451 The Usual

Sergeant Salt called for his Gunners to fire at will. That was fine. 

Tycondrius had other plans. 

"Avoid firing at the wizard, Sergeant."

Salt aimed down the barrel of his rifle, and with a loud bang, melted a hole through the chest of an axe-wielding ghost, "Aye aye, Sir!!" 

"Letalis forward team," Tycon raised his offhand, signaling to his allies, "--with me."

Lightly jogging forward, he was followed by Korr, Lone, Athena, and Tanamar. Tycon shot a not-so-subtle glare at Zenon and the Centurion followed, as well. 

Lone ran alongside him, wolf-hammer and sword in hand, "The usual, Boss?"

"Indeed," Tycon flourished his long, curved sword, pointing it directly at the cobra-helmed undead, "Geek the mage, if you would."

⟬ ⌈Lamb to the Slaughter⌋ activating... Support ability. Allies within range are compelled to simultaneously charge the user's chosen target. ⟭

"GEEK THE MAGE!!!" Lone smashed his mace into the ground, having it transform into his fiery Dark Iron wolf. 

"[GEEK. THE MAGE!]" Korr echoed. Her wicked, roiling flames sheathed her blackblade, making Lone's wolf look like a mundane torch in comparison. 

"GEEK THE MAAAAGE!!!" Athena shouted in her high-pitched voice, her four floating Arcanite blades pointing forward as she ran. 

"Geek the mage..." Tanamar summoned not one, but two holy lances, running low to the ground with one in each hand. 

"With the Eternal Flame as my witness..." Zenon growled, his arm-blades sparking with electricity, "--this foul WITCH shall be GEEKED!!!" 

Tycon, himself, resheathed his weapon, keeping his speed, but allowing the others to charge in first. 

« System, analyze: Basic information. »

⟬ Gold-Rank Construct Dread Mage. ⟭ 

The mage was defended by a quartet of Iron-Rank Ghost Warriors. They appeared to be the most elite amongst the apparitions, wearing and wielding armor and weaponry barely better than the other Snake Cult ghosts. 

They would be useless in defending their ward. 

Tycon knew it. The Dread Mage knew it. Every member of Guild Letalis knew it. 

Fight. Flight. Freeze. Such were the three responses to fear. 

The mage... he abruptly halted his actions. His helmet revealed no expression, but his fingers stopped moving. 

It was... inconceivable. 

The undead were a special kind of opponent. He recalled the war chants of the Sleeping Country and their armies, bolstered by elite undead soldiers. 

'Never tire. Never hunger. Never fear,' they said...

And still... Tycon sensed fear in the Dread Mage. In that fear, the wizard halted his own spell channeling. 

He froze. 

Not that the mage had the luxury of choosing, but out of the three responses, freezing was... the most unfortunate. 

For him, anyroad. 

As their opponent had been so generous to gift Letalis with the opportunity... it would be rude if he and his team were to grant them anything less than utter annihilation. 

The fastest to engage were Lone and his wolf, Tres Leches. The Dark-Iron wolf charged forward, the Ghost Warriors' weapons ricocheting off of its hardened spikes. Opening its smoldering maw to bite the mage's throat... it crashed against the Dread Mage's ⌈Mana Ward⌋, forming visible white cracks in the translucent barrier. 

The wolf... bounced, yelping in surprise. As it would only be dazed and receive no lasting damage, Tycon found it humorous. 

Lone dashed through the Ghost Warriors, grabbing his wolf's tail and, in a flash of fiery mana, wielding his hammer once more. Shatterspike and wolf-hammer in hand, he drew them in a cross, attacking the mage's magical shield. 

With a loud and reverberating metallic crack, the barrier shattered. 

Broken in two attacks. Also unfortunate. 

The Dread Mage's ⌈Mana Ward⌋ was much weaker than Tycon had surmised. Lone was very, very strong for an Iron-Rank and the wizard was conversely very, very weak for a Gold. 

Korr left a blazing trail in her wake as she ran. With the blackblade in her right hand, she skidded to a stop, her metal greaves screeching on the Dungeon stones. Dipping her body low and to the left... she delivered a devastating, fire-sheathed left hook to the low-side of the mage's abdomen. 

That was where... the kidney would be. If the mage were human, he'd be dead, in shock... and would, at the very least, be urinating blood for well over a week. 

The mage immediately keeled over, holding his side in pain. 

"KORR!!!" Athena yelled. 

The white-armored noble was running with all of her might, but as she called out, she allowed her magic to take over. She glided towards her target, her Arcanite blades arrayed behind her like wings. 

Korr grabbed the injured wizard by an arm and... flung him towards Athena. Interestingly enough, the mage did not fall... but ran along with the momentum, his cobra helmet bobbing up and down like a fool. 

"⌈CROSS-CHOP OF MARKET EQUILIBRIUM!!!!⌋" Athena shrieked. 

The young lady drew her hand across her opposite shoulder... then delivered a running, back-handed whack to the mage's upper chest. The mana-empowered force of her strike caused the mage to flip, heels over head... twice. His head struck the ground so hard that it rebounded nearly a fulm back up. 

Tycon narrowed his eyes. That was not... a Frostblade skill. 

He surmised it was a skill Athena had learned from that dolt, Sorina Capulet. Tycon would have to scold her for teaching the young noble cross-class skills. 

How much time had she *wasted* to achieve middle completion with that?? 

If Tycon wasn't currently jogging towards their target, he would have immediately sought to beat his Calculator. 

The mage began to levitate, interrupting his thoughts. 

Six fulms above the ground, the half-transparent fellow's helmet had fallen off. Underneath was a miserable, rough-shaven and-- honestly nondescript, curly-haired Tyrion human. 

He was flailing his weak arms about, obviously not in control of himself. 

Zenon flung a hand upward, "DIE, HERETIC!!!"