Chapter 5: Fire, Ice and Rot

Rip. Slash. Tear. And slice.

Magina awaited his disembowelment by the butcher monster's grueling hook, eyes clenched shut, bracing for the hellish pain. He could envision his death's bloody glory, with sinews of muscle flying like confetti, blood splattering and spilling over, organs rupturing apart. The Butcher would then laugh with glee as he made a meal out of his scrawny body, tearing into the torso with his gnashing teeth, like a roast turkey. Hook and cleaver would amputate his limbs, dismember his body and soul, eat away his sanity before he passes on to the next world. He counted the seconds before the hook hits him...

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

...

Huh?

CRASH!

A deafening boom made Magina snap his bloodshot eyes open, it was the sound of a heavy sonorous object, metal, clanging into something hard. With a gasp, Magina looked up, to see something shimmering in the light, almost blinding, and he squinted as the rays reached him. Before him was a conjured shield, erupting from the ground as a wall of crystalline ice, crackling subtly. Vertical spears of crystals layered one another, and in the middle of the wall was the black claw of the Butcher's hook, imprisoned in between a pocket in the ice, as if the wall had materialized around the hook itself. White frost powdered the ground near the wall, and wisps of condensed air descended from the wall's mountainous peaks.

Pudge meanwhile, roared furiously as he was once more denied of his meal. His right hooking hand yanked hard, and the hook's chain sprang up to life, but the hook was stubbornly stuck. Pudge dropped his cleaver, letting it clang on the ground and brought both hands onto the chain. He gritted his gnarled teeth as he strained to pull the chain, leaning his shoulders back as did so. The wall was sturdy and thick, stronger than the trees Pudge had ripped apart and flung around with ease with a single hand. Bark and crystal, of course the difference was greater. With a roar and the tensing of his muscles, the hook came free at last as the crystal ice burst apart in a shower of shards. The hook swung wildly in the air as it returned, and came crashing into Pudge's arm, knocking him back a little, and he stumbled, quaking the ground.

The Dire creeps went into a frenzy, screeching, hissing and growling, angry that they didn't see gore and blood. They rushed to the wall in a stampede, leaving Magina in his net, and banged the hilts of their swords upon it. The wall met the fury of black arms bashing upon it's glass-like surface, and pieces of it crumbled apart like a fortress in a siege. As the demons were busy venting their frustration, Magina saw it as a chance to break lose. However he was reminded by the sharp, stinging pain in his muscles that the poison still held him rooted. He hissed in frustration as he tried to even twitch his fingers, and it only brought him more suffering.

He then heard the steps of pattering feet, and he looked to see a single Dire creep walking towards him. Magina looked into the creep's white eyes, and it snarled at him with crooked fangs and torched mouth. The creep leaned in closer, sniffing Magina like a bloodhound. Then hissed as it lifted its black sword overhead, ready to decapitate Magina, whom cursed and struggled to urge his body to move. The creep cackled in delight as it readied its strike.

Whoosh.

Was what Magina heard as a flashing streak of red and yellow shot out from the left corner of his eye, and with a sickening crack it impaled the creep's shriveled throat, appearing as a burning, bone spear with an obsidian spearhead. The creep dryly shrieked in pain, and dropped its clanging sword and gripped the spear. The pitiful demon dropped to the ground, convulsing as the crackling fire burned its already burnt flesh, alerting its brethren. They turned their attention away from the wall and rushed to their comrade, whom kicked and screeched in agony. Then with a final, raspy hiss, the creep stopped kicking and convulsing. Dead.

An uproar of snarls and growls ensued, and the black demons flailed their arms in the air with rage. They bared their fangs at Magina, whom was the only obvious culprit. With shrieks of agreement, they directed their blades towards the trapped Anti-Mage. Magina just knelt there, unable to move an inch with his muscles of stone. The creeps closed in on him, forming a ring of black swords around his neck, threatening to slice his fragile jugular apart.

"Death to the Radiant!" they swore in their raspy voices.

"To Hell with you disgusting swine!"

"Long live the Demon Lords! Praise the Seven Hells!"

"In the name of Lord-"

Then they froze as they heard an echoing roar, like a tribal calling. Magina's ears perked when he recognized the deep, whooping voice. The entire forest seemed to resonate with the whoops and shouts, and the Dire creeps began to frantically look for where the sound was coming from. It was as if every leaf, every blade of grass and every stone and root was calling out, like a war horn sounding off. Even Pudge was confused, and his grip on his cleaver tightened. He snarled.

"Show yourself! Radiant scum!" roared Pudge.

Then the whoops and shouts ceased abruptly, creating a deathly silence. The creeps went quiet as well, along with Pudge, whom stood firmly with his hook and cleaver ready. He then lumbered towards the creeps, shoving one aside, with the chain attached to his arm rattling and his cleaver scraping sharply against his hook. Pudge sniffed the air, searching for the scent of fresh meat. His nostril flared as he picked up an unfamiliar scent from the bushes, to Pudge it meant another fresh meal was hiding in there. His yellowish, pus-riddled, worm-like tongue curled out, wet saliva flew as Pudge got excited. He threw back his hooking arm, winding up the toss.

"C'mere dessert!" snarled Pudge.

The creeps cheered as the hook sailed, with its chain body snaking behind towards the bushes. Magina watched helplessly as the hook flew overhead, partially glad that he was spared from the hook for the moment and fearful of what will become of the hook's victim. The hook's claw dived into the bushes, crashing through flimsy twigs and leaves, digging for hidden treasure. The chain coming out of Pudge's arm continued to clink and clank as it lengthened further, yards across and still continuing. Pudge watched in anticipation as he fished, like an angler watching his line.

Then a clang came from the bushes, and the chain stiffened, tensing up.

"Yes!" yelled Pudge, and the creeps pumped their fists in jubilee, enthusiastic for the prospect of gore, like spectators in a colosseum. Pudge cackled as his thick, bloated fingers gripped around the chain, ready to haul back whatever catch he had on the claw of his hook, smacking his lips. He tugged lightly, and the chain didn't budge. He tugged harder, but the chain was still stubborn. Pudge raised a non-existent eyebrow. Odd. He pulled back his elbow, grunting as he tried to reel the hook back. He roared furiously when he yanked once more, but the hook wouldn't return.

The bushes rustled where the chain led into, then all of a sudden Pudge felt a strong tug, causing him to stumble forward despite his massive bulk. His hook was being pulled away? Impossible.

The creeps shrieked as out from the bushes stepped the one behind the other end of the chain. Pudge saw his precious hook, grasped by a cyan-blue hand popping with veins. The hand led to a muscle-corded forearm and mountainous bicep, attached to the rippling shoulder and broad chest. Pudge locked his gaze with a pair of eyes glowing like the embers of a burning siege, and all of a sudden the Butcher remembered from a past confrontation when he had saw those very same eyes, and the excruciating, horrendous, searing pain the owner brought to him.

It was Huskar, the Sacred Warrior.

''Hello fatty,'' said Huskar ''Nice to see you again.''

Pudge's eyes bulged with veins, his jaws curling up into a toothy snarl, baring gnashing molars and serrated canines, wet with saliva.

''YOU!'' growled Pudge, spittle flew from his maw ''I knew that scent smelled familiar! Barbaric beast!''

''That's an understatement, actually.'' came a female voice.

Rylai emerged from hiding in her frosty glory, and Magina had never felt ever more grateful to have a beauty appear before him. Icicles hung from the bushes' leaves where Rylai had hid, her steely gaze eyeing the impish demons and the bloated Butcher.

''To call Huskar a barbarian or a beast, you wouldn't know half of what he's capable of doing to the likes of you and your motley crew.''

"Ice-conjuring whore!" roared Pudge in defiance. Rylai hissed like a irritated cat, which had its tail stepped on in response.

"Watch your mouth, you slobbering, fat-filled, bloated poor excuse of a carcass," swore Rylai "You'd best hold your tongue 'fore I freeze it off!"

"I'D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY, BITCH!"

Rylai snapped with a furious yell, with fury she swung her scepter in a swooping arc, and three icicles as sharp as spears conjured out of thin air, each as large as man's arm. The icicles rocketed off with blurring speed, each tip sharpened by Rylai's anger, towards her bloated, foul-smelling target. Pudge merely chuckled as the cute spears of ice zipped towards him, as the icicles nearly pierced his torso, Pudge swung his swishing cleaver and as soon as the bloody steel met the ice, the icicles shattered into pieces like glass, releasing a wave of frost upon impact. Pudge roared triumphantly over his supposed, small victory, only to realize his mistake.

As Pudge was defending himself, Huskar was cleaning up his creeps like a locust swarm in a cornfield. Pudge watched as the brutal, blue warrior went on a rampage, sending the puny demons flying with flurries of bare fists. Huskar's hulking arm snatched the scalp of a snarling creep, and pulled it down, proceeding to slam the poor creature's face repeatedly into the ground, thumping hard until a mini-crater was formed. The creep's teeth had been smashed out, and it's once vicious visage was now a mushy, bloody mess. Huskar took the battered creep and flung it into the torso of one of its comrade's, knocking the hissing demon down on its back. Huskar spun as he heard another creep snarled from behind, and his mallet-like fist connected into its snapping ribs, making it wheeze. Huskar was merciless, and without hesitation lunged forward and brought his hands upon the creep's fang-filled jaws, and with a barbaric yell, ensued the crackling tear of muscle from bone. The creep screeched in agony, like a high-pitched kettle steaming, as Huskar yanked with brute force upon its flimsy jaws, it kicked and clawed, but Huskar's vice grip was diamond-strong.

"A sacrifice for the gods!" Huskar brutally announced.

His arms spread apart like wings as Huskar swiftly ripped apart the stringy meat of the creep's jaws as it screeched in useless defiance to its mutilation, both the upper and lower jaws cracked apart like tearing paper. Huskkar held the torn corpse of the creep, holding both halves like trophies. The bones and fangs splintered in Huskar's clutches, ribs poked out where the lower jaw was held, and a limp spine hung down the upper. Despite its destruction, the creep still retained its fury within its snarling, raging visage, like a true warrior of Hell.

Letting the ruined corpse plop like a sac of potatoes onto the ground, Huskar snorted as a raging creep charged blindly at him from the front, waving its spiked mace like a drunken idiot. Fools never learn. Huskar didn't bother to duck or weave as the mace was swung, instead he slapped the flimsy steel out of the creep's hand, and before the bewildered creature could even blink its pale eyes, Huskar's cyan fist blasted forward, crunching into its face. The fist squashed the demon's soft-as-yoghurt bones as it dug into its face like a mallet befalling upon a cake, the demon's skull shattered with a sharp crack, and it squealed as it flew off its feet, rocketing into the rustling bushes to who knows where. At that point, the demons began to back off, whimpering at the wild brute's raging strength. Huskar snarled, making them reel back in fear.

"Cowards!" roared Pudge "Don't waver! RIP HIM APART!"

In response, the creeps began to amass in a scramble of black swords and fangs, they skittered around, forming a ring of blades around Huskar. They squawked like vultures, hissed like serpents and whooped like apes, yet Huskar stood unimpressed, snickering even. He calmly walked over to the dead creep where his spear laid waiting in the flaccid corpse, already flies were buzzing around the black bag of bones. Huskar tugged lightly and the obsidian-tipped spear came out easily, like pulling a stick out of snow. The flesh squelched as the spear left, fresh blood dripped from its tip. Huskar chuckled at the sight of the demons' supposed "ring of death", and the question was who's death was it meant for? His steely knuckles cracked as his fist clenched, ready to lay waste to the forces of the unholy. Yet he sighed, knowing he wouldn't share the bloodshed and glory alone...

"NOW! CHARGE!" he roared.

As if Huskar's cry awoken the forest itself, the bushes began to quake and rustle, their leaves contorted as the once invisible Radiant creeps began to move, abandoning their nature-attributed disguise. Their leafy garments took shape, their emerald swords gleamed in the welcoming sunlight, their sapphire eyes glinted, unwavering and emotionless. They appeared in their large force, quickly surrounding Pudge and his troops. The Dire creeps began to panic as they found themselves cornered in a larger version of their "ring of death", hissing and snarling. Pudge growled in useless defiance as he turned to see four more creeps closing in on him, their swords gleaming at his rotting, squishy bulk. Without further commands or warning, the Radiant creeps charged into the midst of battle.

They surged in upon the Dire creeps, without yelling like barbarians or exclaiming their allegiance to the Radiant or their goddess, they were almost mindless, cold and efficient. Green clashed with black as war broke out, with arms being severed on both sides, heads slicing off in all directions as the Dire roared in blood lust, whereas the Radiant silently killed and died. Their swords, streaking emerald and obsidian clattered, clanked and swished, and soon the once silent forest became a battlefield of violence.

Pudge swung around as the leafy warriors closed in on him, and his cleaver easily decapitated three in a single swipe. One creep managed to close in and impaled the side of Pudge's heap of flesh, only to be dispatched as he grabbed the puny creature's head and twisted, then it was tossed aside like a rag doll by bloody hands, with a ensuing crunch, like the sound of autumn leaves being stepped on.

"I'm no vegetarian," snarled Pudge "But I'll damn cut you all into BITE-SIZED PIECES!"

Then the rotting behemoth flinched as an icicle smashed into his face, grunting as the shards disrupted his vision. He shook off the cold remnants and roared with his jaws lined with yellowish teeth, acidic drool and fuming breath. Rylai chuckled as she watched the fat brute's belly shake, and without hesitating waved her scepter. A streak of frost blew forward like a gale, and Pudge shielded his face as the ravenous wind blasted him. Icicles formed on his underarm, frost coated his side belly. Pudge felt the muscles in his arm stiffen from the sudden freeze, turning his yellowish skin bruise-blue. Pudge bellowed as he shook of the stifling pain, his chains rattled like an angry serpent, his eyes glared with lifeless, vein-filled rage as drool dripped in strands down his horrendous maw.

Shaking off the spiny net that clung to his flesh, Magina broke free of his trap, his senses flooded back to life as his ears rang with a high-pitch, his vision flashed as if he was staring at the sun and his skin crawled back to life. His knelt down, his hands thumping on the dirt, as his disarray mind struggled to regain equilibrium. The battle raged on before him, in a muffled, drunken-like picturesque of dismembered limbs, flying icicles and chains, blasts of green alongside the fumble and scramble of creeps ramming into each other, sword-to-sword. The poison still lingered as he felt its acidic sting bite into his veins, his face scrunched and his mouth pulled back as he hissed in pain, as if there was fire in his body that couldn't be doused. He clutched his body in self-pitying embrace as the heat steamed within him, tears welled up as he pressed his forehead on the dirt, his breath became erratic, acidic vomit began to flow up his aching throat, making him cough and splutter uncontrollably. He pawed the dirt for his weapons, the crescent blades that he cherished as the pain began to recede.

Please, please be there. I need you two, now.

His pleas were answered as Magina shielded his eyes with a quick snap of his hand from sharp blades of white light, gleaming from a stray ray of sunlight that had slipped passed the scurry of legs and sea of leaves. There laid upon the dirt were his blades, his weapons forged of diamond-steel, polished by moonlight, sharpened by celestial whetstones. Each rune inscribed upon the blades' smooth curvature glistened with jewel-like sparkles, with their bodies so thin they could've sliced tomatoes cleanly, yet so sharp that they'd penetrate the thickest of armor. The blades seemed to beg their master to hurry and take them, so that they may be free to shed blood from the despicable, lay waste to the demonic, cleanse the world of magic's atrocities.

Come here, my darlings!

Like a panther springing forward, Magina pushed off with his muscle-corded arms and spring-like legs, he went floating off his belly and forward to his awaiting weapons. He flopped hard on his front, knocking out his breath, his splayed fingers found the warm embrace of the leather-strapped handles, a reunion between the master and his instruments of war. Magina's grin met his ears, his eyes flared with adrenaline.

HAVE AT THEE!

Magina was no more, a new presence, a changed man, once the blades glimmered in the face of his enemies, he had became the Anti-Mage. The skirmish before him was a never-ending cyclone of chaos and rage, creeps from left to right dash onto the hysteric dance floor to pair up with a dance partner, and they would clash, tango with swords and ballroom with fists, instead of passionate sweat, blood dripped from the dancers with every slash, kick, punch and elbow. The Anti-Mage slipped betwixt the melodic, chaotic music, like a new note added to the bar to change the tempo. With his glistening blades, he blinked into the masses without mercy, slash! went his blades as they severed a howling head, amputate an arm, split open ribs. Although he was a monk, he enjoyed the slaughter of the foul demons, relishing every bit of the carnage, though his outer visage remained impassable to the sinful indulgence of violence , not even permeating a smile.

Then from the corner of his eye, an orange hue of light irritated his sight, the sound of flames flickering from a distance tickled in his ear. Magina ducked as a blazing fireball whooshed past him, the heat baring down on his shoulders. Magic! He spotted the perpetrator behind the masses of battling creeps, a mage creep stood out of the crowd, donning a black headdress made of multiple ram-like horns, wielding a twisted, crooked staff of ash-coated wood with a ball of curling flames dancing at the top, thinner than its more muscular brethren, but its face had no snarl nor hiss, rather exhibiting far greater intelligence than the others, as it seemed to analyze Magina with its pale, sharply squinted eyes.

Not wasting another second, Magina blinked away in a sparkling flash as two black swords converged upon where he once was, hitting nothing but air. In an instant, the mage creep was face-to-face with the Anti-Mage, leering into its soulless eyes with fierce resolve as he crouched low, blades at his sides, posing like a fan dancer. The mage creep's staff glowed with crackling fire, but with lightning-fast response, Magina threw his blades into the air, letting them spin, catching the creep's attention. Dashing forward, Magina straightened his first two fingers on both hands, like a mantis, channeling his strength into the very tips. Magina struck the creep's underarm, causing the burnt skin to ripple with a miniature shock wave. The creep shrieked in pain as it felt its arm petrify, falling limp on its side and dropping its staff. Magina continued his artistry, jabbing into the creep like a thousand needles with hundreds of strikes with deadly accuracy, every point he struck sealed away the creep's mana flow, leaving behind the numbing sensation that made the creep drop to its knees, helpless like a straw dummy.

"Like that, little mage?" mocked Magina as he stared down at his paralyzed opponent "The monks of Turstarkuri called it the Thousand Clawed Mantis,"

Magina brought his arms into the air as he heard the metallic swoosh of his blades, the crescent, silver weapons landed into his grip, rippling the air with their shimmering sharpness.

"Now, BEGONE!"

All the creep saw was a blinding 'X' of light, all it heard were the cries of its comrades and the heavy swoop of the blades, it felt no pain nor could move. It was decapitated, whilst anesthetized.

The creep's head plopped to the ground, rolling into the scurry of feet and fallen bodies, the decapitated body stood firm however, too stiff to fall over and lay in eternal rest. Magina took one final glance at the stifled corpse, and blinked away to continue his massacre.

CRASH!

Pudge's clanking hook barely missed the nimble Crystal Maiden as it came crashing onto the earth, ripping the soil apart. The Butcher's grisly growl bared his yellowish, serrated teeth for all to behold, acidic dribble flying from his pale, rotten gums and nose-shriveling sick-green breath fumed from his cavernous jaws. Pudge's bulging forehead popped with anger-filled veins as his carnivorous visage scrunched into muscle-bound anger; Miss! Miss! MISS! When will these sloppy hooks of his land? By the Seven Hells, he had the worst luck, today! He decided the cut the finesse, literally. With a ungraceful roar, Pudge charged, or rather lumbered with his flabby, bulking mass jiggling like a charging sack of potatoes, only filled with carrion, with every step quaking the ground.

Rylai felt her toes shake with the tremors of Pudge's charge; the Butcher was like a relentless, runaway train, bursting through the crowds of battling creeps. With a single elbow-swipe, a poor, Radiant creep found its face crunched by the sharp, bony edge of the massive elbow, the creep felt no pain nor expressed emotion, though if it did, the pain would've been equivalent to a sledge hammer blasting apart its skull. The impact made a crunching thud as it squished the creep's face, and the Radiant warrior fell to the ground like a flimsy twig, sword clanging as it dropped. Pudge held his blood-stained cleaver in the air, swishing its heavy weight in the swooshing air. He smacked his lips, unable to wait for the maiden fillet that was to come as soon as he'd catch the lady in blue. Rylai however, merely smiled in the face of the Reaper's nightmare as his looming bulk overshadowed her, the grip on her staff didn't even tense at all, for she had a monster on her side...

Before Pudge could hack and slash with his cleaver, his entire mass lurched forward as an explosive impact blasted into his engorged gut, it felt as if the entire world had slammed itself into Pudge's belly, impeding the behemoth's charge. Pudge spluttered and wheezed, blood spurted from his mouth as he gasped in pain, his feet felt their weight lifted from them. Pudge couldn't believe it, he was flying? HE WAS SENT FLYING! The Butcher was knocked off his stubby feet, his entire mass toppling over from the insane force that blew him down like a hurricane. Then Pudge felt a sensation he hadn't felt in years: the cruel, humiliating fall to the ground. The fall of the rotting giant was a spectacle to see, Pudge's pale, stitch-covered, broad back slammed onto the dirt, the chains of his hook clinked and clanged alongside his weight, following its master's downfall loyally to the bitter end.

"Graagh!" spluttered Pudge "I-Impossible!"

On the other receiving end of the force, was the fist that felled Pudge. Huskar's clenched, cyan left fist glowed red from the intense heat of the punch, his triceps bulged with pride over their accomplishment. Steam effervesced from Huskar's trembling fist, causing the Sacred Warrior to pull back his hand in soreness. Huskar's face split with a grin that would scare a fully-armored soldier silly, teeth baring and flaming eyes alight, he clutched his prized fist to his hulking chest, the searing pain in his hand was almost unbearable, enough to make a full-grown man cry like a newborn, yet Huskar was no man. Huskar hissed as he looked down to his left hand, he could see several joints of the knuckles jutting out in the wrong directions beneath his flesh, mangling his hand into a sack of broken bones, the horrible price to pay for the punch that toppled the Butcher.

"Damn, fatso," mocked Huskar "You've gained some weight since the last time we met, must've been those poor villagers you devoured, ya disgusting flesh heap."

Huskar's eye twitched as he brushed his broken hand with the other, as gently as mother would comfort her newborn. Suddenly, the hand snapped upright with a sickening crack, the sound of bones joining together again. Rylai turned away from the sight, she knew that although Huskar's regenerative powers were phenomenal, they weren't exactly the type of 'miracles' that you could stomach. Ever since the first time they met, Huskar never ceased to disgust and amaze Rylai with his healing abilities; from time to time, Huskar would come back from the dead, even after his body would've been crushed by extreme weight, blasted apart with horrendous burns in explosions, frozen solid or zapped by lightning, he would always snap back in place like a puzzle redoing itself, he was almost immortal, to an extent, with a durability matched by few. Snick, snap, crack! Rylai cringed as she heard the distinct snapping of Huskar's bones, then a final crack resounded, signalling to her it was safe to look again.

Huskar shrugged and shook his healed hand, it was almost as if it never broke in the first place. With a quick snap of his wrist, a boar-like grunt, Huskar was evermore ready. The cyan hulk felt a surge of pride through his popping veins, satisfied that his cherished punch managed to pierce into the gooey, rippling fortress of immense fat of Pudge. He recalled the striking sensation, of his fist digging into the lumps and bulges, his forearm muscle fibers tensing like forged steel as they propelled the punch into a weapon of mass destruction, and the rippling feel of the oozing, pale flesh that seemed to absorbed the impact to a minimal extent, only to fail their duty and allowed the intruding punch through, into the territories of the intestinal coils.

"Punching all those mountains were worth it after all," sneered Huskar "But you're a heck lot heavier than some puny boulders!"

"Rylai!" called out Huskar to his ally, whom veered to his direction as she kicked a creep in the torso, "Lemme handle this fella, Magina-shrimp needs your help more than I do."

The Crystal Maiden nodded without hesitation, Magina had became the center of attention of all the Dire creeps in a dangerous proximity, and the last thing they need is a dead Anti-Mage whom went let pride blinded him from a sly stab in the gut; Rylai rushed over to help as a ring of creeps flailed their spiked maces at the retreating Anti-Mage, barely leaping out of harms way, haphazardly skipping like a gleeful girl.

"Now then, Pudgy," said Huskar, with a glint of menace in his grin as he cracked his thunderous knuckles "How's 'bout you and I get to know each other more? You'd learn lots 'bout me, once I rip that head 'f yours of that blob of a body."

Pudge's foot quaked the ground as he pushed himself up, unsteady and shaken from the punch's shock, the middle of his white belly was searing red, yellowish, viscous pus oozed from the tattered hole ripped into the sac of meat, the size of Huskar's cannon-ball sized fist. Pudge bared his crooked, chipped and fungus-covered fangs, his signature cloud of sick-brown rotting gas puffed sporadically from his pores like a steam engine, his pupils dilated, blood lust and hunger overwhelming his senses, his chains clinked and clanked and his cleaver swung at ready.

"I'll HAVE TENDONS and BICEPS for DINNER!" exclaimed Pudge.

The giant of rot charged, his foot blasting apart the ground, sending dirt flying from the propelling power of the massive calves. Like a tiger, Pudge clawed at the air, sending his striking hook at a blinding speed, cracking the air and causing it to ripple as the enormous hook swung, straight for Huskar's mid-torso. The Sacred Warrior was agile, bursting forth with muscular force, dodging the ravenous hook and towards the chains, his hand shot out and grasped the cold steel, stopping the chains instantly, forcing them to jerk and stiffen in protest. Huskar yanked the chain with one arm, and Pudge yelped as his immense weight was dragged forward, causing him to tilt to one foot, the stitches that joined his shoulder and arm snapped slightly, about to give way to the opposing force.

Huskar used the Butcher's weight to propel him forward, leaping with dagger and spear ablaze straight for the behemoth, eyes filled with fury. Huskar swung his dagger, slitting Pudge's bloated throat below his chin, causing the Butcher to groan, pus flew in viscous strands from the cut. Pudge swung his jagged cleaver in response, swishing the air in a rippling arc. Huskar ducked in time, respecting the cleaver's deadly potential, and countered with a swift stab of his piercing spear, splitting the Butcher's grotesque flesh as it squelched, greenish fumes hissed out of the wound. Pudge snarled in annoyance, though the spear damaged little of his hulking mass, the excruciating sensation was equivalent to a cat-sized hornet stinging. Pudge flailed wildly in an attempt to shake off the more agile, persistent Huskar, only to receive more spears and daggers in response.

"HOLD STILL, MAGGOT!" roared Pudge uselessly.

Huskar kept his knees bent, lowering his body to reduce his size as a target, a hunting technique his tribe practiced with him ever since he was young, to take down large game, the Butcher was no exception. Circling like a snake around Pudge, Huskar continued his assault upon the fortress of meat, all his hits connected with every dodge, spin and duck, like a tornado of spears and daggers. The Butcher's rotting fumes came forth, like a defensive skunk, hissing in a thick cloud of puke green in hopes of obscuring Pudge's exposed weaknesses in a cloak of acidic gas, perhaps to even melt the eyes out of the sockets of the Sacred Warrior. Swish! Swash! Pudge's cleaver swung wildly, causing the fumes of rot to disperse in snaking trails in the air. Yet in the thick smog, Huskar's amber eyes glowed with a fighter's high, like two golden orbs flying zipping through the toxic green, spearheads striking like lightning through the clouds of rot.

Huskar had fought Pudge before, in their last bout, he took advantage of the behemoth's weak spots: his stitches. Pudge was more or less a rag doll of pure ravenous hunger and rot, made of stitched flesh, meat and bone. A few accurate strikes, and the joints will fall apart, and so will the Butcher. However their last encounter allowed Pudge to escape Huskar's wrath, with mentally scarring wounds, but this time, he was eager to finish his escaped prey. Huskar bent his knees and bunched his steel core muscles, legs tightening at every muscle fiber, and with a burst of his strength, the ground exploded with debris, creating a crater, blasting Huskar upwards into the air, bursting out of the rotting cloud, causing the pungent gas to disperse instantly.

Pudge grunted as the whipping winds buffeted him, shielding his face with his cleaver hand. When the winds calmed, Pudge looked to see his opponent had disappeared, nowhere in sight. Snarling, with viscous drool dripping from his maw, Pudge braced himself for whatever direction the attack would come. Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?! He looked to and fro, yet Huskar was nowhere in the midst of the chaos of creeps. Perhaps he had retreated? No, Huskar was not the type to retreat. EVER. Then the realization sparked in him; if the attack won't be from the sides, behind or below... then that means...

"GRAAAH!"

Pudge threw his cleaver up in defense above his forehead, immediately the blade clashed with sparks with the obsidian spearhead that came from the heavens, screeching the metal. Pudge's arm felt the immense weight of Huskar blasting down upon him, and the ground bellowed in burden of the overwhelming force. The earth gave way, cracking and swallowing Pudge's feet in crumbling pits. Huskar grinned as he pinned down Pudge's cleaver arm with his legs and spear, standing on the behemoth's muscular arm as he pressed down the spearhead further, in attempt to break his guard. Without warning, Huskar leaped off Pudge's arm and towards the Butcher's back, airborne, he stabs his spear into the back with flurries of strikes, so fast that it appeared to be a hundred spears in a single hit, each dealt a round incision in Pudge's back, riddling it with holes that spurted pus. Pudge roared in excruciating pain as his back seared with millions of sharp sensations that drilled into his senses, causing him to lurch back and reel in agony.

"YOU BLOODY BASTARD!" swore Pudge "I'll CHOP YA UP GOOD FOR THIS!"

Trapped in the earth, Pudge knew he had few choices to counter the Sacred Warrior's attack from behind, with his already slow mobility rendered to flailing about, if a strike came from behind it would be unimpeded. Then he caught glimpse of the scrawny boy he had tried to hook before, the Anti-Mage, fending of a pack of five or so Dire creeps with his crescent blades, parrying and dodging strikes. That was it! If Pudge was to go down, then he'll have a final snack before he returns to the depths of Hell!

"This time YOUR MINE!" the Butcher exclaimed.

Huskar's eyes widened in realization of what was to happen, but it was too late as the Butcher threw back his right hooking arm, chains coiling up like a snake prepared to strike its prey, the glaring hook, bloodied and rust-riddled, appeared to greet Huskar as it arched back, moaning in the air from its weight. Then in an instant, SNAP went the chains, the hook disappeared in a blurry flash, the air burst apart from the whipping motion.

"MAGINA!" called out Huskar "DODGE, YOU FOOL!"

The warning blasted like a cannon, Magina jolted, veering to Huskar's direction, sweat from his non-stop battles tossing off his chin, his eyes filled with adrenaline saw the incoming hook. Magina's legs paralyzed with electric pins and needles, his breath seethed out of his lungs in an instant, stolen by immense fear. The hook's claw sped through the chaotic crowd, zipping as fast as an arrow, its sheer size blasting the air in front of it from its whip-like propulsion, chains clinking like metallic, grinding gears, snaking like a flying grey serpent.

"Move, MOVE GODDAMMIT!" Magina hissed.

Blink, and he disappeared in a flash.

The ravaging hook sailed past, outraged once more that its target had escaped, or was it? Pudge's crooked smile split into a toothy grin, as the hook flew past its supposed target, straight for what he was really aiming for. The hook's jagged claw flew past the crowd of creeps with insane accuracy, not even brushing a shoulder or neck. Crystal Maiden heard the violent clinking of chains gradually getting louder, clink clank clonk, and before she knew it, the hook was before her very eyes. Shit! The hook was too close, almost two arms' lengths away, there was no way she could dodge or conjure another ice wall to save herself. Thoughts began to randomly bounce about in her head, spontaneous thinking during a life-threatening situation made her more confused. No! It was gonna be too late!

"FATSO!" roared Huskar.

Pudge grunted as he felt the skin-ripping tug on his arm, a cyan arm blasted past the corner of his eye, reaching for his moving chains. With a quick grab, Huskar's hand grasped the chains that seared his palms with burning friction, ripping his skin in ribbons. The chains came to a grinding halt, snapping violently into meanders. The hook stopped abruptly as well, a few inches before carving into Rylai's face, whom had her hands up in useless defence. The massive hook moaned lifelessly as its energy dissipated, causing it to whoosh to its downfall, the claw dug into the earth in defeat, as if lethargic and fatigued. Rylai let loose a sigh of condensed relief, it was too close.

"NO!" Pudge bellowed defiantly, oozing slob flew in thick strands from his rotting maw. Rage boiled in his insatiable soul, fumes of deadening rot burst forth from his porous layers of wrinkly fat. The Butcher had never been so defied of his meals, never had his hooks missed their targets until now; it angered him so that he couldn't enjoy the taste of ripped tendons or slabs of organs between his jaws, or quench his thirst for a thick drink of viscous, cooling blood. His anger caused his pale face to curl in muscles, every inch wrinkling into a visage of rage, blood flowed to his face, giving it a hue of crimson, Pudge hissed, snarled and stuck out his slimy, serpentine tongue, riddled with various green bulbs of pus, wriggling as if it was a separate living creature.

However his rage was suddenly shadowed.

Pudge abruptly became silent as a pressuring sensation crawled down his back, it was as if the air itself grew in weight, condensed by a overwhelming presence. Pudge's teeth clenched as he felt a powerful hand yank his hair, almost ripping the delicate roots apart, his head pulled back, causing him to stretch his neck uncomfortably, Pudge couldn't make a noise for his windpipe felt strangled by the strain.

Magina parried the twentieth sword that attempted to end his life, crescent blades swiping like miniature moons. Then his movements paused as he too felt the change in pressure in the air, almost as if the whole of Zenith had plummeted. The hairs of his neck stood up like pins, sweat began to pour from his face in huge rivulets. What was this presence? Magina peered to see Huskar, yanking Pudge with a single arm, his statuesque figure had became darker, shadowed by Pudge, it was almost as if he had turned into a statue, devoid of emotions and movement. Yet the power, the presence that Huskar emitted was like staring upon a dormant volcano. From the side, Magina stared in awestruck at Huskar's defined muscles, his arm was a complete bar of bulging power, shoulders as massive as the heads of men, triceps and biceps formed in thick cords along with numerous arteries, the pinnacle of unarmored and unarmed strength.

However, the true ferocity came from Huskar's eyes, like amber jewels glowing in the shadows, they seemed to burn with fury. Huskar yanked the Butcher's choppy hair once more, pulling him back further, causing Pudge to yelp helplessly.

"Pudge... you damn deviant, glutton," hissed Huskar "You won't be disemboweling no one, I WON'T ALLOW IT!"

Magina rubbed his eyes as if he were hallucinating, though it seemed that Huskar's arm began to steam. Steam? From his body? Observing carefully, he saw the droplets of sweat on his arm flow upwards, then evaporating as vapor, creating a mist around Huskar's arm. Could it be, that his muscles were contracting so intensely that they produced immense heat? Impossible! But then again, it was Huskar, probably no feats were out of his range of ability. No later than a second, Huskar roared as he turned around, his arm bent, muscles bulging and contracting with every inch, like a corded machine, his leg pushed forward into a lunge, his body bending down in a single, fluid motion. Pudge barked and snarled in protest as his hair began to rip, but his scalp was being pulled alongside, so was his neck, his chest, his arms and legs. Wait. His feet had came out of the earth. What?! Pudge couldn't believe what was happening.

For years the Butcher had spent devouring, dismembering, digesting and assimilating countless of warriors, innocent civilians, babies, the elderly and even royalty, his mass, his flesh heap would grow with every kill, and so would his size proportionally. He has killed thousands of hundreds, and so he should've weighed hundreds, or tons. Yet, despite his growth, Pudge couldn't process the situation, his mountainous weight was dissipated in an instant, he was as light as a feather. How? HOW?! HE WAS BEING THROWN!

With a heave that quaked the earth, Huskar roared, his voice exploding throughout the serene forest, spooking hundreds of birds close by, and with all his might threw the Butcher. Pudge flailed uselessly in the air, his entire body flung across like a gigantic sack of meat, his hook trailing behind as it came loose from the earth, loyal to its master, his cleaver swung uselessly in mid-air. Pudge bellowed in either rage or terror, as his magnificent mass sailed across the battlefield like an enormous kite connected to a chain. The Dire creeps stared hopelessly as they watched their hero fly, some were unlucky to be snagged by the following hook, decapitating a few of the unfortunate, or knocking them out like rocks. As Pudge flew, he stared at the countless leaves above, with the glaring beams of the wretched sun burning into his cornea, the wind billowed in his ears, his hair blew in strands. Next thing he knew he was crashing into trees meters away, bark blasted into spiny splinters into his flesh, a deafening boom sounded as the trees toppled, bark shards and leaves were torn asunder. As Pudge's enormous body disappeared into the shadows of the forest, a thunderous crash erupted from where he landed, leaves blew in miniature cyclones, the sound of trees crunching and falling ensued.

Huskar snorted out steaming breath like a bull, recollecting his composure. Magina flashed over, with a split-wide grin, glad that his comrade had prevented Rylai's certain doom. Huskar merely glared daggers down the smaller, scrawnier man; Magina receded back, unsure whether the hulkish warrior would bash his skull in or pat him on his back. Nevertheless, Magina was glad that Huskar was fighting on their side.

"Boy," rumbled Huskar, his muscled chest puffing out as he took in deep breaths.

Magina flinched a little, not expecting Huskar to speak after such a strenuous physical feat, "Yes?"

"That was very... VERY IRRESPONSIBLE!" growled Huskar, his blasting voice split Magina's eardrums, causing him to flinch and shield his face. He peeked at Huskar's piercing glare, filled with anger. Why? Had he done something wrong?

"You could've been killed," hissed Huskar, who's terrifying, gritted-teeth-face was mere inches from Magina's face of panic and cowering "Never, ever, engage the enemy on your own, or it'll mean all our deaths and the destruction of Zenith. Does that get into your head, numbskull?"

Magina gulped, "y-yes." he replied shakily.

Huskar's nose flared, and his hand shot out to intercept another assaulting creep, grabbing its puny head as it struggled to escape. With a quick contraction of his grinding muscles, a sickening crunch came from the creep as its skull was crushed into mush, and Huskar allowed the pitiful creature to plop dead.

"Stick with Rylai, Magina," said Huskar sternly "I gotta finish things with fatso; this time he won't escape to devour again."

With that said, Huskar stormed off with spear and dagger ablaze, leaving Magina to stare in awkward awe at his muscled back and blood-crimson dreadlocks. What a man, or orc.. or whatever he was. Magina seemed to be locked in his own thoughts, keeping him still in the middle of the chaotic battle of creeps, their war cries echoing through his ears, the shattering of Rylai's ice upon the enemy forces resonated like chimes, everything seemed to slow, from the falling of dying creeps, to the flutter of forest leaves, down to the swaying of the stubby grass. The once fast-paced chaos moved at a snail's pace, the clattering of swords and billowing of frost winds became muffled, Magina was drowned in his mental shackles. 'You could've been killed,' the phrase reverberated in his mind, images of his deceased father flashed before him, garbed in monk robes, uttering that phrase. By his father's side was his mother, at least her shadowy figure, his parents appeared as silhouettes. The image was all too surreal, and Magina reached his hand out towards them, yet unable to touch them, like ghosts in an ethereal plane.

"MAGINA!" Rylai's voice shattered his trance "GET OVER 'ERE!"

The Anti-Mage jolted, shaking his head out of the dreamlike illusion. He turned to where Rylai was, whom was busy fending off a pack of Dire creeps with merely her staff, they came at her with swishing swords and swooshing maces, she had exhausted her spells and was reduced to parrying and kicking, much to her disadvantage. She held her staff in an overhead block as a sword swung down, clanking hard against the golden rod, even so Rylai was straining to fend them off, for she relied less on her physical strength in combat, much to her dismay as a spell caster. Swearing under his breath, Magina sprinted, conditioned legs pushing off his kick-start into a dash. Dodging and weaving past stray swords as they swiped past him, Magina ran as fast as he could to the struggling maiden. As soon as he judged the distance of his strides, he leaped forward, crescent blades by his sides, like a monkey leaping from branch to branch, and in an instant he blinked, disappearing in his signature blue flash.

Instantly, Magina was below one of the creeps' shins, and with a quick spin he swung a low sweeping kick to the creep's ankle, knocking the demon out of balance and causing it to flail and fall. One creep reacted, snarling with a bloodcurdling, croaking screech and it swiped its mace, only to miss as Magina maneuvered safely to the left and slashed back with his blades. The moon-like edge sliced with the sound of glass shattering as it disconnected the creep's mana from its arm, and the blackened arm came clean off, leaving a stub where the elbow was, and the demon squawked in pain. Not wasting anymore openings, Magina jumped and gave a side kick to the amputated creep's kidney, blowing it down to one knee, and simultaneously he stomped the creep's head that he downed earlier with his landing, brutal and efficient.

The next creep was smarter than his fallen comrades, choosing to leap into the air as soon as Magina landed, readying a downward slash with his sword. However Magina saw it coming, he pivoted his ankle quickly, and drove his elbow into the creep's solar plexus, knocking it back to ground with a dust cloud welcoming it, and stomp went Magina's left foot as it crunched into the creep's chest, causing it to spasm, followed by agile, swift slashes to the its jugular, and soon it stopped moving. Magina wiped his sweaty brow with his forearm, his bracer's cooling, metallic feel brushed his skin, he breathed in deeply for a moment, slightly exhausted from the carnage. He stared down at the three felled demons, sprawled on earthly soil, and turned to the maiden in blue, her frost aura surrounding her, which seemed to rejuvenate Magina a little, as if the ghostly wisps of ice were prevailing winds of vitality. Rylai too expressed the burdens of combat, her sultry face sagged with fatigue, frowning and breathing heavily, yet her eyes were like hawks, ready to intercept any incoming enemies in the midst of the turmoil of flinging bodies and blood splatters.

'I'm no murderer, I'm a monk.' Magina told himself, yet his lunar blades of silver white and glistening sparks, were coated in oozing demon blood, the strong scent of iron reached his nose. Though he had a number of injuries inflicted upon him, with the scald wounds from the Butcher's acidic gas, which were white patches of flesh on his arms, and the numerous thin cuts and bruises on his face and limbs. 'Calm down Magina,' he told himself 'A little of this won't kill ya.' From left to right, creeps were brawling and slaughtering one another, and the Dire creeps' numbers were gradually thinning as they piled on the ground. Slash! Another Radiant creep sliced down a black demon with its emerald sword, blue eyes void of remorse or any other emotion. The Dire creeps were panicking, thrown into pandemonium when their hero has went missing, and at the mercy to the forest-dwelling Radiant. With casualties on both sides, hacking and slashing, the Dire creeps were finally extinguished after an exhausting conflict.

As the last Dire creep fell with the hollow slash of an emerald sword, the forest was littered with the shriveled corpses of the unholy, their eye sockets became black holes, losing their fiery light in their wrinkly skulls, their fanged mouths hung open like fish in a wet market, some had maggots crawling out of the gums, while others attracted swarms of flies quickly. Soon the forest reeked of their pungent, rotting odor of a mixture of urine, rotting flesh and garbage, thought the smell paled to more intense, foul stench of Pudge, which had numbed Magina's sense of smell, or at least made the smell of rotting creeps seem more mild.

"Decimated," said Rylai, "Absolutely decimated; what a reckless move by that Butcher, leading his comrades to their deaths."

Magina looked at the maiden dressed in winter clothes, and behind her were the unfortunate creeps that suffered her freezing wrath, they were suspended in petrifying ice, preserving their standing or leaping poses. One iced creep had its sword in a vicious thrust, probably aimed towards Rylai, while another was leaping with its mace in a two-handed overhead, but was cut off quickly. Once frostbitten, you'll never, ever, shy again, was what his masters once told him. Across the sea of bodies, the green, leafy uniforms of dozens of Radiant, piled together with the blackened, skeletal dead demons. The deceased Radiant showed signs of decay, their once green leaves wilting into sickly brown, like autumn leaves shedding, their crystal-blue eyes had dimmed out into the void of their husks, their bodies cracked like fallen bark, slowly decomposing back to the earth.

They had twenty creeps before, now they had three.

The survivors stood like steadfast sentinels, alert and cautious of their surroundings, their glistening emerald swords of clear crystal gleamed in the showering sun, creating sparks which poked at Magina's eyes. Two were melee, however one was the ranged variation, scrawnier than its comrades, and wielding an oak staff. It appeared to be casting a spell of some sort, as it stood close to its injured mates with its wooden palm waving in a circular motion, an amber light, glistening in sparkles rained over them, which seemed to rejuvenate the other creeps. 'A heal spell?' Magina thought, the only type of magic he didn't despise.

He glanced over at Rylai, whom seemed to be dazing, or staring out into the endless forest. She faced the arch of trees where Pudge had flied through, the despairing branches interlocked one another in hopes of keeping themselves up, yet their shattered bodies said otherwise. The trees creaked and moaned with weakness, their once proud and sturdy bark had been ripped apart into splinters, their leaves were reduced to meager numbers. A foreboding call seemed to emanate from the darker, unseen reaches of the bushes and obscuring trees, as if a new enemy could pop out at any moment from the shadowy cloak. Although the Radiant were in affinity to the forest itself, yet their greatest ally can become their greatest threat.

Magina shimmied over to Rylai, hoping to catch a glimpse of her beautiful face expressing fear, or perhaps... other bodily treasures.

"I'm worried," said Rylai, causing Magina to jolt back in surprise, not expecting her to say something out of the blue.

"What's there to worry?" asked Magina, trying to maintain his wolfish grin as he scratched the back of his head, cheeks blushing a little, "It's Huskar, he can handle that big 'ole rot-head." he tried reassuring.

Rylai merely sighed, "The last time he went solo," she softly said, pausing,"He nearly died."

Rylai turned to face Magina, with cerulean eyes as cold as his blades, taking him aback. "This isn't just your fight, Magina," she said "This battle, this war, its all of us together, so don't be so rash next time, 'kay? Or else..."

The sorceress of ice waved her palm, mist of frost swirled in response, the freezing wind solidified, turning into ice, and from the ice it chiseled itself into a tiny likeliness of Magina, with a ice version of his twin blades, his ridiculous hairdo was copied in detail, and a goofy grin was expressed on the tiny, hand-sized sculpture. Magina's lip pulled back, somewhat feeling insulted by the display. 'I ain't that fat.' he thought.

"Now this is you," she motioned to the sculpture, "And if you don't stick with us the next time..."

As if on cue, the ice mannequin shattered in a brilliant explosion of flying limbs of ice, like glass smashed by a mallet, shards flew like a thousand, tiny spears, Magina threw his hands up to protect his cherished face from any more damage, apart his battle wounds.

"Alright! Alright I get it!" squealed Magina "Stick with the team, never solo, got it!"

Rylai snorted in amusement, cracking a cold smile which quickly dissolved into a visage of seriousness. Her mind was glued to the whereabouts of the Butcher, the dreaded creature from the gluttonous pit of Hell, an amalgamation of corpses and sins, fused into a mannequin of malice ravenous hunger for flesh, a true nightmare to behold, feared more than death. Perhaps Huskar had thrown the insidious beast a little too far? The Sacred Warrior had tendencies of not being able to hold back, though his restraint had improved over the years. If it was Pudge by himself, Huskar would undoubtedly destroy him, but if there were more enemies concealed in the forest, then there would be no telling what the outcome will be. Huskar could easily handle a Dire hero or two, Rylai knew that, she fought alongside him for years, and he was both a magnificent sight on the battlefield, and a weapon of large-scale destruction. Yet, there were those instances, where he went too far...

"Earth Mother," prayed Rylai "Watch over our warrior."

Trees, trees and a whole bunch of more trees, Huskar was getting sick of his obscuring environment, though the Butcher was a huge target, the damn trees were like walls of shadows, blocking his vision. He reached down and pawed the brown dirt, water filling the muddy holes, footprints no doubt. He sniffed the dirt on his fingers, and the distinct smell of rotting meat spiked in his nose. Further up, he had to be further up. Then the sharp snap of a twig caused Huskar to veer back, with his dagger and spear bared. The bushes rustled, and a small, brown rabbit emerged, twitching its furry nose and ears. Huskar grunted, spooking the little critter away, hopping into the bushes. Pudge had to be stopped at all costs, that was the only objective on his mind, so he brushed past the obstructing bushes, proceeding with his track.

The rabbit leaped into a small clearing, where the rays of sunlight illuminated in the shadowy reaches. It munched on a patch of grass, enjoying every moment of its carefree but short life. Snap. Twigs breaking alerted the rabbit. Was it a fox? The rabbit looked around, was it a snake? Then silence ensued. Nothing. The rabbit let down its guard, and continued munching on the sweet grass.

"Hello, little one," a growling, rumbling deep voice boomed.

Before the rabbit could run, it felt the strong grip of an enormous, hairy hand on its fragile neck. It was pulled into the shadows, pried from the light, then the sounds of the rabbit's helpless squeals and squeaks were followed by sharp bone snapping, crunching. Drip. A drop of blood dripped from blue fingers, as it flowed in rivulets. Crimson eyes emerged from the shadows, merciless and burning. A deep, sinister laugh rumbled like a thunder cloud, white fangs like a tiger's shone in the dark, with dark blood flowing from the lips, a pink, snake-like tongue licked.

"Radiant," rumbled the demonic beast "Prepare yourselves, for the onslaught."

Author's note: Well, after what seemed like ages I've finally got this chapter out, due to studies and Dota it took a horrendously long time, and heck it could've been longer! So, yeah guess who is this new Dire hero lurking in the shadows, it ain't obvious at all. Haha I love cliffhanging. So what I've expressed in this chapter is the importance of sticking with your team, else you'll end up on Pudge's hook faster than you can say "MISSING MID!" Well, that said it's time for me to think about the epic, awesome, humongous battle coming in next chapter. 'Kay folks, loyal followers, hold on to your pants! Good luck, have fun.