Draconic Awakening

The encroaching army of ferocious Wendigos clawed forward with full speed and their full brunt towards the small party.

As these beasts quickly approached the four, they all stood their ground with their weapons in hand, ready to be hit by the lines.

As the hordes were about to reach him, Ragnar finally called his large shield into his grasp and then spaced himself from the group, not wanting to be dragged into their ownership coordination or end up getting stabbed by mistake. He was well accustomed to those lies told when war occurred by people.

A moment not too long after, the Wendigo army collided with the party first in a furious flurry of attacks.

Ragnar raised his shield when a few came his way, blocking the numbers of Wendigos that came at him. The force at which they pushed was unimaginable, causing him to stumble back, almost losing his footing.

Still, he knew better than to let himself fall over in a battle this severe, so he stabilized himself before he could fall.

Pushing the shield back in reply, he managed to knock three Wendigos back and then landed an attack of his own.

Slashing his blade at the gut of one Wendigo, making his cut, he then shoved the next back into the lines of Wendigos that were coming his way.

"Come on, you wretches!" he yelled, pushing back the numbers he could with his shield and replying to others with the end of his blade.

Thanks to the battle at the bottom of the obsidian Mesa, Ragnar had gotten a handful of experience battling an overwhelming number of enemies using his shield and blade.

So this time, he wasn't fast to get fatal injuries and was a demon in his own standards, dodging, blocking, and attacking the four-handed abominations that came his way.

Still, there were too many, and sometimes while he faced the horde with his shield and decided to attack, he would be met by multiple claws swung at him. This was inescapable, and with no choice, Ragnar had to let the attacks land and, in return, delivered a severe blow of his own.

"Shit! Shit!" he frowned, taking blow after blow and landing his own. To some extent, he was just swinging his sword out without any sort of coordination; that was when he got overwhelmed.

The other party members were not in any better shape than Ragnar was in, the mighty Arya a demon in her own aspect of swordsmanship. Compared to anyone Ragnar had seen with a blade, she was something else—cutting down the horde like an unstoppable force.

However, no matter how good she was, that did not allow her to pass from the overwhelming numbers of Wendigos that flooded around her. She was taking hit after hit, till the extent scratches, dents, and her own blood could be seen on her armour.

Every time she attacked several Wretchborns, others would come from behind landing an attack of their own. She would normally reply to those attacks within seconds, however the damage would have been done.

Klein, with his massive battle axe, was the worst in the group. It turned out a heavy axe seemed disadvantageous in a battle of great numbers, and thanks to the party knowing about that fact, he stayed close to Arya, which helped minimize the attacks the two acquired. Still, that did not change the outcome of the battle.

Cleaver wielded his duo blades and, with them, managed to kill several Wendigos every passing second. He was quick—very quick—and swift to dodge attacks. He moved like an assassin and probably managed to sustain the smallest amount of wounds in the group.

'Lucky bastard!' Ragnar knew it had something to do with his Arcana. He too had also tried using his eyes to predict the attacks of the enemies before they landed, but seeing several attacks at the same time was too tricky, which had already cost him a few injuries.

"Cleaver, come over here!" Ragnar yelled at the top of his lungs at the ignorant hunter, who acted as though he did not hear a word muttered by the young Lord. This was a reply expected though, so Ragnar was prepared for it already.

"Fucking idiot, I have a plan that can help reduce the horde—come, I need cover!" This time he was more compelling.

A way out of this current predicament was more alluring than anything at this time. It was clear two things would happen in this battle to decide which side would win: either the party got tired and lost to the numbers of the horde, or the horde ended up being massacred before that happened.

The second option was not looking all too good for the party.

And that was the only reason Cleaver decided to yield to Ragnar's calling.

Clearing a path by killing the numbers of Wretchborns between him and Ragnar, Cleaver finally got in front of the shield Ragnar held to protect himself, taking on most of the Wendigos that came the young Lord's way.

"Now what?" he asked impatiently. He already hated yielding to the words of the young Lord, and another was protecting him—that was the last straw.

Although no reply came. Surprised by the silence Ragnar held now, Cleaver jerked his head back quickly to yell at the young Lord and—

To his surprise, there was no trace of the young Lord there—no, he was nowhere to be seen—and this dazed Cleaver.

This second of distraction was what the horde needed to land a fatal blow on the hotheaded hunter, a claw flying from the side and stabbing itself in his gut.

"Ahhhhhh!" he screamed, slicing off the hand in return and reeling back from the attack. Nonetheless, the savage monsters were not going to give him any chance to rest. Instead, they came at him with more force, resilience, and brunt, as though noticing the discomfort in his blocks and attacks.

"Shit... Shit... Fuck you! Ragnar!"

Meanwhile, Ragnar had taken the distraction Cleaver created swiftly, and with the help of his camouflage and the distracted Wendigos, he managed to burrow into their ranks. Using his camouflage skill whenever he was spotted and then using one of his new ember marks to get past the Wendigos that spotted him.

His other ember mark worked hand in hand with his camouflage ability, allowing him to become a reflection of any that saw him after the use of camouflage. It had its flaws—like only working on an enemy at a time. The skill only lasted two seconds and was not really useful for a real-life situation, but for a horde of low-intelligence beings like the mutated Wendigos, this was a very lethal weapon.

Reaching deeply into the midst of the horde, the crazed Lord stood within the numbers of charging enemies, withstanding the blows as many ran past him paying no attention and others that stared as they passed.

The party members that noticed him were in shock at the madness of the feat he was pulling—risking his life to be in the midst of the entire horde, the numbers of terrors, and still holding a calm, reserved face.

That was the true definition of a madman.

But what happened next was true insanity—not just to the party members but also to the horde of Wendigos—as a new terror had been unleashed into the expanse of the cavern.

In one moment, the entire cavern had turned into hell, with bright red flames encasing every expanse of the cave.