Then just as despair had taken hold of him and Bertrand was about to start praying for the first time in years, a flash of brilliant orange light suddenly appeared, contained within the clasped hands of one of the infantrymen. Somehow, defying everything that Bertrand knew, the light shone through their hands, or perhaps the light came from them?

This guess of Bertrands was quickly proven false as they gently opened their hands and the light slowly fluttered up, like a trapped firefly being freed.

Then in about the time it took for the average person to blink, it shot forth across the forest, blazing forwards with a horrific buzzing sound and impacting the abomination directly on the side of its head.

Still being blasted by the rays of the beamers, the monster turned around to face the infantrymen, with parts of its skull sloughing off as it did so, fragments of bone and melted skin splattering onto the ground.

Overall though it seemed to be superficial damage, with its head still remaining largely undamaged.

Giving up on firing, Bertrand starts to shut down his mana vein, it was always an uncomfortable experience. Kind of like pinching yourself only it was spiritual pinching. Bertrand had heard it was worse for people who used their own mana though, so the fact he got off with an uncomfortable sensation was quite fortunate.

Lowering his beamer, he slumped back against a nearby tree and decided to just watch the ongoing battle. It wasn't what he would normally do but he was just feeling so overwhelmed by hopelessness.

It was only thanks to his sheer force of will that he wasn't currently curled up on the ground, like one of the less mentally resilient infantrymen who was in the fetal position.

Seer, were these truly the sorts of horrors they would be facing in their campaign?

The mage began to cast a new spell, wisps of frost appearing around them as they slowly started to walk forwards towards their foe.

It was a purposeful walk, each step professional, then waving their hand as though to greet a friend, half a dozen icicles formed in the air, each one as thick as a finger and as long as a forearm.

These ice spears hovered in place for a few seconds, then the mage smiled and as though that was some hidden signal the icicles raced towards the monster, propelled by supernatural force.

The attack was completely ineffective. There wasn't any organs for them to pierce, just skin and bones. Bones which they slid harmlessly off after puncturing the thin skin.

Seer, this thing was a threat of the highest order, with immense physical might, overwhelming resilience and uncanny intelligence, thankfully they had been more focused on observing them rather than killing them.

As though they were just testing out spells on some practise dummy, the mage casually created another one, the air around them vibrating, fire, ice, wind, what was next, earth?

The wind blades shot forth, striking the abomination and surprisingly actually doing some damage, with countless lacerations all over its body. It looked almost like the creature was wearing a cloak of skin now.

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Still, it kept coming, an unstoppable juggernaut, an immovable herald of death, the omen of the end times.

When the monster was just ten feet away, within lunging distance, the mage spread their arms out, as if to give it a hug.

Then pure golden lightning zapped forth from their hands, temporally illuminating the dense forest, allowing even the small ants harvesting moss to be seen, not that Bertrand was paying any attention to them.

He was too busy staring in slack jawed shock as the aberration that had toyed with a contingent of soldiers, spasmed in agony, its bones had started to melt as though it had been hit by a vat of acid instead of lighting.

It still walked forwards though, with each step closer it drew the lighting became more powerful, killing it faster but of course, an abomination spawned from what could only be hell, would have no fear about going back there.

When it was just a few feet away and trembling like a leaf about to be blown away by a gust of wind, it shot forwards, swinging its half disintegrated arms upwards, goring the mage open.

Disembolwed but not dispirited the mage stepped forwards and closed their outstretched arms, giving the monster a hug, The lighting now coursing directly into the fiend.

Killing it almost instantly. As the monsters collapsed, the despair that had been overwhelming Bertrand dissipated, fading away like mist.

Before the mage could join the monster and collapse onto the ground, one of the infantrymen raced over and grabbed them, steadying them, before yelling out.”Help.”

The monster's death might have been what dissipated his fear, but it was that shout that rid him of his shock. Suppressing his thoughts temporarily, Bertrand ran over to assist the soldier.

Helping by grabbing the mage's legs and gently lowering him to the ground, while the soldier did the same for his head.

The poor soul had been disembowelled, if it weren't for them pouring arcane power into their wound they would already be dead, still not exactly in the right frame of mind, Bertrand tries to staunch the blood flow with his sleeve, before realising its an idiotic idea.

Thankfully without him noticing it, Francois had arrived beside him, pulling out a few pins and yarn and he was getting to work, busily jabbing them nastily into the man's wound, stitching him back together with amateurish skill.

How long they spent trying to perform first aid, Bertrand didn't know, he just held the yarn and watched, it could have been hours, minutes, or days, he just didn't know.

A sudden pat on his back roused him from the shock he had sunk back into. “Césaire?” He murmured, staring up at the pale faced but still smirking man.

“Hey, I think Francois can do without a yarn holder, put that down, reload your beamer, and let's give our dead friends a proper burial.”

Nodding numbly, Bertrand placed the yarn on the ground, beside the man's hip, before limply standing up and following Césaire over to one of the bodies. Halfheartedly reloading his beamer along the way.

The poor man they came up to had been crushed by one of the zombies at the beginning of the ambush, it also answered Bertrand’s unspoken question of how the fragile looking creatures could crush someone.

The answer was they got crushed too, it was a messy sight, broken limbs intertwined, organs mixing together in a sicking pool of congealed blood.

Trying not to breathe through his nose, Bertrand started to dig around in the pockets of the dead man's uniform, searching for anything of value, a small portrait of a family member or partner, but he ended up finding nothing.

Letting out a sigh, he made the mistake of breathing through his nose, almost vomiting from the putrid stench, walking a few feet away, he kneeled down and wiped his hands clean of the muck on the grass and fallen leaves.

He had a feeling that by the end of the day he would have gained a whole new level of resistance to bad smells.