The soldiers scattered in every direction, their desperate attempts to stop Gorm proving futile.
The battlefield was in chaos, as Gorm adapted his tactics according to the situation. He was a force of nature, reading their movements and exploiting their weaknesses.
As the hunt dragged on, Gorm honed his strategies based on the soldiers' composition. When faced with many ranged attackers, he lured them into close quarters or areas dense with cover, nullifying their advantage.
When surrounded by melee fighters, he led them into confined spaces, where only a few could engage him at once. His mind was a cold, calculating engine of destruction.
Marks began appearing on the soldiers, faint glows that signaled their impending doom. Gorm was upon them in a flash, his spear cutting through their ranks like a scythe through wheat. He was unstoppable, a dark juggernaut of death and shadow — until one massive axe forced him back.
