SWOOSH SWOOSH SWOOSH
"What's with that damn tree? Why won't it just fall?!" one of the imperial guards shouted angrily, blood streaming from his nose and mouth after being slammed into the ground like a missile by one of the branches.
"Attack! Attack! There's no way the summoner's soul units have unlimited reserves. That soul creature belongs to the planetary emperor, Robin Burton. If we can wear him down, we'll win this war. Don't hold back your attacks!" the Eleventh Prince commanded from a safe distance behind the fray, pointing once again at the spirit creature, Hovenheim. His brothers and allies promptly followed his orders.
Hovenheim's sheer size was monstrous— its trunk literally reached the clouds, and its branches descended like bolts of lightning, striking anyone nearby before retreating. However, this made Hovenheim a perfect target; it was nearly impossible to miss its colossal trunk, even if one tried not to hit it.
