The Xeral was quiet as he thought about the whimsical nature of life. He had successfully fought against the cultists and should have received a year's worth of rest, or even more. Yet, he found himself back on the frontlines, facing challenges such as being undermanned, overwhelmed, and outflanked. He knew he needed to speak with the Prince once he returned to the capital city of Immorilla. He couldn't help but think about how much he would enjoy a cold Ninkasi beer at that moment.
An explosion suddenly broke the Xeral's thoughts.
"Fume Wraiths!!" Davian, the second-in-command, shouted.
The Xeral intoned the name "Zeva," a grim look on his face.
The term "Fume Wraith" was just a colloquialism. The official record of the Empire referred to the Marakkh Duhn as "semi-sentient creatures from the planes of fire, made of the essence of corrupted flame and sand. A touch would scour the skin off of bones. Barely cognizant of their surroundings, they move so fast they appear like comets, moving from one target to another and devouring them with brutal efficiency."
Zeva, the Shrike, was filled with anger as she summoned obsidian plates that hovered in front of her before attaching to her body. She materialized iridescent daggers in her hands and channeled AUM through her legs.
A crater appeared where Zeva had stood, but she was nowhere to be seen.
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Moving at faster-than-sound speeds, Zeva reappeared in the midst of the incandescent abominations.
A shockwave blasted out, tearing off chunks of the nearest Fume Wraith and sending the other two flying into a nearby rockface. The Fume Wraith closest to the epicenter had lost half of its mass, with lava-like blood seeping out of its mangled body. Zeva swung her dagger, using a blade of air to cut through what remained of the elemental.
A growl filled the air as the other two Fume Wraiths pulled themselves out of their temporary earthen homes and flew towards Zeva with the stealthiness of a meteor. The ambient temperature was hot enough to sear flesh. Zeva activated enough Vitrium to keep herself from melting and faced the Wraiths head-on. Flashes of light and a litany of sparks dotted the night sky as Zeva fought against the two Wraiths.
Cycling compressed air around her daggers, Zeva narrowly avoided molten blows that would have shattered her bones. Her dagger left deep furrows that wept acrid plasma. The Wraiths had sustained a lot of damage, with one stumbling and having its head swiftly cut off. The other soon followed. Zeva panted, the air around her scalding, as her obsidian armor disassembled and revealed deep welts on her arms and face. The battle had been short, but it had burned through half of her reserves.
"That woman was right," Zeva thought to herself as she tightly held onto her daggers, with blood dripping from her fist and staining the grass.
"Three Fume Wraiths, one casualty," Davian reported.
Rex Vitor, the large Leonid general, growled, "And?"
"Dealt with. And before you ask, she's fine. But we have bigger problems on our hands," Davian replied. "We have a Summoner at the crystallization stage."
"Or higher," the Xeral finished.