The Cyclops stood tall, its single, massive eye burning with malice as it scanned the ring of enemies closing in. Suddenly, the eye dilated, and a ripple of black energy pulsed outward—its fear ability.
It had no effect. The mindless Plague-thralls were immune.
With rotting flesh sloughing off their bodies and green smoke rising from their skin, they charged.
The Cyclops roared, its spiked club a whirlwind of destruction. It smashed several thralls into pulp, but the horde was relentless. They swarmed it, tearing and biting, until the giant finally crashed to the forest floor, life fading from its malevolent eye.
Once the Cyclops was completely still, the Plague-thralls dispersed, melting back into the trees to continue their search.
A moment later, four figures emerged from the dense woods and approached the scene of the battle.
