Miguel leaped backward, using Protection of the Forest. A giant hand of twisted roots and mud erupted from the ground, wrapping its six-fingered grip around the troll. It squeezed – not nearly hard enough to kill the durable creature, but with enough pressure to keep it in place. Aiding in that endeavor was the viscous mud itself, which clung to the creature’s fur and bound its struggling limbs in place.

Trusting the spell, he whipped around, activating Bite of the Cobra. The Blade of the Green Warden glistened with noxious green ethera, and as it sliced into the next troll, the thing staggered backward with a howl of agony. From experience, Miguel knew that Bite of the Cobra was incredibly painful, but that had nothing to do with why he used it. Instead, he did so because it nullified a good portion of the trolls’ monumental regeneration.

Behind him, a ball of rippling soulfire slammed into his mud hand, incinerating the spell and the prisoner it held. Isaak had proven himself a valuable asset against the trolls, largely because their inherent weakness against fire seemed even more of an issue against the much more powerful soulfire. The only limitation was that Isaak could use it only sparingly. He was working on his control, but he’d yet to master how much of his soul he pushed into each spell.

It only took a wisp, but he had difficulty holding back.

Not that Miguel had an opportunity to appreciate his friends’ efforts. Instead, he immediately recast Protection of the Forest, using another conjured mud hand to confine the largest troll he could find. Even as ethera flooded out of him to power that spell, he threw himself at the wounded troll. It came in with a high swipe, but Miguel ducked under it. His Bite of the Cobra-laced blade sang as it arced out, slicing through the shaggy-furred creature’s thigh.

Miguel threw himself into a roll, barely avoiding the responding stomp. It brought its own blade – ragged and coated in blood – to bear only a moment later, but Miguel was already gone. He sprinted toward another troll, already casting Quiescence to help him recover spent stamina.

He hit another troll with a shoulder tackle that harnessed every single point of strength he could muster. In addition, he’d activated Charge at the last second, giving him a little more force. He slammed into the creature, sending it sprawling to the ground. Behind him, his illythiri allies fell upon the wounded troll he’d left behind while Isaak tossed another spark of soulfire at the other entrapped creature.

Miguel kept going, using all of his abilities. Recover and Quiescence were nearly constant, while he employed skills like Impale and Champion’s Shout where appropriate. Mostly, he relied on his swordsmanship and the lessons he’d learned over the course of months of battle.

There were two reasons for that. The first was that he didn’t want to lean too heavily on his abilities because if he did, he’d run dry of ethera and stamina very quickly. He was no caster after all, and though his abilities were incredibly potent, they were meant to be used situationally.

The second reason was that at any given time, he had a half dozen passive buffs going. None were more important than Knight’s Devotion, though.

For all that the description was flowery nonsense, the effect was anything but what that might have suggested. Because of that passive ability, he could push his body, mind, and will further than anyone else in the entire company. The only caveat was that if he let his purpose waver, Knight’s Devotion could shatter.

However, there was one ability that was both expensive and extraordinarily useful that he only employed when absolutely necessary. As it happened, that time came only a few minutes into the battle when a pair of trolls cornered him against a giant mushroom. With a whirling sword, he held them off for a few more seconds, but the creatures were among the highest-level in the opposing army. As such, they were beyond his ability to easily deal with.

Still, he fought on, relying on his battered wooden armor – which had been cobbled together and repaired so many times that it had lost much of its efficacy – to shield him until reinforcements came.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before a horn sounded.

Miguel’s heart leaped into his throat. He knew what the sound meant – it was time to retreat. Anyone who failed to obey that order would be left behind. There would be no rescue missions. No valiant charges to save them. They all knew the situation, which meant that tough choices needed to be made. One straggler wasn’t worth the effort needed to rescue them.

It was his own fault for letting himself be surrounded.

Fortunately, Miguel had an out.

He activated Way of Trees.

His spells tended toward the cryptic when it came to descriptions, but it had only taken a little experimentation to understand what Way of Trees did. With a surge of ethera, he stepped back, disappearing into the mushroom’s thick stalk. Luckily, it counted as a tree. Otherwise, he’d have been out of options.

But it did count, so he quickly melted into the trunk, disappearing entirely. The trolls attacked the stalk, ripping into its rubbery flesh, but by that point, Miguel was already gone. He flitted from one mushroom to another like a ghost, pushing as far as he could before his ethera bottomed out.

He made it a few hundred yards, emerging just behind the retreating illythiri soldiers. He struggled not to stumble as he reappeared, running at a pace that quickly covered the intervening ground. The illythiri had seen him use the ability more than once, so they were unsurprised when he rejoined them.

They did look upon its use with some degree of disdain, though.

Illythiri were an honorable sort. Aside from a few black sheep, they tended to see combat as an almost holy ritual. As such, they eschewed the use of active abilities. That was a mistake, as far as Miguel was concerned. And when the time came, every elf would use whatever means of survival they had at hand. Miguel simply chose to do so before his back was against the wall.

It had not earned him any friends among the illythiri.

But he wasn’t there to make friends. He was there to learn. To grind levels and accomplish a goal. To date, he’d made good headway on the first two categories, but the last was far out of reach. The goal was nothing short of defeating the trolls and conquering the Primal Realm. And despite having made quite a lot of progress, he was far from ready to do either.

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Those thoughts cut through his mind like a knife as he caught up to Isaak.

“You level?” asked the older young man, his curly hair slick with sweat as he struggled to keep up with the elves.

“Twice.”

“Damn. I only got one.”

“Where does that put you?”

“One-twelve,” Isaak said. “You?”

“One-oh-five,” Miguel answered.

It really was incredible progress, but then again, the trolls provided a perfect proving ground for young warriors. So long as one could survive, he could rack up kills left and right, and without all the philosophical questions that came with wholesale slaughter. Miguel had never been interested in those sorts of issues, but some of the elves were.

And Isaak put a lot of stock in morality.

Silly concepts, Miguel thought. He had his devotion to the grove and his family. His friends came next. But beyond that? He would fight to defend innocents, but when it came to the wicked, he had no issues putting them down. And he certainly wouldn’t lose any sleep about whether or not it was right or wrong.

If someone met his blade, they probably deserved it, and that was all the justification he needed to clear his conscience.

“You get a new ability?” Isaak asked.

Miguel checked his notification, seeing that he’d gotten one.

“Spirit of the Blizzard,” he answered. “Another companion ability.”

“Ouch.”

As he jogged along, he gave a shrug. “It’ll be useful when Trevor and I reunite,” he stated. “Until then, I have all the abilities I need.”

Indeed, many of his other abilities were either useless in his current situation – and meant to make him more powerful within the grove – or had been tied to his bond with Trevor. So, despite gaining a multitude of levels, he hadn’t really gotten as many new spells as he probably should have.

By comparison, Isaak’s spells were all odd. He’d gotten a few massive spells that each took quite a long time to cast, but the rest of them were passive abilities meant to assist him in seeing and manipulating ethera. He’d also gotten an upgrade to his personal shield spell that would hopefully increase his odds of survival. Finally, he’d gained the ability to cast his spirit from his body and scout the way ahead.

It was undetectable – at least as far as anyone could tell – but when he used it, his body fell limp, rendering him completely vulnerable.

It was useful, though, as they’d discovered when he’d used it to discover more than one impending ambush. If he could’ve employed the ability at all times, the soldiers might have been more accepting of him. As it was, their acceptance was begrudging, largely because Isaak was a pitiful melee fighter.

He’d gotten better, but he was still well below the average illythiri – even among their mages.

He didn’t seem to care, though.

The company continued along, leaving the trolls behind. That was the one advantage of fighting the creatures. They were strong and brutal in battle, nearly unstoppable due to their immense regeneration. But they did not move quickly. Miguel had no idea how that worked, but he was thankful for it. Otherwise, they never could have escaped.

In fact, Eldrathûn would have long since fallen if they were any faster of foot.

For another two days, they continued on through the Hollow Depths until they reached their destination. Miguel didn’t know what the fort was called, and he didn’t care to find out. It was doomed, just like the dozen others they’d seen overwhelmed along the way. Their job was to fight as long as they could, holding on so that the eventual end came a little further down the line.

It was a fatalistic goal, but the elves had gotten it down to a science. Certainly, some soldiers would be sacrificed. That was inevitable. But the casualties would be minimal. And given the circumstances, that was just about the best anyone could hope for.

Miguel and the others entered the fortress, which was sealed behind them. Without skipping a beat, they all headed to the dining hall, where they gathered what food they could before mounting the wall. They’d all done it many times before, and they knew their business well.

After that, they settled down to rest for a few hours, eating as much as they could stomach. On the road, food was a luxury, so they knew to take advantage when they had the chance.

As it turned out, they only had a half day before the trolls reached them. That’s when they joined the fort’s defense, fighting with a level of routine viciousness that only true soldiers could muster.

Days passed.

Then more than a week.

By the time they approached a month, Miguel had begun to think they could hold the line. Sure, he hadn’t remained atop the wall for the entire time, but he’d spent two out of every three hours up there. So, he knew the threat. He could see a path to victory.

And then the reinforcements arrived. Huge hordes rushed forward, followed by swarms of giant mosquito-mounted trolls. It was an overwhelming force, and it signaled the end.

Still, they fought. They defended. They held on for another week before Ivin gave them the order to retreat.

When that order came, it just so happened that Miguel and Isaak were knee-deep in trolls without any hope of escape. It wasn’t the first time the company had left its members behind, and Ivin had made it clear that they would get no special treatment.

Miguel fought. He bled. He used every single ability at his disposal. But it wasn’t enough. Still, he kept on. Even after Isaak collapsed, having spent the entirety of his pool of ethera, Miguel continued to fight. It was a losing battle. He knew he was a dead man. And yet, he could not waver. He had no stamina. No ethera to speak of. His limbs felt like lead, and his armor was in splinters. Even the Blade of the Green Warden had lost some of its sheen, its edge chipped and a small crack running down its spine.

Miguel lashed out, his blade biting deep into a troll. He’d backed himself against a parapet, hoping to limit the trolls’ approach. It did the job, but they were stacked dozens deep, each one snarling with fury.

And he couldn’t kill them.

Not just with a blade. Not without hacking them to tiny pieces, which was impossible with the weight of numbers arrayed against him. Every wound he inflicted healed after only a few seconds.

The trolls truly were a terrifying opponent.

Miguel held on by a thread, his shoulders drooping in exhaustion as his attempted attacks flew wide or came in far too slow. He knew he was going to die.

It would have been so easy to simply give in. To surrender. He’d done more than anyone could have expected. He had fought and killed more trolls than anyone else in the company, save for Isaak or Ivin himself. That had to be enough.

But it wasn’t.

Memories of his mothers flitted through his mind. He wanted so very much to live up to their legacies. He wished he could have gone back to protect the grove. To fulfill his pledge. He wanted to find Trevor. To help usher him to true sapience. There was so much potential there.

But most of all, he thought of Hope. Maybe she would find someone else to love. He hoped so.

Miguel’s sword fell to the stone floor of the wall walk, its tip hitting with a wooden clatter. He tried to lift it, to continue his attack, but his muscles simply wouldn’t follow his commands.

He was going to die.

It was a certainty he simply had to accept. He looked up, glaring at the closest troll. It was an ugly thing of long hair and sinewy muscle. Deadly.

It raised its jagged sword, clearly intending to split him in two.

Miguel accepted it, closing his eyes. He could almost feel the comforting presence of his companion looming over him. That was nice. It had been so long, he’d almost forgotten what Trevor felt like. As last sensations went, it was a good one.

He waited for the blade to fall. And yet, it didn’t. Instead, the smell of burning fur reached his nose. A second later, he heard what sounded like the yowl of a cat. He forced his eyes open to see a scene of absolute carnage.

Blood and body parts lay all around as a trail of ash decorated the wall walk.

And over it all loomed Trevor. His antlers had grown almost as wide as his father’s, and he radiated a level of power that said quite clearly that he was ascended. In the distance, a blur of fur and claws resolved into a cat. Specifically, a Maine coon.

“Artemis?” he croaked, his throat dry and his voice without a hint of force behind it.

The cat looked back and fixed him with an unreadable stare before embarking on another reign of carnage.

It wasn’t enough. She’d barely killed fifteen trolls, and there were thousands in and around the fort.

“Trevor…we have to escape,” Miguel muttered, already reaching down to grab his friend’s limp body. The young man was light as a feather, but to Miguel’s exhausted muscles, he might as well have weighed a ton. Still, he managed to throw Isaak over Trevor’s broad back. Then, he climbed into position just behind the stag’s shoulders. “What about Artemis?”

He looked back to see that the cat had disappeared. Trevor snorted, somehow conveying his meaning that the cat could take care of herself. Then, without further delay, Trevor leaped from the wall and ran along a beam of moonlight.

As they passed over the trolls, many of the creatures threw javelins in their direction. They all missed, and soon enough, Trevor left them behind as he streaked across the sky. After only a few more minutes, he descended to the ground, and Miguel could feel that his companion had used most of his ethera.

But by that point, they had enough of a lead that their survival was all but assured.

Still, it took almost a day for them to catch up to the company. Ivin greeted them with a nod of approval, but otherwise, he ignored them as they made their way to their next destination. Along the way, they bypassed dozens of smaller forts, but after almost a month, they finally reached a city with a teleporter.

And at last, they returned to Eldrathûn.

Miguel had no context for how long they’d been gone. Six months at least. And in that time, he’d gained more than he’d ever thought possible. To get as many levels as he had, he’d have needed to constantly run towers. So, he was grateful for the opportunity. However, underlying that gratitude was a fatalistic sense.

The trolls were coming, and so far, there was nothing anyone could do to stop them.

“You see, now,” said Ivin, suddenly standing across from him. Miguel hadn’t even felt the man move. “Our plight does not simply affect those who dwell in the Hollow Depths. It is a worldwide problem.”

“It is,” Miguel agreed.

“Then you shall return to your people. Tell them what you have seen. Persuade them to help us. Otherwise, Earth will never make it to excisement.”

Miguel didn’t need to consider it for more than a few seconds before he nodded. “I can do that. I don’t know how much pull I have, but I’ll do everything I can to get help,” he said.

“Then that is all I can ask.”