Sinbad’s wind blades cut through the Fire Magi’s flas, but the Water Magi extinguished them.
The stone-skinned man swung his hamr at Sinbad’s head, and the owl barely dodged.
Without pause, the living shadow wrapped around Sinbad’s wings, trying to drag him down, but the owl spun hard, shedding the darkness.
In that sa mont, lightning cracked from the woman’s fists, reaching Sinbad.
Unable to dodge, Sinbad took the hit, his now-smoking body jerking from the force.
He didn’t fall.
Instead, he let out a mighty hoot and drove his talons into the Fire Magi’s chest, ripping him apart.
The Water Magi flinched at the sight and tried to flee, but Sinbad’s wind caught her, spun her, and crushed her.
Two were down, three remained.
It all happened so fast that none of them had even uttered a single word.
"RAAAAAAAAH!"
The stone-skinned man swung his hamr again, and this ti, Sinbad t it head-on.
Claws t heated stone, and the shockwave of the impact sent all three of them tumbling through the air.
The lightning woman circled around, ready to strike, but Sinbad was faster.
He spun, caught her with his talons, and flung her into the stone-skinned man.
They crashed together, tangled, and Sinbad was on them in an instant.
His beak tore through the stone man’s throat, taking his head, while at the sa ti, his claws ripped off the lightning woman’s upper body.
The living shadow tried to escape, lting into the darkness below, but Sinbad dove after it.
CRAAAACK!
His talons slamd into the earth where the shadow had disappeared, destroying the ground.
The shadow scread—a sound that ca from nowhere—and then it was gone, dissolved into nothing.
His wind seed to have reached the Shadow Magi, even when he was in that state.
Sinbad rose from the ground, his pink eyes sweeping the battlefield, searching for more enemies.
Which, of course, there was.
He didn’t even take a mont to breathe, nor did he rest.
There were invaders to hunt.
anwhile, Azeem fought on the other side of the sky.
Ten rings glowed on his fingers, each one a different elent.
Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Lightning, Ice, Light, Darkness, tal, and Sound.
He used them all, switching between them with a fluidity that ca from decades of practice, battle, and being the Sultan’s Right Hand.
A wave of fire from his right hand turned a cluster of enemy Magi to ash. A spear of ice from his left impaled another before she could raise her shield. Earth rose from nothing to block an incoming blast of Rukh.
Azeem rode the shockwave backward, using the montum to spin and launch a bolt of lightning at his attacker.
He moved like a dancer, his rings flashing in sequence, each elent flowing into the next.
Fire to water to earth to air. The transitions were seamless, and the enemy Magi who faced him couldn’t keep up.
They swung their weapons and unleashed their powers, but Azeem was always one step ahead, constantly shifting and easily countering.
Many a Magi fell around him, not as many as Sinbad, who carved through the sky like a crimson beast, but enough. Enough to keep the enemy’s strongest occupied while his allies fought below.
Despite his very... hateful personality, Azeem wasn’t much of a killer.
He had never felt that rush of bloodlust that drove other warriors to seek out ever greater foes.
Azeem was a defender.
So he kept the enemy’s strongest occupied, giving his allies room to breathe, creating openings for Sinbad to exploit and Zafar to weave his magic.
Speaking of, Zafar fought on the ground, his white robes and beautiful face stained with blood.
Light gathered around his hands as he wove his Arcane—ancient letters that most Magi found unfathomable, unable to be even perceived... not that most wanted to, knowing of the risk.
A gesture here, a whispered word there, creating beam after beam of Rukh.
His firepower was truly off the charts, mowing through anyone who got close.
Of course, the reason for his na was also on full display.
Beyond the fact that most of the Lucky Soldier’s opponents seed to find themselves in unlucky situations, Zafar’s complicated spells simply never failed, his luck making up for any mistakes in his Arcane.
He had been a fool once, chasing glory and attention, convinced that he was the hero of so grand tale. That fool had died on the day he knelt before the Sultan and admitted his faults.
What remained was sothing a lot more useful.
Zafar’s hands trembled from exhaustion, but he kept moving.
Noor acted the opposite of him and the others of similar status.
She remained unmoving above the ground, sitting on an invisible throne.
The grand vizier, the queen of economy, the woman who kept the Sultanate’s coffers full and its trade routes flowing. That was how the people knew her. But on the battlefield, she was sothing else entirely.
Noor only flicked a hand, and gravity answered.
A group of invaders attempting to attack their army’s shield wall from above suddenly fell downward.
Their feet crashed straight into the ground, their armor pulled at them, dragging them further, pressing against their chests until they could barely breathe.
And then, sure enough, they began to sink.
Not into the ground; that would’ve been a rcy, but into themselves.
Their bones cracked under the pressure as their ribs and spines caved inwards.
They folded in on themselves until they were little more than crumpled piles of flesh and steel.
Noor swept her hand to the side, and a line of enemy archers flew sideways into their own cavalry.
Bodies collided with bodies, horses scread, and many thousands of n died.
She alone was repeatedly breaking their formation, splintering them into chaos, allowing Malik’s army to rush into the gaps, cutting down the confused and scattered enemy.
The woman was no less cruel than Sinbad.
Yet, despite that, the battle churned, a grinding machine of death that showed no sign of stopping.
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