Page 230 of Red Ruin
There are too many.
The flow of the battle drives me farther away from Tan.
We’re safer watching each other’s backs.
I circle to him through a rush of skeletons. Tan fights the same wave of bones, only I luck out with human-sized skeletons, while he battles two hulking orcs tall enough to reach over his shielding wall of sand.
As I’m nearing, a draugr vaults the wall in Tan’s blind spot.
Simms bellows, but he’s pinned by dozens of ghouls.
“Tan!” I scream and lunge.
My blade tip grates off the draugr’s ribcage. Its sword is knocked aside before it slashes Tan’s throat.
“Shit.” Tan dodges and smoothly slices through the draugr’s sword arm.
I sever its other hand before it can launch the black lightning in its palm.
It hisses as we hack it apart, chopping like we’re felling a tree.
Its fingers are still twitching to cast when a sinkhole sucks it through the ground.
“Thanks,” Tan gasps, already pivoting to counter the ghoul attacking our flank.
Shadows twirl its ankles and drag it down for us to chop. When the ghoul lies in pieces, I pause to breathe and shift my grip. “Stick near the wall with Simms.”
“I can’t take that order,” Tan says, wiping his palms on his ripped-open jacket. “We’re with you until the end.”
My pounding heart stutters.
Is this what it’s like to have a team?
Together, we advance.
For every inch we take, we slay a dozen monsters.
We have to move faster.
The lich king’s aura rots my Sentinels’ power quicker than I can heal them.
Remy’s control shakes.
Vhex ricochets off the walls, covered in flames. He cranks closer and closer to murder-caveman mode, where he’ll lose all reason and the ability to hear my call.
When I try to move toward either Sentinel, monsters block my path. I soothe their silks as best I can from a distance, waiting for an opening to sneak closer to one of their backs.
When Vhex tosses a red orc the size of four bundled refrigerators, he plows a flaming path through the horde.
“Go to him,” Tan calls, swinging his sword. “We’re right behind you.”
I rush into the gap.
I’m not even halfway there when my hair stands on end.
Something’s wrong.
I windmill to a stop. Planting the butt of my glaive, I spring backward.
