Pretending to be a noob in a world scaled by power level

[175] The shores of Erindale

Despite our efforts, the majority of the fleet remained intact. As a cloud of blackness began to emerge from the decks of the demonic fleet, but it was not a cloud, it was a swarm of demon brutes.

The demon brutes were a horrifying sight to behold, each standing at least eight feet tall, with bulging muscles straining under their deep crimson skin. Their faces were nightmarishly grotesque, featuring a snout-like nose, a wide, lipless mouth filled with rows of sharp, yellow teeth, and glowing red eyes that radiated an insatiable bloodlust. Their ears were pointed and long, resembling those of a bat, and twisted, curled horns sprouted from their foreheads.

Their most striking feature, however, were the massive bat-like wings that unfurled from their backs. These wings were massive, spanning at least ten feet when fully outstretched. The membrane of the wings was a deeper, more intense red than the skin of the demons, and had a disturbing translucence that allowed one to see the network of veins coursing within them. The wings ended in a series of sharp, claw-like appendages, making them as lethal as they were functional.

With an ear-piercing shriek, the brutes beat their wings and took to the air. Their flight was surprisingly graceful for creatures of their size, their wings beating rhythmically as they soared higher and higher. Like a swarm of monstrous bats, they descended upon us from above, their inhuman screeches echoing ominously across the battlefield.

A few of them swooped down, attempting to take out our catapult operators. Their muscular forms cut through the air with terrifying speed, their wing claws outstretched in anticipation of the carnage they would inflict. But our defenders were not so easily cowed. Soldiers with longbows took aim and fired volleys of arrows, trying to bring down these aerial monstrosities. The battle had entered a new, even more perilous phase.

With my voice booming through the magical amplifier, I commanded, "Elven archers, unleash your arrows!"

The Elven archers, their bodies honed by centuries of discipline and training, moved as one. There was a moment of quiet concentration as they notched their arrows, their eyes narrowing as they targeted the winged demon brutes swooping overhead. Each archer held a long, slender bow made of silverwood, a wood known for its flexibility and strength. The string was drawn back, taut and ready, the fletched end of an arrow resting against their cheeks.

In their hands, the bows became almost extensions of themselves, the strain of the drawn string a natural pressure they had grown to know intimately. Each arrow was a slender work of art, fletching crafted from the feathers of gryphons, arrowheads painstakingly chiseled from sapphire. As they aimed upward, the sun reflected off their arrowheads, creating a scintillating field of azure stars.

With a sharp exhale, the command was given, "Release!" And as if one entity, the hundreds of elves let loose their arrows. The air whistled as the volley took flight, a deadly rain of sapphire and feathered fury arcing upwards. The sky darkened for a moment as the arrows blotted out the sun, and then, with devastating precision, the arrows rained down on the winged demon brutes.

The sight of arrows piercing the demonic hide was met with a roar of approval from our troops. The elven archers, unyielding and graceful, drew another volley, ready to continue their barrage. The battle was far from over, but this was a decisive moment, a show of our resistance and determination to repel this demonic invasion.

"Mages, your turn!" My voice echoed across the battlefield, enhanced by the magical orb. Immediately, a great assortment of mages stepped forward, their robes of myriad colors rustling as they moved into position.

Each mage was unique, their abilities reflecting the inherent magic of their respective races. The human mages, gifted with diverse capabilities, began weaving complex spells with their hands, multicolored sparks flying from their fingertips. Elven sorcerers gracefully raised their staffs, conjuring radiant arrows of light, ready to be launched. The beastkin conjurors, savage yet powerful, drew forth the primal energy around them, forming swirling vortexes of elemental power.

Dwarven rune-casters, their stout figures etched with ancient sigils, chanted rhythmically, causing the stones at their feet to glow ominously before catapulting into the sky. The merfolk water-shapers manipulated the water droplets in the air to form condensed water orbs that pulsed with energy. Orcish shamanic warlocks summoned infernal, roaring flames from the palm of their hands, and the dragonborn pyromancers unleashed volatile balls of blue dragonfire, their scales glistening under the intense heat.

And then, with a unified shout, the volley of magical energy was released. Arcane bolts, elemental blasts, searing flames, and divine arrows shot towards the demonic fleet, the sky lighting up with a breathtaking display of magic. As the magic found its mark, boats of the demonic fleet erupted into dazzling pyrotechnics of destruction. Fire and smoke billowed from the ships as the force of the magical barrage ripped through their hulls.

The air sizzled with residual energy, a tangible testament to the might of our mages. As our front line of defense, they stood resolute and determined, ready to unleash another wave of destruction at my command. The magical onslaught had begun.

A sudden shower of crossbow bolts began to rain down from the demonic fleet, sent from the skeletal figures adorning the decks of the enemy ships. Their bony fingers moved with an eerie precision, loading and firing with an unnatural speed.

"Raise the barrier!" I called out, and immediately, the mage's focus shifted. Rows of mages stepped forward, their hands stretching out towards the impending onslaught. A soft hum filled the air, escalating to a high-pitched whine as a shimmering veil of magic sprung up before us.

The barrier, a sprawling dome of translucent energy, rose above our ranks like a protective shell. Its surface danced with arcane symbols, each a testament to the diverse magical strengths of our mages. Elven glyphs of protection glimmered beside human sigils of deflection. Dwarven runic patterns sparkled next to beastkin primal marks. Orcish warding seals flared up alongside merfolk aquatic symbols and dragonborn fiery emblems.

As the barrage of crossbow bolts hit the barrier, brilliant sparks erupted on impact. The bolts disintegrated upon contact, their deadly intent negated by the potent magic. Each strike against the barrier caused a ripple to cascade across its surface, the energy absorbed and dissipated safely.

Our frontline held firm, shielded by the barrier. The mages behind it stood steady, their concentration unbroken, as they kept the barrier intact. Despite the enemy's retaliation, we were prepared, our defenses standing strong against their assault.

From the decks of the enemy ships, a new threat emerged - the demonic sorceresses. Cloaked in shadow, they raised their arms in unison, their voices melding into an ominous chant. As their incantation reached its crescendo, a torrent of dark magic, crimson and black, erupted from their fingertips.

Their barrage of magic, a storm of raw, destructive power, hurtled towards our defensive barrier. The sorceresses' spells slammed into the translucent dome, each blast shaking the barrier, causing it to shudder and ripple. For a few terrifying minutes, our magic shield withstood the assault, its arcane glyphs flickering and flaring brightly with each impact.

But the demonic onslaught was relentless. Each wave of attacks hit harder, the sorceresses pouring more of their dark energy into their spells. With a final, devastating blow, our barrier buckled, the magical construct wavering before shattering into a thousand glittering fragments.

A collective gasp ran through our ranks as the protective shell disappeared, leaving us exposed to the enemy's magic. The remnants of our barrier dissipated into thin air, leaving a trail of sparkling dust that slowly faded away. The lines of mages fell back, exhaustion visible on their faces, their energy spent in the attempt to maintain the barrier against the brutal attack. The first line of our defense had fallen, and the real battle was about to begin.

Q: Do you play RuneScape?