While William watched the two immensely powerful Archdruids clashing, he was completely oblivious to the roots that were slowly and subtly slithering towards him, seemingly in an attempt to coil around his feet.
TWICK!!!
The roots of the ancient tree pulled with incredible force, sending William sprawling onto his back and yanking him relentlessly towards a Shadow Druid who was standing patiently, ready with two very small swords.
In any other person's hand, these blades would have been indistinguishable from daggers.
William felt an incredibly powerful tug pulling against his very body, his fingers struggling desperately to find any sort of purchase in the loose dirt that lay beneath him.
Even as he pushed his muscles to the very limit, his grip felt stubbornly useless, failing to hold on.
Despite the protection afforded by his leather armor, the rough, uneven ground beneath him continued to drag his back across its surface, leaving deep, crimson red marks imprinted on his skin.
As William neared the waiting Shadow Druid who was waiting with predatory intent, he caught the glint of a spear in the rigid grasp of a dead druid who seemed to die defending Nettie in the opening conflict
One of Williams' free hands glowed with a powerful, intense blue light that seemed to engulf him from his wrist up to his elbow, before finally solidifying into a clear image of his hand.
This hand then shot out with surprising speed and strength, immediately reaching for the handle of the spear and utilizing all the little bit of force it could muster to free the weapon from the ground and hurl it directly towards William.
Turning with all his might to his other side, he manages to catch the spear just as his mage hand is about to vanish, and in a moment of sheer survival instinct, he instinctively points the weapon directly towards the Shadow Druid who was already raising his blades in a menacing manner, ready to deliver a fatal blow.
SHNNNK!
The spear pierced the Shadow Druids chest, with the force of his own spell, his small body becoming nailed to a tree as he screamed in pain.
William watched as the tiny druid let out a short lived gurgle as he choked on blood dying against the very nature he once sought to balance and could not help but think it ironic.
However, his thoughts quickly shifted back to the chaotic and tumultuous din of the battle that was currently underway.
He could see Owlbert, trapped and surrounded, by a group of three Shadow Druids who had transformed into the ferocious form of wolves, creating a makeshift pack that was working together to corner the poor creature.
A furious rage began to consume William as he gazed upon the unmistakable red marks that marred Owlbert's plumage.
In an instant, it seemed as if his own emotions, particularly the intense anger building within him, were so powerful that they manifested physically, causing brilliant flames to erupt from his hands.
"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!!" He roared, the dim purple glow in his eyes flaring momentarily before dimming back to silver grey and he shot forth, ignoring the danger of physically approaching Druids in a combat form.
One of the Shadow Druids, startled by Williams' ferocious roar and snarls, turned his gaze upon the man, his claws digging into the rough Grove dirt beneath his feet and his legs coiled tight with a powerful, explosive energy.
The wolf launched itself forward at an incredible velocity, its movements appearing almost supernatural as it blurred through the air.
Its sharp claws and menacing fangs gleamed with an icy intent that seemed to chill the very air around it, yet William's attention remained entirely focused on the Shadow Druids who were engaged in a brutal assault against his friend.
The wolf charged at him, striking him with a force that was akin to a living battering ram.
Claws raked across William's leg in a single, savage arc, leather splitting with a wet rip as pain detonated up his thigh.
It hit him like a hot, immediate flash of light, almost knocking him off his feet.
Blood sprayed out from the churned grove dirt, rising into the air as steam hissed from where the droplets struck the lingering embers that still clung to the skin of his hands.
William let out a guttural, snarling sound, one that seemed to erupt from deep within him and carry a feral intensity.
Rather than turning and retreating, he instead took a deliberate step forward, preparing himself for the attack.
The Shadow Druid's momentum carried it forward, and with a terrifying snap of its jaws, the creature was inches from William's throat.
Within that moment of frozen heartbeat, William's right hand burned with a particularly intense heat.
The flames seemed to be pulling inward, condensing, and roaring as they tightly enveloped his fingers, wrapping around them like a second skin.
Fire, once a contained force, rapidly escalated into a powerful and overwhelming force.
He brought his fist down with force, aiming squarely at the wolf's head.
The impact made a sound that felt very much like a ripe fruit, one that had been subjected to the forceful blow of a hammer.
His flaming knuckles smashed directly into the wolf's left eye, and it exploded in a spray of vitreous gel and blood that vaporized mid-air.
What hadn't caught fire instantly boiled, then proceeded to coagulate into blackened clumps as the intense heat continued to cook the scorched remnants of the socket itself.
A mournful howl tore from the Shadow Druid's throat, a sound that seemed to straddle the line between animal agony and human terror, its body twisting violently as it was flung sideways.
William staggered, the follow-through tearing from his lungs, his wounded leg screaming in protest.
He was barely able to maintain his footing as the wolf slammed straight into the base of a tree, creating a deep trench that snaked its way through the tangled roots and the soft moss.
The trench collapsed onto the forest floor in a heap, the only sign that something had been alive there being the persistent whine that escaped the wolf's gaping maw, a sound that bridged the divide between beast and the man.
The flames that danced around William's hand flickered and died, but they didn't completely fade.
Instead, they licked hungrily at his fingers, seeming to savor the blood that must have been in the air.
With a deep, harsh intake of breath, he turned his head back, his vision narrowing and returning towards Owlbert.
At this point, only two wolves remained, and both of them were fixed on William, their eyes filled with an intense and hateful glare.
The two remaining Shadow Druids turned and walked away, leaving Owlbert behind to lick his wounds.
The loyalty they had once shared for each other and for the grove of their origin, that once warm and deep feeling, had now curdled into something much colder and more distant.
They moved with an unnervingly fluid grace, as though they were predators aware that the hunt had been narrowed down to a single, particularly dangerous prey.
William.
They fanned out, their bodies close to the ground, their paws silently sinking into the churned soil.
Their lips curved into a snarl, revealing a row of teeth that were both too white and too meticulously aligned.
There was no indication of some kind of unthinking, mindless animal fury.
Beneath the snarl, the matted fur, and the angry expression, a flicker of genuine intelligence burned brightly, much like the coals of a fire.
They closed in on him, encircling him completely.
One drifted left.
The other right.
Their movements seemed to mirror each other's, with their shoulders rolling together and their heads tilting in unison.
It felt as if they were both trying to determine angles.
They snapped at the air, feinted forward, retreated.
Classic wolf tactics.
Draw the eyes.
Create an opening.
Kill from the blind side.
William turned slowly, his injured leg protesting with a groan with every movement he made.
A layer of blood was already evident, staining the dirt directly beneath his boot.
He held his hands up high in the air, his fingers spread wide, as if he were trying to keep the fire burning.
However, the fire guttered weakly, its flames barely visible, as though it was struggling to get enough oxygen.
Too slow.
Too hurt.
The wolf on his immediate left lunged forward, not with any intention of striking, but simply to gain his attention and force him to look.
William reacted instantly, his body pivoting sharply in the air as he braced for the impact, the flames around his hands flaring up in response.
That was precisely what they had been waiting for.
The second wolf, seemingly coming out of nowhere, shot forward from behind him.
Its jaws snapped wide open, releasing hot, rank breath as it surged upwards, its gaze fixed directly on his skull, its intention clear, the final blow that would put an end to the fight in a single, brutal snap.
Time has been compressed down to an incredibly narrow, almost imperceptible sliver.
William dropped.
He folded his body in a desperate, ugly manner, his arms and legs thrust forward as if in a struggle, while the wolf's snapping jaws seemed to be tearing through the very air inches above his head.
Its momentum carried it past him, just enough.
William twisted.
Fire surged.
His hand pulsed once, sending out a deep, violent thrum that rippled through the air, before erupting into a concentrated flame.
With a surge of sheer determination, his fist flew straight forward and upward, leaving behind no room for hesitation or finesse.
The impact landed squarely between the wolf's hind legs.
CRACK.
It was a sound that cut through the air, one that was instantly recognizable and definitely sharp.
The sound became a catastrophe.
The impact landed with a sound of obscene finality, leaving an echo in the silence.
There was a fleeting moment of resistance, a brief pause before the sensation of striking something firm and somewhat yielding, akin to hitting overripe fruit encased in leather.
The wolf's body convulsed violently, its momentum completely collapsing as it was struck by a sudden, wet, and concussive force that echoed through the grove.
Flesh ruptured.
Bone shattered.
Blood and torn tissue sprayed outward in a grotesque arc, splattering the churned earth beneath them.
The howl that followed wasn't something that could have come from any known animal.
The scene was raw, broken, and undeniably human.
With a loud thud, the wolf crashed heavily to the earth, its powerful body slumping onto its side and curling into a protective ball.
Its legs flailed uselessly, kicking the ground with little force, and its spine arched sharply into a tight, protective curve, its body contorting in an attempt to shield its vulnerable core.
The transformation proceeded in reverse, with fur beginning to retreat, limbs shortening in length, and the muzzle collapsing inward, ultimately revealing a screaming mouth.
The halfling lay sprawled out on the ground, exactly where the wolf had been standing moments before.
He rolled in the dirt, hands clawing desperately at his groin, fingers slick with blood as he sobbed and screamed in equal measure.
His face was contorted in an unnatural, almost unrecognizable expression, his eyes were wide and unfocused, and his breath came in ragged, panicked gasps, each one accompanied by a shuddering, involuntary movement of his body.
It was clear that the pain he was experiencing was immense and beyond measure, a pain that seemed to have no end or relief in sight.
William staggered forward, vision swimming.
Fire sputtered weakly around his hand as he raised it, jaw clenched, teeth grinding together.
He took one step toward the halfling, intent crystallizing through the haze.
He wanted to end it.
He never got the chance.
Suddenly, a powerful, crushing weight descended upon him, slamming down against his back with a tremendous force.
A vise-like jaw clamped down hard on William's shoulder, the teeth sinking deep into the leather, through the muscle, biting with a ferocity that left him feeling something give way inside him.
The sound was unmistakable.
Tear.
The pain exploded in my mind, white-hot and intense, and it immediately erased all thought.
Blood sprayed freely, warm and slick as it poured down his arm and chest, soaking into the dirt beneath his boots.
William gasped, the sound strangled and wet.
His legs buckled.
The world tilted.
His vision became narrowed, the edges of his field of view darkening as if the darkness of night were closing in upon him.
The fire, finally, guttered out, leaving behind only the lingering numbness of exhaustion and the distant, echoing thud of his own heartbeat.
Too much.
Too hurt.
He felt himself slipping.
Then...
SCHLKK.
A sound that was both loud and piercing, like a sharp, wet crack, cut through the general commotion, and the sudden, intense pressure that had been on his shoulder instantly vanished.
His jaws relaxed, and the teeth in his mouth slid free, as the significant weight that had been pressing down on his back finally released from him.
William found himself suddenly on one knee, his mind barely registering the fact that a body had just crashed to the ground right next to him.
When his eyes finally forced open, blinking through the blood and the darkness, that's when he saw it.
The wolf lay still.
An axe jutted from its torso, buried deep with ruthless precision; its blade sunk to the haft.
Blood pooled beneath it, spreading rapidly, soaking into the roots and moss.
The body twitched once.
Then didn't move again.
The battlefield seemed to inhale.
William swayed, breath ragged, his shoulder screaming as blood continued to pour freely.
He turned his head, his gaze weak, towards the figure that stood behind the fallen wolf, his axe still held aloft, the weapon radiating a faint, lingering hum.
The person who arrived at that precise moment seemed to have come in at just the right time.
Finally, William had nothing left in the tank; his legs gave way completely under him as if someone had suddenly pulled the rug from beneath his feet and he was tumbling towards the ground.
Before he was able to fall, however, he was suddenly grabbed by two calloused green hands that held onto him tightly, preventing any further potential harm to his injury from the fall.
La'zel's calloused, green hands, hard and tough from constant use, gripped William's arms with surprising force, pulling him upright just as he was starting to lose his balance and prepare for the inevitable impact with the dirt.
He sagged against her, a ragged weight, trembling, blood streaking his face and chest, his breaths shallow and uneven.
For a brief, terrifying moment, all that she could hear was the harsh rasp of his lungs, a stark contrast to the faint, ragged crackle that lingered from the fire still licking at his fingers.
Her scowl was sharp, instinctive.
Weak.
Pathetic.
Despite her best efforts to steady him, forcing his legs to carry the weight they could muster, her yellow eyes scanned the battlefield that lay directly behind him.
As she did, a flicker of something that could only be described as concern crossed her hardened expression.
The sight of the Shadow Druids' bodies, the scorched marks on the earth, the ruined roots, and the sheer devastation that followed in his wake all painted a picture that was the exact opposite of the limp, bloodied figure standing before her.
This was not the work of someone fragile.
Not entirely.
Her scowl softened fractionally as recognition flared, grudging and reluctant.
He had survived.
It wasn't about hiding or retreating; it was about standing firm, fighting with a ferocity that bordered on madness, and refusing to give in.
Every fallen enemy seemed to whisper it, and every single scar that marred the earth seemed to bear witness.
La'zel's grip on his arm tightened, not from a place of cruelty, but to maintain his balance and ensure that he remained grounded enough to bear witness to the revelation she was about to share.
A quiet respect burned deep within her chest, sharp yet strangely unfamiliar, like an ember she had not anticipated would ignite.