Azrael watched the light around James’ massive blade flicker and blink out. James’ face was flushed, sweat running down his face and dripping off to fall on scorched stone. Despite the big man’s tenacity, he was nearing the end of his endurance. They all were. Of the once two-hundred strong raid team, barely forty of them remained. The dragon itself, though bleeding, wounded and reaching its own limits, roared again – so sure of its own victory. It’s roar was no longer ear-splitting, though still loud – a testament to its own exhaustion.
Nobody disputed the dragon’s claim to victory, neither did he. He felt more like a survivor than a mighty dragon slayer. Beside him James stood, his oversized sword still stabbed into the ground. They were the only close combatants left standing from their flank. On the other side one or two necromancers remained, controlling charred corpses and crumbling skeletons. Behind him, in the center, The Lightning Witch stood half slumped from exhaustion, protected by the shields of the only participating guild. They made up the majority of the survivors, despite having lost half their number and all their close combatants. The ranged mages and archers hadn’t fared much better, picked off with dragon-breath and shattered fragments of crystal.
Forty exhausted survivors against an exhausted dragon. He felt that there was a joke there somewhere.
The dragon opened its maw, fire mana once again coalescing in preparation for its breath attack.
Behind him a male voice called out “Shields!”
He heard metal clanking as the guildmembers formed up to protect The Lightning Witch. He hefted his own daggers, ready to once more dive into the fray. He’d faced worse odds, though he wasn’t sure when.
Fire flashed, lightning struck, thunder rumbled.
Lightning hit the dragon’s head – redirecting the dragon’s breath – a little too late. The dragon’s head whipped sideways, fire flying off target, but not far enough. There were screams and then silence as it hit the edge of the group.
Azrael ignored the fate of the unlucky few men, instead charging in. His mouth was set in a grim line. Even Lilith, the raid leader was faltering – taking longer to cast her spells. She was the sole reason the dragon hadn’t managed to burn the entire raid to a crisp.
He jabbed a dagger underneath another dragon scale, summoned a second, applied [Reinforcement] and jabbed that underneath as well. He’d managed to pry around six loose by now, the area around its front left wrist soaked with steaming blood. At first he’d started the task as a way to claim a trophy. Then he’d continued prying them loose as a distraction to create openings for James and some others. Now he was just continuing in the hopes of exposing enough that they could deal some serious damage. He had a few ideas, each a situationally unlikely as the last.
About to stab a third dagger under the scale, he noticed the entire leg shifting. He jumped back, dropping onto his back and sinking into the ground with [Earth] magic as the massive claw whistled past. Blood splattered, the dragon growled and he felt some of his hair flutter down onto his face – cut by a passing claw. He gulped, glad that he’d sunken into the earth, rather than simply fallen to the ground. Ideally, he would have used [Shadow Step] to escape, but with the crystal clusters reflecting and refracting light through the cavern, there were no shadows large enough for him to dive into.
Four arrows flew, drawing the attention of the dragon and Azrael took the chance to move, dashing away while the dragon’s attention was directed. As the dragon took out its wrath on a group of zombies, Azrael took the moment to reach into his pouch and pull out two mana potions, downing them both. His mana was roughly at a quarter, despite not having cast any major spells. Summoning daggers and using [Earth] shaping had taken up the largest part of it – even with [Mana Mastery]’s efficiency.
As for most of his repertoire of magic, he hadn’t been able to use much, for fear of hitting fellow players. His more direct spells were also fairly useless in this situation. Earth Spike and even its enhanced version Earth Spear simply shattered against the dragon’s scales. Fireball, despite being naturally enhanced by the mana in the dragon’s cave splattered off the scales. And Wind Stride had been too disruptive to fellow players, whipping up and throwing steaming blood in all directions.
Now? Now though, it was really only him and James on the front lines. Azrael looked around. Where was James? Lilith was still where she was, supported by a figure in a purple robe. The Guilders were forming up for an assault and the necromancers were pulling back what remained of the zombies that had attacked the dragon. Were it not for some of the scales on their side looking half rotten and kind of cursed, Azrael would have claimed that they were ineffectually sending the zombies to die… again.
The dragon twisted, letting out what sounded like a surprised whimper. Then, Azrael heard James’ laughing, as the big man ran along the underside of the dragon, drawing his blade across its soft belly. The whimper turned into a roar of anguish as James continued his suicide mission. Behind him blood poured out like molten lava, raining down from the red line he was drawing.
The dragon flapped its wings, trying to fly upward, forgetting that one of its wings had been damaged in the original attack. It rose, then half fell, half flopped back down, allowing James’ blade to reach deeper. It moved – twisting – trying to get away from the creature that caused it such intense pain. In total panic, it spun, its wings and tail moving with it. Scorched rock, jagged crystals and steaming blood were sent out in all directions.
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The Guildleader, charging in with his team barely had a chance to shout “Shields!!!” and brace for impact. The next moment two dozen players were sent flying. Some managed to brace themselves with their shield and a Skill, but others weren’t as lucky, being thrown against the far wall of the cavern. Most of them didn’t survive and of those that did survive over half were too wounded to continue. The last remaining healer in the raid rushed to their side, his legs shaking and the book at his side hanging heavy.
James never stopped, his blade soaked red and his body splattered with steaming blood. A normal person would have been on the ground screaming in pain, but James was laughing. Only a madman would laugh at the current situation, but they were all madmen for challenging a dragon anyway.
Reaching the front of the dragon’s chest, James stopped laughing and turned to survey his handywork. He never got the chance, the dragon vengefully batting him with all its strength. James barely managed to raise up his sword to block, before he went flying, a surprised look plastered on his face.
In an epic collision he smashed through a crystal cluster with enormous force, throwing crystal shard in every direction, before continuing through a second one. He tried to stop his momentum by planting his sword in the ground, but it was ripped out of his hand and he was sent rag dolling across the stone floor with all the grace of an elephant trying to do cartwheels. Finally, he came to stop, groaning.
James had cuts and gouges across his entire body and was definitely bleeding from at least two dozen different places, though Azrael had no idea how much of the blood was James’.
The big man lay unmoving, blood slowly pooling around him.
Satisfied the dragon finally noticed Azrael, with its one good eye. Azrael involuntarily gulped as the angry dragon stared him down. He’d tried to stay out of its sight, making the use of its wounded eye. Now it turned its attention on him.
Then his dagger.
Then its left claw, where his daggers sat embedded under its scale.
Then back at him.
It opened its mouth, showing off multiple rows of wickedly sharp teeth. More terrifying than that, however, was the coalescing ball of fire and mana in its maw. It was preparing another breath attack.
Panicking, Azrael briefly glanced at The Lightning Witch, only to see her still slumped against her the robed figure. She struggled to raise her arms, mana gathering at her fingers. He admired the fact that despite definitely being exhausted beyond belief she was trying. Only it was slow. Too slow. It was far too slow. The breath would be ready before she finished.
He raised his own hand, almost unthinkingly calling upon his most familiar spell. In desperation he also started [Chanting], the Skill’s power adding to his own.
“Know my name…”
Slowly, far too slowly, mana gathered in the palm of his hand. The fiery light in the dragon’s mouth was growing larger and brighter by the second.
“…hear my call…”
The surrounding ambient mana also got drawn in, attracted by both his mana and [Mana Mastery]. It swirled together with his own mana, building the power of his spell beyond what it might have normally been.
“…burn bright, fly fast.”
Azrael had to turn his gaze away from dragon, the light in the dragon’s mouth too bright to look at. Trusting his judgement he directed the mana in his spell towards the dragon and released.
[Fireball].
The [Fireball] roared from his fingers, crossing the distance between them. Like a golden sun it lit up the cavern, lighting up and bringing day to the large cavern beneath the earth. The shadows, once so dominant in the vastness of the cavern reaches slunk back, hiding in the nooks, crannies and people’s shadows. And as it continued the [Fireball] drew in more [Fire] mana, growing in size and power and majesty.
Then, in an epic collision it struck the dragon in the head, sending the dragon staggering. It crashed onto one shoulder, the force whipping its head sideways. Crystal clusters shattered as its large frame crashed into the earth and the cave shook. Dust rained down from above.
The Lightning Witch slowly lowered her arms and the remaining players held their breath in anticipation, for the dragon hadn’t made a sound as it fell. There was no earsplitting roar like there was during James’ attack and for a moment Azrael dared hope that it was over.
But then the dragon raised its head from where it had struck the ground and turned to look at him with a wicked grin. It opened its mouth, revealing a glowing sphere of white flame.
“Rat’s arse” was all Azrael could mutter before it unleashed its breath.
Like hell’s wrath, white flames spewed across the distance between them. Stone cracked and melted where it passed and crystals shattered from the heat.
Azrael let himself fall backwards. This was it. No wall of stone, no matter how large he made it was going to stop that fire. There was no plan. They had done well. He corrected himself. He had done well. Perhaps the second raid would succeed.
Behind him he noticed James sluggishly drag himself towards his sword. How the big man was alive he had no clue. Maybe this would be the last time they would see each other, the big man probably wandering off for another adventure after this one. Despite how hard he had tried to ignore and ditch the big man at every turn, there was some part of him that would miss him.
No, there was still an {Oath} between the two of them, one that the impartial God of Death presided over. He internally sighed. He was probably going to have to see James again at some point.
He just hoped Alena would forgive him. As his {soul bound} she would die together with him. There lives were linked, except he was a player. He could respawn. She couldn’t. One life… and she’d bound it to him. A tear fell and evaporated in a single moment.
He prayed she wouldn’t, but Death was an impartial God. Azrael promised himself he would do his best to bargain, even if he had to die again. The little mute girl he’d rescued had grown into a fine chef and an even better leader and combatant. Despite his best attempts, he’d become attached to her.
Unfortunately, there was no way he could escape the roaring flames. James and Lilith were still alive, along with a small handful of others. They would have to avenge him. Him and his village, that the dragon had torched. The dragon in question was currently down, giving them a chance.
This might be the end of the raid for him, but there were still survivors. He wished them luck.