A deafening wall of sound slammed into the area, the collective roar of three thousand throats vibrating through the air until it rattled inside the chest. Then came the physical impact. The crunch of heavy bodies colliding as the coalition's summons washed over the War Hound lines with violence.
There was no rhythm to their march, no cold precision like the steel-clad titans of Reidar's elite summons. Instead, the battlefield choked under a sprawling, heaving riot of claws and fangs, an untamed avalanche of muscle that surged forward with a deafening, discordant roar.
Most survivors had summoned three creatures each, including mangy spectral wolves, jagged stone constructs, and flickering mana-squires, while the elite among them brought forth squads of five or even ten that swelled the ranks into a writhing sea of claws, magic, swords, and pikes.
