Are You a Sore Loser?

"This is... a blessing from the gods!"

"Great Eilistraee is with us!"

"No one can take our home!"

"Kill these damned invaders!"

In a world where true gods existed, nothing lifted believers' spirits more than a deity appearing and bestowing a blessing.

The Dark Maiden had not fully descended in an avatar. Her blessing had merely fallen as moonlight, much like a wide-area group spell, but it was enough to unleash astonishing strength in the defenders.

The high-ranking fighters trained in Drow Martial Arts became terrifying killing machines, each clearing out a dozen or more enemies around them in mere seconds.

Orcs and hobgoblins who relied on brute force had no hope of blocking attacks that were either blindingly fast or endlessly varied.

A cold flash would cross their vision, and then they would discover that a throat, eye, jaw, neck, or heart had been pierced. Blood sprayed from the wounds in crimson mist and blossoms.

Others had tendons, joints, or fingers cut—nonfatal injuries that left them unable to hold a weapon or sent them dropping to their knees, helpless before the next blow.

At that moment, the terrifying potential of the drow was finally unleashed.

With limitless stamina, their extraordinary agility gave them lightning-fast reflexes, coordination, and balance. They moved like efficient, lethal machines.

Goblins, hobgoblins, and orcs charged in, only to fall twitching into pools of blood like wheat before a scythe, without ever understanding what had happened.

The low-level attack and control spells cast by enemy spellcasters barely worked against the powerful magical resistance of their dark skin.

More absurdly still, the moonlight enveloping them seemed to act as a Deflection Field, turning aside enemy weapons to a degree.

That made the already well-equipped defenders even harder to kill.

Only the driders, just as well armed,