The Crafter's Darkness: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 4) by Jonathan Brooks (ebook reader with android os TXT) 📗

to be bone-crunching force.  Three other Orcs were snatched up and crunched with the Roc’s beak, though one managed to toughen up his skin enough that he didn’t die right away – but when he was released and fell to the ground, the impact certainly did some damage.

The Warlord stood back up, looking a little worse for wear but not seriously hurt, and everyone got ready to shoot the massive bird when it came back; if they could repeat what they had done before, Rothgar could likely smash that one apart just as easily.  However, the bird didn’t come back right away; instead, the Air-based trap that he suspected everyone had forgotten about – he had to admit that it had certainly slipped his mind – activated, and an extremely powerful wall of wind smashed into all of them.  It split the group in half, sending one portion off to the left of the massive room and the other portion off to the right.

Wyrlin felt himself flying through the air at great speed, unable to stop himself.  He wasn’t sure how far he flew in an uncontrolled panic, but he hit the ground with enough force that the wind was knocked out of his lungs as he felt a few ribs snap.  He rolled a few dozen times until he slammed up against a wall behind him, further aggravating the injury to his chest.

As he struggled to breathe, to welcome air back into his lungs, he looked down to see a length of wood sticking out of his side.  He hadn’t even felt it go in, but he must’ve landed on his bow and broken it in such a way that it impaled him when he rolled.  The pain from it hit him just as he was able to take his first laborious breath, and he couldn’t help but tear up from the sheer torture his body was undergoing.  His thigh wound was freely bleeding again, having been torn open further from the tossing of his body across the room.

 On top of that, Wyrlin was basically out of Earth energy, deafened from the Roc’s screech, his bow was broken, and he was bleeding out slowly – he was done for.  He was able to shift enough of his body to look out into the room to see if there was any hope that they could salvage the situation, and someone could succeed where he had failed.  Looking to his left and right, he saw Orc Warriors lying on the ground in various states of injury; a few of them had broken legs from being tossed so far, others had broken arms, and a few appeared to be dead from a broken neck.  One of those with a broken neck wasn’t an Orc at all but Mercyll, the Elite spell-caster dead before he could react to the Air trap effectively.

Most of Wyrlin’s Rangers seemed to have ended up on the other side of the room, where they also seemed to be in various states of injury – and not a single one still had an intact bow; Wyrlin angrily bemoaned the unlucky fate that he was the only one that seemed to be impaled by a sharp piece of bow wood.  There, too, a few Orcs had died, but more – than on his side, at least – seemed to be able to at least pick themselves up.

The amazing thing, however – and what gave Wyrlin some hope – was that Fyola, the three remaining Elite archers, and the Warlord were still on their feet and near the center of the room.  They were currently trying to shoot down the Roc that was descending again, but it was ready for their attack; it folded its wings and dived under the archers’ shots, unfurling them again as it got close to the floor to prevent slamming into the stone.  One of the Elite archers somehow managed to nock another arrow, enhance it with elemental energy, and then fire it before he and his fellow archers were slammed into by multiple tons of giant bird flesh.  They were basically left as a smear on the ground as the bird crashed soon after, the arrow that hit it charged with something that caused its chest to catch fire.

The Warlord raced over to take advantage of its attempts to right itself after its crash; and something that Fyola did caused the flames already coating the feathers on its chest to flare higher, prompting the bird to screech again, but it did nothing since they were all deafened already.  Rothgar jumped high into the air mid-stride and came down on the back of the Roc, where he immediately punched it in the back so hard that Wyrlin could only imagine the tremendous *crack* from its spine being snapped in half.  That one punch took all of the fight out of the massive bird and it soon disappeared underneath the Warlord, who stumbled in obvious exhaustion as he fell to the ground after being on top of the Roc.

Across the way and near him, the Orc Warriors – where they could – pounded their fists against their chests again, which Wyrlin supposed was showing their pride and respect in their Warlord.  Unfortunately, that was their last act – and the last thing that Wyrlin saw.  From across the room, he watched a massive cube of metal at least 15 feet wide that he had overlooked near the corner float up about a foot off the ground, before it zipped across the far wall, completely obliterating everything in its path – which included Orc Warriors and his Rangers.

Shocked, Wyrlin managed to turn his head, which was getting difficult as he lost a lot of blood, only to see a similar metal cube in the corner near his side of the room.  He saw it float impossibly into the air…and then he knew no more.

Chapter 41

Sandra slowly