Mikhail turned to face the dust cloud, watching as tremors ran through it as the consecutive crashes continued.
The sheer number of elementals had grown to be staggering…
And as the cacophony raged on, Mikhail looked to his hands, squinting in an effort to push away the white noise blocking patches of his vision.
In the past few exchanges, he had been acting purely out of instinct. But now, his consciousness had caught up.
In one hand, he held the lower half of his splintered spear. As he focused on it, he could see that its entire structure was compromised. There were cracks all over its surface, and with a bit more focus, he could tell that many of the cracks ran deep.
And on the other hand…
Nothing.
He had lost the blade of his spear in the dust cloud. Probably when he had grabbed the stalagmite to throw himself to safety…
