The ground shuddered beneath the weight of the mutated wolves charging forward, their claws tearing through the shattered stone with terrifying ferocity. Their eyes burned with a savage, golden rage—an echo of their Alpha's relentless dominance.
But the Exiled Legions didn't flinch.
They stood like shadows cast in stone—unyielding, unbreakable, unstoppable.
Nick raised his hand, veins pulsing with raw necrotic energy as a swarm of skeletal claws burst from the earth, dragging down the first wave of beasts before they could even strike.
"Hold the line," Nick's voice was a razor-sharp command, cutting through the rising chaos.
Archer was already in motion, his arrows slicing through the air like streaks of silver lightning. Each shot embedded itself with lethal precision, dropping the charging wolves mid-leap. The precision wasn't just skill—it was experience, carved from battles fought and survived.