Empyrean Sigil Stomp

Thud!

Artarox fell to the ground lifeless. Even in death his eyes were open, and disbelief could be seen in them.

Alec brandished his spear, turned, and lifted it towards the sky. 

He coldly scanned the chaotic battleground. His gaze alone made some barbarians fall to their knees. 

"Your chief is dead!" 

Hearing that, the remaining barbarians split into two; some ran while some submitted. Those that ran were slain by Paul and his archers, while those that submitted were gathered together.

Some elite Desolate Wolves stood around their comrades who had transformed into statues. With Artarox's death, they became still.

The 7-foot-tall elite Desolate Wolves in fighting stances and their shields before them were a striking sight that would marvel anyone, noble or commoner.

Unfortunately, to those watching, it was a sad sight. These men were once their comrades.

Clip Clop!