David did a quick headcount. Mara and Corbin were at his three and nine o'clock, weapons ready. Rhea and Jamie were directly behind him, Jamie already forming a jagged, fridge-sized block of ice toward the advancing wargs. Son was there too, his large frame a solid presence beside Rhea. Somehow he made it over here without getting filled with arrows. He must have used the trees for cover. Resourceful. Evans was to his left, his jaw clenched, an arrow shaft protruding from the meat of his shoulder. He was determinedly ignoring it, his dumbass wooden shield in one hand and his service pistol in the other. The shield is a joke. The gun might be the only thing keeping us in this fight.
David considered his options.
If Jamie was strong enough to just drop a giant, opaque ice wall in front of us, this would be a piece of cake. We could just walk away. David watched the kid struggle to maintain his fridge-sized block. And if my portals could open more than a foot in front of my face, I could open one right in the middle of those colossal, pump it full of pure mana instead of demonic stuff, and just watch the whole thing spatially implode. That'd clear some space. He let out a quiet breath. But that's the 'what-if' game. Right now, we have what we have.
His eyes scanned the enemy line, and he saw it. One of the new guys, Alex, who had run with them from the clearing, was tangled in a net attached to a warg's saddle. He was still alive. The guy had a wad of mashed-up leaves and tree bark pasted to his chest, dark blood staining the edges. Looks like someone gave him the five-star wilderness medical plan for an arrow wound. Crude, but it's keeping him upright.
The hobs kill stragglers. The memory of the first volley in the forest proved that. They'd already captured two others before this, and now David spotted the archers. One was positioned directly in front of their group, bow drawn. The other had broken off, flanking the people still hiding in the wreckage. They're not shooting yet. They're herding us.
They capture what's valuable. But what's 'valuable' to them? He looked at Alex, trussed up in a net with that crude tree-paste patching an arrow wound. They're applying field medicine. They want us alive.
The logic clicked into place, cold and clear. We're worth more alive than dead. They're showing it. If the goal was extermination, the archers would have loosed a full volley the second they had us encircled with a clear line of sight. They fired one shot in the forest to panic us, to make us run into the net. Now they're securing the exits.
Capture. The word felt heavier than death. Who knows what for? Demonic rituals? Sacrifices? Possession? He knew possession was real. Undeath was real. Could be something that keeps you aware even after you're dead. Surrender is off the table. Completely.
But the fact they wanted captives opened up a tiny, dangerous window. It means killing us isn't their first priority. They'll hold back. They'll try to take us down without fatal blows. That's a weakness. A big one.
No matter what, someone was going to die, he just had to make sure it wasn’t him, or anyone useful.
Eight against thirty. It's impossible. The math was brutal and absolute. Even if every one of his people managed to take down one of the enemy, they'd still be overwhelmed by the remaining force. A single mistake would be fatal. The hobs were coordinated; they'd target their weaknesses strategically.
He ran through their assets with a cold, clinical eye. Ranged damage from Son, Corbin, Rhea, and Evans. But thirty enemies can flank and charge. Rhea's distant gaze and telekinesis can control some of the incoming attacks, but not all of them at once. Jamie's ice shield is a temporary barrier, not a permanent solution against simultaneous attacks from all sides.
Mara's necromancy is useful. The life-drain could help, but from recounts of the last raid, they target her the moment she uses it. Even if she raised a few, small undead wouldn't slow down a trained army. My own skills... Battle Sense, Energy, and enthrall are limited. I can neutralize one enemy, keep my Thralls alive. My healing is finite, based on stored heat energy that doesn't replenish here. It's a stopgap, a sustained attack from all sides will kill me. The main problem is the numbers.
The terrain offered no real advantage. They were in a clearing, exposed. The forest could provide cover for a hit-and-run, but the enemy numbers meant they'd just be encircled and pressed until they broke.
He pictured the logical, tactical outcome, stripping away all hope. Phase one: initial engagement. Son and Evans score a few kills. The hobs immediately flank, compress us, and isolate our shooters. Collapse in under ninety seconds. Phase two: threat elimination. They take out Son first, then Evans. They'd see me as a commander-class threat, send a kill squad. I can't stop six attacks from different angles at once, even if I see them coming. Then Jamie falls, then Mara. Once two or three of us are down, it's over. Phase three: endgame. The rest are surrounded, exhausted, and wiped out.
The conclusion was inescapable. In a direct, rational confrontation, they would not survive. They were going to lose.
How could he survive? The most obvious answer sat in his gut, cold and heavy. Abandon everyone. Go it alone in the forest. Just me and my thralls.
But the wargs... they looked like bus-sized wolves. Wolves have an incredible sense of smell. A mile away, maybe more. They'll know I've passed through. Running now means dying later. His jaw tightened. But later is time. That time could make all the difference. I could level up. Prepare.
Only one option remains. Take Mara. Sacrifice Evans. Or Corbin. The plan was a brutal, simple machine. Escape through a colossal. Mara's weakening at full blast, focused. Corbin as a distraction. Me and her, supercharged. It could work.
David prepared to make a run for it; he hated the idea of losing assets.
But something happened that caused his plans to slightly alter. Completely alter.
The hobs split into two groups.
Well, that changes the math. Guess I'm not running away after all.
The single, overwhelming force became two smaller, manageable problems. Seven imps broke off for the wreckage. Eight imps advanced on David's group. Two colossals stomped toward them, while a third moved to the plane. The elites and their wargs mirrored the maneuver; three riders broke off to press the attack on David, while the other three moved to secure the wreckage.
This changed everything. The overwhelming pressure that had been crushing his mind simply vanished. His Battle Sense, which had been screaming a moment before, fell silent. The odds were still bad, but they were no longer impossible.
Calm washed over his mind. Panic fading to a focused hum. It's no longer unwinnable. There's a window.
He moved. A series of commands fired down the mental tether to Mara.
He turned to the others, his voice cutting through the tension. "Rhea! The wargs' eyes! Son, Evans, keep the imps busy!" His gaze snapped to Corbin. "The archer on the warg. Take the shot."
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Corbin jerked, staring at him. "How did you—"
"No time. I'm psychic. Just shoot!" David didn't wait to see if he obeyed; the grim determination on Corbin's face was answer enough. "Jamie! You're with me." This was no longer a retreat, but a counter-attack.
Corbin raised his sidearm, aiming at the archer. At the same moment, Rhea hurled a javelin. It tore through the air with a sound like ripping canvas and punched deep into the warg's eye. The beast reared up with a piercing howl, hurling the elite rider from its back. In the same instant, Corbin's shot rang out, punching through the archer's helmet.
David was already racing forward. Holy shit. How many points did he put into dexterity? He'd pegged Corbin as a pure muscle head. That was a surgeon's shot.
As gunshots rang and Son's lasers flashed, David circulated demonic energy. It flooded through his body and into his bone spear, reinforcing both. Every skill was engaged. His Battle Sense was a low hum of shifting probabilities. His steps gained speed, each footfall impacting the earth hard enough to spray dirt.
Then Mara's drain hit the enemy group like a physical wave. David saw the remaining wargs, imps, hobs, and even the colossal hobgoblins stagger. Immediately, all four remaining hobgoblins, two elites, and the two colossals fixated on her, their focus absolute.
But javelins and searing lasers from Son impacted the two wargs in a flash of light and sound, forcing the elites to wrestle with their panicking mounts, breaking their charge.
"Jamie, you know what to do!" David yelled, racing forward without looking back. Mara, now visibly empowered and glowing in David’s vision with stolen vitality, matched his every step.
David and Mara shot toward the closest colossal. His Battle Sense roared a warning—a horizontal swing that would smash them into the treeline. He sent the sensation down the tether to Mara a split-second before the giant's arm moved. They both leaped, clearing the whistling path of its weapon.
As they flew through the air, Jamie acted. A thick, layered block of ice encased the colossal's head, freezing its helmet solid.
David landed on its chest, his spear held in a forward grip. He stabbed down three times and opened six portals in a single second. With each thrust, two portals the size of a palm opened directly in front of his spear tip, one to snap the armor, allowing it to bypass the thick plate armor, and another to cleave through whatever was beneath. He been practicing religiously—many hours ago, this would have snapped his weapon’s blade in two. The edges of the portals were tears in space itself, and cleaved through the armor and snapped shut, bisecting anything they touched; momentum did the rest. The second portal pierced its heart and brain. The final thrust shattered the ice blinding it.
He was on the ground before the colossal began to fall, his mind already screaming a new command at Mara.
David raced toward the remaining colossal. It was charging now, one massive hand clamped over its faceplate to crush any summoned ice, having witnessed its companion's gruesome end. Not good. It's adapting.
"Jamie, the legs!" David yelled.
A sheet of ice flashed into existence on the ground beneath the colossal's next step. Its foot slipped, but with insane momentum, it hurled its massive axe like a throwing star straight at Jamie.
The kid, having seen this move before, was ready. Two angled, fridge-sized blocks of ice materialized in front of him. The axe shattered them into a million glittering shards and sent the weapon careening off on a wild, spinning new trajectory. The force of the impact still sent Jamie crashing to the ground, but he was alive, and the colossal was disarmed.
The giant rolled and came up running straight at David, but David felt Mara approaching from behind. A moment later, the ground trembled as the first colossal, now a plated undead monstrosity, moved to support him.
The three of them made quick work of the remaining foe. With David's precognition and the thrall connection turning their movements into a single, coordinated body, they swarmed it. In a blur of motion, they hacked off its arms and legs, leaving only a living, seething torso and head behind.
David turned to assess the situation. Both wargs were dead. One elite was trapped under a massive carcass, its armor pinned. Aren't these things System-empowered? That warg must weigh a ridiculous amount. He immediately upgraded the threat level of an adult warg in his mind.
He scanned for the final elite and felt a sharp spike of panic from Corbin through their link.
His eyes found the scene. The ground was littered with dead imps, their bodies riddled with javelins, bullet holes, and searing laser burns. Corbin was on his feet, but blood poured from a brutal stab wound in his stomach. Son was down, unconscious and missing a hand. Evans had lost his shield, and a dagger was buried deep in his collarbone, yet he remained upright—sword held in his uninjured palm—whatever points he’d put in constitution keeping him standing. Rhea was a mess of cuts, limping badly, but a deadly constellation of javelins, spears, and bone fragments floated in the air around her, aimed at the lone remaining elite who was squaring off against her.
David charged, Mara lifted Jamie’s unconscious form, and their undead colossal followed.
The entire fight had lasted seconds, but it felt like an hour.
The elite moved like water. It flowed around Corbin's desperate lunge and used its own blade to guide Corbin's halberd strike harmlessly into the dirt, then exploited Corbin's stab wound, feinting high before driving a kick into his stomach that made the marshal gasp and double over. David's precognition was shared with Corbin, they saw the kick aimed for Corbin's stomach wound, but Corbin's body, weakened by blood loss, was too slow to fully evade. Corbin crumpled to his knees, clutching his struck stomach. It used Evans's dagger-pinned collarbone against him, slapping the injured arm and sending a jolt of agony through the man that made him drop the sword in his other hand. As Rhea sent a cloud of bone shards flying toward its face, it dropped into a low spin, the projectiles zipping over its head, and came up inside her guard. Its elbow snapped into her ribs. David heard a crack, and Rhea cried out, stumbling back, her telekinetic grip faltering.
David thrust his spear. The elite simply sidestepped, the motion effortless. Doesn't matter. Keep it up Bruce Lee, your days are numbered. His heart had stopped pounding two strikes ago. David didn't need Battle Sense for this. He knew how this thing died.
Corbin was down, bleeding out. Evans was out of bullets, swaying on his feet with a dagger in his collarbone. The constant pressure from his Battle Sense was a heavy weight, showing him a dozen different fatal outcomes for his team in the next few seconds. None of it mattered. David had already accounted for this.
Then the ground shook. Right on schedule. The undead colossal arrived.
The elite's head twitched. For a fraction of a second, its guard dropped. It must have thought the colossal was an ally. An unexpected bonus.
At the same time, David opened his mind, sharing the flow of his Battle Sense. He fed the stream of premonitions directly to Mara and, through their link, to Corbin's fading consciousness. He pushed the raw sensation down the tether connecting Mara to the undead colossal, guiding its massive, plated fist.
The elite was suddenly facing four opponents moving as one coordinated body. It saw the colossal's fist coming a second too late, its own speed stolen by Mara's drain. It tried to dodge David's spear, but Corbin, from his knees, managed to weakly shove a discarded sword into its path, herding it. The elite twisted, avoiding a fatal blow from the spear, but Rhea, bleeding and furious, sent a bone javelin screaming into its thigh.
It was surrounded, outnumbered, and being eaten alive from the inside. David felt the constant pressure of his Battle Sense simply vanish. The threat was gone. It was over.
Splitting their force was the logical move. Half to secure the wreckage, half to secure us. Standard procedure. They just didn't know our standard procedure involves laser beams and necromancy.
That turned it into a bad tactical decision. They had overwhelming numbers and perfect positioning, and they threw it all away because they thought they were just rounding up a few scared survivors. They had no intel. They didn't know I was here. They didn't know about Jamie or Rhea. They had no clue what I can do, and that was before I had a personal undead army. If they had just pressed their advantage and attacked as one unit, his only move would have been to grab Mara and run for the hills, spending the next week desperately grinding levels just to survive. He sent a silent, heartfelt thank you to the god of poor intel. He wouldn't get this lucky again. Next time, they would know exactly how dangerous he was. And next time, they wouldn't be trying to take prisoners.
David looked at the disarmed elite, then at the limbless colossal. A personal, demonic Bruce Lee would be pretty useful. The thought was tempting. But he only had one thrall slot.
He ran the numbers. The colossals were massive, predictable brutes. His team already had a system for killing them. An enthralled colossal was just a battering ram. It added force, but it didn't remove a high-skill threat.
This elite was different. It was a pure, hyper-trained combat monster. It was the single most dangerous thing in a melee, the one most likely to kill his people. Removing it from the enemy side was a major drop in their lethality. Adding it to his own side would be a massive increase in precision and speed. It could intercept other elites, clear imps, and protect the squishier members of his forces.
A colossal gives you more weight. An elite gives you more kills.
In this situation, kills mattered more.
Across the clearing, the remaining fifteen hobs were trying to force their way into the plane wreckage. They already had a few passengers tangled in their nets. David ignored them.
He placed a palm on the elite hob's chest and got to work.