“Everyone ready! Wait for the spell to vanish and attack the survivors!” Caranlín ordered again.

Two seconds later, Eldi fell to the ground on his knees, breathing quickly, feeling mentally exhausted due to the effort and lack of mana. Immediately, the Rock Fortress disappeared, so they met again in front of their enemies, which looked at them surprised for a moment.

Neither the losts nor their general had reacted yet when there was a new burst of power within the formation of the living, that of a power that threatened to swallow the world.

The general frowned. He did know that spell. It was a spell that, under no circumstances, should they have allowed them to cast. But it was too late to do anything about it.

A large amount of mana had gathered on the figure of Disnalor, whose closed eyelids had suddenly opened, discovering eyes that had become black. The blue iris couldn’t be seen, neither the white background, as if the black pupil had expanded and invaded the entire eyeball.

“… Armageddon.”

It was only a barely audible whisper, but that word contained immense power, that of unleashing the spell he had been preparing. Everyone felt how the flow of mana was spreading and passing through them, reacting in turn with the mana in the environment.

Just two meters away from the defensive perimeter, the mana began to become visible, quickly condensing into a kind of mist, a fog that evoked in all of them a primeval terror. None took their eyes off it, while their instincts were shouting, warning them of the immense danger that was locked in that place.

It extended about twenty meters, forming a concentric ring around the perimeter, and hiding in it thousands of their enemies.

When, little by little, it dissipated, not a few were stunned by the result, not a few felt chills go down their spine at what was there: nothingness.

Only a handful of the losts trapped had managed to survive that dark spell. One of them, whose flesh and muscles were visible, as the skin that had to protect it had vanished, fell to the ground, disintegrating as it did. The rest of the few corrupted beings that had managed to survive were badly injured, to a greater or lesser extent.

In some of them, bones could be seen. A huge snake had lost its eyes and three quarters of its body. A kind of armored dinosaur, similar to a triceratops, had holes all over its cuirass and a large hole in its stomach, showing its internal organs. A humanoid being, perhaps a corrupted elf, had turned into something like a zombie from a horror movie. Its skin and hair were charred, its facial features were barely appreciable, and even half of its arm was hanging.

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The show was grotesque and terrible, but they couldn’t be intimidated by it. Perhaps, they had killed a quarter of their enemies, but there were still many, too many. And a few were on the edge of their defensive perimeter, for Armageddon’s hell had started right behind them.

Meanwhile, Disnalor was breathing heavily, kneeling, feeling exhausted. He took a mana regeneration potion and sat down to rest. He saw the visitor was also sitting near him, staring at their teammates in the border, and at their enemies.

Eldi wanted to get up and help, but he had barely recovered a little of the energy that he had transferred to the giants, and his mana was practically depleted. All this was making him feel terribly tired, which would make him a hindrance if he approached the combat zone.

He was a little surprised to have leveled up. While they had killed thousands of enemies in an instant, his contribution had been hardly that of a blessing in the elf mage, so the percentage of experience gained should have been quite low. Although, it is also true that he had already accumulated an important portion previously. He smiled bitterly. That was the level he needed in order to go near the place the Oracle had suggested. He just needed to get out of there alive.

In 67, he had unlocked the Fireball spell, a spell that mages possess in the initial levels, while a battle mage like him needed to reach 67 to get it. However, it was an important spell, his first spell of ranged direct magic damage, far more powerful than his skill with a bow, although with a lower range. It was a low mana consumption spell, and at 10, since, for a time, it had been his first attack against any enemy not resistant to fire, his opener.

He also now had a new axe skill, Scratches. It is a skill that, despite inflicting large number of wounds, causes little damage, as these are superficial. It is a quick attack with the weapon, that inflicts many cuts but without much depth. However, combined with poisons or magic, it can be effective. Or to enrage an enemy. It was at 3, which showed that he hadn’t been a big fan of it.

Gritting its teeth, the general watched the scene in which a significant portion of its troops had been annihilated. On the one hand, there was hatred and anger on its face, not accepting that its preys could fight back. On the other, fear. Fear to fail. Fear of contempt from the other generals. Fear to disappoint its lord.

If it weren’t for those emotions, it might have withdrawn, accepting defeat and avoiding losing more forces, but it refused. So, after a long time doubting, it made a decision.

“Attack! Kill them all!”

Immediately, the troops that hadn’t been hit by the spell began advancing towards their enemies. Their condition prevented them from feeling fear. There was only hatred against the living, and obedience to their general.

But the command to move forward wasn’t the only one it gave.

“You, hold on”

Those which could still attack at range had to reserve and regain their strength, to attack all together when it commanded to do so. And it also gave other orders to some hundreds of worms.

Meanwhile, the living watched the advance of their enemies with apprehension. As much as they could wish, they hadn’t really believed they were going to withdraw. It is true that the troops in front of them had suffered heavy casualties, and had exhausted much of their ranged attacks, but there were still thousands.

In addition, they were exhausted themselves. The rest they had enjoyed had been excessively short, too short to recover a significant portion of power, just to catch their breath. However, they stood firm, willing to fight to the death.