Smoke billowed from the explosions. Ben, now close enough to see the carnage , narrowed his eyes. His stronghold—were almost destroyed.
The gate was gone. The walls had crumbled, massive chunks of stone and chitin scattered across the ground. Parts of the second floor had collapsed, torn apart from the blasts. The ground was scarred with deep craters, remnants of the traps he had set. And amidst the destruction—the fight still raged on.
Ben didn't slow. He pushed forward, his armor expanding, chitin plating over his arms as his pickaxe materialized in his grip. But before he could throw himself into the fray—
BOOM!
He slammed into the ground like a meteor, the impact sending a shockwave outward. The nearest Ravagers stumbled, thrown off balance— Ben didn't waste the opportunity. He swung. His pickaxe carved through the first Ravager's skull like wet clay, the beast collapsing before it even registered death.
