In the open plains, on the edge of Central Kalabri, the Wultr spread out, ranging far and wide. Again, Sania insisted she take to the air to scout further afield, but after the Paladin of Devotion incident it wasn’t worth it.

Yet after the day drew to a close, she continued to work on me in the evening camp to fly with her. She assured me from the air she’d pick them up so much more quickly. Grigor overhearing, suggested he scout the forward line so that we had better range and he would be ready to help out should we run into trouble. It seemed I had little choice but to agree, and the truth was that I wanted to move fast to get to people who could actually help me in my quest to defend against Natom.

So the next day, we kept our team apart from Grigor and the other three Woltar. They scouted ahead of our main pack. Then I set to the air, flying in a wide zigzagging flight ever eastward.

My senses were poor compared to Sania’s, but they had noticeably improved with the Elman evolution. Flying was also much easier since then. I was able to focus on the Neuma flows of the land below and the beautiful miasma of colors they created. Sadly, they offered no help in finding the Wultr.

Around noon, Sania finally picked up a scent, and we veered south, following her nose. I couldn’t reach Grigor with thoughts through the bond, but surprisingly, I could with Danivra for some reason, most likely because she was an absolute powerhouse. I wondered how far I could go from her, as well as how much difference becoming an Elman had made to the range.

“Wultr… and demons,” Sania hissed in my mind. I passed the message on to Danivra as we closed the distance on our target.

We finally found a group of sixty Wultr, injured and bloody, staggering away from a small, mountainous area a few miles wide. Behind them, loping along with various differing gaits, came approximately one hundred demons. Twenty of which were Ferthur, flapping their wings and screeching, keeping pace with the main body.

“Too many for us to deal with alone,” I said. “Let’s go back and come in with the others.

Sania dropped lower. “Let’s at least give them some hope,” she said.

I dropped alongside her and closed the distance with the Wultr. They started pulling to a halt as they saw us, no doubt figuring we were an enemy.

“Keep moving!” Sania screamed down at them.

“We’re friends. Head that way!” I shouted, pointing toward where our friends were coming. Of course, they didn’t believe me and began forming up defensively.

“There’s over a hundred demons following you, you stupid fucks. You’re all gonna die if you don’t run that way now,” I shouted frustrated.

One of them morphed into his human shape.

Sazor: Level 48, Woltar (Wultr II).

He was clearly in as much pain as he was in anger. “You smell like demon!” he shouted.

“Yeah, and I’m not trying to kill you, am I? You all need to stop fucking around. They’re coming.”

“We’re trying to save you,” Sania shouted.

They still hesitated, so I threw a Spicy Ball at the ground near them. The head Wultr panicked but stood his ground.

“That was to prove the point that we could kill you where you stand if we wanted. Now run.”

Sania threw a Hunter's Flame at the ground in the same spot I had. Sazor nodded reluctantly, morphed, and set off running in the direction I pointed.

We flew above them, keeping pace and watching the approaching demons over our shoulders. They were gaining rapidly, but luckily our friends were moving faster.

“Okay, Sazor!” Sania yelled. “You’re coming up to our people now. Run straight through them, then come to a halt behind them.”

While she spoke to the Wultr below, I explained the situation to Grigor and Danivra.

They allowed the wolves to pass, with the five Fensalfar stopping just beyond the newcomers, bows seeming to magically jump into their hands and green energy infused arrows on their strings in seconds.

I watched in awe as five Ferthur fell from the air into the demons below, disrupting them, just as our ten Wultr crashed into them. More arrows went up and five more fell. Then I focused on my own bombardment with Sania as we threw Neuma projectile after Neuma projectile into the main body of the enemy where targets couldn’t dodge the attacks. Meanwhile, the Fensalfar and the purple energy bolts of Danivra took care of the Ferthur with more accuracy than either Sania or I could match.

The other Dokalfar had swords drawn and were currently flanking the demons as the Wultr with Krysan support held the front line.

The Nystiobek, being somewhat slower because of their size, came later, but they roared as they approached our front line. As one, the Wultr made space for the enraged Nystiobek, who hit the line with a lot of momentum, to pass.

It was as if what remained of the demon army all said oof at the same time.

It was an impressive showing. Grastad, in particular, impressed me as he drove deep into the enemy ranks, swinging for the hills with every rapid strike of his metal gauntlet. The entire fight lasted no more than ten minutes.

The Fensalfar and uninjured Dokalfar moved quickly through our people, healing their injuries.

We had eight people level up from the battle, with both Grastad and Sania leveling and reaching their evolution threshold.

Grastad let out a deafening roar, his already massive body thickening and growing. It was pretty freaky to watch, but I couldn’t take my eyes from him as his thirteen-foot frame swelled to at least sixteen feet tall. He was probably eight feet wide now too, and he was fucking terrifying.

This battle had been the first fight I’d really seen him in beyond the one we’d had. In that fight, despite being of a similar level, I’d had to use Neuma to save my ass.

I could see why even the Woltar respected the Nystiobek as warriors, but this evolution really took it to the next level. It suddenly hit me as Grastad flexed his new, more ripped physique, that most of the tunnels we had to walk through in the Nideland were around fifteen feet high. Grastad was going to have to walk stooped for the rest of the journey unless he travelled in his bear form. While all of the other Nystiobek slammed into Grastad with congratulatory physical abuse, I turned my attention to Sania.

She was already watching me with a cheeky smile on her face. “Ready for this?”

“No,” I mock sulked. “But congratulations. I’m indescribably proud of you.”

Her face beamed into the most radiant smile I’d ever seen in my entire life. Then she made her choice and began to transform.

To my surprise, my inferiority complex didn’t flare up at all. My beautiful Soul Mate only grew more beautiful at her new height of ten feet tall.

“So what do you think, Clive?” she asked, spinning round.

“Quite honestly, Sania, I think you look amazing. I’m a very, very lucky man.”

She actually blushed and at the same time looked relieved that I still accepted her. Which prompted the realization that she’d been worried about disappointing me with her new height. I suddenly felt terrible, realizing I’d probably been a bit of a cock about it.

“I think I'll keep my Claw of Rending Salvation back in case we’re attacked again.”

“Always a good idea, though I still haven't even tried mine out yet! That was probably the perfect time, yet we never really got into the nitty gritty of the fight.”

Sania laughed at me. “I’m absolutely certain there will be plenty of opportunities to use both of our ascension weapons.”

I nodded then moved over to give her a congratulatory hug. When we broke, I pointed over to Grastad. “We should probably go and see a bear about head clearance.”

Sania laughed. “He is going to fill the entire tunnels! Will carts even be able to pass him?”

“They’re gonna have to find a way,” I shrugged and marched over toward him. His identifier now read:

Grastad: Level 40, Nysti (Nystiobek II).

“Congrats, man,” I said, patting the big bastard on the arm.

He towered over me twice my height easily. “You think you beat me in a fight now, little demon man?”

“Sure, I’ll just fly where you can’t reach me and hammer you with my Spicy Balls.”

“Ha, yes, good idea. Maybe fist fight not so much. I have this now,” he said, activating his metal gauntlet, which start glowing gray, not showing the same caution Sania and I had to keep ours in reserve in case we needed them.

I shrugged. “Nice, man, and you know what? Fuck it. You know I got this now, don’t you?” I said, activating my Claws of Brutal Dismissal. I wasn’t sure exactly what had I expected, but I was surprised when my arm glowed bright red instead of the black like I’d expected.

The claws and the ridges on my arm grew, too, and I knew anyone I hit with this was gonna wish they’d never been born.

“Most dangerous fist pump ever?” I asked Grastad.

He grinned and we thumped fists together, creating a lot of heat and crackling energy.

Sania walked up and raised an unamused eyebrow. “Really?”

Then she activated her Claw of Rending Salvation and thrust it out, bumping our fists for some multi-colored drama and crackles. Grastad’s power dropped, and he had to pull his fist away quickly ending the fun. Sania’s dropped not long after, and mine kept glowing for at least another ten seconds before it dropped because I was three levels over my evolution. They were not impressed with my smug smile.

The Wultr we’d rescued now stood, stooped, or lay in their human forms. Impressively, six of them were Woltar, though every last one of them was so badly injured that I could hardly understand how they’d been able to run away at all. That was soon solved by the healers among our group, barely able to walk.

Grigor was already speaking with them when Sania and I made our way over.

“Thanks for finally listening and letting us save your asses,” I said to Sazor on approach.

He shrugged. “Times are hard, as is trust in strangers. Only a glimmer of avoiding certain death led me. I’m glad we did. Now, once we’re healed, we can carry on the fight.”

“Are there many more of you?”

“We hope the rest of our pack is safe further south, but until we get there, there is no way to know.”

“How many?” I asked

“A few hundred. All old or too young to fight and a few warriors to guard.”

“How many warriors did you lose in your recent battle?” Sania asked.

“Three hundred set out to divert the threat to our camp. We are all that remains.”

“If you seek revenge, you will be washed away in the wave of Destruction’s forces, and your pack will be soon to follow. You need to forget about revenge for now and focus on survival,” Grigor said, standing straight-backed. He struck an imposing figure and commanded respect, even from the few Woltar that were slightly higher leveled than him.

“And where do you think is safe from Destruction?” Sazor said miserably.

“Our home in the south,” Grigor replied, then went on to explain what we were doing.

“And leave our lands?” he asked aghast.

“Of course,” Grigor said. “You know me. Sazor. You know I spoke to your Alpha almost three years ago now and asked him for help. I warned him of what was coming. He rejected my pleas, and now my lands are nothing but ash and weeds. None of the beast kin packs of the Crasters remain in their lands. The Dokalfar city of Helvien has fallen too. We have their queen with us. The survivors are all banding together in Far Reach. If you want revenge, then Far Reach is where there is a hope of finding it. If you stay here, then you are sentencing your entire pack to death.”

There was muttering among the Wultr, most now healed as much as they could be. Sazor left our conversation to speak with them in hushed tones, though even I could hear the conversation, and my hearing was probably the worst among them.

Finally, Sazor turned amidst his men. “We will come.”

“A wise decision,” Grigor said. “Your pack is to the south, yes?”

“It is. Perhaps three days,” Sazor nodded grimly.

“Good, then it is in the right direction, but first you must make a detour with us to the town of Issel. If we move quickly, we may make it by nightfall.”

“Why would we travel east?” Sazor asked with a hint of distrust.

“There are hardened soldiers there who need to travel to Far Reach too. They have bows and will complement the Wultr fighting style, on that you can trust me. You will be far stronger in your travels together.”

Sazor agreed reluctantly.

“Hey, don’t forget about the Krysan,” I added.

“I do not know if it is wise to return for the Krysan. They are too far out of the way.”

“Nah, man, that sucks. Ask the Krysan with us what they think. If they say the same, then fuck it, I can’t save everyone, but I’ll let them be the judge of that.”

I waved Ralaex over, and he came quickly, offering a bow as he stood in front of Grigor and me.

“Do you think those we’re sending back south should detour toward the Krysan we saw on the way up here?”

Ralaex shook his head. “They didn’t want to come. Krysan are stubborn. Unless their homes have been destroyed, then their answer will remain the same. Leave them. They know where they can find us if they have a change of sense.”

His response took me by surprise, but the decision was probably the right one. I just didn’t want any of the people with us feel like their people weren’t any less important.

“Very well. Let’s get back to Issel then so that we can continue our own journey.”

“Will we not guide them to their pack?” Grigor asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it. Including the Issel guards, there’ll be eighty of them, and once they’re all healed up, they’ll have a stronger group than ours.”

Grigor gave a rare smile. “Perhaps in numbers, but not in spirit.”