Duraga gasped for breath. His War Axe, forged from refined steel, once again hacked at the slippery flank of a Bottom-dwelling Demon Fish, only to be met with a dull thud and a violent jolt that shot up his arm.
He watched helplessly as the invisible Force Field effortlessly negated the Power of his blow—a strike that could have split rock—without leaving so much as a scratch.
All around him, his valiant clansmen were desperately holding on.
Yet whether it was the cleaving of a War Axe or the crushing blow of a warhammer, every attack that landed on these ancient creatures seemed utterly futile.
The ghastly white Energy Beams were like the scythe of the Death God. Each flash brought the fall of another Gray Dwarf Warrior.
Their once-solid battle line was now in tatters, the roars and war cries replaced by pained grunts and dying groans.
The Shadow of defeat and death washed over them like a cold tide, rapidly overwhelming every survivor.
