The promise of hatred and death from the champion of the necrotic war engines hung over the nine hunting holders as they got up quickly, adjusting to the hateful dark presence of the champion. Which was what was needed of them, as the champion had grown tired of waiting for them to come to it and now charged them its massive stone wheels, digging small trenches into the ground as it charged towards them.
The nine elders moved as one to meet the charging champion. So the nine elders and the champion soon met in a charging clash as the elders split into three groups of three, attacking the champion from the left, right, and below. While the champion itself tried to crush them beneath its wheels, both sides found themselves not doing anything as the elders easily dodged the giant stone wheels, and the elders couldn't seem to put more than a scratch into the great stone wheels of the champion with their hunting spears.
The champion came for another pass, its hatred palpable, as well as its need to see the elders, those that lead the army that had destroyed line after line of its siege engine brothers squished under its wheels. The elders tried again, this time combining their strikes at a single point in the hopes that they could cripple the champion that way. But both sides were disappointed as the elders didn't damage the stone wheels of the champion, and the champion didn't get to feel its enemies being crushed beneath its wheels.
The miserable rage tank felt its rage boil as it watched its enemies escape it once again. No, not only did they escape it, they had the arrogance to try and destroy its wheels, the great stone wheels made by the ruler of the realm himself. There was no end to the ways these invaders could enrage him, could bring him to new levels of rage and hate yet unfound.
"Fine, if I can not squish you with my wheels, I will spike you with my hands!" The miserable rage catapult roared with its necrotic magic voice, turning around again for another charge. Though this time to get as many of the elders under it as possible so it could bring the spikes down upon them.
So the elders suddenly found themselves in a brutal melee as the champion of their enemies came over them. It brought down the weapons that showed it was kin to those they and their army had destroyed on their advance. The hunting elders found no less than twenty of the arms of a melee necrotic siege tank being swung at them. Every one of them swinging with the speed of two of its kin and the force of three.
The deadly melee was quick, as the champion of their enemies was forced to keep moving, its own hatred forcing it to keep moving. Though even only having a few moments to bring its wraith of arms down upon them was a force to be reckoned with. The elders realizing rather quickly that in such a dance of death they would be better together than separated as they currently were. So the group of three joined back up into one group of nine to face the next onslaught by the champion.
The miserable rage catapult watched as its enemies joined back into one group. It felt its hatred for them that they had survived its first few attempts at killing them. Then it turned its senses to the workshop for just a moment and watched the reinforcements continue to flow out to the reinforcement line.
It turned attention back towards the enemy leaders and its need to destroy them not just to satisfy its hatred but for victory. If it killed their leaders, the invading pixie hunter army would become confused and vulnerable as they tried to adapt to having no leaders. That is when miserable rage catapult will have its part line of smog rage catapults advance, making full use of their confusion to win and push them out of smog kingdom.
"So you will die, and I will wear your skulls as trophies on my frame!" The miserable rage tank roared as he came back around for another pass at the now grouped-together elders. Who still did well against his onslaught before he was by them again, but miserable rage tank knew he would get them eventually; his hatred would make sure of that.
The elders were in their group, ready to meet the next charge of the champion of the necrotic siege engines. Though as many elders currently linked as one kind, they knew they couldn't let this go on as the champion always fueled by its own hatred for them. So it could keep coming at them, its hatred of them keeping it as powerful as when the battle had started. They, on the other hand, had no such ability.
Well, their GREAT GRASS HUNT form gave them quite a well of energy to draw from, which allowed them to last longer in battle than most of their kind would in this situation. Their strength was already being drained just being near the champion, as its raw dark magic hatred for them harmed them, so they had used part of their magic to stand being near it. Then there is the fact they had not rested since the start of the invasion, which had been a while ago, and several battle lines of melee necrotic siege engines to get through before they ever met up with the champion.
The point the nine united hunting elders were getting was that they were tiring; their enemy was not. So if they did not want to be slain simply due to being left vulnerable to attrition, then they would have to do something soon. The combined minds of the nine elders thought on it for a long while as they defended another ossc by the champion, and they came to a plan, which they proceeded to act on, seeing it as their only hope and the doom of the army of the necrotic siege engine champion.
The miserable rage catapult was in a rare mood; it was being of duality. As such, it was always flipping between anger and misery; the enemies that invaded had brought a more intense emotion: hatred. But that was simply a more advanced version of rage and was not really a new emotion for it, merely an upgrade of one it had before.
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Now though the misery rage catapult found itself feeling a new emotion: happiness. This was due to the simple fact that it made run after run at its enemies; it could see them getting slower and weaker, having to rally more on some strange link they had between each other. This fueled its hatred as it was breaking its enemies down bit by bit until the final blow was struck.
It also fueled his misery, as misery loved company, and the miserable rage catapult could see the misery in such a fate—not that it had sympathy for them, just that they were facing oblivion before their armies and could do nothing to stop it, and their destruction would cause a wound in their armies that he would capitalize on to destroy them as well.
So to come this far, do so much, and to have it all undone in one swoop surely that would make anyone miserable. So for once, instead of flipping between emotions, the miserable rage catapult found both of its sides to be satisfied. Which had brought him the new emotion happiness. He might have even thanked the invading elders and their army if he wasn't going to destroy them utterly.
To add to the miserable state of his enemies, they kept taking a few pathetic swipes at his frame when they could. Not doing anything besides leaving a few dents and some scratches, but truly the might had fallen if this was all they could do after they had left a trail of destruction to get to him. He watched the nine elders as they brought their spears up, all on their knees, trying to conserve their energy. The next pass, the miserable rage catapult thought that would destroy them.
The elders watched as the champion came for them. They had bided their time, taking a few blows they could have dodged, but they had set up what they needed for the plan to work. The champion made its way back around for one more pass, its happiness coming through, assured, of course, of its victory. "How wrong you are," the nine elders said as one.
The champion made its pass, and just as it came over them, the elders blocked the first half of its spiked wooden catapult hands it brought to kill them, they then struck. Nine elders struck with their hunting spears, and nine hit their mark, and suddenly the great champion felt a huge part of its frame fail as it continued to roll forward, but it was out of the fight, the elders having made dozens of small cuts in the champion's insides that only came apart at the massive blows they had just struck.
The miserable rage catapult lay there, its wheels rolling away from it, and a new fourth emotion bursting in itself, shock, completely and utter shock. As it lay there, trying to figure out how it now lay there, crippled and unable to move. The elders move towards the miserable rage tank and shake their bells, restraining the power of the miserable rage catapult.
This shook the shock out of it, the miserable rage catapult, and immediately began using its rage at its crippled state and the eldest attempt to destroy it with their bells to repair itself, trying to pull itself back together. It worked, but it was weakening, and the miserable side of the miserable rage catapult saw what the elders were doing. They were having it weaken itself by using its rage to repair itself so they could finish it off with the bells.
"No!" The miserable rage catapult roared in fury, now knowing the trap but needing to still repair himself to continue defending the land. Then it had an idea it had promised to use them in its frame, didn't it? The miserable rage catapult thought rapidly, Why not alive instead of dead? and since that was what it did.
The nine hunting elders were all in a circle around the champion of the necrotic siege army and were using their magic bells on it. As they stood there, they all were using their combined magic might to keep the champion caged, draining him of his power as he used that same power to try and repair himself, weakening himself further.
Though so focused they were on his magical might, they missed the physical. All of a sudden, the frame of the crippled champion stopped trying to reattach its wheels and instead grabbed for them instead. It happened with such suddenness that none of the elders could respond in time, and all nine hunting elders were made a part of the miserable rage catapult trapped within its frame.
The miserable rage tank, now free of the magic grass bells, quickly reattached its stone wheels and looked towards the army of the hunting elders, who looked at it in horror. "Well, now it is your turn." The miserable rage catapult said its voice filled with menace, but before it could act on its words, it received orders from its ruler, Maxwell King of Smog. He wanted the miserable rage catapult to take as many alive as he could.
So the miserable rage catapult was left with the dilemma of how to do such a thing. Then it looked at the pixie hunter army, and it saw the perfect prison to hold the pixies in. So it used its rage and hate as it charged forward to the still shocked and disorganized army that was transformed by the time he was on the other side.
When the miserable rage catapult looked back, he saw the pixie hunter army had been transformed by their armor, which had consumed their wearer as they had been consumed by its rage. Now they are all mine, and so they are all the property of the kingdom of Smog, the miserable rage catapult thought as it looked upon its new feral army. Wondering when it would get to use them to conquer the land beyond the border in the name of the kingdom.