Several things were now happening at the sa ti.
Björn, who had previously dodged those icicles, returned to his wereverine form and roared into the cold morning sky. He charged at Frostfang with a crazed expression. His bloodshot eyes showed little sanity or clarity. On his back glowed an ominous, blood-red sigil.
Clearly, exposing Elora to Frostfang's attack was not a choice he made but rely the result of instincts acting on their own.
This sigil was considered part of the wicked faction back on Söl and thus outlawed by the righteous factions. It was called the dying star sigil, signifying Björn as the dying star now going supernova just before the end.
Frostfang barely registered the fairy as his instincts forced him to focus on Björn, who was overflowing with a corrupted and life-consuming power.
Bright blue runes appeared on his skin, yet he beca covered in brightly burning blue flas instead of water or ice.
As it turned out, Björn possessed the sowhat rare affinity of ice-fire.
A frost cloak ford around Frostfang as he prepared to receive Björn while roaring, "What the hell are you doing?!"
Björn wildly crashed against Frostfang, and surprisingly, the third-rank werewolf was the one forced to take a step back, clearly making him the loser in their first clash. "You—!" Frostfang yelled in surprise. Yet, Björn did not give him any ti to think or talk as he continued his assault in a frenzy.
Simultaneously, five razor-sharp icicles with the power of the third rank zood through the air, straight at a surprised Elora. "Oh, crap," she whispered.
"Elora!" Erik roared in a panic and activated his lightning flash ability, ignoring his pain-wrecked body despite knowing he wouldn't be able to reach her in ti.
Elora, for her part, imdiately began to try and dodge, even as her body had started dissolving into tiny specks of light. She was more than close enough to Erik to rge with his body, but the process was not instantaneous, and those icy spikes were very fast.
In the end, she only managed to move a small distance, with half of her body turned into particles before the spikes reached her.
Two spikes, nearly the sa size as her fairy-sized body, hit her. Under Elora's agonized screams, one ripped off her left arm, while the other went straight through her stomach, nearly bisecting her.
The part of her body that had already turned into specks of light quickly reford to make the fairy whole while she continued to scream. Considering her size, that scream was not very loud, but it reached Erik's ears and wrenched his heart when he appeared next to her wounded body.
Elora looked at him with pain and panic in her eyes as she scread and groaned from pain. She wanted her beloved to make it better, to make the pain and panic disappear.
"Little Ember…" he whispered with pain in his voice and tears in his eyes. He had never seen Elora in such a tragic state in seven years.
Luckily, he knew what to do.
He quickly bent over and scooped up the hand-sized Elora, including any other parts of her he could find, and then touched their bond. In tis of ergency, the bond would allow Erik to absorb Elora into his body, even without her having to do anything.
Despite the panic and the pain, Elora looked up at Erik with gratitude as her broken body began to dissolve into his hands.
A soft and relieved smile appeared on her face as the pain left her and she felt herself being enveloped by the warm embrace of Erik's soul.
Erik felt his body beco weaker instead of stronger as intense pain began to radiate from his left shoulder and his gut. But he ignored it as he turned around, dropped to all fours, and jumped into a sprint in the sa direction Astrid and Emma had left in.
Behind him, Viljar watched his nephew leave with a complicated gaze. Both Björn and Erik's roars alerted him to the quickly changing situation on the battlefield.
Of course, Björns's changes concerned him, but he quickly realized it was so ploy by Erik and Elora. He didn't know exactly what happened, but he hoped Björn hadn't turned into nothing but a pawn.
Yet, the most concerning thing in his eyes was what happened to Elora, which caused him to worry about the future.
Naturally, he was sad about how Erik must be feeling, and he prayed to the spirits of his ancestors that Elora would survive. But the truth was that he didn't just hope for her survival for Erik's sake, as he also feared for the future if she didn't
After all, he knew Erik's newly vengeful nature and recognized it as much the sa as Runa's. This begged the question: Would Erik be coming after Frostfang or the Enclave for revenge, despite this being more of an accident than anything else?
He shook his head and could only hope for the best. At the sa ti, he turned his attention to his teammates who were attempting to resuscitate a heavily wounded Olaf, his fate hanging by a thread.
*****
"Elora…!" Erik roared inwardly through his bond with her as he raced across the snowy, frozen tundra in the direction where he felt Emily and Emma's presence.
"D— Don't worry, my love," ca a frail response. "I— I'm fine. It's you that's… taking on my damaged body… with your own, despite… being hurt yourself. Are you alright?"
Unfortunately, even with Erik taking on her critically wounded body, Elora's soul hadn't gotten away without a scratch.
After all, she, as a mber of a physically weaker race, was still hit by the attack of a third rank while she was in the process of dissolving into a soul form.
With Erik having reabsorbed Elora's body, he also took on the pain and damage she took. While he wouldn't suddenly lose an arm or discover a hole in his gut, the sensations and weakness were still very much there.
Naturally, Erik refused to let Elora suffer needlessly, so he blocked the sensation sharing that was usually active between them. He wouldn't let her pull a stunt like she did during his integration of the winter wolf bloodline.
Yet, despite the intense pain of several broken bones, punctured organs, bruised flesh, and now a severed arm and pierced gut, Erik waved his hand dismissively while he ran, which naturally only intensified the pain. "I'm fine! This is nothing!" he said in an attempt to sound nonchalant, which failed miserably when he spat out a mouth full of blood.
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