As he focused on avoiding the relentless aerial bombardment, the Badgers rapidly closed the distance on the ground, their jaws snapping inches from his heels.
His initial goal had been to just back away and escape the aggro radius, but these bastards kept chasing him. And since two of them were flying, acid-spitting Layer 2 Omen-Bloods, running away indefinitely in a dense jungle was becoming mathematically impossible. One slip on a slick root, or one direct hit from that acid, and he was dead.
Sol gritted his teeth, his crimson eyes flashing with sudden, violent annoyance.
Fine, Sol thought, his patience evaporating.
He dug his heavy boots hard into the dirt, skidding to an abrupt, violent halt that kicked up a wave of mud. He spun around, dropping his center of gravity, and channeled a massive surge of Golden Liquid directly into his arms.
