Abram became lightning.
He streaked across the staging ground, past the large field between the village and the barrier, to the jagged hole in a bolt of fury, cutting through the air like a blade.
In the blink of an eye, he met the barbarians as they passed through the hole, zipping through them without a pause.
Lightning snapped and crackled, and a few screams pierced through the air. But something was not right.
Abram didn't stop, moving from bear to bear, from rider to rider in the space of a second and shot back out, reforming in a crouch, his feet digging a furrow into the ground to break his momentum.
His eyes narrowed as he saw the results of his actions. While there were several Druids on the floor, some dead, others twitching, smoke rising from their bodies, most of the barbarians were still charging.
The ones he'd hit directly were singed, their clothes smoking, but they kept running, their bears roaring from the attack.
