by A Uscila
With an opportunity to finally observe what was going on around and enough strength to grip a goblin in each hand – Wail observed the fall of his most dedicated pursuers.
Covered in a mist of red and white, piles upon piles of goblins surrounding them – the six knights were still alive, their actions completely preoccupied with fighting the tenacious and fearless horde. The goblins falling beneath rampaging hoofs and swift and effective cuts from their swords – the riders so proficient at it, that they managed to divide their attention and keep shields directed at the still oncoming, though less frequent, barrage of arrows. Truly, warriors trained to the utmost.
Yet even that proved to be futile, for the arrows finally changed their targets – the first effect of it being a stumbling horse. A red-trailing projectile lodged itself into the side of one of the steeds, piercing through armor, while others soon followed – their feathered ends now peeking out from places in between the armor, sticking out from punctured chainmail, narrow rivulets of blood running down from the holes.
With that in sight, the slow, but inescapable fall of their steeds began as the knights were one by one left without a horse to ride upon. Their figures swallowed up by a constant tide of goblins, succumbing to the weight, their movement’s constricted, swings coming into-play less and less often. Exchanged for accurate, effective yet constrained thrusts. For once the blades severed flesh and bone – it seemed like taking them out was somewhat of a challenge.
Surely, Wail would have spent as much time as possible in observing their plight, if he wasn’t quite preoccupied himself. With minimal aversion, his own flock of admirers were threatening to smother him with violent affection if not for fire. With a goblin in each hand, Wail made sure to swing them about in an attempt to wave off the shifting tides, throwing his victims into the horde every time they were set on fire, spreading the chaos and grasping another tenacious critter as soon as such an opportunity presented itself.
With all of his attention preoccupied with the ongoing struggle, relief finally reached his position as Bob cleaved his way towards Wail, with one of the squares in toe – their ranks covered in blood and gore from head to toe. An ingenious maneuver that helped the formation avoid being buried under an avalanche of bodies, seeing as the deceased were now evenly distributed in their wake.
“You alright!?” – Bob shouted over the surrounding racket, a barely audible tone of concern perceived in his voice, as the underling made sure to scatter the surrounding tides long enough for the square to open up and allow both to enter within its’ safe confines.
“What took you so fucking long!?” – Wail bitterly replied instead, disregarding whatever care the bandit displayed, a glare directed at minion number one who was apparently hiding within the square all along. His pale flesh covered in no less blood than the rest, sure, but the warlock made sure to remember how survival took priority before the duties of protecting its’ master.
“Well, we had a hard time cutting our way through, that and we needed to wait for the rest to keep-up” – Excuses and explanations drifted in reply, while Wail glanced about with emphasized dissatisfaction and disregard.
Not too far behind, four more similar squares were following, still beset by goblins yet surprisingly holding firm – the warlock’s eyes widening once he noticed that his pursuers were still undefeated, as they too gathered into a group and sliced apart all who approached with backs placed against each other.
Without allowing himself even a moment of reprieve, Wail started casting Soul Syphon upon the surrounding hordes, making sure that the influx of health would definitely not trickle down to drops, all the while paying heed to the surrounding. It was at this point that the paranoid magician’s attention caught onto a series of ever-approaching fiery explosions, their cause being Sorro, no doubt. With quite the explosive entrance – the minion, still alive and kicking, cleaved through a number of goblins – only to jump inside the square-formation moments later.
“It’s starting! We gotta get out of here!” – Almost crazed, the devil screamed, body shaking from frantic hand gestures, a somewhat dangerous state as their long nails passed by Wail’s face by a hair’s breadth.
“Calm the hell down! Who’s coming?!” – The warlock shouted back, catching onto his minion’s state almost instantly, desperate for an explanation for the obvious panic.
“That!” – With a clawed finger directed towards the faint shape of the Soulfiend, Sorro curtly replied, his voice still less than calm, which was putting it mildly.
And Wail would find out why quite soon.
*******
Sounds of bones being crushed and meat being grinded slipped into the symphony of battle – as the armored horses danced to an erratic tune, killing scores of goblins beneath their hoofs while releasing triumphant and boisterous shouts. Atop them, the white-clad knights sat, swinging their weapons about at any who attempted to besiege them – aiming only at those who leaped to their height, for the prone critters were simply too low to be reached from horseback any other way. The grim deed left to the chargers more than often.
A gold-haired angel led the cavalry advance, both her flanks covered by fellow riders in white – ranks thrusting deep into the mass. Shrugging off arrows without any effort, for the small projectiles could not even penetrate chainmail, let alone their shields. Heck, the riders were more likely to be undone by a lack of luck, than by the assault these critters threw at them – since there was always a possibility that the horses might injure themselves during all the trampling. Wounding their legs upon stray, discarded weaponry that lay everywhere. Former belongings of slain foes.
With a rousing battle-cry, the leading female swung her claymore with a single hand – cutting apart a line of goblins who were unlucky enough to be in reach. Cleaving them in half with such ease, that they might as well have been made of butter.
Joana – she was without a doubt, enjoying herself. Her angelic features reinforced further by a smile that would make a man’s heart stop, a sparkle in the eyes that would take a soul away. Yet it did not seem like her thoughts were within the battle, as she constantly glanced back towards the shattered fortifications from which the charge first emerged. Crystal clear eyes darting along their edge in search for something, while occasionally putting the claymore to work when the need arose. As if all those goblins were of no threat even if they did manage to scramble-up on her steed, the worst result being dirtied clothes.
Still, a battle was to be had and distractions would need to wait, for the drums that continued to thump from within the woods increased in strength, a new type of species emerging from the tree-line soon after.
Creatures of tremendous size, their towering forms more than a match for the combined size of man and horse – wielding crudely made maces with horrifying ease. Ogres. Their bodies covered in scraps and plates of rusted metal, patches of stitched leather seen through the holes that were left in that lackluster protection. Clearly, the goblin treasury must have been running low, to be able to properly armor each and every oversized ogre.
With a roaring charge, the numerous figures dashed over the squirming mass of goblins, completely uncaring for any who got in the way and ended up being squashed – the maces swung to the sides as if to wind up before contact. Small, beady eyes locked upon the riders with a glint of blood-frenzy within them.
“Brooms, assemble! For I am the herald that usher’s your just wrath upon the unworthy!” – With a voice that echoed above all the noise in a mesmerizing tune, Joana shouted – her weapon directed towards the approaching danger, the tip facing the sky.
With a combined shout, the cavalry straightened out its’ formation, an even charge with an ever-increasing momentum initiated to meet the ogre’s head on.
Joana, with drops of blood dripping from her hair, her eyes blazing with excitement charged at the very forefront – her steed gaining an advantage against the rest, as she would be the first one to meet the enemy.
&nbs
p; And meet it, she did.
Time slowed as both the female knight and her chosen foe came in range of each other – as the ogre swung a large, stone-headed mace, while Joana did the same with her claymore. A breathtaking sight of pure valor, sine the advantage was in the ogre’s hands completely. Not only was his range longer and his attack initiated sooner – but the size and sheer mass difference would have been a deciding factor even if both weapons clashed.
Yet just as the club was about to ram itself into the side of her steed – a transparent white light materialized around both Joana and her steed, stopping the attack all-together, while the golden-haired knight used this opportunity to perform a side-cut of immense speed and power. Her weapons blade slicing through armor, flesh and finally – even bone, in her passing. An agony filled roar following soon after as the ogre held onto the injury frantically, left hand holding onto the gaping wound, for the right one was now completely severed.
Victorious, Joana took a moment to glance at her fellow-knights, taking her time before finishing off the ogre seeing as it would not be much of a problem at this point.
The fight was not as one-sided for others, as it was for her, though. For some knights were unable to cope with the sheer strength the ogres displayed – their oversized weapons slamming into either shields or onto the sides of ridden mounts. Knocking the riders off or even down together with their steeds. Both – a somewhat rare occasion, because most often her comrades were successful in overcoming the first exchange, all the while leaving wounds that were often crippling to the enemy. This would be an easy victory, without a doubt.
Joana glanced to the crippled fortifications once again at this point, and the spark in her eyes froze for but a moment at the sight. Like the apocalypse, numerous fire-spewing portals were opening-up beyond the crumbling ramparts. Creatures from the very pits of hell climbing from within them – their numbers few, yet the vision of them enough to make one consider fleeing.
Too bad for them – it provided a completely opposite effect upon Joana, as fire now burned within her pupils, muscles tensing in expectation. In excitement.
“To me, brothers and sisters! Today, we sweep! Today, we fulfill our purpose!” – With sword once again raised in a rallying call, in a warning of an upcoming re-organized charge, the female knight screamed. She screamed at the top of her lungs, the excitement taken up by her steed – as it leaped over the goblins, stomping upon them with renewed strength. Soon enough, the excitement spread to the brooms, who turned and sliced their way through or skirted the ogres all-together - rallying to the call with breathtaking organization. A charging formation once again set-up – the fortifications, its’ target.
*******
Time seemed to accelerate as the skies darkened unnaturally, the participants of the chaotic melee lulling in reaction – the tempo disrupted. Numerus heads lifted-up into the sky to observe what was going on – and it was at this point that numerous black swirling sphered materialized in the air above the fortifications. Their shapes expanding until the width reached at least two times the height of a grown man. With batted breaths, some observed – at least those who could afford it during the mindless onslaught of the goblins that were too bent on a single purpose.
Moments stretched, yet nothing seemed to happen, the spheres hanging there without any other developments – their presence serving as nothing more than a distraction.
Yet just as the battle finally resumed in full swing, with most renewing their efforts in whatever it was they were busy with before the light-show – a change occurred. Silently, slowly – numerous limbs seemed to be slipping through, grabbing onto the edges of the spheres as if in search of support, of something to hold onto for balance. Not many paid attention to the sight, those who did though, got cut down by their opponents – the distraction proving fatal during the fighting.
Except Wail, of course – as he gaped at the development without showing much reaction, frozen by the sight, by the glimpse of what would soon come through.
He didn’t need to wait long until the newly-arrived fully revealed themselves. And did they…
Blood curdling roars echoes across the field, screeches that threatened to rip-apart eardrums, mixed in with numerous indescribable noises – while the ground shook from sudden impact.
Creatures from the very pits of hell have entered the fray. Each monster, and there was no better way to describe them than just that, more gruesome than the other. Some traveled upon multiple spider-like appendages, coated in red tuffs of fur and ending with sharpened spikes. Others ran about on two thick limbs – the skin scaled, leaving behind deep depressions in the earth with each step. Heck, there were even four-legged, horned beasts – their long-snouted heads attached to the tailed body without a neck to separate the two, while a jaw wide enough to easily swallow a grown man whole displayed sets of razor-sharp teeth. Furless, the skin rugged, dark red in color. Truly, each creature unique, yet each with a similar disposition for violence and slaughter.
With the newly arrived, their presence questionably welcome, the battle stepped onto a completely new definition of chaos – for the sides were completely blurred, no clear lines remaining. A culminating brew of blood, flesh, flames and steel – with various combinations of the three flying about in bits and pieces. Yet it was undoubtable to whom the advantage belonged – for the rampaging demons saw no need to hold back. Their unconditional frames turning in every direction, grabbing and ripping apart all who came in contact – as if they were having a hard time deciding where to go, reluctant to let even one victim slip by.
“Who the fuck are they!? The heck did you do?!” – Panicked, Wail could only turn away from the gruesome sight, disturbed by the overwhelming difference in power, forced to drop the blame on Sorro as a coping mechanism. Eyes, with diluted pupils, glaring at the relatively friendly and tame demon, tone giving away his hope for an easy explanation.
“I didn’t do shit, you idiot! It’s your damned Soulfiend that’s to blame here!” – Outraged by the completely baseless and out-of-nowhere accusation, Sorro shot back snappily, all the while pointing a taloned finger towards the ever-floating shadow further away, darting about above the heads of unsuspecting goblins and now – demons.
“What? The Soulfiend? What does it have to do with anything?” – Caught off-guard by the sudden shift of blame, Wail could only consider the exchange seriously, eyes glancing where the minion pointed.
“Don’t you get it? He’s the vanguard! He called them here!” – Somewhat frantically, did the fiery demon explain.
“He did? Well. They don’t seem very friendly then” – The warlock then commented after a short, yet definitely awkward, silence. Spoken after he had the displeasure of observing one of his own, ripped apart and devoured – the bandit being unlucky enough to have been separated from one of the formations. Stranded. Too close to the new participants. Cursed to a gruesome end.
“Of course they’re not. You’re not the one who summoned them, neither was it that pet of yours. All he did was open a portal, and these fellows just happened to be close enough to slip-through” – Sorro explained, irritation once again entering the spoken tone. Seems like the demon had a hard time handling conversations.
Before the studious magician could shoot back a comment or two, both most likely less than friendly - a sudden thought struck him, knocking him out of his train of thought, demanding to be attended to, this very moment. So he did – as Wail’s gaze drifted to the number of souls in his possession, the number terrifyingly low, considering how many goblins were killed while under the effect of Soul Syphon. Soul Syphon that was cast by…
“Wait, what did he use to open these…portals?” – Gaze now locked upon the Soulfiend, Wail could only inquire with an edge in his voice. An edge that foretold a less than pleasant reaction.
“What do you think? Souls, duh!” – A mocking reply, shot back in either ignorance or disregard to the warlock’s disposition, so clearly hinted a
t with his tone.
“Souls huh?” – Quite absentmindedly did he reply, only to suddenly turn with his while body towards the little demon – “Wait. What!? Souls!? You’re telling me that, that little floating turd was not only gathering souls while using my spell…” – he raged, after a brief absence of a reaction, pointing a thumb at himself as if to emphasize the importance of whose property it was – “…but also decided it could freely use them up however it pleased and summoned a bunch of flame-fucked psychopaths that it couldn’t even control to begin with?!” – Truly, a splendid litany, as Wail, without a doubt, exploded in fury. His tone rising and lowering numerous times during the litany. Quite the show.
“Yes. That’s pretty much it” – Sorro replied simply, unperturbed by the uncalled for verbal onslaught.
In deliberately slow movement, Wail turned his head towards the direction of the treacherous creature, its’ floating form observed by eyes burning bright with anger. Fury even, for what Wail could not tolerate, under any circumstance – was theft, and he demanded reimbursement. With interest.
Wordless threats flashed over the deranged warlock’s eyes as he continued to glare at the floating black blob, mind so preoccupied by visions of vengeance that Wail was pretty much oblivious to the chaotic surroundings. Not to the extent that he’d forget to move together with the formation, luckily – for it continued its’ slow retreat without stopping even once.