Evolution begins with an ant colony

Ken's battle cry was like a thunderclap, echoing through the tense atmosphere. His eyes blazed with a mix of anger and determination as he continued, "I don't care if my reason for revenge seems petty. All I know is that neither you nor Chris will see the sunrise again."

In response, Chris was quick to react, his voice infused with defiance. He yelled, "I'd love to see you try!" With a fluid motion, he drew his sword from its sheath, a glint of readiness in his eyes.

Mina added her resolute voice to the exchange. Her tone was charged with determination as she declared, "Yes, I echo what Chris said. We're not pushovers." As she spoke, a whirlwind of magic energy enveloped her. Multiple vividly glowing magic circles materialized in the air around her, spinning and pulsating with ethereal light.

Her distinctive rainbow-colored hair, which seemed to defy gravity, floated gently around her. Her ever-changing eyes radiated with confidence and a hint of defiance.

The mages among the adventurers observed Mina's magical spectacle with both awe and admiration, recognizing the incredible power she wielded. Chris, with his sword at the ready, was prepared to stand his ground alongside his comrades, unfazed by the looming threat of Ken and his undead army.

Ken, his voice filled with an eerie authority, extended his bony hand toward the battlefield. "To war, my soldiers of death!" he proclaimed.

In response to his command, an ominous tide of zombies and skeletons surged forward, their relentless advance sending tremors through the ground beneath them.

Maruk, the steadfast adventurer who had taken charge of the situation earlier, raised his voice above the chaos. His name resounded like a rallying cry, "Onward to battle!"

As Maruk's declaration echoed, the ranks of adventurers and guards standing ready at the village gate unleashed a unified battle cry. Their spirits ignited as they charged headlong into the path of the oncoming undead horde.

Mina, harnessing the power of wind magic, ascended into the skies with grace. As the wind carried her aloft, she became a tempestuous force of nature. From her aerial vantage point, she unleashed a torrent of elemental fury upon the encroaching undead.

Lightning bolts forked through the darkening sky, flames erupted and danced, rocks hurtled through the air, and blades of wind whirled in a deadly dance. Each magical assault was precise and purposeful, finding its mark amidst the throngs of the undead.

Meanwhile, Chris, undaunted, led a daring charge toward a cluster of skeletal soldiers. Armed with swords and shields, the undead assailants made a desperate attempt to fend him off. Yet, Chris proved to be a master of combat finesse. With graceful agility, he expertly dodged their swipes and parried their blows.

His own ripostes were swift and precise, each movement a deadly dance step that culminated in the shattering of bone and the collapse of his skeletal adversaries. His swordsmanship was a mesmerizing display of skill and courage amidst the chaos of battle.

Amid the relentless clash of arms and the incantations of the adventurers, the mages displayed their mastery of the arcane. They formed a formidable presence within the chaos of the battlefield, their voices rising in unison as they chanted spells of immense power. Arcane energies converged, and they unleashed a tempest of magical attacks that rent the air.

Spells manifested as brilliant bursts of fire and lightning, whirlwinds of ice and gales of wind, and showers of spectral projectiles that struck the undead with devastating force.

However, amidst the fury of battle and the blaze of spellcasting, one figure remained unnoticed. John, having discreetly positioned himself behind the tumultuous front lines, moved with deliberate care. His steps were guided by a desperate hope to reach the city gate, to find a path of escape from the clutches of this looming, seemingly unwinnable conflict.

As John advanced, he observed the disheartening nature of the battle from a vantage point most others were too occupied to notice. The undead legions, despite facing ferocious opposition, displayed a relentless resilience. Each time an adversary was struck down, they would inexplicably rise again, refusing to yield. John's thoughts swirled in a maelstrom of despair. Experience tales with empire

"Darn it," he pondered inwardly. "There's no way they can win this battle. The undead monsters just keep coming back, no matter how many times they're struck down. It's a futile fight, destined to exhaust everyone and ultimately lead to their annihilation." John's inward musings continued, fueled by grim realization.

He had orchestrated the impassioned speech earlier to sow a sense of unity and fortitude among his comrades. It was a speech that had galvanized their resolve, leaving an indelible mark. "I gave that speech," he reflected, "so that everyone would believe I'm out there on the battlefield, fighting alongside them.

After all, when someone delivers a speech like that, they'd be the last person anyone expects to abandon the fray."

In the midst of John's desperate escape, a chilling voice pierced the air, halting him in his tracks. "John! Are you running away? What about that speech you delivered earlier?" The voice belonged to none other than Ken, his former classmate turned enemy.

Ken surged forward with incredible velocity, his blade aglow with an eerie, purple hue—the manifestation of chaos mana. Each step he took left deep craters in the ground, evidence of his unnatural speed. Closing the distance with an unsettling swiftness, he raised his sword high, ready to deliver a decapitating blow that would sever John's head from his body.

But in the nick of time, John reacted with the reflexes of a cornered prey. He unsheathed his own sword, a shimmering weapon of his own, and positioned it in a swift defensive maneuver. The clash of their swords resounded with a cacophonous ring, and for an instant, both combatants were locked in a deadly standoff.

The tremendous force of their collision sent John hurtling through the air, his body crashing into the unyielding village gate. Agonized, he coughed up a spray of crimson, and his teeth clenched against the searing pain. The intensity of their clash had left him reeling, and he knew that he stood perilously close to the brink of defeat.

John staggered to his feet, a grimace etched across his face as he realized the extent of the damage. His right arm, the one he had relied upon to hold his sword, lay in ruins. The bones within it, from shoulder to fingers, had been utterly shattered in that single, devastating clash.

Gritting his teeth against the overwhelming pain, John's mind raced. "Shit! What kind of monstrous strength is this?" he thought to himself, sweat trickling down his forehead. "I nearly died from only blocking one of his attacks, and I'm already in a critical state."

As John's weakened form attempted to steady itself, Ken closed in on him. The once-familiar face now bore a sinister grin as he spoke, his voice dripping with mockery. "Remember, John," he taunted, "you said that if you ever found yourself in a situation where you'd die by my hands, you'd take your own life. Well, it looks like that time is upon you, isn't it?"

The world around John seemed to blur as he faced an impossible decision. With his shattered arm and relentless opponent, the future appeared bleak.