The battlefield was a cacophony of screams, roaring beasts, and the shattering of magical barriers. The Four Factions, usually the pride of Overlords Academy, were crumbling.
The Vanguard charged bravely, their swords clashing against the obsidian scales of the Wyrms, but for every monster they pushed back, two more burrowed up from beneath their feet. The Arcanists were useless; their spells reflected wildly, causing friendly fire incidents that sowed panic in the ranks. The Phantoms darted in and out, dealing chip damage, but they lacked the stopping power to kill the massive beasts.
And the Sentinels… the Sentinels were dying. Their shield walls were buckling under the sheer kinetic force of the Wyrms' thrashing bodies.
"Hold the line! By the Founders, hold the line!" Jarek screamed, his own shield cracking as a tail swipe sent him skidding backward ten meters.
He looked up, desperate for reinforcements, and saw something that made his brain short-circuit.
Alvian.
