Kryssia's breath came in white, icy clouds with each exhalation. The air around her trembled with the intensity of her ice, a living barrier against the approaching sea of bodies. Beside her, Xenovia, her purple hair disheveled and her eyes blazing with fury, spun her blade, coated in black flames that seemed to swallow the very light of day.
There were so many creatures.
Orcs, red-skinned, green-skinned, gray-skinned. Large, small, muscular, misshapen. All roaring at once, their makeshift weapons—axes, maces, broken spears—clinking like a savage army. The ground was already shaking with their rush, and the smell of blood, sweat, and decay permeated the air.
Kryssia gritted her teeth.
Xenovia spat on the ground, her face smeared with soot.
"It's been two days of this, Kryssia! Two damned days!"
