Draconic Awakening

Ragnar's eyes were narrowed, staring at his prize—the light at the top of the Black Mesa. He held his breath and then faced the horde of Ice Wendigos that stood in his way to getting to the wall.

This was his only chance to reach his goal. He made sure to establish that single line of thought, making his way to the back of the horde.

Meeting the last lines of the savage Wretchborns, his ears were filled with the sounds of growls, cries of the beasts that lost stamina in their stand and fell to their sides, getting crushed as their fellow Wendigos trampled on them.

'A cruel sight indeed,' Ragnar thought, pointing both hands first at the two Wendigos blocking his way, and then, with a good amount of force, he pushed open enough space for him to enter in between them and pushed his way past, making it to the next line of Wendigos—and thereby a smaller step toward reaching the wall of the Black Mesa.

Walking amongst the Wretchborns was like pushing through a human crowd, just that this was very much different from walking past humans.

The Wendigos had tougher bodies, and with that, anytime Ragnar pushed into another space, he would be tightened in the spot by many Ice Wendigos—some shoving him, almost making him lose his footing, which he avoided by all means necessary.

If he fell, it would be the end of him, being crushed into the snow by the heavy feet of the ferocious horde.

Despite that, he was also shoved from left to right by the size of the horde—elbows crashing into his side, sometimes the faces of other Wendigos hitting right into his; blood seemed to spill from places he had no idea they were from, and even sometimes claws would come stabbing into his body—but nothing fatal.

When he came to think about what he was doing, he almost felt nauseous.

He—a single human, a lone feeble-bodied human—was standing in the midst of hundreds of Wretchborns as though he was one of their own, with the tendency of being noticed anytime soon and torn to shreds by the horde. This feeling was similar to that of a person suddenly waking up in the middle of the blue sea, with no sight of land at any point and forced to swim while sharks circled around them.

And it was unpleasant.

The young lord gritted his teeth, his heart trembling uncontrollably as he quickly began to realize what a big mistake he had made by entering the horde this way.

As he got shoulder-bashed in the face by another Ice Wendigo, he staggered into another one—not that there was enough space for him to move without hitting another of this savage race.

But this time, he had collided with a much smaller Wendigo than the regular ones he had seen, probably still an infant that had joined the senseless attempt to scale the cliff.

This particular Wretchborn stared at Ragnar with an intensity that stunned him. The beast seemed to see through his disguise almost instantly and began to snarl at him like a mad dog.

This was not a reaction Ragnar could tolerate. In haste to end the noise before another Wendigo caught on, he summoned his short sword in his hands to tear out the throat of the infant Wendigo.

However, he was a little too late. The infant Wretchborn sprang into the air, fangs first, aimed at biting Ragnar in the throat—but this was a slow attack he could block.

Raising his hand to hit the nuisance down to the ground, to be crushed by the trampling of its own race...

However, it seemed luck was not on his side today.

Ragnar was shoved toward the attacking Wretchborn by the force of the moving mob, causing his attack to fail. Instead, his hand became the shield to protect his throat, as the fangs of the Wendigo sank deeply into his wrist—a bite force strong, but not strong enough to break through bone.

"You fucking dog!" Ragnar groaned, thrusting his blade into the gut of the Ice Wendigo, not stopping until the guard of the sword made contact with the Wendigo's stomach, causing it to jerk a bit before losing its grip on Ragnar's wrist and falling to the floor, dead.

Still, the damage was done. Ragnar was bleeding... He was bleeding in the midst of a few hundred Wendigos—animals that were supposed to have a very keen nose, like that of a dog.

He knew this would be nothing short of harrowing for him, and knew things would get pretty bad, fast.

In haste and desperation, he dismissed his blade and began to push through the Wendigos faster than he was originally—trying his best to get to the front of the line, and this was impossible.

The large bodies of the Wendigos were too much for him to push, especially the way they were clustered together. The further he went, the tighter the space became.

It got to a point where pushing away the Ice Wendigos only brought their attention to him, with enraged stares and a glimmer of some emotion in their gaze Ragnar could recognize from anywhere.

It was the onset of all greed and desperation... The onset of hungry eyes.

Any time he met a Wretchborn with such eyes, Ragnar would change his position, either going back to retrace his steps—but the more he did this, the more he was noticed by more Wretchborns.

'Fuck! Fuck!' Ragnar pondered deep within, turning his gaze around again to see a few menacing glares from the Wendigos toward him.

It appeared that from a single stare had started becoming several stares. Thanks to his bleeding and desperate attempt to get out of the midst of the Wendigos, his identity was starting to become more profoundly known to the horde.

Soon he had no choice but to stop his desperate attempt at escape and stand still.

At this moment, every single Wendigo around him had frozen in their stance, staring at him with confused gazes.

'Shit, I've finally done it...' Ragnar frowned. He had come in as a nobody and all of a sudden became a fan favorite.

It dazed him even more than being the center of attention—the fact that there wasn't a single sound of growls, claws hitting stone, or even the sound of footsteps over the stone or one another... The entire crevice had gone dead silent, and the center of it all was him.

This was not good. Definitely not good.

'They are probably deciding what to do with me? Or what I am? Damn that stupid offspring.' Ragnar cursed. Using the cloak skill would surely conceal him from the mob, but his blood was still dripping, and thereby it still gave out his location. This made it a useless idea to even consider.

There was only one option left... And that was to fight.

"Hahahahahahahahahaha!" A wave of insane laughter burst out of Ragnar's mouth—so loud it echoed off the walls and even deeply into the maze, as it was dead silent.

This revelation hit the Ice Wendigos very deeply—it was clear they were taken aback from the expressions on their faces. Was it reverence that stood there? No... Whatever fear they felt from Ragnar's laughter was immediately morphed by the insanity starvation gave to predators.

Ragnar raised one of his hands to take off his makeshift mask and the other to summon his blade, "Am I not what you fools want?! Do you think I will go down that easily? I, Fang Zhen, declare tonight won't be the night I get sent to hell! So throw all you can at me and perish beneath my feet!"

His speech seemed to have fully knocked the last bit of restraint the horde had against him, especially after he revealed his bloodied human face...

That was the tipping point.

The hundreds of Ice Wendigos shrieked at the top of their lungs as though giving a battle cry, turning into a flood of desperate, devilish savages as all at once—in the most chaotic charge Ragnar had ever seen—they bore down on him to rip him apart, flesh from flesh, crunch on him, bone from bone—till he was no more.