Frenzied Chariot Wheel

A sharp crack resounded through the air as golden light flooded the beach. Lieutenant Shao Ran of the Beaurte Marines took off his uniform coat and hat before holding up his glowing halberd, Ferocity.

He glared at the creatures pouring from the sea like slop spilling from a bucket-- hideous zombified sea creatures and dead pirates from clans exterminated epochs ago. Revulsion pooled in the depths of his gut as he snarled, "As long as I am here, nothing will happen to the Sea Wolf pups!"

Ran leapt into the air and through the heavy rains, slicing his flaming halberd down onto a skeletal pirate. Cleaved into two, the pirate's back burst with flame magic outward like wings. Skeletons cracked and shattered while ghosts and zombies melted away, steaming into the waters.

Every member of the Shao family was tested for the purity of the Golden Crow's bloodline. Ran had the highest concentration of the divine beast's bloodline in 10 generations. From birth, the favored child was instilled with training in The Golden Codex... a cultivation art marked by its reckless bursts of overwhelming energy.

Ran performed the movements that had been drilled into him-- the same movements his ancestors inscribed into their souls. With each slash and spin, he easily dispatched the skeletal sea-eaten creatures littering the beach. With each burst of his mana, the sands lit up in pyres of gold. With each swing of Ferocity, he smashed dead men into broken bags of flesh and rotten blood.

Shao Ran charged into a group of the repulsive creatures, spinning into the air as he curled in on himself. A ball of golden light condensed in his abdomen as he poured more of his power into it. Using his mana force, he compressed the orb into a fist-sized white sphere, shining as radiantly as the sun.

"Golden Crow's Frenzied Chariot Wheel!! BURN FOR ME!!"

Fiery wings erupted from Ran's own back and a circle of flames erupted from the waters around him. The heat was so fierce the rotting flesh on the creatures closest to him turned into nothingness. The sphere of blinding light descended to the sands, erupting in waves of inextinguishable flames. These flames were so fierce that the waters they touched immediately evaporated, turning the area 10 yalms around him into bright embers and molten flame.

...

The 12-fulm tall Lang Hai waded calf-deep in the frigid waters. Dozens of cuts and bruises marked his naked chest. He hated ghosts. Their very presence made him cold-- not like the cold of the abyss, but just... spiritually cold? Mentally cold?

He just didn't like it.

Lifting his leg up, he stomped down hard, knocking back a half-dozen ghost wolves and spraying salt and ectoplasm onto his wounds. The wounds healed almost instantaneously. The stinging sensation of the salt water cleared any drowsiness he would have felt.

Fighting off the ghosts was a chore. Hai made some mental calculations for how many decent bells of sleep he could get if he called a retreat... Of course, he couldn't really. Hundreds of recruits would die if the line crumbled... as well as enough fully-trained Sea Wolves to noticeably set the fleet back.

Hai trusted his instructors to hold their lines. His men trusted Hai to at least delay their central force.

Shao Ran took the center of the beach. His sweeping fiery halberd attacks covered his area in scalding-hot steam clouds. Every few moments, Ran's obnoxiously bright sun-burst abilities would temporarily blind all of his allies. Hai had the feeling the steam clouds acted like a mirror or magnifying glass to somehow make the radiance even more blinding.

Lang Hai had his eyes closed for a majority of the battle, relying on the movement in the waves and his other senses to attack. It was the only reason he'd been struck by so many attacks.

He'd have brought Eilean... but he wasn't comfortable with how Ran acted around the Sea Witch. Why did he even like her? ...Hai decided to inform him that she had a penis. That seemed to work best when he wanted people to stop bothering her.

(Concerning bothersome people, Hai had lost sight of Tycon.)

As terrible to his allies as Shao Ran's abilities were, the man could hold off against a veritable army as long as he had support... which is the reason he kept the team size to 3. Tycon could provide support Skills. And Hai wouldn't trust anyone else to protect the both of them while simultaneously not dying.

It might have been the Golden Crow's fire that was especially effective against the ghosts. It might have been the sun-type abilities-- these ghosts didn't come out at night for whatever reason. If not that, the range and radius of Ran's fire Skills were more than enough to melt swaths of undead like melting butter for a cake.

...Or maybe Shao's horrendous naming conventions for his attacks made his opponents want to return to their eternal slumber that much faster?

...

Tycon picked up his guisarme and aimed to swing down at a zombie pirate. The pirate lifted its rusty cutlass up to block-- like that was going to do anything. Tycon followed-through with his swing, cleaving the cutlass and slicing into the pirate's skull down to his jaw. Tycon unstuck his weapon with a twist.

Tycon was 100 yalms away from Shao Ran, but the brightness of his skills still hurt the hells out of his eyes. After the Sea Wolf's first spellcast, Tycon immediately realized that that attack was not unique. Tycon tied a long strip of cloth around his eyes several times to protect himself. He had to rely on his tremorsense and sense of movement in order to target enemies-- it was odd, but as a martially-practiced Iron-Ranker... and a snake, it was manageable.

There were certainly enough undead to warrant his assistance... but it was strange. Both Hai and Ran had practiced the Sea Wolf Body Art to high levels... which meant their healing factor was strong and their stamina levels were incredibly high. He couldn't understand why his presence was requested.

Tycon took it upon himself to guard the back line. Anything that rushed past the Sea Wolves, he'd thrust his guisarme through a zombie eye socket or cleave through a brittle spine. For over a quarter-bell, he'd only needed to dispatch 2 or 3 each minute... Nothing had yet dared to threaten the Sea Wolves' rule over the battlefield.

...Tycon hoped that it would remain that way.