[Leav POV]
The Bonefang Warlord lay motionless on the ground, his blood soaking into the dirt. For a moment, everything seemed frozen, the battlefield stilling as if the death of the warlord had ended the battle. But Leav knew better.
He tightened his grip on his weapon and scanned the battlefield. The Bonefang warriors hadn't all fled—some were still fighting, their eyes burning with desperation and rage. Others hesitated, glancing between their fallen leader and the growing number of their dead.
Leav raised his voice, cutting through the tension.
"Your warlord is dead! Your leader has fallen! Surrender, or die like him!"
Some of the Bonefang warriors dropped their weapons, backing away with hands raised in submission. But not all of them.
A guttural snarl rang through the night, and a group of Bonefang warriors, their eyes wild with fury, surged forward. These were the fanatics—the ones who would rather die than admit defeat.
Leav barely had time to react before they were upon him.
A curved blade slashed toward his face. He twisted his body, the steel whistling past his cheek. The goblin attacking him snarled and lunged again, but Leav stepped in, driving his dagger up into the warrior's ribs. The Bonefang warrior gasped, eyes wide in shock before slumping to the ground.
More were coming.
"Tear! Yorl! Hold the line!" Leav shouted, stepping back to assess the battlefield.
Tear, still breathing hard from his fight with the warlord, bared his teeth and slammed his axe into the dirt. "Hold the line, boys! Don't let the rats through!"
Yorl, ever the berserker, was already in the thick of it, his blade cutting through the enemy like a whirlwind. His usual reckless nature had been tempered by the battle, and Leav could see that he was now thinking about his moves—choosing his strikes carefully instead of blindly charging forward.
[Frot POV]
Frot moved like a shadow through the battlefield, his twin daggers flashing in the dim light. While the main forces clashed in open combat, he and his team struck from the darkness, picking off Bonefang warriors who thought they were safe.
He slid behind one of the Bonefang berserkers who was locked in combat with Yorl. The brute had no idea he was there—until Frot's blade sank deep into the soft spot between his ribs.
The warrior let out a strangled gasp, eyes darting to Frot in surprise. Before he could react, Frot twisted the blade and withdrew it, letting the goblin crumple.
"Too slow," Frot muttered before vanishing back into the night.
His team moved in perfect synchronization. They were few, but they were precise. Every kill they made sent ripples through the enemy ranks, increasing the fear and chaos among the Bonefang warriors.
[Weal POV]
Weal had no love for direct combat, but that didn't mean he was useless. He worked from the edges of the battlefield, mixing his poisons and preparing deadly concoctions.
He dipped an arrowhead into a viscous purple liquid, his fingers steady despite the chaos around him.
Then, with careful aim, he loosed the arrow.
It struck a Bonefang lieutenant in the neck. The goblin barely had time to react before his body seized up, the poison paralyzing him mid-strike. He collapsed, twitching violently, eyes filled with terror as he realized he could no longer move.
Weal smirked. "One down."
He turned to his pouch, grabbing another vial and coating more weapons. The battle wasn't over yet, but with every poisoned blade and arrow, the tide continued to shift in their favor.
[Leav POV]
Leav saw the momentum shifting. The Bonefang forces were crumbling, their attacks becoming more erratic. Their morale had been shattered.
Now was the time to finish this.
He raised his weapon high and roared, "Push forward! Break them!"
His warriors surged ahead with renewed energy. Tear led the charge, his axe carving a path through the enemy lines. Yorl followed close behind, his movements precise and deadly. Frot and his team continued their silent assassinations, while Weal's poisons thinned the enemy ranks even further.
The battle stretched on, but it was clear—the Bonefang warriors were losing.
One by one, they fell. Some fought to the bitter end, refusing to surrender. Others threw down their weapons and fled into the night, knowing they had no chance of victory.
As the last of the enemy forces broke and scattered, Leav took a deep breath, his body aching with exhaustion.
The battle was over.
But this war was far from finished.