Just as Sinclair was entering the cave mouth, he was sent to the ground. His Agility and Endurance had both topped 100–at the same time, and the changes were taking place simultaneously. Owww. This is a bad design flaw. What's wrong with one at a time?

"There are two knives sticking out of his back. Should we pull them out?"

"I think you're supposed to leave knives in wounds until you can get help?"

"Yeah, but what help is he going to get out here if not us?"

"Look he's coming around. Sinclair, buddy, do you want us to pull the knives out?"

"What is going on?"

"Are you ok?"

He could hear his friends talking, but was still trying to make out what he was feeling. Two stats at once was a nightmare.

"Hello! Yes, please and thank you. Pull hard, they are really in there." His voice was muffled, as his position—laying down face first—meant he was talking through his arms. "We only have two and a half minutes left until the third wave comes, so speed would be super duper."

He could hear them shuffling around, before someone braced themselves against his back and tugged on the first dagger. It moved a little… but not enough. He heard Ed cussing at the knife. The hand bracing his back disappeared, there was a quick jerk of motion, and the knife was yanked from his back. One down, one to go. The second one came out much more easily, now that his friends knew how much strength was required.

The wounds immediately started sealing over, and within a handful of seconds, he was back on his feet, eating and drinking. His friends were looking at him with concern—and a little bit of awe—plainly written on their face.

Sinclair lowered onto his haunches and scratched Leia's head. Without making eye contact, he began to speak. "Guys, I know this looks bad, but I'm ok, I promise. My only concern is getting you back home safely. I love this life, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, but that's only so long as I can get you three safely out of here. Keep it together just a little bit longer, and then we can go home." Continuing to avoid eye contact, Sinclair clambered to his feet and marched back out into the dark. He was weary and needed to rest. And seeing their faces isn't going to help me any.

Despite an inner monologue that was screaming 'bed, bed, bed, bed' at him, Sinclair forced himself to focus. This time, as the timer hit zero, the skyline was awash with colors. There are so many they're overlapping. I think this fight is going to be monstrous.

In the distance, he could just about make out something coming through the woods, making no attempt at hiding or deception. The wall of enemies stood as wide as he could see, from one end of the forest to the other. A quick Valkyrie's Gaze showed them to be elementals, golem-like creatures carved out of ice, that creaked and cracked but otherwise made no noise.

Name: Ice Elemental 23

Race: Ice Elemental

Level: 28

Health: 1200/1200

Description: Ice Elementals, known as Frost Wights in the Norse mythos, are formidable spirits that manifest the raw, untamed essence of the northernmost realms. These spectral beings are said to be born from the breath of Niflheim, the primordial world of ice and mist in ancient Norse cosmology. Resembling towering figures carved from glacial ice, their translucent bodies glimmer with an ethereal light, casting ghostly reflections in the endless winter nights. Their eyes, akin to the piercing cold of the farthest north, hold the mysteries of the frost-bound realms they inhabit.

As he scrutinized the horde of elementals, he quickly discerned that, while a few possessed higher levels, the majority hovered in the mid to lower 30s. Their numbers were daunting, yet something about their health seemed off. It struck him that for creatures of their level, their vitality appeared unusually low.

Lost in this analysis, he was abruptly jolted back to reality when an unseen force struck his left shoulder, sending him sprawling to the ground. Regaining his bearings, he noticed several elementals with their arms raised in a spellcasting stance. He barely had time to register this before a sharp, icicle-like snowball whizzed towards his head. Instinctively, he leaped backward, evading several more icy projectiles that hissed through the air, tracing the space he had just occupied.

The realization dawned on him: maintaining distance was not an option. He needed to close in. Focusing his gaze on the left flank of the elemental swarm, he gathered his energy into his legs. His muscles coiled like springs, ready to unleash. With a deep breath, he prepared to activate his new skill, Focused Charge. He hurtled into the fray, a blur of motion, intent on breaching the barrage of frost.

The surge of energy from the skill was exhilarating, akin to the rush of a high-speed roller coaster. In mere seconds, Sinclair had bridged the gap to the nearest flank of elementals. Without hesitation, he unleashed a flurry of swings from left to right, cutting a swath through the first trio of ice entities. Their crystalline forms shattered under the force of his strikes.

However, the battle was far from over. He noticed the other side of the elemental line beginning to converge, threatening to encircle him and attack on three fronts. The importance of constant movement dawned on him; standing still would leave him vulnerable to their overwhelming numbers. Although the strikes from the elementals were less brutal compared to the trolls' blows, they steadily chipped away at his health points, each hit a stinging reminder of the relentless assault.

Thankfully, the regenerative magic woven into his pants was working, offsetting some of the damage he sustained, although Sinclair knew this wasn't enough. If he didn't thin their ranks soon, he risked being overwhelmed in this war of attrition. With determination set within his eyes, he readied himself for the next phase of the battle, knowing that survival hinged on his ability to reduce the enemy's numbers swiftly—and effectively.

Sinclair swiftly adapted his strategy, weaving deftly between trees and adversaries. He struck at any exposed weakness before fluidly moving to the next target. This constant motion, a dance of agility and precision, allowed him to break the elementals' line of sight, as long as he never lingered in one spot for too long. This tactic effectively reduced the frequency of blows he endured, but it also prolonged the battle, since hit-and-run engagements were, by necessity, more drawn out.

Amidst the frenetic combat, Sinclair's keen eyes caught sight of a worrying development. A few of the elementals had noticed the faint glow emanating from the cave and were starting to veer off from the main group to investigate. That's a complication I can not afford. In an instant, he spotted an opening in the chaotic battlefield. Reactivating his charge skill, he surged towards the elementals heading for the cave, his movements a blur of lethal intent.

He descended upon them from behind, their icy forms collapsing before they even registered his presence. However, his decisive actions had an unintended consequence — they drew the attention of the entire horde to the cave's entrance. Sinclair realized, with a sinking feeling, that he had inadvertently revealed his allies' hiding spot to the enemy. The stakes of the battle had just escalated, and he braced himself for the next wave of the elemental onslaught, knowing that protecting the cave was now paramount.

As the elemental horde shifted en masse, their forms gliding ominously towards the cave opening, Sinclair found himself in the thick of a relentless battle. His strategy was straightforward yet demanding: he continuously cast Cleave, a cycle of charging up and discharging the skill with each powerful swing of his ax. He darted from one position to another, each movement punctuated by the release of the Cleave's destructive energy. This relentless offensive, however, came at a steep cost—his mana was depleting at an alarming rate.

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Despite his efforts, Sinclair couldn't evade every attack. The constant barrage of hits began to take their toll, the impact of each strike reverberating through his frame. The rapid, back-to-back use of skills, a taxing feat even for the most seasoned warrior, was physically draining. He felt the pressure intensifying as he was gradually pushed back, inch by inch, towards the cave entrance.

Realizing the direness of the situation, Sinclair reached out mentally to his companions, Chewy and Leia, his thoughts urgent and clear.

"Get them back as far into the cave as you can," he implored. "They're pushing me towards the entrance. You must find a way to keep them out of sight, as much as possible. Hide, you have to hide!"

The fate of his friends weighed heavily on him as he steeled himself for the next wave of the onslaught, determined to hold the line at any cost.

Sinclair's ears caught the sound of Chewy and Leia acknowledging his command. The pups sprang into action, barking and diligently herding his friends further into the cave's protective embrace. He could hear their anxious movements as they retreated from the entrance, where they had—slightly stupidly—been trying to catch a glimpse of the battle.

In the midst of this chaos, Sinclair, now perilously close to the cave's mouth—a mere ten feet away—faced a sudden, brutal assault. An ice sphere, hurled with deadly precision, struck the side of his face. The impact was jarring, forcefully spinning him to the side. He crumpled to the ground, half of his body sprawled across the cave entrance, the other half exposed to the elements.

Pain flared across his face, but it was the burning in his chest that seized his attention, a fiery call to action that refused to be ignored. It was a choice between rising to fight or condemning his friends to a grim fate. Fueled by desperation, Sinclair channeled the last remnants of his mana, focusing it into his chest and up through his throat. The sensation was akin to having a tennis ball lodged in his mouth, a concentrated ball of energy begging for release.

With a mighty effort, he expelled the mana, directing it outward with all the intent and focus he could muster. As the energy left his mouth, his body felt like it was engulfed in an inferno, a tempest of will and power. The expelled mana burst forth in a spectacular display, cascading over the advancing elementals. In that moment, Sinclair became the eye of the storm, a beacon drawing the full attention of the enemy, his actions signaling this last, defiant stand to protect those he cared for.

As if responding to a silent command, the elementals shifted their focus in unison, converging towards Sinclair with a chilling, singular purpose. Bereft of mana and his health dangerously depleted, Sinclair faced the onslaught with the determination only someone protecting their loved ones could muster. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, he readied himself, his resolve as unyielding as the ancient rock beneath him.

With a guttural, hoarse cry that echoed the rawness of his spirit, Sinclair swung his weapon with desperate ferocity. His ax arced from left to right, each strike a testament to his resolve, shattering the ice-bound forms of his assailants. "They can't have my family," he thought fiercely, the belief fueling his every move. "They are mine, and I'll let no one take them from me."

As he fought, specks of blood-flecked foam escaped his lips, a physical manifestation of his exertion and pain. The elementals, unable to use their ice spheres in the close quarters, resorted to relying on their sheer size and strength to overwhelm him. Blows battered him from all sides, but, amidst this relentless assault, Sinclair stood resolute, the lone warrior defying the odds to protect those he held dear.

With his spirit unyielding, Sinclair battled relentlessly, each step forward a triumph of will over weariness. His eyes glimpsed a glimmer of home as they set on the dwindling numbers of the elementals Victory was near; he could almost taste the respite that awaited him once this final wave was vanquished. The thought of returning home, to safety and rest, spurred him on.

However, in his fatigue-blurred state, Sinclair's attention faltered. He navigated the battlefield with less caution than before, his movements driven more by instinct than calculation. This lapse proved costly. The rugged terrain beneath his feet, littered with remnants of battle and uneven ground, betrayed him. He stumbled, a rare moment of vulnerability in his otherwise stalwart defense.

It was all the opportunity one of the last standing elementals needed. Seizing the moment, it thrust forward with a spear fashioned from the coldest ice. The lance pierced through Sinclair's abdomen with chilling precision, exiting with a cruel ease through the back of his armor. The sharp, sudden pain was a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled numbness he had been operating under. As the icy spear tore through him, a wave of shock and realization hit Sinclair. I'm going to die here. I'm going to die, on a world far from home, and my family and new friends are going to die.

As the ice lance impaled his stomach, Sinclair felt more than the searing agony of his own wound; he felt the echoes of emotional pain from those he had vowed to protect. Their cries pierced the air, a chorus of despair calling out for his protection, a haunting reminder of what was at stake. These sounds, these desperate pleas, resonated deep within him, etching themselves into the very fabric of his soul.

The realization that their suffering was a direct consequence of his perceived inadequacies weighed heavily on him. In his mind, he had failed them at their most critical hour, a failure that now seemed to define the closing moments of his life. The anguish of this thought was almost as excruciating as the physical pain he endured.

Surrounded by the chaos of battle, the cries of his friends, and the cold bite of the ice lance, Sinclair grappled with a profound sense of loss and responsibility. As his strength waned, these haunting sounds and feelings threatened to be the last he would ever know, a bitter symphony marking the end of his struggle.

A primal scream tore from Sinclair's throat, a raw expression of pain and defiance. With a surge of residual energy, he lifted his ax in a sweeping arc, severing the ice lance and decapitating the elemental in one fluid, desperate motion. The elemental's head fell, its icy form shattering upon impact with the ground.

Gritting his teeth against the agony, Sinclair hastily yanked the remnants of the lance from his abdomen. Time was of the essence; he needed to give his regenerative abilities the chance to kick in as swiftly as possible. His health bar was a glaring indicator of his dire state, only 15% of the pool remained as the bar flicked from orange to a distressing red, pulsing ominously.

His mana was completely depleted, a void within him where magical energy once surged. However, his physical stamina seemed almost inexhaustible. The recent enhancement to his endurance, boosting it over the 100 mark, had evidently paid dividends, lending him a reservoir of physical resilience he hadn't possessed before. This newfound stamina was a small, yet crucial advantage as he prepared to face the remainder of the enemy forces.

Gasping for breath, Sinclair's strength finally ebbed, and he fell to his knees. The intensity of the battle, coupled with his grave injury, left him struggling for air. Before him, the last of the elementals—a broken shard of its former self—was crawling towards him, driven by a fading, relentless purpose.

Lifting his head, Sinclair locked eyes with the advancing creature. As it entered the lethal range of his ax, he mustered his remaining strength and brought the weapon down with a final, decisive blow. The elemental shattered under the force, signaling the end of the onslaught.

Exhausted, Sinclair collapsed backward, his back finding support against a large boulder. With a voice barely above a whisper, he informed his friends that the fight was over. He could hear their footsteps, cautious yet hurried, as they approached.

They gathered around him, their faces etched with fear and concern. Their eyes, wide and filled with a mix of relief and terror, reflected the ordeal of terror they had just endured. Sinclair, amidst his own pain and exhaustion, recognized the depth of their fear—it was not just for themselves, but for him, their protector, now wounded and vulnerable. In that moment, amidst the aftermath of battle, a silent understanding passed between them, reflective of their shared trials and unspoken bonds.

"Not going to lie guys, this was ... tough. There were so many of them. And getting stabbed in the stomach by a lance is no picnic. So, er, I have just under two minutes to get ready for the last wave, and then we can go home. Beers—and therapists—on me, ok?" Ed walked closer and tried to help him sit up straighter. Chewy and Leia paced outside the circle, whining repeatedly, clearly distraught that they were not able to help.

"Are you guys doing ok?" Sinclair asked his friends.

"Are we ok? You idiot! You're bleeding out on the floor after killing a horde of snowmen on a freaking planet in another universe where everything works like a damn video game ... and you ask if we are ok?" Alice was close to crying by the end of her short tirade.

He was munching on food and drinking the last of the Coke he'd brought with him. Either the calories help with the regen, or I just like Coke. I don't really care right now. If this is going to be my last meal, I'm going to damn well enjoy it.

Rose moved forward towards Sinclair, looking in his eyes for the man she knew. "You look like shit, and that's being generous. We need you, so you need to get up right now. You have a job to finish. You know what your dad would say if he saw you sitting here instead of getting things taken care of." She looked strong like this, not crying or wailing for him to stop. She was supporting him in the only way he knew he could respond to.

"Yeah, he always had something to say about everything. It wouldn't have been so annoying if he wasn't always right." Sinclair paused, and grinned. "Oh, Alice? There were only 93 elementals. I'm not sure if that counts as a horde."

Alice punched him so hard he actually saw stars for a second, although she immediately realized he was the worse for wear, and apologized. Not like I'd get mad at her, she's pumped full of adrenaline. Probably can't think straight.

Today was turning out to be one hell of a day. As bad as the outcome had the potential to be, he was truly glad that his friends now knew the truth about what was going on. Although, the trauma from something like this was not what he wanted for them either.

That's all stuff to think about later. For now, it's time for Sinclair Smash! Gods I can be so cringe.

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