It had been a trap.

The Divine Anvil was a group of stalwart crusaders. They were no stranger to venturing into the lair of their foes and doing battle with terrifying beasts. While experienced, they were not infallible. When they were tasked with cleansing the Pit of Rusek, the crusaders knew it would be dangerous and that not all of them would be walking away. What they hadn’t known was the man who had requested their aid had done so at the behest of their enemy.

The ambush had been flawlessly executed. The group was well into the depths of the Pit when the trap was sprung. Killing magic emerged from shadows while the very earth and stone behind the group rose and twisted to seal them inside. It was only their extraordinary class levels and awareness that let the Divine Anvil survive the first onslaught. Grotesque abominations of flesh and magic oozed from the darkness to be met with steel blades and divine magic.

The leader of the Divine Anvil, Brand Rutger, was a veteran of many conflicts. He knew a losing battle when he saw one but it was his duty to every man and woman under his command to give them a fighting chance. First, his warriors needed a better position to make their stand. He picked a direction and ordered a fighting retreat. To fight while surrounded on all sides was a fool’s errand and, with the exit sealed off, any direction was as good as the next so long as it broke the encirclement. Together the crusaders surged forward cutting down everything in their path whether it walked on two legs or otherwise.

Next, their strength was great yet it was far from enough on its own. To defeat an overwhelming force required teamwork and tactics. As soon as they were inside a corridor with firm walls on either side, Rutger gave new orders. The men with shields, swords, and axes lined up at the front while those with shields and spears moved into position behind them. They formed a line from stone wall to stone wall and the beasts chasing the crusaders slammed into the line with bone-crushing strength. Skills were used and shields glowed but the line did not break. Swords and axes hacked at the foes while spears jabbed into gaps to find purchase in the beasts being held at bay.

One line held the front while another held the back. Casters and ranged combatants made up the center and they hurled deadly spells and arrows into the fray while attempting to shield the group from those of their opponents. Injured crusaders stumbled back from the line to be healed while others took their place. When the ground grew slick with blood, Rutger ordered the men two steps back giving them firm footing once more.

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What could have been a slaughter of his men quickly reversed as discipline and organization proved stronger than bestial rage. Yet for all their efficiency, they were still losing. Rutger had been prepared for skirmishes against the denizens of the Pit of Rusek. He’d not been expecting to be greeted by a veritable army of unending foes. Every spell and skill used cost mana—a limited resource for his band of warriors even with potions at their disposal. Stamina was likewise finite as each dodge, parry, or thrust drained a couple points. Finally the health of his men would only last so long. Once the potions were gone and the healers were drained, the battle would end swiftly and brutally.

“Begin the summoning,” Rutger said to an older crusader in white robes. The man had an almost grandfatherly appearance though splatters of blood and gore stained his robes and somewhat spoiled the aesthetic. The aging priest nodded and the healers stepped away from their tasks to lend him their mana. Summoning cost an amount of mana proportional to what was summoned but also the speed at which it was summoned. Rutger’s men needed aid fast or they would die. This he knew.

Time passed as the summoning ritual was enacted. Seconds felt like days to the desperate men and women of the Divine Anvil. Several men ended up on the ground, victims of lucky blows by the enemy and wounds going untreated as their precious lifeblood trickled out. The back row joined the front row as more and more crusaders left the line. The lucky ones were the wounded and able to fall back. The unlucky ones were pulled into the monstrous mob, never to be seen again. Worse, killing spells took hold as those spellcasters tasked with foiling them inevitably failed to stop them all. At any moment, the lines would break and then they would all be done for. Still, they held onto that one sliver of hope that was the grand priest’s chanting. Their faith would be rewarded.

“Light of Heaven, shine upon us!” the old priest cried out bringing the summoning ritual to a dramatic finale. His staff hit the ground and a ripple of raw power emanated from the center of the crusaders’ formation. Friend and foe alike staggered as something materialized in the air over the desperate warriors—an angel.

The angel was magnificent to behold. She wore gleaming, silver armor that radiated divine power. Her sword looked slender and delicate yet it glowed with golden radiance as did her shield. Hair as white as snow emerged from the back of a helmet to fall between two wings of similarly colored feathers. She hovered in the air above the men and her presence changed everything. Golden motes fell across the warriors replenishing health and stamina. Wounds were healed and hope was restored. An angel had joined the fight.

Name: Brivaria

Race: Angel

Class: Angelic Templar

Level: 161

Stats: Health 262/262, Mana 542/567, Stamina 366/366

Attributes: Physique 235, Endurance 155, Arcane 203, Spirit 332, Awareness 155, Presence 268