Chapter 699: Dead End.

The Wind Mage dug deep for what little mana she had left.

She pushed her staff forward, trying to cast a stronger spell, one big enough to stop the Fallen in its tracks.

Quickly, the wind around her stirred and began to swirl, thin ribbons of green light curling around her wrists.

She clenched her teeth. Sweat ran down her temples.

Then the light flickered.

It sputtered, shrank and went out.

Her mana was gone, drained to nothing by the barrage she had just thrown. The wind died around her, and the last bit of green faded from her staff.

Her face went white.

’No... not now... please...’

She tried again, squeezing her eyes shut and straining, but nothing came. Her staff trembled in the empty air. Her knees threatened to give out beneath her.

She opened her eyes and saw the Fallen.

It was running toward her, its green sockets burning and its chains dragging behind it with a deafening scrape.

Every step shook the ground.

Its gaunt body loomed larger and larger and the cold, rusty smell of it filled her nose. She could not move.

She tried.

God, she tried.

But her legs would not obey her.

The Fallen swung its arm, and the thick chain whipped out in a deadly wide arc, aimed straight at her.

Time seemed to slow.

’I’m dead...’ She thought and closed her eyes.

Bang!

A deafening sound rang out, heavy and sharp, but the Wind Mage felt no pain. She cracked her eyes open and stared in confusion.

There and then, she saw him.

The Berserker stood in front of her, his huge axe raised across his body. The chain had struck the blade and glanced away.

Sparks still crackled along the edge.

His breathing was hard.

His shoulders heaving, and blood ran freely down his arm. But he had made it just in time.

"Get back," he rasped, grinning through the pain. "I got you."

Relief crashed over her.

Her legs finally gave way, and she dropped to one knee, gasping for air and clutching her chest.

Tears blurred her vision.

She nodded weakly, unable to speak.

Bang! Bang!

The Berserker spun and met the next strike with his axe, driving the chain aside again and again.

The Hunter’s arrows whistled over his shoulder and slammed into the Fallen’s skull, forcing it to stagger back.

For a moment, the pressure eased.

The Lancer pulled her spear free from the second Fallen’s side and fell back a step. The healer was hastily casting a healing spell on the Tank.

Their situation was dire.

The party scrambled to close the circle again with a fragile breath of hope.

Just then the third Fallen attacked.

It had been circling at the edge of the fight, and now it lunged.

A long chain shot across the plain like an arrow, and it wrapped around the Warrior’s chest.

Crack!

The leather armor split open with a sharp tearing sound. The Warrior gasped, and his sword slipped from his fingers.

The chain jerked backward, and he was torn from the ground and flung through the air. He crashed down hard on the stone, tumbling across the rocks.

He lay still, his chest bleeding through the broken straps.

"No!"

The scream tore across the plain.

The party froze.

Their faces turned pale, and their eyes went wide with shock.

The Lancer’s spear trembled.

The Hunter was unable to maintain his stance.

The healer covered her mouth, and her hands began to shake.

The Berserker’s grin vanished.

The three Fallen advanced, and the pressure on the party doubled.

Chains cracked across the plain, striking with terrifying force.

The Lancer’s spear shook in her grip with each impact. The Hunter’s arrows came slower, and his fingers fumbled on the string.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

"What should we do?!" someone cried.

"We can’t continue like this..." The Healer’s voice broke as she scrambled across the ground toward the fallen Warrior.

Tears hung at the corners of her eyes.

"We’re going to die, aren’t we?"

She tried to cast the healing spell she had cast a hundred times before, but the words would not come out.

Her mind was blank.

Her lips moved, and nothing followed.

’What was it? What was the spell?’

Her breath came in short, panicked gasps.

She stared at her hands as if they belonged to someone else.

Terror had hollowed her out, and all that remained was the thought of death, close enough to touch.

Around her, the others felt it too.

The Lancer’s face was pale and grim.

The Hunter’s eyes darted from one Fallen to another, as though he were counting how many heartbeats he had left.

Anxiety crept through them like cold water. Every blow that landed on their weapons made them flinch.

"Let’s try to run," the Berserker said through gritted teeth.

He braced his axe against an incoming chain, and the impact sent a shudder up his arms.

"If we keep staying here, we’re all going to die."

"Noooo. That’s impossible." The Wind Mage shook her head, her face white and wet.

She raised her staff with both hands, and a thin, flickering wind blade flew from its tip, barely enough to scratch a Fallen’s arm.

"If we had a chance to escape in the first place, we wouldn’t have fought them!"

The Berserker’s jaw tightened.

He did not want to say it, and she did not want to hear it, but they both knew she was right.

The unwillingness twisted his face as he swung the axe again and again to drove a chain aside.

Sweat and blood ran into his eyes. Running means death while staying also means death.

"Fuck! We need to do something!" the Hunter screamed, backing up as the nearest Fallen lumbered closer.

His last arrow shook on the string.

"Anything!"

No one answered.

The Fallen attacks grew fiercer with every passing moment. The Fallen seemed to feed on their fear, their green sockets blazing brighter.

Their strikes landing harder and faster.

A chain tore across the Lancer’s shoulder and spun her around. Another smashed into the Berserker’s axe and nearly ripped it from his grip.

An anchor crashed down and split the ground a few steps from the Healer, and she screamed. Death was closing in on them, and every one of them could feel it.

Just then, the Lancer’s eyes caught something.