Khadgar forced a bitter smile. The blizzard he had been maintaining slowly dissipated above the orcs' heads.
He raised his head and looked toward the sky shrouded beneath black wing membranes. Dozens of black dragons crisscrossed overhead, weaving a net of death through the heavens. How was he supposed to deal with that many black dragons at once?
The tip of his staff pointed skyward as fire gathered before it.
Then a single Pyroblast streaked upward trailing a long flaming tail, exploding directly against the face of a black whelp.
The young dragon let out a short, piercing shriek. A massive hole was blasted through its wing membrane, and it spiraled out of the sky, crashing into the orc ranks below and bursting into a spray of blood mist.
Sabellian noticed him.
The enormous black dragon dove from high above. Its vast wings spread wide enough to blot out half the daylight, golden slit-pupiled eyes locking onto the white-haired mage casting below.
Khadgar used Blink to evade the first wave of shadowflame. The black fire exploded where he had been standing moments ago, burning a smoking crater into the ground.
He reappeared ten meters away, only for another blast of flame to come roaring after him. He blinked again as stone bricks exploded one after another behind him.
He decided to give this oversized lizard something truly nasty.
Polymorph.
He only needed an instant. Just one instant to turn that black dragon into a sheep. Even for a moment, it would be enough for the paladins on the ground to rush in and land a fatal blow.
His staff rose—
A cruel glint flashed through Sabellian's eyes.
Ever since that damned human at Menethil Harbor had forced him back with some bizarre method, he had remained wary of every human mage he encountered.
He knew these short-lived races loved using strange control spells to compensate for the gap in power.
He saw the spelllight gathering atop Khadgar's staff.
The powerful black dragons possessed techniques specifically designed to deal with arrogant spellcasters like these.
Counterspell!
Khadgar felt his spell seized by an invisible hand, twisted apart, then hurled back at him.
Before he could even react, the Polymorph spell exploded from his own fingertips.
A flash of white light burst forth.
Khadgar vanished.
Where he had been standing moments ago, a white sheep blinked blankly in confusion, still chewing half a strand of grass that had appeared from nowhere.
Danath turned his head, saw the sheep, then saw the triumphant black dragon soaring overhead, and immediately cursed loud enough to make even soldiers wince.
...
Allen drove the black whelp toward Vereesa's position at full speed.
He raised one hand, and a faint shimmer of light enveloped his face.
Disguise Self.
When he looked up again, his face had transformed into that of an ordinary orc warrior—green skin, protruding tusks.
Not a single orc stopped him along the way.
They merely stared upward in astonishment at the black dragon—one of Lord Sabellian's own kin—allowing an orc to ride on its back.
Who was that orc? Some great figure from one of the clans?
Even the black dragons in the sky cast puzzled looks his way, but none dared approach to question him.
Then Allen saw the cliffside.
Saw Vereesa falling.
He did not hesitate.
He drove the black dragon into a steep dive while raising one hand. Blue arcs of electricity danced wildly across his fingertips.
Metamagic: Twinned Spell!
[Your next spell can target two creatures simultaneously.]
Two bolts of Chain Lightning erupted from his palm at the same time, blasting toward the sea of black-clad orcs below.
Vereesa gripped her dagger and slashed it down toward the sea of black-clad orcs—
Two streaks of blue lightning shot past her from behind, surging relentlessly toward the orc ranks below.
The radiance illuminated the entire cliffside as though it were broad daylight.
The first bolt slammed into the leading orc. The warrior raising his battle axe did not even have time to scream before his body was swallowed by blue light.
And in that very instant, the lightning split apart.
Like a nest of disturbed serpents, it scattered in every direction.
It leapt along the weapons in the orcs' hands—from battle axe to shield, from shield to armor, from armor to exposed green skin.
Each jump came with the sharp crack of shattering bones and the sickening stench of burning flesh.
The second bolt followed close behind, carving another charred path straight through the orc formation as arcs of electricity wove a net of death through living bodies.
The orcs farther away threw down their weapons and turned to flee, but the lightning was faster.
It caught up to them, pinning them to the ground one after another.
Vereesa felt herself fall into someone's embrace.
Those arms wrapped around her waist from behind. One hand covered her side, while the other locked firmly onto her shoulder.
She did not need to turn around to know who it was.
She recognized those hands.
...
Across the entire battlefield, no one could miss the blue lightning erupting beneath the distant mountains.
The radiance burst forth beneath the sickly yellow skies of the Blasted Lands, fading and flaring again and again, as though someone were igniting stars one after another beneath the clouds.
The thunder rolled over several breaths later—deep, heavy, overwhelming every battle cry and scream on the field.
Turalyon split an orc before him in half with a single swing, then raised his head toward the source of the lightning.
Holy Light burned along the edge of his blade. He pulled his gaze away and turned to cut down another enemy. "Khadgar! When are you going to deal with those black dragons?!"
"Marshal—Khadgar's over here!"
Turalyon turned his head and saw a group of soldiers running toward him carrying something.
It was a sheep.
Its mouth remained tightly shut, its unfocused eyes staring blankly into some unknown distance. The expression on its face resembled that of a man enduring the longest and most humiliating silence of his life.
Turalyon's expression darkened.
"That idiot Khadgar..." he ground out through clenched teeth. "Fails at the critical moment."
"Where's Vereesa?!"
Alleria Windrunner's voice descended from overhead.
She circled low atop her dragonhawk, golden hair whipped into disarray by the wind.
Her gaze swept across the retreating soldiers, the gathering points for the wounded, every possible corner where someone might hide.
"Has anyone seen Vereesa?" Her voice rose higher than usual.
One ranger looked up blankly and shook his head.
Another did the same.
Alleria stopped asking.
Her eyes crossed over the battle lines, over the burning wasteland, finally settling on the fading blue lightning beneath the distant mountains.
Danath was hacking apart an orc trying to flank them from the side.
His blade became lodged in the orc's shoulder blade. He had to wrench it free twice before it came loose, spraying blood all across his face.
"Turalyon!" He wiped the blood from his face, voice hoarse. "The front line's being suppressed by the black dragons—we've already started collapsing!"
Kurdran's gryphon swept overhead. The dwarf clung to its back as he shouted, "Turalyon—!" His voice came broken by the wind. "My gryphon riders can't hold on much longer—!"
No emotion could be seen on Turalyon's face.
He merely stood there, his armor covered in bloodstains and scorch marks.
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