“Masta!” Chedda’s scream hewed through the peaceful atmosphere

  of the oasis. His spindly arms and legs were locked in a

  white-knuckled vise around the Patriarch’s tusk. His strength

  waning, he held on desperately as the boar sprinted in a haphazard

  arc around the group.

  The boar shook his

  head, determined to shake the shrieking passenger, his speed

  increasing as he built momentum for a second, lethal pass.

  He didn’t get the

  chance.

  At the head of a

  surging sea of gray, Ricky led his army valiantly across the plains,

  silent in the chaos. They moved in a perfect formation, as they

  attempted to cut the distance between themselves and the stampeding

  monster.

  Not a single rat

  out of unison, they leapt as one. They scaled the boar’s muscular

  thighs and swarmed onto his back, a dozen sets of gnashing teeth and

  claws going to work on his coarse hide.

  The damage was a

  drop in the ocean compared with the Patriarch’s vast health pool,

  but he abruptly aborted his charge. Digging his hooves aggressively

  into the earth, he slid to a halt in a spray of shattered rocks and

  flying grass.

  Chedda soared

  through the air, a flailing, panicked missile, crashing into the

  dirt, rolling for several yards before finally coming to a stop. He

  stumbled to his feet, grimacing as he gingerly reached for his side.

  Dark green blood leaked between his fingers, staining his chest and

  his white knapsack.

  Mud watched in

  horror as the helpless Imp’s health bar dropped, already below

  half-way as the wound on his side oozed.

  “Chedda!” Mud

  shouted. “Use the biscuits.”

  Chedda nodded. His

  face twisted in a grimace, he reached into his knapsack and pulled

  out the smashed, crumbled remains of a biscuit. To anyone else, it

  was just a ruined bit of baked goods, but he raised it to the sky

  like a sacred relic.

  Chedda closed his

  eyes, and the biscuit began to glow with a soft, verdant light. It

  didn’t crumble, or break; it whittled away into a fine, floury dust

  that caught the wind and blew away. Thin, misty green veins arched

  from those remains, siphoning directly into Chedda’s chest.

  The nasty gash in

  his side began to knit itself together, the flesh pulling tight and

  closing. His health bar reversed its descent, slowly creeping its way

  steadily back up.

  The rats weren’t

  as fortunate.

  As the Patriarch

  kicked and flailed, a demonic living tornado, the swarm was bucked

  and sent plummeting, helplessly to the earth. The chaotic dance was

  lethal; his hooves found too many soft targets, and soon the emerald

  grass was stained with a gruesome slurry of blood and dirt.

  Ricky was the last

  of his kind atop the beast, a lone warrior clinging to the back of a

  moving skyscraper. He shook his head with hopeless ferocity, his

  teeth buried deep in the Patriarch’s neck as he tried to bring the

  titan down alone through sheer determination.

  The Great Boar gave

  one final, explosive jerk, jarring Ricky loose. The rat slipped and

  tumbled down the beast’s scarred face, landing unceremoniously

  between his tusks. He looked up, a minuscule speck of gray fur

  staring into the two burning orbs of a devil.

  The Patriarch

  didn’t care that Ricky was a king.

  He was too slow.

  Mud willed his limbs to move, but the world had become an agonizing

  blur. His mind screamed at his arm, , but his limbs

  were too slow, like being submerged.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  But instead of

  crushing Ricky, the ivory met with steel.

  Layhla was just

  there, a silver flash that cut through Mud’s paralysis. Her blade

  struck the side of the tusk with a thunderous crack, misdirecting the

  lethal strike just enough to send it plowing into the loam inches

  from Ricky’s whiskers.

  The Patriarch swung

  savagely, trying to impale his newest assailant, but she wasn’t

  there. Already a step ahead of her wild opponent, Layhla’s blade

  carved a jagged trail of crimson down his flank. As she came around

  behind him, the boar’s hind legs lashed out. Layhla didn’t break

  her stride; she slid deftly beneath the attack, her movements

  precise.

  The Patriarch’s

  health bar ticked downward. It wasn’t a large chunk, but it was at

  least noticeable.

  “Well… at least

  we know it can be defeated,” Mud muttered. He released Ricky with a

  flick.

  He

  raised the Staff of Embers towards the sky. The amber heat coiled up

  through the wood, building into a blinding flare at the tip.

  “Firebolt,”

  he said, his tone surprisingly calm.

  The

  bolt shrieked through the air, trailing smoke as it smashed into the

  Patriarch’s flank. The impact was heavy enough to make the sturdy

  monster stumble, a charred crater of smoking fur smoldering in its

  side.

  The

  battlefield went silent for an instant. Then, in a cold fury, the

  Patriarch turned. He ignored Layhla entirely, his demonic eyes fixing

  on Mud through a haze of blood-red rage.

  “Whoops…”

  Mud whispered. The sudden surge of confidence slipped away, leaving

  him feeling unnaturally small and exposed.

  Tendrils

  of mana began to leak from the Patriarch, forming an aura of

  uncontrolled hate. His tusks started to glow. It

  was a soft, pulsing red

  at first, but quickly reached

  a brilliant

  crescendo that radiated raw, primal power.

  “Mud,

  get out of there!” Layhla’s scream echoed from somewhere behind

  the boar,

  but it sounded miles away.

  He

  was alone before the might of the beast.

  He

  couldn’t move. He stood frozen, mesmerized by the lethal beauty. A

  familiar, cold weight settled in the pit of his stomach. I’m

  going to die again, he thought.

  I’m not meant for this world. I’m a dumb, useless waste

  of space. And now I’m going to die at the hooves of a giant pig for

  the second time.

  The

  Patriarch reared up on its hind legs, towering over him like a

  mountain.

  “Fuck

  it,” Mud muttered.

  The

  fear didn’t vanish, but he forced it down. If he was going to die,

  he wasn’t going to do it as a cowering mess, not again. He jammed

  the Staff of Embers toward the ground directly to his right. He

  didn’t just call for a firebolt; he reached deep into his core and

  tore out every scrap of power he could.

  The

  Patriarch brought his tusks down with the force of a falling star.

  The earth detonated in an explosion of loam, shredded grass, and the

  remains of Ricky’s rat swarm. A jagged fissure ripped through the

  dirt, screaming toward Mud like a bolt of lightning carved into the

  soil.

  Mud

  pulled the trigger, releasing his magic.

  He

  didn’t aim at the beast. He slammed the overloaded firebolt

  directly into the ground at his feet. The two immense forces

  collided, the Boar’s primal earth-shattering strike and Mud’s

  desperate magical blast, fusing into a deafening cacophony of flame

  and rock.

  Mud’s

  feet left the ground instantly and he was propelled into the sky, a

  fat, screaming rocket.

  The

  momentum carried him higher and farther than he’d

  expected. He soared up over the oasis, his stomach left

  behind. Just as the peak of

  his arc broke and gravity began to claw him back down, the [Black

  Feather Cloak] finally

  flared to life. The heavy velvet caught the air as it flowed out

  around him in a sea of

  darkness. His terrifying

  plummet transitioned into a gentle, swaying descent.

  He

  drifted down the last few feet, his boots touching down softly into

  the grass.

  His

  reckless gamble had worked. He stood there, chest heaving and ears

  ringing. He let out a breathless, shaky laugh. “I am Iron Man…”

  Mud

  scrambled back toward the oasis as fast as his legs would carry him.

  Layhla and the Patriarch were

  locked in a macabre dance,

  a blur of silver and ivory where speed and power were perfectly,

  intertwined.

  The

  Patriarch’s health bar had finally dipped into the yellow, and

  Layhla seemed to be holding her own. Then, disaster struck. Her boot

  caught on a stubborn tuft of grass, and she stumbled. It was just a

  fraction of a second, but in that moment it was an eternity.

  The

  Patriarch drove a

  tusk into her side, leaving a bloody gash in her armor. She went down

  with a scream.

  The demon stood over her, head lowered for the killing blow.

  “No!”

  Mud flicked his wrist with desperate precision. “Sludge!”

  The

  slime materialized directly beneath the Patriarch’s hooves. The

  beast’s front legs sank into the viscous tar of his summon, its

  movements instantly sluggish. The distraction bought Layhla just

  enough time to scramble awkwardly away, clutching at her ribs in a

  vain attempt to stem the flow of blood.

  “Chedda,

  heal her. Now!” Mud screamed.

  Reaching

  into his pouch, he pulled out a small tallow candle he’d purchased

  from Oona. He struck a spark with his staff and hurled it the

  remaining twelve feet. The flame flickered in the air before landing

  dead-center on top of Sludge.

  Using

  his [Elemental Sponge]

  ability, the slime didn’t just catch on fire; he detonated into a

  towering wall of living napalm. The Patriarch let out a harrowing

  squeal as his world became an inferno.

  Mud didn’t stop. He raised the Staff of Embers and began dumping a

  rapid-fire volley of bolts into the burning hide of the monster.

  Roaring through the heat, the Patriarch broke free of the mire. He

  was a nightmare of charred fur and smoldering rage as he launched his

  final, reckless charge. Mud didn’t run. He didn’t cower. He

  planted his feet and channeled every remaining drop of his power into

  a single massive ball of flame.

  The spell shrieked through the air, colliding with the Patriarch’s

  right tusk. The ivory shattered into a cloud of white splinters as

  the fire continued through to smash into the beast’s face.

  The world went white. The thundering hooves fell silent.

  [Summon

  Unlocked: Great Boar Lv. 6]