With Nick's protective spell still in effect, a shimmering, iridescent barrier holding back the brunt of the storm, Nick himself was paying a heavy price. Essence, the very lifeblood of a mage, drained from him with alarming speed, each passing second a perilous drain on his reserves. The strain was visible in the subtle tremor of his hand, the beads of sweat gathering on his brow, the slight pallor that had settled over his face.
"Hurry up, Asher," Nick rasped, his voice strained, the words barely audible above the howling wind. "I'm almost out of essence. This barrier won't hold much longer."
Asher nodded, his own face grim with concentration. He spread his hands, palms upward, a slow, rhythmic chant escaping his lips. The words, ancient and powerful, resonated with a low hum, drawing power from the very storm itself. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, strands of flame, vibrant and intensely hot, began to coalesce around him, twisting and writhing like sentient serpents. The air crackled with energy, the smell of ozone sharp and acrid in his nostrils. The raw power he was summoning was immense, threatening to overwhelm him.
He drew the fire energy upward, channeling it, refining it, focusing its destructive potential. With each breath, the flames intensified, growing larger, brighter, until they formed a swirling vortex of incandescent energy, a miniature sun burning in the heart of the storm. With his hands raised high towards the tempestuous sky, balls of fire, each the size of a small meteor, began to materialize above him, their fiery surfaces glowing with an almost unbearable intensity. They hung suspended in the air, a breathtaking display of raw magical power, poised to unleash their devastating fury.
These flaming meteors, each a miniature sun, hung precariously above the storm, a terrifying spectacle that seemed to hold the very fate of the battlefield in its fiery grip. They waited, patient and deadly, for the command to descend. The tension was palpable, the waiting almost unbearable.
Asher, his face beaded with sweat, his body trembling with the exertion, was on the brink of exhaustion. The raw power he had summoned was draining him, pushing him to his absolute limits.
"I'm almost out of essence," Asher thought, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "This better be worth it. I don't have any other choice but to go all out." He steeled his resolve, his determination hardening into a grim focus.
"Dragon Art: Meteorite Apocalypse—Descend!" he roared, his voice a raw, powerful bellow that cut through the storm's fury. With a sweeping, downward gesture of his hands, he unleashed his devastating spell.
The meteors plunged from the sky, each a blazing comet, streaking across the stormy heavens, leaving fiery trails in their wake. They detonated within the heart of the storm, creating a colossal explosion that sent shockwaves rippling through the very air. The storm itself was transformed, the raging winds now laced with fire, the torrential rain now a fiery deluge. Everything within the radius of the explosion was consumed by an inferno, a maelstrom of fire that left nothing but ashes in its wake.
The immense strain of the spell, however, had pushed Asher to his breaking point. He collapsed, his body spent, his essence completely depleted. The victory, however, was short-lived.
Nick, already weakened by his sustaining spell, had no choice but to break his protective barrier. As the storm slowly subsided, revealing the aftermath of Asher's devastating attack, a chilling sight met their eyes. The ogres, despite the inferno they had endured, were still alive. Their bodies, though severely damaged, were slowly regenerating, their scattered flesh coalescing, their wounds knitting back together with terrifying speed. The regeneration, however, was noticeably slower than before, the inferno having significantly hampered their restorative abilities.
"What? How can they still be alive after that?" Asher gasped, his voice filled with disbelief and a dawning sense of despair. The sheer resilience of their enemies was staggering.
The ogres, weakened but far from defeated, were still struggling to reassemble their bodies when Ethan finally unleashed his power. A low rumble echoed through the sky, the air heavy with the promise of impending destruction. Dark clouds gathered, swirling and compacting into a dense, ominous mass. Lightning cracked through the clouds, the air alive with the sound of thunder, the booming echoes a deafening testament to the immensity of the power being unleashed. The sky itself seemed to be convulsing, a spectacle of nature responding to the might of a mage's will.
Ethan raised his arm, his hand clenched into a fist, his eyes blazing with a controlled fury. The power that surged through him, the force that had previously threatened to consume him, was now under his control, focused and channeled.
"Dragon Art: Lightning Wild Dance!" he roared, his voice carrying the strength of his will, a voice imbued with the very energy he commanded. He brought his fist down in a sharp, decisive gesture, unleashing the accumulated power.
The clouds, responding to his call, erupted in a breathtaking display of raw power. Lightning descended upon the ogres, not in a single, devastating strike, but in a chaotic, frenzied dance of destruction. The bolts of lightning, each a spear of pure energy, struck with blinding speed and terrifying precision, each strike leaving a searing path of destruction in its wake. Trees were splintered, the ground was scarred, and the remaining fragments of the ogres' bodies were instantly vaporized, reduced to ashes.
With this final, devastating attack, the ogres' reign of terror was finally over. Their hulking forms collapsed, their lifeless bodies hitting the ground with a thud that reverberated through the battlefield. Exhausted beyond measure, drained of their essence, the three mages could only collapse to the ground, their bodies broken, their minds reeling.
"What a fight," Asher thought weakly, his voice a mere whisper, as he lay unconscious, no longer caring about the potential dangers that might lurk amidst the ruins of their victory. The sheer exhaustion that settled over them was complete and utter. The battle was won, but at a terrible cost.