Ethan's vision cleared slowly, and his ears stopped ringing. The hall's chaos slammed into him like a wave. The post still dug into his back, and the chains rattled with every ragged breath.
The good thing was, the Cromwell heir was still alive, and not burned to a crisp in an Orc sacrifice. Smoke lingered from the doused pyre, stinging his eyes and throat.
Around him, Orcs clashed with Beatrix and Athena. The witch's fireballs lit up the cavern like bursts of sunlight, while the warrior's sword swung in limb-chopping arcs.
Bodies hit the floor in succession, all of them luckily being Orcs. With thuds, grunts, and screams, they succumbed to his teammates' abilities.
Ethan let his palpitating heart calm down and tugged at the chains. His wrists were raw, chafed, and bloody. Mustering some energy, the boy spoke over the din in a croaky voice. "Beatrix! Athena! What are you doing here? What do you gain from fighting for me?"
