Delay

Chapter 28 : Delay

*Whooosh*

Straight propelled himself toward the faltering Draegon. His movements were fluid, every step quick and deliberate. As he closed the distance, his weapon gleamed with a renewed intensity, ready to deliver a final blow.

Summoning his fading strength, Draegon urgently barked orders to his remaining guild members. Despite his weakened state, his voice carried an air of command that had once united them all. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body racked with pain, yet his resolve remained unbroken.

"Delay him!" he commanded, his voice reflecting the urgency of the moment. "Hold him back, give me time!"

His words echoed across the chaotic battlefield, reaching the ears of those who still stood. They hesitated briefly, torn between their fallen leader and the relentless force embodied by Straight. But a spark of determination ignited within them, and they rallied to the call of their fallen commander.

With another resolution, the members of Wreaking Havoc surged forward to confront Straight. Their attacks were fierce and ceaseless, aimed at halting his advance. Some engaged him head-on, while others sought to flank him. Their desperation fueled a renewed strength as they fought to fulfill their fallen leader's final directive.

Yet, Straight's response was nothing short of meticulous. He sidestepped and deflected their strikes with fluid grace, preventing them from encircling him. His movements were economical, yet each blow he landed was lethal. The clash of weapons and the shouts of combatants filled the air as the battle unfolded.

As they fought on, the awareness of their Commander's absence cast a shadow over their morale. Their strikes became less coordinated, their actions less cohesive. The balance of the fight had shifted irrevocably, and despite their unwavering efforts, they couldn't reverse its trajectory.

The members of Wreaking Havoc fought with a fervor born of desperation. They attacked Straight from all sides, aiming to overwhelm him with their sheer numbers once more. Swords clashed, spells erupted, and the battlefield was alive with the chaotic dance of combat.

Some attempted to be a sacrifice, hoping to exploit any opening. Arrows whizzed through the air, and spells crackled with energy as they sought to disrupt Straight's movements. But he seemed to possess an almost preternatural awareness of their intentions, evading their strikes with fluid precision.

"Faster, don't let him slip away!"

"He's dodging everything! How is he doing that?"

"We need to work together, surround him from all sides!"

"He's like a ghost, slipping through our fingers!"

Despite their concerted efforts, Straight proved to be an immovable force, his every move purposeful and efficient. He countered their attacks with a deadly combination of well-timed strikes and agile maneuvers. It was as if he had studied their tactics and predicted their every move, leaving them frustrated and bewildered.

Fueled by the memory of their fallen commander's orders, they fought on with a fervor that bordered on despair. Yet, as time passed, the situation of the battle continued to sway against them. The once-coordinated assault began to unravel, and the rhythm of the fight faltered.

Straight's resolve remained unshaken, and he continued to fend off their onslaught. His battle-hardened instincts guided his actions, allowing him to anticipate their attacks and exploit their vulnerabilities. His strikes were swift and precise, leaving his enemies with little room to mount an effective defense.

Despite the odds stacked against them, the members of Wreaking Havoc fought valiantly, unwilling to yield to the force that stood before them. Each clash of steel, each burst of magic, was a badge to their intention to protect their fallen leader's life. But as the time went on, it became increasingly clear that Straight's skill and agility might prove insurmountable.

"He's making fools out of us! This can't be happening!"

"He's not even breaking a sweat. This is humiliating..."

"I will reach you in a beat, don't worry..." In the midst of the chaos, Draegon's eyes widened with panic as he saw Straight's intent clear as day, just from hearing the not so clear remark. The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he instinctively raised his weapon in a desperate attempt to defend himself. But it was too little, too late.

With lightning speed, Straight closed the gap between them. Draegon's eyes widened as he saw Straight's blade descending. Desperation and realization dawned on him, but it was too late.

Straight's movements were swift and unforgiving. His weapon arced through the air with a deadly grace, zeroing in on Draegon's vulnerable head. The clash of metal resonated through the battlefield as Straight's strike met Draegon's defense. But the force behind Straight's blow proved overpowering, causing Draegon's arms to tremble under the impact.

The seconds that followed seemed to stretch into an eternity. Draegon struggled to hold his ground, his strength failing him with each passing heartbeat. The weight of defeat hung heavy in the air, and the realization that he couldn't hold out any longer crept into his consciousness. The panic in his eyes was a reflection of the impending doom that he couldn't escape.

The clash was swift, each exchange of blows punctuated by the clash of steel against steel. Straight's movements were a attestation to his expertise, every swing of his weapon aimed with pure accuracy. Draegon's attempts to counter were feeble in comparison, his strength waning with each passing moment.

And then, with a final burst of energy, Straight's weapon broke through Draegon's defense. With a final, resolute strike, Straight's weapon found its mark, and Draegon's form crumpled to the ground. The battle had reached its end, and the shock of the moment was hanging in the air. The once-proud commander of Wreaking Havoc now lay defeated, his fate sealed by the skill and ability of an opponent who had defied all expectations.

The blow struck true, the impact reverberating through Draegon's body. Pain lanced through him, followed by an overwhelming darkness that seemed to close in on his vision. As he fell to the ground, his world started to become grey, leaving behind only the echo of his defeat.

The members of Wreaking Havoc froze in disbelief. Their commander, their leader, had fallen. The once fierce battle cries had turned into shocked silence. The reality of their inability to prevent the spearman hit them hard. They had faced a lower-leveled player with astounding skill and finesse, and had been powerless.

Draegon's weakened form was a stark contrast to the commander who had once exuded confidence and authority. His curses and anger were replaced by a desperate struggle to fend off Straight's advancing assault. But despite his efforts, he was no match for the pursuit of Straight's strikes.

"Not bad," Straight's voice cut through the silence. "It's over I guess. Still, a paladin huh..." He said as his voice trailed off while shaking his head.

Draegon's eyes were bloodshot as he looked at Straight, hearing the seemingly down toning of the latter's voice. His health bar plummeted, reaching zero in an instant. A burst of light engulfed Draegon's form.

He vomited blood right before he turned into light, and it was hard to say whether he vomited blood because of his injuries or because of something else.

"Fu*****..." With a final gasp, Draegon's avatar shattered into countless fragments, vanishing from the battlefield.

The remnants of Wreaking Havoc exchanged uncertain glances. The shock of their defeat was obvious, and they found themselves at a crossroads. What would become of their batch now that their leader was gone? The situation had suddenly become uncertain, and Straight's victory had left an indelible mark on the landscape of the battlefield.