Draconic Awakening

The entire cavern was covered with hot seething flames, reaching up to even the party members, the flames somewhat burning them slightly—or was it just the heat from the flames that had reached them from the distant fires.

Arya's gaze grew wide, stunned by the number of Abominations the fire had destroyed from the outburst, and how many more it was slowly burning until they fell shrieking to their inevitable end.

Even the Wendigos before her had been stunned by this fact—the heat, the shrills of their dying companions. This was it, the chance Arya and her companions needed to turn this battle on the savages.

"Attack them with all you have!" Arya yelled to her team, snapping them out of their awe as more than ever she unleashed the full force of her skills, tearing through several Wendigos' throats with each swing of her sword.

She opened her other hand and summoned a second ember mark which seemed like a chained spear. The chain around the spear was long and the spear was white in colour, having intricate carvings all over it. From the looks alone, one could tell this was not just any spear but a very high-grade one... It was clear she wasn't holding back anymore.

Meanwhile, Ragnar, who was the cause of the explosion that had halted the forces of the mutated Wendigos, stood in the midst of the bodies, the black ash, and the torn-up pillars and spirals.

He was swaying in his stance, finding it hard to keep himself standing. Shit! Did I just overdo myself? he thought, his gaze scanning through his entire body.

His shirt was burnt off, his pale body now seemingly dark as though burnt from the inside. More relevantly, he felt his insides burning deeply, and this caused him to groan, gnashing his teeth.

This was the first time the backlash was this bad—actually, this was the first time he had used this much of his Arcana... Probably this would also cost him his life.

Distant growls came from the horde who had either escaped the blast radius of the fire or put out the flames before they totally consumed them. A good number of them had taken their sights off the indomitable Party and directed their gaze to Ragnar, the easier target.

A cough escaped the young Lord's lips as he struggled to speak, and for a while, he coughed before finally smiling. Turning his gaze to the horde, he summoned in his right hand the Bloodsucker.

Gripping his blade tightly hurt like hell, causing him to groan as he raised the blade up to his view. "Come at me, you wretches!"

The horde broke into a sprint as though understanding his words—on all sides a dozen or more Mutated Wendigos raced on all fours at the lone Lord.

There was no way to escape this onslaught; he would die with the current condition of his body, but still, Ragnar was not going to back down.

I am the great Fang Zhen, I can't die! I won't die the same way I did my first life—a pitiful death of a failure, he thought. Using this as his single motivation, Ragnar took a stance—one from his first life, a sword style he had formed himself.

"Come, you bastards!" With that last battle cry, the horde bore down on him, and the young Lord, moved by the insanity of his will, started to cut down Mutated Wendigos one after another. Evading attacks he could not block and shoving other Wendigos into their charging companions.

He was quick, swift, and precise; this fighting skill he had implemented made him a masterpiece in the hands of death to the horde of Wendigos.

Despite taking injuries, despite his body crying for rest, the pain threatening to make his body give in and make an error in his attack movements, Ragnar ignored all of it and kept his deadly concentration up.

Nonetheless, there was only so much he could do to the horde with his current body condition, and soon he started to lose ground, focusing more on his defence than attacks as he was getting overwhelmed quickly.

{The prisoner....}

{Congratulations...}

The notifications rose and disappeared as Ragnar paid no attention to them—he was battling for his life and losing quickly, his body yearning for rest, his hands growing stiff.

And finally, his body gave in to the pain. Ragnar's sword fell from his grasp, his hands jarred open involuntarily when swinging at the throat of one of the many Mutated Wendigos that attacked him.

This single mistake cost Ragnar dearly.

The Wendigo that knocked his blade from his grasp latched onto him like a leech, digging its four claws into Ragnar's ribs, tackling him down to the ground.

This position spelled trouble for Ragnar; he was vulnerable to all attacks from any monster that came his way now, and with the Mutated beast already upon him, this was surely bad.

Fuck! Fuck! Ragnar raised his hands to the face of the beast, grabbing it by the neck, holding it in place. At least he tried to.

The monster snapped its fangs at him with immeasurable force, almost breaking Ragnar's grip off and taking a large chunk of his face.

"Ahhhhhh!" Ragnar groaned in agony, feeling his hands begin to give in to the force of the ferocious Wretchborn. It was a grade one, that was sure, but one thing was certain—no matter how strong he was, the next attempt to bite off his face would be the last.

This was absolutely Ragnar's end if he did not come up with something, and quickly.

Several other Wendigos dove down towards Ragnar, ready to tear him up from all sides, while the one on him jerked its head back in preparation to bite down on his face again, and this time with twice its first force.

Then something strange occurred.

The Wendigos that had tried to join in the feast with the one that had picked Ragnar all came to a halt—they simply stood, tilting their heads in confusion.

Even the Wendigo on Ragnar had become somewhat weird; it had stopped its attack and was just staring into the dark eyes of the Lord as though awestruck.

Then it jerked its head up and scanned around, sniffing the air a few times, then back down at Ragnar. It dislodged its claws from his side and planted them into his gut, then his chest, repeating this same movement a few times.

Ragnar gritted his teeth at every move from the savage beast—the long, sharp claws of the Wendigo breached his organs, causing internal bleeding to accompany his already cursed predicament of internal burns.

Well, this was the cause of his own doing...

After a few more seconds, the Wendigo snarled, then leapt off him, racing towards the area where the Party waged war against the other Wendigos.

The other Wendigos, also standing still in a daze, soon went on to join forces against the Party, and soon, there was no deadly Wretchborn close to Ragnar.

{Writer: Nice thinking using the camouflage and reflect ember marks to escape certain death}

Ragnar formed a smile on his face at his shadow's compliment. He might have survived getting devoured, but with the severe wounds he had already gotten from the punctures all over his body and the flames, he was pale and somewhat convulsing blood out of his mouth, nose, and through his newly created body holes.

This doesn't feel like I'm healing.

{Writer: You exhausted your body with the burnout, your backlash must be affecting your Arcane body}

A frown formed on Ragnar's face. Shit, he grimaced. Having escaped instant death did not mean he was going to survive his wounds.

How disgusting, I've become a sacrificial lamb.