Headed by a Snake

"Power... over... WHELMING!!!"

A stream of crackling lightning shot forward from the Thunder God's fingertips, obliterating the thick cloud of assumedly flesh-eating insects.

"Hm," Tycondrius nodded, pursing his lips. The warmth of satisfaction bloomed in his heart.

The encouragement he gave the Thunder God seemed effective.

That was good.

If even a single one of his companions were to fall, he was fairly certain they would all be killed in the minutes following.

Tycon caught the Thunder God's arm. With the way the shirtless fellow's knees buckled, it was a wonder he was still conscious.

"You did well. Now, rest," He commanded.

In response, the Thunder God managed to eye out an indignant, "I'll do as you wish."

As there was a lull in combat, Tycon he popped a piece of pork jerky in his mouth.

His thoughts drifted to his old friend, Zenon Skyreaper. With that fellow's talent, if he continued his training for another century, his magical prowess would grow infinitely close to that of the Thunder God.

Talent and hard work were more than capable of producing miracles.

He frowned to himself, realizing the futility of his nostalgia.

It was impossible to garner any additional outside help.

The situation was so grim, that Tycon unconsciously let out a derisive laugh.

He was the only reason Sol Invictus dared to meddle in the affairs of a hostile god.

He had a minimal amount of allies-- and losing a single one was potentially catastrophic.

He hadn't the time to prepare supporting allies beforehand. Due to a stroke of luck, he had Dungeon Core Alana... but he could only afford to rely on her for transportation.

Tycon expected great resistance in recovering Ophelia... but the caliber of the Tree God's forces had far exceeded his expectations.

It would be different if Tycon commanded a dozen centuries.

It would be different if he had aid from Guild Staghorn or Letalis or Metal Wolf.

...It would be different if he had even one more Iron-Rank of at least middling potential.

In order to merely survive, he and his companions had to perform well beyond their reasonable expectations.

Tycon realized he must have looked odd when he noticed the Thunder God's look of concern.

"Friend-Maedar?"

"My apologies," Tycon sighed. "Would you like some pork jerky?"

"Hm? Oh. I shall abstain for n--" Suddenly, the Thunder God pointed past him, "LOOK OUT!!"

Tycon whipped his head around and, his eyes sensitive to the movement, identified a golden sphere of magic speeding towards his direction.

He felt no immediate danger. Considering its course, it would not hit him or his companion.

He did, however, find the Spell to be... distasteful.

It smelled peculiar.

It tasted... repugnant.

And its target...

"Oh, seven f*cking h--"

The Spell struck Alana's ⌈Gate⌋, burning brilliantly and sputtering loudly before disappearing with a loud crack. The glowing white portal trembled violently, blinking in and out of existence.

"⌈Misty Step⌋!"

Wroe stepped out of a silvery cloud of mana dust, using his Hexblade to deflect a second golden sphere.

As it struck a blackened patch of dirt, the magic burst in a flash of white, leaving a smoking crater.

It was an unorthodox fire spell... intrinsically explosive.

Tycon could not identify it. Was it exceptional and rare? ...Was it unique?

Did it belong to the Hidden Sects?

...Phoenix Fire? Golden Crow Flames?

No... while those spells burnt fantastically hot, they did not explode without some manipulation.

Fire magic was not Tycon's expertise, but the mana-purity of the enemy mage's magic marked her as a Realm-defying talent.

Thinking on it, he felt uncomfortable tingles on the back of his neck and upper back.

He snapped his fingers.

⟬ ⌈Commander's Strike⌋ activated. ⟭

Magic took hold of Wroe's arm and he swung his pearlescent sword with supernatural speed. He struck and deflected a third sphere and, like the first, it burst upon contact with a thick tree trunk.

Barely any dust and debris remained, so obscene was that Spell's destructive power.

"Boss!" Wroe shouted, "What happens if the ⌈Gate⌋ crashes?!"

Again Tycon snapped his fingers.

⟬ ⌈Commander's Strike⌋ activated. ⟭

"What do you THINK?!" Krysaos answered, mid-lunge. The Captain intercepted another of the explosive spheres, deflecting it with his ice-tail.

"If we f*ck this up," He shouted, "we'll be trapped inside the malms of f*cking forest, swarming in bad guys!"

Tycon groaned loudly, "The Captain is correct. As we will are unable to hide from the Tree God in his forest, we'd certainly lose a battle of attrition."

Alana was not weak. She was a Magic Tool utilized by Adamantine-Rank Hero Ravidius. It was *impossible* for her to be weak.

Yet, the enemy was clearly capable of destabilizing and destroying Alana's creation.

Tycon's dilemma was worrisome.

If he did not assist his companions, could they overcome the mage and her strange, nausea-inducing magic?

...They would have to.

It wasn't enough to only defend the ⌈Gate⌋ from further damage. It would need to be inspected and, if necessary, repaired. The smallest error in a Teleportation Spell could have grave consequences.

Annoyed, slightly panicked, and moderately hungry, the leader of Sol Invictus began sorting through the battlefield corpses.

"What... are you doing, Maedar?" Asked the Thunder God.

"Improving our chances at survival," Tycon growled.

He wished he could have said 'saving our lives' but that would have been a sinfully optimistic falsehood.

Quickly enough, he found a still-warm body of a Green Hag of at least Iron-Rank...

She would do.

With two hacks of his Sword of Venom, he severed one of her legs.

"What are you DOING, Maedar?!" The Thunder God repeated.

"Same answer! Now, sit quietly and recover your gods-damned mana!!"

The Thunder God was suffering mana exhaustion. That much was evident from his glazed eyes, half-dead pallor, and trembling body.

Upon entering battle, he hadn't completely recovered from amulet-creation. Worse still, he was unused to conserving his energies while fighting against the swarths of enemies they faced.

And instead of trying to rest, he was using his strength to complain!

However...  beating the Shirtless God with a severed appendage could be done back in Whitehearth.

Tycon had to focus on his task at hand: improvising a never-before-seen series of ritual circles with the intent to repair and stabilize a Fifth-Circle Teleportation Gate.