The rhino's face twisted in confusion, its eyes searching for understanding amidst the chaos.
But there was no time for comprehension.
Six more shots sliced silently through the fog.
Visceral squelches echoed across the battlefield, punctuated by the sharp cries of agony.
One after another, the rats writhed and convulsed against the cracked stone below.
Their small frames still hidden beneath the tower shield, however — their hands were gone.
Severed clean, with splintered bone and shredded muscle trailing ribbons of crimson.
One lay writhing, the alloy round had punched through its cheek.
Shattered teeth and a dislocated snout could be seen lying on the ground.
Blind and trembling, it clawed at the ground in frantic desperation, its fingers scraping against dirt and rubble.
It pissed itself, the stench of urine mingling with blood and smoke — its limbs shaking uncontrollably in a state of primal terror.
"Oi! I can't fuckin see lads! It's so bloody dark. Argh!"
A guttural scream tore from its throat — echoing with the anguish of sight stolen and unending pain.
Blood pooled beneath them, staining the dust and rubble with slick patterns of carnage.
The ballista lay abandoned, toppled yet unbroken.
With the rats quiet literally disarmed — their destructive contraption finally falling silent.
Midi and Dilim wasted no time.
The moment the ballista stopped firing, they moved, their massive frames weaving through the ruins with startling agility.
Their goal — to search for the perfect moment to make their intervention count.
They left the rhino staggering where it stood, its massive frame swaying blindly as it stumbled through the haze.
The lion and the wolves faces were twisted with fury, scowls etched deep as they heard the squealing throes of the rats.
That weapon had been their spearhead — their anchor in the assault.
Ragta, still locked in combat with the lion and wolves, panted heavily, his muscles trembling from strain.
But there was something else — an understanding.
That human had assisted him at the crucial moment.
He didn't need to look around to know.
Cain's precision was unmistakable.
Gratitude flared in his eyes for only a heartbeat before he turned, his earthen prosthetic arm coiling with prana.
The twin whips in his hands snapped to life, crackling with raw power as they spiraled around him.
With a flourish, he brought them together, weaving them into a cocoon of spinning tendrils.
Chains and spike intertwined, layer after layer, creating a barrier that spread with every heartbeat.
The lion and wolves staggered back, their eyes narrowing with predatory hesitation.
The cocoon expanded, spinning faster with each passing second, its size growing as they continued to retreat.
Midi and Dilim didn't hesitate.
They weren't strangers to combat — their instincts were honed through blood and iron.
Their eyes locked onto three traitorous bastards, and in that brief exchange of glances, a decision was made.
One of the wolves was too far from its team — separated just enough to be isolated.
A barely perceptible flash of movement — Midi and Dilim crossed their swords with a sharp clang.
Sparks erupted from the clash, illuminating the fog with streaks of ember-like trails.
The wolf staggered back, caught off guard by the synchronized strike, and stumbled straight into Ragta's cocoon of barbed whips.
His back struck the spinning barrier — flesh peeled like onion skin, and bone crumbled like brittle salted crackers.
Blood sprayed out in crimson arcs, painting the ground in visceral splatters.
Bits of meat and shards of bone flung out in all directions, painting the earth with the evidence of the wolf's demise.
There was no howl of pain.
Only whizzing of the whips as they snapped back into their protective coil.
Barely having a moment to breathe, Midi and Dilim stepped forward, eyes locked on the next target.
Then all of a sudden — the lion struck.
The lion's palm tore through the fog like a charging ram, crashing into their backs.
The blow knocked the air straight from their lungs — sending them stumbling forward in a dazed gasp.
They crashed into Ragta's cocoon of whips — skin shredded upon contact, fat peeled back in jagged strips, revealing the raw muscle beneath.
Their faces were marred with deep gashes, crimson lines tracing paths across their features.
But despite the brutal lacerations, their movements were barely hindered.
This wasn't the moment to flinch. They knew the whip well and trained under Ragta's blows — but knowing didn't make it hurt any less.
Cain watched from his vantage point, his eyes icy and unblinking as the scene unfolded.
Every action, every consequence unraveled before him in that span of a dozen seconds.
His gaze flicked to the golemite that had been observing the battle just minutes before.
It was peeking around, its metallic frame too obvious from the shadows.
Cain had half-expected it to charge, to join the bloodbath.
But instinct had won out — its logic-driven nature overriding any sense of pride or aggression.
It had recognized its own limitations and prioritized survival.
No glory. No vengeance. Just pure, mechanical preservation.
Cain almost respected it for that.
'I guess we can settle that guy once this fiasco ends... Or what's left of us. Maybe it'll be just me in the end.'
The fog still clung to the battlefield, dense and heavy, obscuring everything beyond ten meters.
But through it, Cain spotted the ballista, its silhouette etched against the distant ruins.
A smirk touched his lips. He didn't know if he could operate it flawlessly, but he knew enough.
Enough to make it work and make it operational.
Without hesitation, he sprinted forward, his body moving like a shadow through the haze.
His movements were fluid, almost predatory, mirroring the sleekness of a panther on the hunt.
The night had already begun to bleed into the sky, darkness creeping along the shattered landscape, swallowing light in jagged bites.
Cain's awareness never wavered, his eyes scanned the battlefield even as he ran, the scope of his thermal vision locking onto heat signatures through the fog as it cooled down.
That's when he saw it.
A flicker of light — heat and cold colliding in a violent clash.
Midi and Dilim, their silhouettes blazing with elemental power, had managed to stave off the lion, but they were struggling.
Cain zoomed in, his finger tapping the side of his visor to enhance the view.
He saw the slight flare of their movements, the subtle shift of their stances.
They were asking for him — signaling for his support.
'Enchantments, huh? Here you go.'
Cain's rifle moved with practiced ease, shooting threads of magic through the air.
The enchantments slammed into their weapons like spectral chains, binding and enhancing their strikes.
Fire erupted from Midi's blade, cascading in torrents of flame that danced along its edge.
Dilim's sword shimmered with frost, trails of icy mist trailing behind each swing, freezing anything it touched.
Cain's heart hammered in his chest, but his hands were steady.
He had given them what they needed.
'I just need them to win.'