We all made our final preparations and started to get ready for our mission. One of the doberman guards cast a spell on all of us that gave us night vision . Most of us were of the dog race so we already have good noses . Our sense of smell were second to none . Only a few animals and beasts had a better sense of smell than us . The bat witch didn’t need anything , because bat people excel in the night already . Bats use sonar mostly to their advantage . They achieve this with echolocation . Bats can hear better than any race on this world . Their smell is top of the line as well .
We continued taking off towards the rumored location . It was said that the village was only 4 hours away if we ran the whole time . We’ll camp close by and attack early in the morning when we arrive . The trip was uneventful other than seeing a few bull moles running around and or eating grass . Good thing that we were in a group because that deterred the bulls from attacking us . We would have no problem dispatching them but I’m not sure bull hunting would fit our current schedule .
We ran for hours taking in the scenery . Lillandra had the luxury of flying using her wings that she was born with . Draco was also riding his dragon . His dragon stands about 7 feet tall . It has a dark magenta red color with 3 horns on his head . He has a very powerful aura about him . Just like Draco . Draco’s dragon seemed to have a private personality . It has a stern expression to it . It doesn't look nice or mean .
When we got close to the village . Draco noticed a scout post and ordered us to stop . He told us all to focus ahead of us with our night vision . The night vision was awesome . We could turn it on and off mentally . When my night vision was on I could see 3 green vertical lines moving clearly in the distance that were walking upright . Small animals looked more like dots in the distance . The way the vertical lines marched and moved methodically let us know that they weren’t some kind of beasts either .
We slowly got closer to them for an ambush . We got to a spot around 100 feet from them . Draco looked at everyone and said when he raises his hand , for us to charge . One of the German Shepard guards touched the ground . Then Draco raised his hand . We charged them towards them after receiving the signal . There were 3 soldiers fighting a dirt clone that looked like the German Shepard guard that touched the ground earlier . His power must allow him to summon and control dirt clones from a distance . What the clone lacked in offensive power it seemed to excel in both distraction and regenerative abilities . The scouts were fully occupied attacking the fighting clone that kept regenerating . In a flash Visceroy knocked out two of them with his staff and Draco knocked out the other one with his bare hands .
We searched the scouts for useful items or weapons . Then we did the same thing inside of the scout post . We were also careful to make sure there wasn’t any other enemy that was capable of blocking our sight with their magic . We didn't find anyone else so we waited for our next commands from Draco .
About the Creator
Terrence
Releasing an ongoing online book called Zaigon. If you are new here I strongly reccomend you start reading from page 1(the oldest). Comic located at www.patreon.com/zaigon. Merch at https://digishoppe.creator-spring.com/listing/comic-zaigon
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
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