The last golem crumbled under the combined weight of three Obsidian Wolves tearing at its legs. Stone fragments scattered across the parking lot as the construct collapsed, its mana core sputtering and dying. The wolves stood over the rubble, panting, their dark fur matted with dust and scratches from the prolonged brawl.
Rooley took stock. His mana was sitting at roughly forty-two percent. The wyrm was exhausted, its scales chipped and cracked from being used as a battering ram against ten rank 2 golems. The wolves had done their job but were in no condition for another sustained fight. The snake was injured from blocking those earth spears, green blood still dripping from the puncture wounds in its coils.
He made his call.
