Formation instincts kicked in fast for the clones, and they gathered up, their shields and swords pointed towards the statue. The statue was a man and a half high, with ceremonial stone armor on its rugged muscled body. Its facial expression was frozen in an eternal determined stare, with the eyes glowing a baleful Skorn-ish red. It held a great sword wider than Alex’s waist and he guessed that the stone it was made out of was giving it a weight that would break bones.

It came with slow steps, digging with its armored boots into the ground. The great sword was dragged along, paving a furrow through the solid stone. An arrow hit it in the chest, to no effect, the projectile bouncing off the stone armour with not a nick in sight on the statue. Its steps fastened, and more arrows hit it. Arrows did nothing, even when the clones hit an eye it would shrug it off.

That was the sign that this thing was not going to be brought down by traditional means. That realization came too late though, the statue heaved its great sword up high and brought it down like a hammer. The clones, hurriedly breaking formation, tried to dodge. One was too late, and his leg turned into a red slurry on the ground. His leg erupted into a fountain of blood, and his scream chilled the other clones to the bone.

His agony was short lived, the statue stepped on his chest and crushed his heart. The clone bellowed a final cry, and puffed into smoke. The statue stumbled, finding its impromptu stepping stone gone. 

“Fuck.” “Yeah man, fuck.”

The clones gulped, the ghastly sight of gore still reverberating in their minds. They stood far away from the statue, encircling it yet still very cautious. Not afraid, they were not afraid, just a bit horrified by the utter brutality their brother had died. In all their minds, they found solace in that he died quickly and the statue didn’t have a grudge against them. 

Its head rigidly cranked itself towards the cercle of clones, its eyes beholding all those who were in front of it. It raised its leg, and stomped. Stomp, stomp, stomp, it repeated to a confused crowd, the ground quaking. Only when the cracks in the ground started to light up with red that the clones got alarmed. Faced with only two choices, the clones retreated, besides one. The commander charged with [Last Hurraw] and roared a [Battle Cry], an ineffective tactic against a creature with a stone temperament, yet a great boost to the commander's morale.

Snakes, strings and ropes of red came out slithering from the cracks. Their tips slithered towards the feet of the commander. They caught into his ankles, sizzling the thick dark leather armor. The commander gritted his teeth through the heat he was feeling and pushed with all his might, snapping the restraints with sheer leg power. Momentum carried him after that, [Solid Footwork] working overtime to stop the momentary grasps of the red snakes from breaking his pace.

Yet it wasn’t all that the statue had in magic, with a hit to the ground with its fists, it summoned a stone spike with a tip of red in front of the commander. The commander blocked with the side of his shield, and he was instantly glad for it when the spike went through the enchanted shield and nicked the edge of his armor, barely missing his skin.

The commander, full of foolish bravery, continued treading through the dangerous terrain. The red snakes coiled his legs, they were destroyed and ripped apart by his power and velocity. The spikes, no longer a surprise, were dodged with more ease. He reached the statue, and gazed into its steady, stable red eyes. He rolled on the ground when the great sword sent rock and debris all over.

The titan of stone, a hero statue, turned slowly. The great sword taking a considerable amount of time being dragged. In that languid movement, the commander found an opportunity on the body of a heroic statue. The ceremonial armor, mostly there to look good, had a few gaps in its defense, particularly in the back of the knees. The commander rested his two hands onto the handle of the sword, his shield had long been abandoned in the ragged quagmire. 

With a stance that was made for an executioner or a logger, Alex The Commander struck the weak point, and the joint chipped. Pieces, small and trivial, yet they fell from the statue. A web of cracks spread through the leg, and the commander went in for another hit. At that moment the statue’s other leg, coming from his left, hit him full on. The armored crumpled, the bones underneath cracked and splintered, piercing his lungs and heart.

The commander flew through the air, and lay still on the ground outside of the restrictive zone. The statue advanced on the injured clone with a perfectly organized stride, paying no mind to the fragile state of its right leg. 

It looked down on the clown, raised its great sword into the air and swung it--.

The statue’s left leg fell out from under it, and behind it was a clone, and behind that one was another, and another, another. The statue tried to get up, but the clones jumped on the statue, five clones pulling all of their physical power to stop the arms from moving. They hit the statue with the pommel of their swords in the areas where the armor didn’t cover, and bit by bit, chip by chip, piece by piece, they broke the statue.

The head was all that was left, the eyes still glowing red even though it was separated from its body. The clones dropped to ground, utterly exhausted. A wet gargle sounded out in the silent aftermath, the commander clone twitched. A clone quickly came up to it, finding the whole left side of the commander completely destroyed, organs could be seen between ravaged skin.

He was still alive, and the effects of [Last Hurraw] would quickly set in now that the battle was over. They wouldn’t let such a fine example of Alex die here though, no matter how close he was to death’s door. The team of five clones descended on the injured clone, each instantly activating [Singular Focus].

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All the love for Mambell, the beta reader for this story.