[Belzebor's POV]
Belzebor withstood Calyra's unending onslaught of [Magic Missile] behind a translucent barrier of Dark Mana that absorbed each successive explosion. But his lot was not a happy one, even with a successful defense.
He looked around, saw that most of the Voidspawns were already dead, only few remained. The rest of the Frostgrave soldiers had been disposed of quickly, and the battlefield was littered with the bodies of his dead subordinates.
Then he turned his attention to the far side of the distant fighting, where his skeletal steed was still locked in combat with the commanders.
And to his chagrin it seemed to be on the point of breaking under their ceaseless attack, its battered frame straining to endure their combined assault.
At this rate the creature wouldn't be defeated for long either.
They were losing this wave.
A bleak, unavoidable conclusion dawned on him.
'How surprising…'
Had he underestimated them too little?
Maybe.
