The world was a symphony of beautiful, glorious violence.
And I, Ragnar Vhagar, was its conductor.
But from my podium on top of a slightly-less-dented school bus, I could see that my orchestra was starting to play out of tune.
The front line was buckling.
Grak the Unbreakable was a magnificent, one-man apocalypse, his fists a constant, percussive rhythm of sonic booms and shattered bones.
BOOM! CRACK! BOOM!
He was a whirlwind of destruction, a living, breathing meat-grinder, but even he was being bogged down by the sheer, unending number of humans.
Sarah, my beautiful, terrifying Queen of Magic, was a goddess of artillery, her black and purple fireballs turning entire squads of militia into screaming, carbonized statues. But her mana was not infinite. I could see the faint sheen of sweat on her aristocratic brow.
And the Sword King… the Sword King was a problem.
