Wrath of a dying god

Boom. Boom. Bang.

Those were the only sounds that echoed across the shattered battlefield.

The sound of spells exploding, earth breaking, ribs shattering, bones snapping.

The Guardian didn't just kill anymore.

It tortured.

It dragged students screaming across the field.

Bit off half their bodies.

Left limbs twitching on the ground.

Broke bones and let the writhing corpses bleed out slowly.

It was a slaughterhouse.

And worst of all?

It was having fun.

Its reptilian eyes gleamed with sadistic glee as it hunted for its next prey.

Not because it had to— But because it wanted to.

Thousands had been reduced to barely a hundred.

And those still alive?

They were hiding.

Scattered.

Curled in pits and under craters, praying they weren't next.

Even knowing they'd respawn at the Academy after it was done with them, no one wanted to die.