The throne of roots wasn't exactly comfy, but at least I wasn't balancing myself on one leg.
I had my cheek resting on my fist with my stump of a leg crossed over the good one while the twin 30 MP/s streams of Fragmentation Pebbles roared outward from above me in two continuous, overlapping cascades that lit the basin in strobing white with every detonation.
I had even produced enough knights to comfortably hold the line now.
With the fragmentation barrages shredding through the leading Outsiders and softening the ones behind them, the 16 per second production rate had finally built enough sustained pressure that the horde was no longer advancing, just pressing, throwing itself at the wall of greatswords and detonating ice in an endless, shrieking cycle that was loud, relentless and, for the first time since the doors blew inward, no longer gaining any ground.
I watched it all with one eye while the cultist's words looped in my head.
