The troll reaches us in mere seconds, sweeping its massive arm across a group of soldiers too slow to evade. They’re flung like ragdolls, their screams blending with the monster’s roar. I try to organize my group amidst the chaos as soldiers and adventurers alike scramble to form defensive circles.
Its glowing red eyes lock onto us. Burned, mutilated, but undeniably alive, it moves with raw, desperate rage.
“Archers, fire!” Eldan yells as arrows fly toward the troll.
They glance off its charred hide, a few sinking shallowly into its flesh but doing little to slow its charge. With another furious roar, it lunges forward.
The beast’s massive fist comes crashing down toward me. I leap to the side just in time, feeling the ground quake beneath the impact. Our circle fragments, but miraculously, no one is crushed. Nearby groups surge forward, shields raised and spears bristling, archers aiming for the troll’s vulnerable points.
“Aim for the joints!” someone shouts as my eyes fixate on the troll’s knees, where shards of metal jut out from its cracked skin.
I take a deep breath. It’s a monstrous, brutal creature, but if we’re fast, we might have a chance.
With Lyrel at my side, we charge. Dodging through the confusion, we dart under the troll’s massive frame. Its enormous dick swings above me for a moment before I manage to land behind it. One second the thought to hit him there comes in my mind, but it's too disgusting. My blade bites into its ankle — a shallow cut, but a start. Lyrel, having climbed partway up its leg, drives her weapon into the back of its left knee. The troll roars, collapsing partially onto one leg and thrashing wildly to dislodge us.
“Lyrel! Get back, now!” I yell.
She leaps away, but not before one of the troll’s massive fingers grazes her. She crumples to the ground. Soldiers rush to her side; leaving anyone on the battlefield is a death sentence.
A protective barrier of energy flares around us in a burst of light. The mages have acted just in time, and the troll’s titanic fist crashes against the shield. A deafening clang echoes through the air, and I see the barrier tremble under the impact. The vibrations seem to resonate through my very bones.
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We pull Lyrel away, her head bleeding slightly.
“Lyrel, are you okay?” I ask, glancing at her. She nods faintly.
The protective barrier still trembles from the previous impact, but the troll has already shifted its attention to another group. Hardened soldiers of Eldan quickly regroup, their shields forming an unyielding wall of steel. Orders fly within their ranks, each movement precise and disciplined. A perfect formation, engineered to withstand massive assaults.
Not far away, the adventurers move like agile predators. In small groups, they harry the beast, striking at its vulnerabilities before retreating into the shadows. An arrow whistles through the air, embedding itself in the troll’s left eye. It roars in agony, flailing wildly in a futile attempt to grab its attackers. But the adventurers are swift, vanishing into the debris or behind charred trees before it can retaliate.
My attention turns to the soldiers of the Inquisition. Their presence, usually cold and oppressive, now carries an oddly reassuring weight. Gathered around Kael Margonos, they chant incantations in a guttural language that seems to resonate with the earth itself. They are in a trance. The esoteric symbols etched into their armor glow faintly, projecting shards of energy that converge toward him.
The Grand Inquisitor raises his arms, his hands enveloped in a power that distorts the air around him. Even at a distance, I feel an oppressive pressure.
We need to get out of here — now.
Kael begins to howl, his voice carrying the cadence of a dozen others in unison. The chant of his escort reaches a fever pitch, and a sphere of energy materializes in his hands. The ground trembles beneath our feet, and a cold shiver runs down my spine. This is high-level magic, dangerously high.
I’ve now managed to retreat to a safe distance from the troll. Groboln stares at the trance-like dance of the Inquisition’s group with wide-eyed fascination, while Salina helps me tend to Lyrel’s wounds.
Kael thrusts his hands forward, sending the sphere hurtling toward the troll. The monster, preoccupied with its futile attempts to crush a group protected by an energy barrier, doesn’t even see the spell coming.
The impact is cataclysmic. A burst of light engulfs the troll, and an inhuman roar erupts as its body begins to disintegrate under the spell’s overwhelming force. The creature thrashes, but the energy consumes it, breaking apart its form as if it were being shredded and absorbed into the sphere.
Everyone remains motionless, watching the cloud of ash dissipate. Kael slowly lowers his arms.
Eldan swiftly regains control, issuing orders to tend to the wounded and secure the area. The chaos begins to subside, but the air remains heavy with a palpable energy, as though Kael’s spell has left an imprint on the battlefield. The adventurers, ever eager to profit from any situation, rush toward the remains of the troll. Its still-warm ashes drift away on the rising breeze, but a few fragments linger: twisted metal embedded in charred flesh, bones of unnerving density, and a black ichor already evaporating, surely blood.
“Scavengers,” Lyrel murmurs, shaking her head, a bandage wrapped around her brow. Her voice carries a mix of disdain and amusement. “Fighting over scraps.”