Group of Grade 4s

Cold sweat trickled down Silas's face. 'Grade 4,' he thought, his heart pounding. Facing one Grade 4 mutant was something he could handle on his own—but there were half a dozen of them now, each more menacing than the last.

Before he could react, one of the orcs lunged forward with blinding speed, its claws slashing down toward him. Silas's eyes widened as he managed, just in time, to raise his scythe and block the brutal attack.

*CLANG!*

'What the...'

The impact drove him to his knees, his body trembling under the mutant's overwhelming strength. His arms shook as he fought to hold up his weapon, the weight of the attack pressing down with merciless force.

The mutant raised its clawed hand again before Silas could regain his breath. This time, without any warning, it swung down with full force. Silas leaped back in response, dodging the deadly strike by mere inches.