The cervidians erupted into a cacophony of hooves and war cries, their antlered heads lowered as they stampeded towards the fox. It was an absurd sight—with their tiny shields, faces set in grim determination beneath the comic effect of their oversized weapons swinging wildly.

"Hyah!" the black-antlered cervidian bellowed, the first to engage, his mace arcing through the air with surprising grace for such a large creature.

Elena, focused, stood apart from the fray prepared to take the onslaught of the fox. She now instead nocked another arrow to her bow. The string hummed, and a bolt of electric blue leapt forth, striking the fox squarely in its flank. Muscles twitched under fur as the beast yelped, its dark eyes flashing with fury.

"Keep it steady!" Elena called out, her voice sharp over the din of battle. Another arrow zipped from the bowstring, crackling with energy, but missed its mark. The fox snarled, lashing out with razor-edged claws that aimed at another cervidian—a glancing blow deflected by the cervidian's small shield. The unseen pressure from before was palpable - Cal would not mistake the feeling. However, the cervidians were undeterred.

"That was my brother! " one of the other cervidians grunted with a pained expression, swinging his mace down in a heavy blow that made the fox reel.

The cervidians, hulking yet nimble, danced around the fox, their taunts ringing out amidst the clash of battle.

“We gonna bust you up, big foxy!”

“Break off its arms! Make it suffer.”

“Yeah bros, fuck it up!”

“Yeah!”

“Fuck yeah!”

“My violence masks my conflicted feelings!”

“Huh?”

“Bro, I’m just being honest.”

“Oh, good for you bro - we need to be honest with ourselves.”

“Fuck yeah”

Each strike from their maces sent tremors through the ground, each dodge a testament to their hardy nature.

Elena, ever watchful, let loose another arrow, the air sizzling as the projectile carved a path toward the embattled creature. The fox, cunning as it was, could not outmaneuver the relentless assault. It staggered, sides heaving, as the relentless barrage of electricity continued to sap its strength.

"Stay clear!" Elena warned, her next arrow glowing brighter than the rest in a shade of purple. With a deft release, the arrow soared, a streak of lightning against the sky, and struck true. The fox convulsed, its fur standing on end before it shook its head fiercely, refusing to yield.

"Good thing you’re not just a pretty face, peaches," Jaxon joked, mouth stretched in a grin as he raised his mace for another pounding hit. The battle raged on, the cervidians' humor never waning even as they bore the brunt of the fox's desperate counterattacks with uncanny deflection accuracy and commiserated over their fallen ally.

One of the cervidians lunged, a blur of fur and muscle, his mace an extension of his will. The fox snapped at him, but the black antlered cervidian intervened, a shield against the snapping jaws. A fluid dance of attack and parry unfolded, the three cervidians in perfect sync.

"Watch the flank!" Elena's voice cut through the fray, her arrow already nocked. She released, and the missile hummed, a conduit of raw energy that found its mark along the beast's side.

Cal stood back, eyes narrowed as he watched the scene unfold. The way Elena's fingers caressed the bowstring, the arc of her shots—each a calculated stroke of genius. She was a painter, and each arrow a master's brushstroke. The cervidians, too, were artists in their own right, their maces the chisels to Elena's delicate work

A mace slammed down to intercept a lunge from the fox. The cervidians’ movements weaved a pattern—a tapestry of combat woven with threads of force, despite their lumbering forms.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Hard to keep up, isn't it?" one of the cervidians chuckled, swinging his weapon in a wide arc that forced the fox to retreat.

Cal haphazardly responded, "indeed.” Cal felt adrift in a sea of motion. The battle before him was more than physical—it was a complex symphony, and he could only catch the discordant notes. He flexed his hands, the urge to understand, to dissect the artistry before him, gnawing at his thoughts.

Cal's eyes narrowed, muscles tensed. The fray before him spoke in a language he couldn't parse—an enigma wrapped in the clash of steel and snarls. Elena's arrows hummed with a current that was more than mere electricity; it thrummed with intention, each shot an extension of her will. The cervidians' coordinated strikes betrayed a synchronization that bordered on preternatural. They struck as one, a triad of force and it was as if a steel was being hammered with each hit. They were obviously hammering the fox, but he couldn’t deny the emerging feeling.

"Jaxon, now!" a cervidian’s voice cut through the din.

"Switch!" Jaxon, the black antlered cervidian, bellowed.

The cervidians rotated positions seamlessly. Jaxon took point, his mace a blur. Another covered a flank, his weapon sweeping out in wide, protective arcs. They danced around the fox, their maces singing a grave melody upon its hide.

"Keep up the pressure," Elena's command was terse, her focus absolute.

Her bowstring sang, a crisp note amidst growls and grunts. The fox, a tenacious creatures, moved with ferocity—but its movements grew sluggish, its reactions tardy.

"Look at it, bros! For Jobe!" One of the cervidians panted, voice laced with fatigue and triumph.

"Almost there," Jaxon gasped, the strain evident in his posture.

Cal watched, a silent sentinel cataloging every motion, every exchange. There were patterns here, layers to their combat that defied simple martial prowess. It was as if they drew from a well of power. It wasn’t mana as far as he could tell. An unseen force guided their hands, their feet, their very breaths.

"Stay sharp," Elena warned, her next arrow crackling as it split the air.

The fox reeled, its once-lithe form shuddering under the relentless assault. It bared fangs, a last vestige of defiance, but its eyes betrayed its weariness.

"Hard push!" Jaxon's cry rallied his comrades for a final bout.

"End it!" Elena's voice was a whip-crack.

Cal felt the weight of the moment, the tipping point where exhaustion would claim victor and vanquished alike. The cervidians and the fox, locked in their deadly embrace, teetered on the edge of collapse.

Amidst the cacophony of battle, Temp's voice emerged, mechanical yet tinged with urgency. "Cal, perhaps you should step back: three meters to your back and right."

Cal's gaze snapped to the indicated direction. There, nestled near a large tree, nearby the lifeless form of Jobe, a small egg glimmered with a subtle iridescence.

"Well, look at that," Cal muttered. His instincts honed from years of training screamed as he moved - he needed bandages. He edged closer despite the pain, every sense attuned to the discordant symphony of the skirmish. The egg lay unassuming, its surface red like fire and the fur of the giant front in front of him.

"Temp, you think this would work…?" His question trailed off; he knew that Temp would understand.

"High probability, Cal. Matches the descriptions for what we need for the weapon ritual."

He reached out, fingers closing around the cool shell. It felt dense, alive with potential. With swift movements, Cal slipped the egg into a secure pocket within his coat, his eyes never leaving the fray.

"Bandages, Temp. I think I should really patch up."

Temp obliged, opening access to the spatial treasure. Cal pulled the bandages out and rolled them onto his body—preparation for what may come, if he was needed—his attention remained fractured, split between the task and the waning ebbs of combat before him.

"Keep an eye out," Cal said, his voice low, a command to both himself and his companion. "We're not done here."

The clash of metal against hide rang out. Elena loosed another arrow, its tip crackling with electricity. The fox snarled, fur bristling with energy as it recoiled from the impact. Its movements grew sluggish, the relentless assault taking its toll.

"Circle!" she shouted. The cervidians obeyed, their coordination impeccable despite the chaos. They moved as one, maces swinging in a deadly rhythm. Thud. Crunch. Each blow sang of their determination.

Cal watched from the sidelines. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of each moment as the beast's endurance waned.

"Strike true," Cal whispered, not to them, but in response to the escalating whispers sounding beneath the surface—a secret rhythm.

"Again!" Elena commanded, her voice slicing through the growl of the wounded creature. Her presence was an anchor in the tempest of fur and fangs, guiding the cervidians' strikes.

The fox lunged, desperate, but Jaxon intercepted. His mace met the beast's jaw with a sickening crack. The other two cervidians followed, relentless.

The final mace blow hit true. It found its mark between heaving ribs. The fox staggered, let out a pained, gurgling cry, and collapsed. The cervidians stood panting, covered in sweat and blood, their victory hard-earned.

Elena nodded, barely visible signs of fatigue on her face. "It's done."

She descended the slight incline, the arc of her descent graceful, deliberate. The electric glow of her arrows dimmed, retreating back into the mundane shafts of wood.

"Good work," Cal said, meeting her gaze.

"Teamwork," she replied, eyes flickering to the cervidians, who were already gathering around their fallen brother. There was respect there, and something unspoken—an understanding born of battle.

"Teamwork," Cal echoed, glancing down at the egg in his pocket and considering all the secrets he continued to hide.