came with it.

Three different Web spells hit the dragon at the same time, anchoring it to the old and strong forest giants there, wrapping it up in multiple thick strands of magical bindings, looking variously like silk strands, coils of rope, and rough vines.

From directly beneath it, the Black Tentacles of Nico's best spell ruptured out of the ground, twining about the enwebbed dragon before he could recover enough to struggle free of the multiple spells entwining him. Three of the lashing Tentacles lashed themselves tight about the dragon and began to squeeze.

That certainly got a reaction from the dragon, and he frantically began to rip and tear at the magic binding him, which could certainly crush him to death if he didn't get free of them. Two of the Tentacles were bit and clawed apart, two torn free almost instantly, the dragon a writhing ball as he tried to wrestle his way free of the bindings upon him, and the other surrounding Tentacles lashed at him like chains of force as they tried to grasp and grab him.

Messime's golden draco-claw lashed at the trapped dragon, discharging a blast of nerve-freezing cold directly into its system with the hit, frost forming spontaneously in a two-foot circle around the point of impact.

With a highlander's yell, the Mick charged in and drove Laird over two feet into the dragon behind its foreleg, where the scales were the thinnest. The dragon screamed in pain and fear at the hit, lashing out and sending the young man flying away… just as Braun came in from the opposite side to crash his Axe into the great wing joint there, half-severing and promptly crippling it.