Could his army be turning upon itself?
Texan85 flashed into his head, telling him that his empire was crumbling around him, and he realized he had to get to Voldemort as soon as possible.
Perfectworld:Help me support him.
And, as his bodies weight was shifting between hands he let his whole body sag. Not expecting this, mod hands fumbled and tried to catch hold of him, but he twisted his body as it dropped, and slipped between the grasping fingers. Once on the ground, it was easy to deliver a roundhouse kick to one of the white robed legs beside him, a mod body he thought, hoped, it might be Sir Guiven fell into another, knocking both to the ground. Zezima got his feet under him and ran, doubled over, into another mods midsection. The mod grunted, tried to grab a hold of Zezima as he fell backwards, didnt, and landed heavily on his rear. Zezima was up now, a small clearing around him, mods backing away.
Four of them suddenly attempted to charge him. One went down with a swift kick in the stomach that cracked two of his ribs, another received a sharp jab in the head that spun him half-way round before he fell, the last two retreated.
Zezima took a breath and eyed the mods. There must have been at least twenty of them, but none charged. Too many to take on by himself, anyway. What were they waiting for?
And then he saw. A regiment of perhaps fifty moderators was coming up from the temple, only visible as a flurry of white activity on the southern horizon. Zezima turned and ran north to where the sea dashed itself upon the land in arcing sprays. Some of the mods ran after him, almost caught up to him, but he was filled with adrenaline now and his legs carried him swiftly over Entran** verdant landscape, out over its seaweed-littered beaches and into the roaring ocean.
Shouts sounded harmlessly from behind as he splashed into the frigid waters.
27-May-2006 18:34:04