The sight of the ramparts brings the war to a halt. Swords and spears that clattered against each other a second ago stop dead, and those wielding the weapons lift their slack-jawed expressions toward the colossal walls of virgin stone. A man in a gold-crested helm, sitting on a pile of dark elf and minotaur corpses, also looks up. Claus, the captain of the first squad, offers a tranquil smile.
Moonsong curses in the language of darkness and pulls the reins to turn her bicorn around. She loudly orders a retreat. A nearby elf asks her what will happen to those trapped inside the kingdom, instantly regretting opening his mouth as Moonsong shoots him a ferocious glare.
"Let them fend for themselves!" Moonsong says without a shred of pity or regard, accelerating her mount. The heel of her metal boot digs into the beast's flank with such violence that it draws blood, tearing open old wounds. As she speeds away, Moonsong regrets not hastening her invasion plans. "Damn humanity and their mysterious powers!"
Now, Moonsong will have to answer to the master. Were the master a normal man, she would attempt to seduce or betray him. But that is not the case, and for the first time in a long while, Moonsong begins to tremble with dread.
The dark army begins its retreat, taking their captured slaves with them. A dangerous contingent of dark elves still remains within the walls. Barely overcoming the shock caused by the ramparts, the elves resume the fight and the slaughter, ignorant of the fact that their allies have abandoned them.
«Take that! Right in the face!»
Jimbo exclaims, back among the clouds, unable to make out the riders perfectly. But he is 90% sure they smashed into the rock. He assumes the crash wasn't pretty, so he avoids getting closer and instead explores his next available options.
«The enemy commander chickened out.»
He smiles upon seeing the elves outside retreating. He wants to mock them, but if he were in the enemy's shoes, he might react similarly. It sucks to be winning only for the opponent to turn the game around, especially with an unexpected tactic whose origin you can't comprehend.
«There are still a lot of elves inside... What can I do?»
Curious, he reviews the third branch of options: Environment.
Once again, too many options appear, and to avoid overwhelming himself, he sticks to checking the top of the list. Jim doesn't waste time worrying about the Ether cost; ever since his range increased, he feels like other people are footing the bill.
Tip: Every 10 levels, the Dungeon Core has the capacity to add or merge a new environmental skill within its domains. The environment can inflict both physical and psychological changes on the surroundings and its inhabitants.
Doing some quick math, Jimbo realizes he can currently maintain up to six different environments. For now, though, he settles for having just one to help them out.
«Let's see... Not this one. Not this one either. Huh? Mating Season...? What the hell would that even be good for?! Next. Hmmm... This one might work!»
-Environment: Preservation Instinct (Primitive).
Requirement: Availability.
Description: Activates and intensifies individual and group preservation mechanisms. Although the afflicted may suffer from fear or panic, the environment drives them into a combative stance against threats.
Caution: Being the primitive version, this decreases the intelligence of the afflicted and compels them to fight physically and instinctively, guided by passionate forces. This may cause issues among members of the same group.
After selecting the option, his "system" prompts him to designate his allies.
«The humans, I guess.»
He says with a hint of doubt. It's not like the mage treated him all that well. But between victims and perpetrators, Jimbo chooses to side with the former.
The system also asks if he wishes to affect both allies and enemies. Even though Jimbo sees the potential in turning rival units into mindless brutes, he doesn't think this is the best time to test it.
He activates the skill, and a wave of red energy—visible only to him—sweeps across the kingdom. The soldiers are the first to be affected.
A young squire is cornered in an alley. He tries to defend himself with a broken sword, while a minotaur traps him, its broad body blocking the only way out. The young squire swallows hard and looks around in desperation. Suddenly, he feels a fire awakening in his brain.
Fear turns into rage and a burning desire to fight to see another day.
The minotaur stops its advance, its bovine eyes flashing with confusion at the shift in the human's expression. It was going to have fun bludgeoning the boy to earn reputation among the dark elves and perhaps avoid punishment, but it changes its mind, swinging its club to kill the kid in a single strike. The minotaur didn't expect the squire to attack first...
The broken sword buries itself into the minotaur's head. The young squire unleashes a war cry, stabbing repeatedly, bringing the beast down. He gets up and charges toward the elves covering the alley's exit. One of them raises a bow and fires a plenilunium-tipped arrow that buries itself in the boy's chest. But that isn't enough to stop him; he keeps running as if possessed by a demon...
The elf quickly nocks another arrow, firing twice more. One strikes the young squire's stomach, the other his head. The boy finally falls dead.
The next to be affected by the environmental shift are the mundane inhabitants: peasants, bakers, carpenters, coachmen, cooks, vagabonds—the common folk in general. The faces of many elves are painted with shock as the fleeing humans, along with those they had already bound in chains, grab anything they can—whether rocks, pieces of wood, or broken weapons—and attack them.
An elf on a bicorn covers himself with a shield when a few children appear to throw stones at him. Annoyed, he dismounts and advances to murder the brats. The children flee, but one trips and falls to the dirt. The elf closes in, raises his sword, and without hesitation, brings his arm down to decapitate the boy.
A gust of gray dust covers the boy's face, forcing him to close his eyes but leaving him unharmed. The elf, utterly confused, looks at the hilt of his sword, now bladeless, slowly decomposing beneath the sun's rays. The same happens to his armor, the particles gradually carried away by the wind.
"I-Impossible... We were supposed to have time until nightfall!"
It is evident someone lied to them. A culprit immediately comes to his lips, and grinding his teeth until they ache, the elf mutters:
"Moonsong, you damn whore. You will pay for leading us into this trap."
The elf plans to retreat to the shade to delay the inevitable and find a way out, but he freezes. Turning around, he finds himself surrounded by a mob of humans—a mix of soldiers and civilians, some wounded or stained with blood, none of them looking happy.
The protection of the plenilunium vanishes like a mirage. The perpetrators become the victims, fleeing from the human hordes that surround them and tear them apart with bare hands. There are no prisoners; a primitive, brutal impulse drives the violence, a desire to survive that twists into malice and animalistic vengeance.
In the castle's basement, Arrax and his disciples can no longer sustain the ritual and collapse. The magic circles power down, and Jimbo is dragged by an invisible force back to the core room, left extremely dizzy by the sudden change in scenery.
King Marc, his face and body tense, questions the crystal about what is happening above. As soon as Jim recovers from his dizziness, he answers, and the Imp is left slack-jawed, her amputated wings trembling with awe. The imp translates for the rest:
"He says the match is over... It is a victory."