Cresting the hills of the Smiling Tree of Wishes' landmass, crimson eyes flicker in the mist. First a few, then hundreds, then thousands. Their bodies are twisted and deformed. Beastkin and dwarves, humans and elves, goblins, wolves, scorpions, harpies, and many more creatures from around the world.
Shards of bone jut out from their joints, or vines protrude with sickening pustules surrounding them. Half-open bodies with organs visibly pulsing with life, or a lung half out of its chest.
Each bears faint traces of this red mana, this corrupted energy. Though faint, if one of these beings were to fight their own kin, that kin would quickly notice the enhanced strength and speed despite the deformities.
But to the dragons?
Heavy flames engulf the hordes, and they shriek violently. Their small spikes and protrusions, when launched, can't pierce dragon scales, let alone a Primordial's.
What proves more of a threat are the harpies and the attacks from the tree itself. Hundreds of corrupted harpies rise continuously as the dragons continue to burn the landmass. Their attacks are stronger, more lethal than those of regular harpies, but still not strong enough to pierce a dragon's scales. Yet the sheer volume of them proves an overwhelming distraction.
The dragons and Primordials must focus on the ground but also protect their eyes as the corrupted beings begin targeting them. Dozens of dragons, overwhelmed by attacks aimed at their eyes, fail to notice the trembling earth before roots tear upward, piercing or ensnaring them.
Portions of Celeste's forces break off, trying to protect grounded dragons, but it's a terrible mistake. The hordes swarm them and, so close to the ground, they have little time to evade the roots.
"Don't save the fallen!" Celeste commands, though it breaks her heart. "Burn a way forward!"
The Primordials are less concerned about the harpies. Those that manage to strike their eyes don't even scratch the surface. Their only concern is the roots which can injure them. Several fall behind, slowed by gaping wounds in their torsos or wings, but they persist, flying behind their Queen nevertheless.
Atlas observes the battle from his RTS perspective. For every dragon that dies, thousands of these creatures are burned alive.
"Their lives aren't worth anything compared to a single dragon's life… It's almost like a swarm mentality," Atlas mutters as the Primordial force clears the halfway mark.
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Battle Statistics:
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Total Army Size: 1115
Primordials: 197
Dragons: 917
Dark Elf: 1
Kill Count: 45,000
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Atlas whistles and chuckles. "Damn! That's a lot of kills. Where's my experience system? Bronze to silver experience-tiered units right here!"
In the rear, Ira and Myra were keeping pace behind the main fighting force. Projectiles disintegrated before they reached Myra, and harpies that got too close were cleaved in half with red energy.
Myra's figure, however, seemed a little... woozy. Her eyes weren't quite focused, and she swayed like someone sick on Ira's back.
"Too much mana usage? Or is it the tree..."
–Alert: New enemies detected–
"Hm?"
He pressed the notification, and the globe before him rotated quickly while maintaining the RTS look. On the ground, nestled between groves of corrupted trees, giant eggs the size of houses hung. They were wrapped in layers of spiky vines, with a red mist aura emanating from them.
Crack, crack.
Their shells began to break. Angry, shrill cries emerged from within. And in a violent surge, the shells exploded as mini, corrupted dragons emerged.
Similar to the dragons in every way but with more spikes and a red aura mist. Their claws were blackened, but they seemed... off.
"Is the tree hatching them too early?" Atlas mused. "They look... underdeveloped."
Indeed, they resembled the youthful dragons he had observed in the CDIM replays before he dispersed them.
"So the tree is trying to grow the dragons, full-sized and everything, inside of eggs? How- ah."
Surrounding the eggs were fields of bones and skeletons. Some eggs, which remained unhatched, were fed a constant stream of red mist as hordes of these creatures ran straight toward the eggs. Their bodies decomposed rapidly until they could move no more, their essence flowing as red mist into the eggs.
"The tree is sacrificing its hordes to create stronger creatures. And with its numbers, it can afford to do so," Wisp commented.
"Yeah. And it only took a day. Not on Selena's level, but still frightening." Atlas said. "Still, we are over half-way there. At this pace I should see the tree within an hour and can zap it."
"Zappity, zap zap," Atlas jokes, zooming out again as the corrupted mini dragons begin to enter the battle.
There weren't hordes, like the harpies. Only a couple dozen. But much like the harpies, as each one fell, a new one would take its place. And these dragons, on par with the lesser dragons with their red mana, despite their lesser size, were capable of tearing through scales and were more maneuverable mid-air.
Dragons were beginning to fall more regularly, and the Primordials began to prioritize these new intruders. And unlike the harpies, these intruders were capable of slowing them as they were forced to engage in dragon fights mid-air.
"Maybe not an hour anymore," Atlas said, frowning.
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"AAAAA" A harpie screetched, attempting to claw out Myra's eyes before a band of red mana ripped it clean in half.
She swayed on Ira's back. The screams and temptations of the abyss, that had only attacked her in her dreams, were trying to pull her under during the chaos of battle. The chaotic whispers she heard when she was first bestowed this heightened powers were trying to force her to accept an invisible bond that led straight toward the Smiling Tree of Wishes.
"Soft-skin, what's wrong?"
"The tree...it's using its influence over the red mana. It's stirring mine, trying to take control!"
"Do you wish to fall and die, soft-skin?"
"No, I can handle it. The two energies are separate." Myra groaned. "The one I was given has a different quality. A more clean, corruption? If that makes sense."
"But both wish to kill you?"
"No. Mine wants to kill me and those around me. This one wants to bind me to its will."
"I do not want you on my back, soft-skin," Ira snarls.