Frostbound

Marcus

The insects had nothing on the blight-touched Orcs. Oh, they were deadly, quick, persistent, and all around not a fun time, but they weren't endless like the Orcs were. They also had the option to retreat when facing the bugs that they didn't have now.

They'd either win or lose a battle relatively quickly versus the swarm. Not this drawn-out battle ticking up there in hours. It had been at least 4 by now! That was insane!

Mana dried up. Anchors ran dry. Stamina bottomed out, yet the Orcs were still coming.

Marcus had thought at first the test wouldn't be so bad. Sure, the Orcs were level 100 but they weren't that hard to kill. The Champions had some extra oomph, but they weren't that hard. The Chieftains took a regular team working together to take down, but it wasn't...

That all went out the window in the face of the tide. The tide of battle had started at their back. High and mighty they were, but slowly, ever so slowly, the tide had shifted.

Marcus had felt it.

With every death, with every spell draining the last of a mage's mana, with every warrior collapsing having swung his last. It was a battle of attrition and they were losing.

Marcus himself nearly lost.

His glaive was visibly rusted from the mistake of leaving blood on its surface and the waters raging around him were tainted black from Orc blood. He did his best to but he could only do so much.

He nearly collapsed in euphoria when he felt the tides shifting. Instead of slowly being lost to the other side, they started to come back. A few drops of water at first, nearly imperceptible to his senses.

Then the flow intensified. Then it grew even more.