Oscar’s blood quickened, his focus sharpening, but whereas this was a state he had triggered, the Ranger hadn’t realized that this state of heightened awareness was something the ape already had. His movements in reaching for a weapon and drawing it out had not gone unnoticed, and rather than swing down for a crippling axe blow, the Abom reared back instead, swinging its vulnerable arms out of the direction of the Ranger’s draw cut. The kukri whistled through the air, only scant strands of fur caught by that razor edge. And then, Oscar felt his body shift.
With a rib-thumping roar, the dual-wielding Abom leveraged all the might in its body, swinging the prone Ranger around and hurling him…
“Tsk!”
…right towards Muu.
With all the chaos, all the urgency, the Bladedancer, a part of her crimson scarf dyed with brown, had thought that her attempt to strike the Axe Abom while its back was turned would have been successful, but that clearly wasn’t the case. Had it predicted this? Or was there something else that gave her away? Regardless, with a Ranger tossed in her direction, Muu had no choice but to brace herself. The two of them collided, slid back down the hill, but she held strong, her uncommon physique, hardened by six months of brutal life-and-death combat, more than sufficient to withstand the body blow. At the end of it, there was even the shadow of a wry smile on her face: Oscar now laid in her arms like a bride, his kukri thankfully not having embedded itself in her chest during his flight.
But that was momentary reprieve. Even as ice formed over its ankles, reducing the experienced ape’s ability to leverage the entirety of its strength, the contortions of its muscular, flexible body was still sufficient. Sensing a moment of vulnerability, it hurled Argen’s spear towards the two adventurers, intending on piercing at least one of them, if not skewering the two of them in a single throw.
And the Phalanx himself was having his share of difficulties as well. Had the previous blows dulled his ability to think? Had his set of armor, dramatically better than most others in his group, given him unwarranted confidence? Endurance he had, and stamina too, but as Argen danced around the immobile Abom, he failed to realized his folly: all animals could turn. Coming from the side was not a blind spot. Even coming from behind would not have been, not when these monsters had such powerful prehensile tails. And the brawler Abom was especially accustomed to fisticuffs under duress.
It flashed out like a whip. A long, meaty whip that employed rotational force stemming from the beast’s hips. There was a crack of what must have been thunder ringing in Argen’s helmet, before blinding white pain shot up the right side of his head and his entire body felt weightless. Weightless for all of a second before his entire body slammed into the snowy ground, sliding up against the cooling body of one of the ape twins.
He had been backhanded. He had seriously been backhanded a couple meters into the air. And god, did his head hurt. What was a Phalanx, without his shield, without his spear? Nothing but fodder for the beasts.
On the other side of the cart, as the horses began to neigh more and more nervously, Siwon found his answer for help wholly ignored. Renauld’s attention was diverted into baiting Argen into bad decisions, while Ettamri was still in the final throes of her slaughter of the two apes who had challenged her. As the icy shackles expired, shattering into the snow, the freed ape did indeed make its charge, causing the Fiend Knight to coil his legs, ready to leap back further away or to block.
He wasn’t the target though. No, the one that had caught the attention of all the remaining apes was Renauld, the potency of his magic clear despite how they had only been mildly annoying thus far. Pounding on all fours, the ape rushed down the hill, a veritable battering ram of flesh, prepared to smash through all opposition in order to reach the ice-manipulator and tear him to shreds.
In such circumstances, what was one to do?
Stand up to it, of course.
Her robes were long enough to hide her shaking knees. Her hands were too stiff from the temperatures to shudder. Her complexion was naturally pale; being drained of blood from near-panic changed nothing. And more than anything, she remembered.
“A priest is always more than a priest. We are vanguards. We are scouts. We are leaders. We are warriors. Where others fall, we rise up. Where others fall short, we continue on. Understand, Katya. We are shepherds. And no matter what it may mean, we must protect our flock.”
“SIWONK!” Her voice rang sharp as she flourished her quarterstaff, the tip whump-whumping as it gathered up momentum. “LET’S DO THIS!”
