Survivalist

Northern cast a fleeting glance as the two generals clashed. It was a heavy collision of steel against steel.

Despite their monstrous nature, they wielded crude weapons instead of fighting with claws and fangs.

Their battle was a spectacle to behold. Strikes curved through the air like arcs of moonlight on a solemn night, their styles distinct and destructive.

In a matter of seconds, the ground was already spitting stone shards in response to the brutal intensity of their combat.

Unfortunately, Northern didn't have the opportunity to witness more of the battle, as the clash served as a signal for both armies to engage.

The enemy charged forward like a stampeding horde of buffalos, their guttural battle cries shaking the ground beneath their feet.

The slaves were being mercilessly pushed to the front, prodded with weapons, forced to sacrifice themselves for the kingdom.

Gritting his teeth, Northern watched as the horde of monsters hurtled toward them like mad horses.

Was this the end of the line for him?

'My story hasn't even begun, damn it!'

Northern refused to entertain thoughts of imminent demise. His past brush with death had taught him a crucial lesson—one etched into his mind and woven into his very being: fear.

It coursed through his veins, making his heart quake, yet it did not render him a coward.

Surviving that ordeal had taught him that there was nothing wrong with desperately clinging to life.

Boldly accepting death was foolish, and no one should be ashamed of fearfully scrambling for a way to survive.

After miraculously escaping the clutches of death by consuming the red crystals to sustain himself, Northern had adopted a survivalist mindset.

He would do whatever it took to outwit the merciless grip of death.

He would become invincible, a bastard that even survival itself could not defeat. His brows furrowed as he desperately searched for a way out of this impending doom.

'Think, think, think. Come on, Northern, think!'

The horde of monsters drew closer with each passing moment, the line of slaves standing before them, waiting to be slaughtered.

Fear and horror were etched on the faces of these captured creatures. Northern himself wore a mask of fear, but there was also a dangerous spark lurking within him, waiting to ignite and overpower those horrific sentiments.

Instinctively, Northern did something he never thought he would stoop to:

As the horde of monsters clashed with the slaves, blood flowed artfully and weapons swung crudely, slashing through the defenseless captives.

In that fleeting moment before the lines collided, Northern fell to the ground, timing his descent with the swing of one monster's weapon.

He managed to fall faster than the weapon could reach him, although his calculation was slightly off, resulting in a shallow wound across his previously unscarred shoulder.

Remaining motionless on the ground, Northern endured the weight of stomping monsters and the fallen bodies.

He didn't so much as twitch a muscle. Pretending to be dead was the easiest way out of this nightmare.

He would lie here for as long as it took, until the war was over and the monsters had retreated.

Then he would rise and find a way to escape from this hellish realm. He steeled his mind and braced himself for the rest of the battle, knowing that more bodies would fall on him and many more would trample him.

Using the slaves as human shields had been a strategic move. It had given the monsters of the Red Mine the momentum they needed.

Having to focus on slaughtering a group of slaves before reaching their enemies had worn down the opposing monsters, even if only slightly.

But that slight advantage was more than enough. The war swiftly descended into a gruesome bloodbath, its echoes mingling with the mournful wind of the night.

The sounds of merciless slaying were like a melancholic symphony, a haunting melody that resonated through the air, painting the battlefield with a macabre and tragic ambiance.

The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, mingling with the acrid stench of monster sweat and fear.

The once serene night was shattered by the cacophony of battle, a symphony of clashing weapons, agonized screams, and guttural roars.

The darkened sky served as a somber backdrop, its vast expanse marred by swirling clouds of dust and smoke.

The moonless sky, furtherly obscured by the haze, miraculously, cast an eerie glow that intensified the macabre scene below. Shadows danced and writhed, casting grotesque silhouettes upon the blood-soaked earth.

 Everywhere one looked, there were scenes of unimaginable carnage. Limbs severed and torsos rent asunder littered the ground, creating a grotesque tapestry of broken bodies.

Pools of crimson spread like sinister ink, merging together to form a river of death that snaked its way through the battlefield.

The guttural cries of the wounded and dying critters echoed through the night mixing with the triumphant roars of the monsters of the Red Mine.

It was a discordant chorus that seemed to reverberate off the very souls of those unfortunate enough to bear witness to this gruesome spectacle.

Overwhelming this spectacle were two vicious entities, towering above the rest with an air of ruthless power.

The Night Terror, a hulking figure, possessed both brute strength and surprising agility, making him a formidable force on the battlefield.

His opponent was no less fearsome, matching the Night Terror blow for blow with lightning-fast reflexes and fluid movements that hinted at desperation.

This opposing general shared similarities with the Night Terror, both being bipedal monsters.

However, its vulture-like muzzles, adorned with three flaming eyes on each side, and jagged needle-like teeth concealed within its menacing jaws, set it apart.

Its snake-like tongue slithered in and out with each breath, adding an eerie touch to its already grotesque appearance.

Unlike the Night Terror's dark fur, this monster boasted sleek grey scales that wrapped around its corded muscles like the coils of a titanic python.

Its tail, tipped with a sharp metallic end, was imbued with a deadly poison that struck relentlessly but never found its mark against the Night Terror's agile defenses.

The Night Terror's mastery of the battlefield was evident in the way he effortlessly navigated the clash between the two generals.

His movements were calculated and precise, as if he had choreographed the battle itself, exploiting every opportunity to strike with lethal efficiency.

With each swing of his weapon, he displayed a mastery of both strength and finesse, overpowering his opponent with a relentless onslaught.

The opposing general, while matching the Night Terror's monstrous attacks with swift reflexes and blinding speed, there was an underlying sense of urgency in its movements.

The opposing general spun and moved with a frenzied energy, almost as if driven by a desperate desire to gain the upper hand.

Its strikes were executed with a hint of recklessness. It threw itself into the fight with a fervor that bordered on desperation, seeking to exploit any opening that presented itself.

The general's movements, while swift and agile, carried an air of unpredictability. It darted and weaved, its attacks becoming a blur of motion, as if hoping to overwhelm the Night Terror with sheer speed and ferocity.

Despite the opposing general's skill and tenacity, there was an underlying frustration that manifested in its actions.

Its strikes, though swift and powerful, lacked the precision and finesse of the Night Terror's calculated moves.

It seemed to be grasping at straws, desperately attempting to find a weakness in the Night Terror's defenses.

Each failed attempt only seemed to fuel its desperation further, intensifying its efforts to break through its opponent's formidable guard.