A Ghost's Wish [MxM]

61. A Stampede

Oliver ignored the people calling out from behind him again. He rushed west of his camp and desperately tried to see past the sheet of rain to find something.  He grabbed the cloak of the man on watch. 

"Have you seen anything? Heard anything?" He asked.

The soldier looked confused and shook his head. He pointed to the sky. "The weather is preventing us from seeing past a hundred meters."

Oliver cursed as he turned back to the curtained plains. Between the raindrops, shimmering lights flickered. A couple of lights turned to a dozen...which then turned to hundreds. 

Oliver shuddered. He knew that these were not torches or magic. 

Draco appeared next to him and analyzed the same scene. "What is it?"

Oliver grabbed the warning horn on his belt. "A stampede."

Draco paled. "The beasts in the plains don't stampede."

Oliver blew into the horn. The deep bellow cut through the night, but the thunder drowned most of it. He gave the horn to the soldier on watch and pulled him close so he could hear his commands.

"Sound the warning and find a way to light the fucking fires to gather the others. Tell them to prepare for battle," Oliver commanded.

The soldier was terrified and froze in place, looking at the glowing lights in fear, hoping that he had imagined it. But Oliver grabbed his collar and forced him to turn his attention away. "Go! Stop wasting time!"

The soldier ran away, tripping over his feet, but he caught himself and ran to the warning fires while blowing the horn. 

Oliver glared into the plains. The lights started to become brighter, foreshadowing the many different types of creatures they would face. 

"This night will leave us vulnerable." Oliver seethed. 

Draco grabbed his hand. "Let's go out and meet the beasts."

This wasn't a usual stampede. Draco was right when he said that the plains beast don't stampede—they scatter. This was orchestrated. And it was apparent that the Ravagers were retaliating by using the creatures they had stolen magic from.

Gather beasts, drain their magic, make them feral, and release the beasts in the enemy camp when the thunderstorm could drown out all roars. It was a dirty move but cunning nonetheless. And when you're in the middle of a war, you err on the side of cunning. 

"I'll draw the first attack; hopefully, I can push them away from camp," Oliver said.

The two of them ran into the open plains toward the stampede. Oliver could feel the ground trembling under his feet. He didn't bother with drawing out his swords just yet. Instead, his fingers curled, and the raindrops falling around him stopped mid-air. The water vibrated and then turned cold, cracking and creaking under the pressure of his magic until it crystallized into ice. 

He then changed the shapes of the ice surrounding him, sharpening it into arrowheads. It was mesmerizing to see countless shards of ice dance around him, except each piece was filled with deadly killing intent.

The ice continued to gather around him, twisting and turning until it was like a small cyclone. Then with a snap of his fingers, the ice stopped, poised and quivering with the yearning for blood. 

The glow of the eyes was closer than before, and he could smell the stench of the creatures approaching. He could hear their snarls and the snaps of their jaws. Close.

He took a deep breath and waved his hand. Release, he ordered the magicked arrowheads. 

They flew into the air, their whistle harmonizing with the crescendo of the thunder.  He heard the wet thuds of the ice piercing through the bodies of the animals, and the night was filled with roars of indignation. The land rumbled as they stormed forward.