Two minutes, thirty seconds left.
Serif looked heavenward and took a deep breath, he exhaled.
The mutated treemen dashing towards him, arrows screaming towards him, those with hammers dashing forward, the chain users, all of them.
Serif tilted back, an arrow passing in front of his nose, the he dashed forward, the arrows struck in the dirt in his wake, his chain spinning, whipping towards the approaching treemen.
He spun, avoiding an extending vine, just like his chains, but they weren't the original thing, his chain wrapping around treemen necks as he spun, the chain twisting and turning.
Serif landed, the chain looping, then holding it with his free hand, he pulled, the chain snapping, separating there heads from there bodies, black liquid spurting.
He leapt back, just in time, avoiding arrows, he glanced at the archers, keeping there distance, shooting from afar, he had to get rid of them, but first, let's reduce your number, he turned to the board approaching.
