Re: Apocalypse Game

The battlefield had plunged into an unending nightmare, as players found themselves ensnared in a ferocious brawl against the unholy undead. Zombie warriors and knights, their decrepit forms still adorned with rusted weapons and battered armor, charged forth with unyielding savagery.

Amid the relentless clash of steel, sparks erupted into the inky darkness of night. The heavy rain, which soaked leather armor and drenched the waterlogged grass beneath their feet, added a layer of difficulty to the conflict. Each passing moment brought forth an arduous struggle as players fought valiantly against the ceaseless tide of the undead.

This was a harrowing close-range melee, where players were thrust into the heart of an onslaught that seemed to assail them from all directions. Gone were the reassuring presence of NPCs who had once provided cover, and the meticulously crafted formations that had lent structure to their battles. In place of order and coordination, chaos reigned supreme.

The battlefield had transformed into a nightmarish all-out brawl, a tumultuous and desperate fight for survival where personal skills, instincts, and sheer determination were the currency of survival.

For those players who were not well-versed in melee combat, their disadvantage was starkly apparent. Their initial burst of firearm attacks offered only a brief respite, as the arduous task of reloading became a perilous vulnerability that often led to their untimely downfall.

Even players who had made preparations for close combat now found themselves pushed to their limits. The key to survival lies in their ability to remain ever vigilant, perpetually monitoring their surroundings. Any momentary lapse in concentration, an unexpected tackle from behind, or even a simple stumble could usher in the specter of death amid the tumultuous brawl.

Stamina became a treasured commodity, they had to manage their breath, taking brief respites to recover and to recuperate from the wounds they incurred. Every moment was a testament to their resilience and determination to endure the chaos of battle.

Alan maneuvered his way through the chaos, his focus fixed on the Roman figure, Artorius. The fearless Roman commander moved with astonishing speed and ferocity, cleaving through the undead that stood in his path while rallying his Roman troops.

As Alan trailed behind, he witnessed a remarkable transformation. What had started as a few scattered Roman soldiers soon grew into a substantial force under Artorius's command.

With his voice cutting through the clamor, Artorius bellowed, "Tetsudo!"

In response, a Roman 'tortoise' formation swiftly took shape within the pandemonium. Soldiers converged, creating a protective shell by standing shoulder to shoulder, their shields locked together both horizontally and vertically. This formidable formation offered a bulwark against attacks from all directions, enabling the Romans to function as a unified and impenetrable unit within the confines of the battle's chaos. It was a testament to the Romans' discipline and their astute strategic approach to warfare.

Alan, in his proximity to the Roman soldiers, was granted passage into the formation, and he made use of his healing and blessing spells, deploying his spirit points with utmost efficiency to aid his comrades.

As they moved forward, relentlessly cutting down the undead that crossed their path, more Roman soldiers joined the formation, steadily expanding its size. The collective battle spirit of these Roman warriors drove them to fight with unwavering determination, growing the formation bit by bit as they pressed on, undeterred by the surrounding horrors of the battlefield.

It was at this moment that a shrieking sound was heard and the mysterious figure appeared on the hill, a lone rider whose eyes seemed to glow eerily.

Alan recognized the ominous figure all too well. It was the necromancer, the sinister puppeteer responsible for the reanimation of the undead that now surged across the battlefield.

With a raised glowing staff, the necromancer executed a malevolent incantation. Suddenly, the warriors who had recently perished in the flames rose in unison, their eyes devoid of life and purpose.

This unholy resurrection significantly bolstered the ranks of the undead, pushing their numbers back to a staggering 10,000 strong. Amid this macabre revival, one particular undead entity stood out

A monstrous, humanoid figure, standing an imposing four meters tall, it was a colossal barbarian holding two massive axes in his arms. His primal, bone-chilling scream resonated across the battlefield, uniting the undead hordes in a nightmarish symphony of death.

[Dreadnought]

[Type: Inhuman]

[Rank: B]

The appearance of the Dreadnought triggered an immediate notification that reverberated through the minds of all players:

[New bonus quest added]

[Bonus Quest (Optional): Defeat Cedric the Dreadnought]

This notification brought a collective realization to the players regarding the origins of this colossal undead monstrosity. It had risen from the remains of the legendary NPC of the Saxon king, a harbinger of doom that had now become an unexpected and formidable adversary.

With a single, thunderous swing of its colossal axe, the Dreadnought cleaved apart a group of terrified barbarians and players, extinguishing their lives in an instant. The hulking behemoth's relentless rampage sent shockwaves of fear and panic rippling through the battlefield, as it seemed capable of decimating any living being that crossed its path.

What made this nightmarish scenario even more dreadful was the gruesome aftermath. Each fallen victim left in the Dreadnought's wake rose from the dead, joining the gruesome ranks of the undead. A collective, agonized cry reverberated through the battlefield, as the undead continued to swell in numbers.

Amidst the carnage, the Dreadnought seemed to emit an ear-piercing, bone-chilling roar, echoing with the sheer magnitude of its monstrous presence. Whether under the control of the necromancer or driven by the barbarian's twisted will, the Dreadnought turned its massive form southward and charged headlong toward the Roman lines, an unstoppable force of destruction barreling through the chaos of the battlefield.

Towards the rear ranks of the Roman soldiers, the French captain watched the unfolding chaos with mounting anxiety. He could hardly contain his unease as he shouted,

"This is madness!"

It wasn't just the fearsome B-rank creature that filled him with dread, but the perilous choice of the Hundred Hordes to bear down upon the Roman lines. The situation appeared dire, and his concerns weighed heavily on his mind.

In stark contrast to the captain's agitation, Axel, the composed French noble, maintained a sense of calm as he issued orders to his loyal bodyguard, the Silver Rapier. He instructed the man to bring a group of elite veterans to ascend the hill in pursuit of the lone rider.

"Get more information, do not recklessly engage," he said decisively and the silver armor player nodded before swiftly leaving riding the horse.

"Axel, are you crazy!?" the French captain exclaimed. "What about the lines?"

Without a hint of trepidation, Axel responded, "Dont worry, bring out the artillery!"