Chapter 175: Prep For War; Unbearable Force (P2)

The shock at the sight sends me reeling in and out of stupor in confusion. Fortunately for me, however, I've still got Death Grip activated.

Without pause to think any further than the giant beast hurtling towards me I unleash the dozen palms of Necrotic death.

The green tendrils fly out to grip the charging Werebear's fur.

But I've made a vital mistake. I've underestimated the Werebear's speed.

The beast roars and ducks under the incoming danger of green, plentiful hands of death but does not stop its charge.

Time seems to slow down as it dawns on me that in but a few seconds I'll be tackled by this hulking figure tumbling and galloping towards me.

Thinking a mile per millisecond I come up with only one solution, and once I do, time starts up again.

With an ear-splitting, thunderous roar the Werebear slams into me with the force and weight twice of that of a fine horse. 

In that very moment, the dozen tendrils of Death Grip I'd created latch onto the faces, arms, guts and legs of all the other Werebears withing reach; many of them distracted with their own hunger filled battles and desperate opponents. 

And to my great fortune a timely cast of Soul Drain saves me from instantaneous death.

Sipping and drinking out the health and life force of the Werebears to fall my victim, the motion of a Werebear slamming into me has not ended, and neither has my defence.

The beast stops, its claws dig into my back as it carries me in its single giant paw, raising me above its head it growls with a hunger I faintly relate with.

But I haven't the time for mercies of sympathies. Enduring the immense, stabbing pain of having two or three claws dug in my back and lfiting me up in the air, I take out my trusty dagger.

"Vampiric Dagger." Trembling, I whisper the name of the spell I haven't used since my very first win against the Cult and blow a plume of green mist over it. The mist seeps into the blade, coating it with an aura of necrosis.

With a swift, painful and desperate swing of my blade, I lob off the offending fore arm of the Werebear, falling to the ground with the thing still lodged in my back.

It screeches with untold pain and agony as the spurts oodles of blood and becomes corrupt with each passing second from the necrosis.

"Aghhhh!!" I groan, pushing out each unreasonably large finger out of my back.

"Asher!" Anselm yells at me from the distance. I realize now that the writhing beast in front of me must have taken is quite a distance from the main battle.

Such speed. 

"Raaooooo!!!!" It booms and I notice then, it's healed from the wound.

"Ha," I pant, sweaty and tired, I haven't been so injured since…also since Carbina. "You've got regenerative powers it seems…"

Looking behind the beast I notice that true to the longevity I'm witnessing with my own two eyes, the Werebears I drained are not, in fact, oversized bear skeletons. They still move about, although, from the push back I'm seeing the soldiers give, they are far more sluggish and far weaker than before.

"Asher…you're…bleeding."

I laugh and ready myself, "I'm not a God yet, Anselm."

With yet another thunderous roar the Werebear launches itself at me once again, this time leading with its left arm.

Far more prepared for the charge, I twirl my dagger deftly and wait for it to come close. Unwittingly mimicking the dance between a Bull and a matador.

It approaches with roaring rage and with it's one good arm, it takes a swing at my head. 

But I've anticipated that and I'm ready. 

Ducking under the swipe I blast my dagger with as much necrotic mana my proficiency with the spell will let me and thrust my dagger deep into the beast's chest.

For all its acclaims the fur gives away to the flaming green aura oozing off the blade before the tip even has a chance to touch it. I push the dagger all the way in, up to the hilt where the blade ends.

By this time, its entire chest is rid of fur, muscle and hide. In but a few seconds I can see the beating insides of the beast that's come closer than most to killing me and even then, it begins to rot.

I hear the thing choke and spurt, dying. I leave the blade in for a few seconds more before pulling it out and letting the rotting, still heavy corpse of the beast fall.

"Wow." Anselm blurts out all of a sudden. 

I look up to him, sweat dripping and my side still bleeding but at this point very much all healed thanks to the other feature of the Vampiric Blade spell.

"What?" I huff out.

He smiles, "That's the most physical exertion I've seen you put in a fight."

I don't bother shaking my head at him, mostly because he's right and I'm pooped. Instead, I fall onto my ass and say, "We've still got more of these things to kill up there. And I have no idea if Piol has been killed."

"Well…stand up and go have a look." He urges, like he doesn't hear the yelling and growling up ahead.

Smirking, I say, "I already am…Blood Scythe."

Blood I'm hoping is mostly from the Werebears rises up into the air, plainly visible to the eye from this distance. With precision and speed the gallon of blood sections itself into several crescent shapes.

Relentlessly, they fly through the air, slicing through the Werebears and spilling more and more blood for me and Shaco to use.

Getting to my feet once again I ignore the shake of Anselm head, "Blood Needles. Bone Spikes. Death Grip."

The simultaneous casting of spells undoubtably put a strain on my mana reserves, most of which have already been spent in my reckless casting, but importantly, they put a strain on Shaco even as I walk closer to what is becoming less of a battle between man and beast and more of a blindsided onslaught by an unknown, unseen and undefeatable opponent who uses the blood and bone the beasts as point of their destruction.

Ironic. To be destroyed by yourself.

Anselm sighs as we come up to the field, now stained with blood and littered with dismembered parts of the Werebears, many of whom are still alive and growling with untold resilience.

"This, this is more like you. But it was nice to see you get physical."

I groan, "Is that why you didn't bother offering a hand back there?"

He scoffs, "You're an A-rank level Mage, probably higher with all the potential you have with this God stuff. If you can't handle it, what are the chances I can?"

I blink, absorbing and playing back his exact words in my heads.

"Anselm, I think that's the first time you've given me praise."

He bursts out laughing, a sound that puts a smile on my blood-stained face.

"Juri!" I call out to in no particular direction. There are a lot of them armoured up in the same thing, can't be bothered identifying him right now.

"Milord!" I hear him call out dead ahead, and with him is the next person I would have sought out; Piol. "I caught this one trying to escape to the gates during when that beast took a hold of you."

Piol is crying. 4

A strange sight and sound truly, the sobs of a man. He's uncontrollably weeping in Juri's rough, dragging hands.

"Piol." I whisper softly, a tone that comes from nothingness honestly, "Why are you trying to ruin everything? Don't you see?"

I guide his tear-soaked eyes to the men in armour finishing off the last, struggling Werebears.

"We've won, just like I told you we would and in such quick and ruthless fashion too." I lose the tenderness as I utter these words, replaced by a cold irritation, "So why try and ruin everything, Piol?"

Rathe than give a coherent answer the man simply bawls out in his never-ending stream of tears.

Juri, having a look of utter disgust and contempt tosses the man aside, causing to tumble to the ground still crying.

Looking to me he regains his composure and wears a bright smile, "Milord, as you said, that was indeed the fight of our lives. I have never felt so invigorated before! I'm sure the men feel the same way."

I look back at said men and some are on their asses with their hands on their heads and others have laid down in a fetal position, others are puking. I'd say the toughest are the handful that are going around killing off the Werebears and checking for any surviving ones.

My disappointment must translate to my face as Juri nervously chuckles, "Well, some of the men."

"It's fine, any casualties? I ended things fast and bloody because I was taken quite a bit away, else I would have likely drained their souls and kept their bodies intact."

The purpose for keeping their bodies intact is clear. An undead Werebear is a beast I'd like to have.

In that moment, before Juri can answer a soldier runs up to me and bows in proper fashion, "Milord!"

"Yes?" I drawl, still tired from taking on the blunt force of an entire Werebear.

"There's a snake stopping us from killing two-"

I don't bother letting him finish as a shit eating grin spreads over my face. "Leave them, they're mine."