“No! What is he doing?!” Colranth Firebreath froze in shock, his red-flecked green eyes wide, for only a moment before surging forward into action. “Gretchen, rush them all head-on! Bullseye, focus on picking off any mages you see; otherwise, support Moon with me!”

Their opposition was formidable: dozens of orcs were arrayed before them. The harsh, cracked ground was a stark contrast from the verdant grasslands just a day away, and served as a transition where the wide open plains gave way to rolling sand dunes, visible in the far distance. Beyond them was the orc leader—and the assassin now locked in combat with him after an unsuccessful attempt on his life.

Unbreakable Gretchen, a towering golem whose once-feminine features had been eroded over the centuries, lumbered forward, her long strides carrying her well ahead of Colranth’s initial charge. A rumbling roar rose from deep within her chest, the sound not unlike a rockslide. She raised her massive club—fashioned from the enchanted stone pillar that she had been chained to for hundreds of years—above her head and swung downward, splintering the earth in front of the assembled horde of orc cultists.

She did her job well. It was hard for her to do it poorly. When one’s job was to gain the attention of as many foes as possible, intimidate them with an overwhelming show of power, and smash anyone who came near, being a ten-foot tall animated statue was a significant asset. She was helped by the ethereal chains that rose from the cracks in the ground that she had caused. They were not one of her powers, exactly, instead stemming from the enchanted club she wielded, but she combined them with her own abilities to restrain the first wave of orcs who rushed her before smashing all seven of them to a pulp with one mighty horizontal swing.

Arrows, javelins, stones, and spells were sent flying her way, but she shrugged them off—a feat made possible not only by her immensely resilient body, but also the fragments of shattered stone that she drew to herself as a sort of shell. Each arrow, each spear, each mote of fire or lightning, chipped away at a portion of her newly-formed stone armor, but each chip was covered by even more fragments of destroyed earth too quickly for the orcs’ haphazard, disorganized counterattack to keep up.

I suppose Moon at least managed to catch them all off-guard. Colranth ran forward, leaping into the air before his feet ever reached the shattered and broken ground the orcs now struggled to traverse. For a split-second, while he rose into the air, he wondered, Should I go all-out, or just go for the wings here? We don’t know what other dangers are lurking about, so I’d better be conservative. With that snap decision, he chanted a single word in the draconic tongue: “Fly.”

At the zenith of his jump, a ripping noise filled the air, all but drowned out by the din of combat, as scarlet dragon wings erupted from his back, tearing through his simple tunic. The tattered fabric fell away, revealing the well-trained body beneath, and he took advantage of Gretchen’s distraction to soar over the chaos. He aimed directly for the source of all of their current problems—both sources, in fact.

In the distance was the great warlord Arkosh, an orcish wardmage whose natural ferocity and strength combined with his control over defensive magic to make for a singularly tenacious foe. It was difficult to even land a telling blow on him without his armor or his magic turning your strike away, which was perhaps the reason Colranth’s oldest ally had acted so rashly.

The Muffled Moon was a shadowblade, a lethal assassin trained in magic that allowed him to teleport, misdirect his foes, cloak himself in shadows, and more—it sometimes seemed his bag of tricks was endless. He excelled at landing decisive strikes before slinking back into the shadows and waiting for further opportunities, which made his decision to rush into a prolonged fight with Arkosh baffling.

He must have landed a terrible blow and decided he might have had a chance to finish the fight before anyone else had to put themselves in danger. His decision to lock blades with a heavily armored, magically protected orc was foolish no matter how Colranth tried to justify it, but he knew how Moon thought. He should have seen this coming.

Colranth flew as low as he could while still staying out of reach of any errant blades below him, but he was still susceptible to bows and spells. He flew without fear, though, even as near the back of the enemy formation, a mage set to work incanting a spell to strike him from the sky with a bolt of lightning. The wizened orc never got to unleash his magic, however, as an arrow so large it could have been mistaken for a spear impacted his chest with enough force to send him flying backward.

He was dead before he hit the ground, at the hands of Bullseye. The stocky dwarven woman stood far removed from the fighting, well beyond the range of any enemy archers. Even if their arrows did reach her, though, her thick armor would have protected her from all but the most skillful or luckiest of shots.

Her massive warbow, on the other hand, had no issues with the distance, launching great arrows with enough force to punch through plate even at this extreme range. Her shots were slow, deliberate… and, typically, entirely mundane. Colranth always marveled at just how deadly she could be without any of the magical abilities he and the rest of their party enjoyed, and she could still augment her arrows with special magical effects if she felt the need to. With her covering him, he felt completely confident soaring right over the fighting to back up Moon in his ill-chosen duel.

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Of course, Moon was no slouch—even in a bad matchup like this, he was a deadly combatant. Colranth drew ever closer and saw Moon feinting, striking, and dodging back and forth, in and out of Arkosh’s reach. He was succeeding in drawing the fight out a bit longer, but with each exchange Arkosh’s heavy metal staff managed glancing blows, wearing down the assassin even as the orc’s defensive fighting and powerful protective magic kept Moon from landing a decisive blow himself. Colranth could see blood seeping out from below Arkosh’s armor, but he seemed entirely unimpeded by the grievous wound, his natural orcish ferocity and tenacity allowing him to fight as if he were entirely uninjured.

Landing with a heavy thud and skidding to a stop, Colranth charged forward to assist Moon, sparing barely even a thought to activate his most frequently used spell—one that was essentially second nature to him. The air around his hands, covered in red scales and sporting long, sharp dragon claws, began to waver and warp as they heated up before bursting into flame, imbuing his already deadly claws with searing-hot magic.

Other mages were capable of weaving far more powerful effects, with broader applications and unparalleled finesse, but they were slow. Unlike the orc mage who had been picked off before completing his spell, Colranth’s powers came from the blood of dragons that flowed through his veins, and he could draw upon all but his most powerful spells with only a word, or even a thought.

Despite the physical training he had undergone, he was still a less accomplished fighter than even Moon—had Colranth been the one to go toe-to-toe with Akrosh, he would surely have been dead already—but he was deadly enough to aid his ally, attacking from the opposite side and forcing Arkosh to defend himself on two fronts.

Behind him Colranth heard a contingent of orcs who had been so far unable to make it through the crowd to fight Gretchen turn and begin running their way. He glanced back to assess the danger. From a distance, Bullseye chose to unleash one of her few magical abilities, imbuing her great arrow with mana before loosing it. It duplicated mid-flight, falling down on the orcs in a rain of death, but their formation had been loose and spread out. Only a portion of them were felled, and the others continued to run. Gretchen was too far back to do anything, and if these orcs reached him, both he and Moon would be overwhelmed and surely fall.

So Colranth did what he had hoped he wouldn’t have to. He disengaged from combat with Arkosh, leaving Moon to fight on his own, and began to chant. Unlike his weaker spells, this one would take a bit longer than a single short word.

“Blood of my forebears, power that flows through my veins, manifest now and allow me to transcend the limits of my humanity... Aspect of the Dragon!”

As he had incanted, Bullseye once again unleashed a wide volley of magically-replicated arrows, but the orcs had spread out to surround him and the bulk of them were well clear of her shots. Still, her continued support had slowed their advance enough for his spell to take effect just as they began to rush toward him to attack. He couldn’t hope to defend himself against so many attacks from so many strong opponents normally, but now…

Colranth stepped forward with his left foot and dropped his hip, an enormous spectral dragon tail materializing at the base of his spine. Pushing off with his right foot, he spun, tail whipping out and carrying him full circle from its momentum. Each orc it made contact with crumpled to the side as he pulverized their ribs, finally coming to rest in a low stance.

Three orc warriors had fallen. Six more eyed him warily, crudely made weapons raised and ready to cut him down or break him should he let his guard down. Normally, Colranth would have considered that a favorable outcome—any time he could stop a half-dozen seven-foot tall warriors from bearing down on him should be considered a success. But while he focused his attention here, Moon was fighting for his life behind him, so Colranth made a calculated risk and charged for the orc in front of him.

He was a broad-shouldered foe, nearly as wide as Colranth was tall and brandishing a jagged, bloodstained axe. The orc grinned, his jutting tusks and sharp teeth bared in an almost feral display. Colranth never got close enough for the orc to take a swing, though. He raised his right arm and, much like the tail that manifested before, an enormous spectral dragon’s arm appeared, hovering just inches away from his own arm but extending nearly six feet beyond his normal reach. With one powerful swipe, the phantasmal dragon claws tore through the orc’s throat, separating his head from his body. The claw quickly faded away, replaced by an identical one manifesting on his left arm as he swung in a wide arc, cutting down two orcs that charged at him from either side.

Devastating though his attacks were, the spell had a significant drawback: he could only utilize each limb once. He was able to use the tail and two arms, meaning his enhanced melee capabilities had been expended, but they had only been a means to an end. What he really needed was to cut a path through these attacking orcs, so that he could get closer to the main cluster of enemies.

Rushing through the gap he had created in his foes, he knelt down, took a deep breath, and stood back up as a dragon’s head manifested above his own. With one great exhalation, a rolling wave of fire engulfed the throng of orcs still struggling to deal with Gretchen. She was quick to take advantage of their panic, barreling through them as their morale wavered.

This is it! With Gretchen now able to reach Arkosh, Moon could finally fall back and join Colranth in skirmishing, waiting for openings to land decisive blows. He turned around to charge with Gretchen, but his heart sank at what he saw.

Arkosh, bloodied but still standing, held the outmatched assassin in the air, gripping his throat with a large, powerful hand. With one final squeeze, a loud snap echoed through the air, and The Muffled Moon’s life was snuffed out. Time seemed to stop and the sound of battle fell away as he opened his hand, letting the assassin’s lifeless body crash to the gro—

“Oh come on, really?!”

Well, there goes the immersion…