Gorak had no time to waste on the fallen wizard, trusting that Baltagar would handle any threats in his wake. His focus was singular — the voltera. He surged forward, closing the distance in a few powerful strides. With a bellowing war cry, he launched himself onto the beast’s flank. The spears still embedded in the voltera’s legs provided just enough grip for Gorak to scale its side, ignoring the warm sprays of blood that splattered his arms and face. The beast reared and thrashed violently, trying to shake him off, but Gorak pressed on, climbing higher.
Blood slicked his hands, and the storm made each movement perilous, yet Gorak’s hauled himself up the beast’s massive form, finally reaching his broad back. But just as he prepared to draw his axe for the final blow, the voltera bucked fiercely. Gorak was flung backward, his body sliding off the beast’s left shoulder blade. For a heart-stopping moment, Gorak saw himself thrown into the abyss below— his hand grabbed hold of the voltera’s thick fur. With a grunt of exertion, Gorak hauled himself back onto the beast’s back, his muscles burning as he fought against the immense strain. Time was slipping away — this battle had to end. Now. Without hesitation, he locked his massive arms around the voltera’s thick neck, pressing into the many gashes already torn into his flesh by earlier axe blows. Gorak could feel the pulsing heat of the blood beneath his grip, the raw, wild power coursing through his massive body.
The voltera thrashed wildly, his enormous bulk rearing and bucking, desperate to throw Gorak off again. The beast’s jaws snapped, trying to twist his head far enough to sink his fangs into the krag’s flesh, his hot, acrid breath blasting against Gorak’s face in ragged bursts.
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