Creed's chest heaved with every breath, each inhale dragging in the biting cold air that cut through his lungs like tiny knives.
His body was battered. Small wounds peppered his arms and legs, his clothes were torn in places, and his hands were swollen and bruised from gripping and swinging his heavy spear for what felt like an eternity.
Every pulse in his wrists throbbed painfully, his fingers numb from the constant recoil of metal slamming into rock-hard bodies.
And yet…
A wide, ridiculous grin stretched across his face like he'd just found the last slice of pizza at a party.
His eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of exhaustion and euphoria. 'This is insane… but I love it!'
Around him, the battlefield told the story of their relentless assault: dozens of ice golems lay in shattered heaps, their cores crushed and scattered like broken glass.
