When the purification hit eighty percent, the fight stopped pretending it had limits.
Both sides went all out.
Skills detonated one after another, overlapping effects lighting up the church like a dying star. Blades screamed through the air.
Magic cracked, froze, burned, cursed. Stamina warnings blinked at the edge of my vision, cruel and persistent, but none of us moved back.
We held our ground.
By the time it reached ninety percent, the enemies snapped.
Completely berserk.
Elves abandoned formations. Dark angels dove straight in, wings tearing the air apart. It was raw instinct now. Destroy or be destroyed.
Oreo planted himself in front of me and expanded, scales groaning as his body grew larger, broader, until he was a living wall of mithril and flame.
"Everyone under me!" he barked. "I said I was a fortress and I will live up to my brand!"
Attacks slammed into him.
And bounced.
