The Extra Wants Control

The damp and bot air of the swamp hung heavy, a suffocating blanket that reeked of blood and stagnant water.

Axl's face contorted in disgust but he surveyed the scene before him. He could see half heads poking out of the swamp and some stuff covered with slimy vines that pulsed and glowed faintly.

It was a breeding ground for monsters.

And monsters they found.

Coming from the depths, some emerging behind the plants, through the mud were hulking lizardmen, their reptilian eyes glowing slightly as mud flowed from their skin leaving them clean.

*Roar*

Their guttural roars, amplified by the oppressive atmosphere, echoed through the silent, but no one here seemed faxed.

"Attack." Axl ordered.

The battle began with a primal clash. Steel met scale, lightning crackled hitting and finishing one lizard at a time, slowly and agonizing. Axl, just stood back and shot at them sadistically.

But he knew being passive alone wouldn't win this fight. The lizardmen thrived in this environment, their numbers seemingly endless.

He raised his hand, the air crackling with building static. Then flickering in and out of existence a blinding thick pillar of lightning burst out, not aimed at the lizardmen directly, but at the swamp itself.

The impact churned the stagnant water, sending a wave of mud and debris crashing into the nearest reptilian warriors. Axl knew their true enemy lay hidden elsewhere these were just the beginning.

With a sickening screech, monstrous forms erupted from the swamp floor – more robust lizardmem.

The battle raged on, a desperate struggle against an enemy that seemed to rise from the very swamp itself. The air filled with the stench of burnt flesh and the sickening crack of scotched and shattered eggs. It wasn't a clean fight. It was a brutal battle of attrition, a fight for dominance in the heart of a mushy ecosystem.

Hours later, when the last ember of resistance flickered out, Axl stood panting amidst the devastation. The swamp floor, once teeming with life, was now a desolate wasteland. The air, while still fetid, carried a faint tang of smoke.

There was no victory celebration, just a heavy silence punctuated by the labored breaths of the weaker members who Axl had to incorporate because of 'diversity' which annoyed him, but he wouldn't say anything.

Axl looked around, his face etched with a mixture of annoyance and grim satisfaction. He had won, but at a terrible cost well atleast to the lizardmen. Their swamp, once a twisted haven, was now a scarred reflection of the battle. But as he turned away, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A lone lizardman hatchling, miraculously untouched by the destruction, emerged from the mud.

Its eyes, blank and reptilian, met Axl's gaze.

Axl's hand rose and a lightning sword formed amd the lizard looked at him in fear, the lizardman knew the cycle would likely repeat, but... maybe, just maybe, this one was different.

With a sigh, Axl lowered his weapon and turned away and the lizard man tried to run... Only for it to get stabbed by the sword and burst into paste. The battle was over for now, but the war for survival in the sub-dimension was far from finished.

***********

Axl stood amidst the churned swamp floor, the stench of burnt flesh and decay clinging to him like a second skin. His victory felt hollow and unrewarding this isn't what he wanted, he was not satisfied. A figure emerged from the debris – Moira, her blue reptilian eyes glowing faintly in the oppressive gloom.

"What now?" she rasped, her voice laced with fatigue and a hint of unease.

Axl turned to her, his face a mask of grim determination. "We build," he declared, his voice hoarse but unwavering. "We establish a foothold here, in this very swamp."

Moira blinked, her reptilian eyes widening in surprise. "But... the lizardmen?"

Axl met her gaze, a spark of a new plan igniting in his eyes. "No more killing," he stated firmly.

"This time, we try something different." He raised a hand, and a crackling energy surged around him. A blinding blue pulse, electric and vibrant, arced outwards from his body, expanding like a rippling circle before fading into the fetid air. Axl remained motionless, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

"Moira," he spoke, his voice regaining its strength, "take a team east. Explore the furthest reaches of the swamp. See if there's anything salvageable, anything we can use, and remember don't kill the lizards chain them."

He turned towards the west, his gaze fixed on a distant horizon. "Production team heads west too. Find a drier clearing. We'll build our fort there, start with the walls. And build some tents" Axl paused, then added, " Look for something to eat."

Without waiting for a response, Axl propelled himself forward, his body dissolving into a bolt of pure blue lightning. He streaked south, a blur of crackling energy leaving Moira staring after him in stunned silence.

Finally, she shook herself out of her stupor. "You heard him," she barked to the members who had begun to gather around. "Get it done! Alpha squad, with me!"

Moira accepted and understood the underlying logic in Axl's seemingly impossible plan.

They couldn't simply eradicate the swamp and especially the living entities as the lizardmen themselves, they were footmen to be afterall.

With renewed purpose, Moira and her squad marched east, towards the murky depths of the swamp. The production team, with some protection teams and determined strides, followed Axl's instructions, heading west in search of a drier haven. The sub-dimension, a place of constant challenge, and they were stuck with unreasonable dragons.

*****************

Sunlight, dappled and fragmented, struggled to pierce the dense canopy of the ancient forest. Draven, his eyes glowing blue fire, surveyed the scene before him.

Their faction, a motley crew but comprising mostly of the impure blood, some dragons and halfbreeds, had been deposited in this verdant forest. But this wasn't a place for peaceful exploration; it was a battlefield.

A monstrous roar echoed through the trees, shaking the very ground. Emerging into view were hulking figures – ogres, easily twice the height and thrice as big as any man, their grotesque bodies clad in crude leather and wielding massive clubs. These weren't mindless brutes, however.

Their eyes, glowing with intelligence, gleamed with the telltale mark of high star power – six stars for most, with one significantly brighter, radiating the power of an upper seven-star entity. That one, Draven knew, was their leader.

No one was ordered they knew what to do.

The clash was a cacophony of violence. The ogres, fueled by rage and enhanced strength and blessed by earth magic, swung their clubs with earth-shattering force.

Thick century old hardwood trees snapped like twigs, the forest floor buckled under the impact.

But Draven, a being of pure blue fire, was an embodiment of destruction. His hands crackled with an blue flames, hotter than any. As he moved, the very air shimmered with heat even the damp wood catching flames. Though they outnumbered the ogres the ogres were thrice as strong and forced them to attack them in groups and teams, this was Draven's idea.

The ogre chieftain, a hulking monstrosity with a guttural roar that sent shivers down spines of some of the members, charged towards Draven.

It slammed its massive club, imbued with earth magic, against the ground, sending a shockwave rippling through the battlefield. But Draven was a master of his element. With a flick of his wrist, a wave of blue fire erupted, partially melting the club's wooden head and turning the earth magic into molten rock.

The battle raged on, the forest floor becoming a scorched wasteland. Draven danced amidst the carnage, manipulating the very lava created by his flames amd opponents earth, turning it into molten tendrils that lashed out at the ogres, searing their flesh and shattering their defenses.

The six-star ogres fell one by one, their earth magic proving no match for the raw power of Draven's blue flames and the members relentless attacks.

Finally, with a roar that shook the remaining trees, the ogre chieftain fell. Draven stood panting, his body radiating heat, but his blue fire burned ever bright. He surveyed the battlefield – a scene of utter devastation, the once-lush forest reduced to a smoldering ruin.

But amidst the destruction, Draven saw an opportunity. "There you have it," he boomed, his voice echoing through the scorched trees. "Your clearing, and some start-up materials." He gestured towards the fallen ogres and the pools of molten rock. "I want walls erected. Strong, fire-resistant walls. We'll build our haven from the ashes of their defeat."

The members of his faction, battered but resolute, looked around at the devastation and then at their leader. Draven, despite the brutality of the fight, had secured them a foothold in this hostile environment.

With grim determination, they set to work, hauling molten rock and charred timber, the clanging of hammers replacing the roars of battle. This wasn't a victory to celebrate, it was just the start, this tournament demanded a focused spirit and a leader who could bend destruction to their will. As the first stones were laid, a sense of purpose bloomed within the faction.