WHAT A GREAT TIME IN BATTLE LOOKS LIKE

The training ground at the Astarot mansion was a vast expanse designed for rigorous physical training and mock battles.

It was here that the elite guards, comprising dragons, orcs, and various beastkin, honed their skills.

Tonight, however, it was set to be the stage for an unplanned, intense battle against an endless horde of undead.

As the portal's green energy rippled and skeletons began to pour out, the guards stationed around the perimeter stayed alert.

Initially, there was a moment of confusion as they saw the skeletal figures emerge, clattering and screeching.

However, their training quickly kicked in, and they prepared to engage.

A dragon guard, with scales shimmering under the moonlight, turned to his orc companion.

"What in the hell is this mess, Grug?"

Grug, hefting his massive battle axe, grinned.

"Looks like the Young Master Diaval cooked up something special for us tonight. About time we had some real fun!"

The skeletons, armed with rusted swords and shields, advanced in a relentless tide. Despite their numbers, the guards faced them with enthusiasm rather than fear.

One of the beastkin, a lithe wolf-like figure, chuckled as he sliced through a skeleton.

"I was getting bored. Training dummies just don't fight back like these beauties."

An orc nearby, who had just decapitated a skeleton with a single swing of his club, laughed heartily.

"Ha! These bone-bags are softer than my grandma's stew. Ain't that right, Thrak?"

Thrak, another orc, nodded vigorously, smashing two skeletons together like cymbals.

"True that, Zog. But less talk, more smashing!"

As the battle raged on, the guards continued their banter, using the fight as an opportunity to stretch their muscles and break the monotony of daily drills.

A dragon guard, breathing out a small plume of fire to light up his surroundings, shouted, "Remember, no fire magic! Last thing we need is the boss lady burning our tails for setting the place on fire."

Another dragon, in mid-transformation between his humanoid and draconic forms, growled, "Speak for yourself. I've got enough scales to handle a bit of heat!"

One of the younger beastkin, a fox with bright orange fur, looked bewildered.

"Why are they still coming? How many of these things are there?"

A seasoned wolf beastkin, his fur peppered with gray, barked a laugh.

"It's a speed run dungeon, kid. They keep coming till the timer runs out. Just keep swinging!"

The guards, in their element, found themselves enjoying the chaos.

The clatter of bones, the shouts of camaraderie, and the occasional joke kept their spirits high.

Grug, now covered in bone dust, called out, "Hey, Korg, you counting your kills? I bet I've got more than you already!"

Korg, a burly orc with a wicked grin, replied, "In your dreams, Grug! I'm up to thirty-six. What about you, slowpoke?"

"Thirty-six? Bah, I've got forty and counting. Keep up, you lazy sod!"

A dragon, mid-flight, swooped down and crushed a line of skeletons with his tail.

"This is what we live for, lads! Keep at it!"

The atmosphere was charged with excitement. The guards, regardless of their race, shared a bond forged in battle and camaraderie.

They fought not just as soldiers but as a family, each one pushing the others to be better.

The skeletons, though seemingly endless, posed no real threat to the seasoned warriors.

They were outmatched in skill, strength, and sheer ferocity. However, the sheer volume of the undead kept the guards on their toes.

"Hey, watch out!" shouted a dragon guard as he launched a skeletal warrior into the air, sending it crashing into a pile of its fellows.

"You nearly got my tail with that one!"

"Quit whining and keep fighting!" a beastkin laughed as he spun around, claws flashing in the dim light.

"You're not going soft on us, are you?"

A particularly large skeleton, wielding a massive sword, lumbered toward Grug.

He grinned and met the challenge head-on, his axe cleaving through bone with a satisfying crunch.

"You call that a weapon? My baby sister swings harder than that!"

The younger fox beastkin, still wide-eyed but more confident now, dodged and weaved through the skeletal ranks.

"I'm getting the hang of this. Think I can take on two at once?"

The gray-furred wolf barked another laugh. "Two? Try ten, pup! This is just the warm-up."

The flow of undead continued unabated. The guards knew they had to maintain their energy, as the speed run dungeon's relentless nature meant there was no respite until the timer ended.

As they fought, they shared more jokes, their banter blending with the sounds of combat. It was their way of coping, of turning a potentially deadly situation into just another night's entertainment.

"Did you hear about the time Thrak tried to cook for us?" one guard shouted over the din.

"Oh, don't remind me!" another groaned, decapitating a skeleton.

"I'd rather eat these boneheads than his cooking!"

"You say that, but remember the soup?" Thrak retorted, swinging his club. "Best you ever had!"

"Only because it was the only thing edible you ever made!"

The battle in the training ground raged on, the guards growing more animated and boisterous as they dispatched wave after wave of undead.

Their panting breaths were punctuated by hearty laughter and the occasional vulgar joke, their spirits high despite the toll the endless waves of skeletons were taking on their stamina.

A dragon guard, his scales gleaming with sweat, swung his sword with a flourish, decapitating three skeletons at once.

"Hey, Grug," he shouted over the din, "remind me why we signed up for this again?"

Grug, his massive axe cleaving through another group of skeletons, grinned.

"Because we're dumb as rocks and twice as stubborn. Also, I really needed to work on my cardio!"

A nearby beastkin, panting heavily, chuckled.

"I swear, if I get out of this alive, I'm never skipping leg day again."

One of the younger guards, barely managing to fend off a skeleton, muttered, "I wish I didn't fuck up the training routine when I was a recruit. Skipping those drills is biting me in the ass now."

Despite the exhaustion setting in, the guards maintained their camaraderie, their banter providing a much-needed distraction from the relentless onslaught.

They fought with a mix of ferocity and humor, their battle cries mingling with roars of laughter.

Diaval, observing from the rooftop, found himself grinning at the lively chatter below.

Betty, perched on his back, cheered them on with innocent enthusiasm.

"Go, big guys! Smash those bony meanies!" Her childish voice was a beacon of purity amidst the chaos, bringing a strange sense of normalcy to the battle.

Diaval's eyes drifted to Adrian, who was in his partial Draconic transformation.

His brother's black scales shimmered under the moonlight, his blue eyes glowing with intensity as he swung his massive sword.

Adrian's wings extended beyond his form, a stark reminder of their heritage.

Diaval noted how much Adrian resembled their father, a thought that filled him with a mix of pride and trepidation.

Diaval's priority was keeping Betty safe. He easily dealt with any undead that came their way, a mix of kicks, punches, and head-ripping ensuring none got close.

"Get the fuck out of here, you bone-bags," he muttered, the vulgarity slipping out as he tossed another skeleton off the roof.

Suddenly, an immense pressure settled over the training ground, a crushing weight that forced everyone, including the undead, to their knees.

The air became thick, making it hard to breathe, and many of the guards struggled not to puke.

"What the hell is going on?" one guard managed to choke out, his voice strained.

Diaval, gritting his teeth, glanced at the dungeon portal timer.

It was still counting down, far from running out. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He turned to Adrian, who was on one knee, his face twisted in pain as he fought to stand.

'It's affecting him as well,' Diaval thought.

The other guards were practically bowing, their strength sapped by the overwhelming pressure.

Diaval fought to stand his ground but found himself forced to kneel.

He looked up and saw a figure standing at the edge of the training ground high up in the air seemlessly floating, the source of the oppressive aura.

The being had black hair tied in a ponytail that flapped in the wind and four curving horns.

His hands were clasped behind his back, wings spread wide in the moonlight.

Another figure, similar in form but with white hair, followed closely behind him.

The guards, including Diaval, could only watch in awe and fear.