The Grim Legion

by Kindred Ult

"Skull, begin preparing to send us all directly behind Lueke's position." Demenn looked around, making sure that all those to who it pertained were aware of what he was saying.

  Skull looked at Lueke, then back to Demenn, incredulously. "You want me to warp us there right now?"

  Demenn studied the army at their feet, shoved the Sword of office into his belt, and then drew his spear from his back. "Not exactly right now, but definitely very soon. We have no choice."

  Skull switched his glance back to the army, and then smiled wistfully. "Very well, I have no complaint. I have died once before, and I can say that it is not as bad as it appears. It may be different for all of you damned monsters, but I do not fear my second, final death. Prepare yourselves, warriors, for we will be up to our necks in werepyres very shortly." If not for the grim tone in his voice, it would have almost seemed like he was secretly amused by the report of his words.

  There was a rustling and a general sliding of metal as all of those around Demenn and his group drew their respective weapons. Up here, where their lives were not in danger, there was very pronounced segregation between the races, save for the likes of Brand, who moved from one to the other. The small groups talked amongst each other quietly, and prepared themselves for death in their own respective ways.

  Samael, Valdivai, and the first squad captain stood behind Demenn, their weapons in their hands, and various emotions on their faces. Samael was already shifting in and out of his Other form in excitement, and his curved metal pole with the spike in it rested on his shoulder. Valdivai almost looked nervous—Demenn was glad that he was not the only one—and her bladed clubs dangled from her hands limply. The first squad captain registered almost no emotion, save for a look of sadness from time to time as screams reached his ears. His straight-then-curved sword was held in one hand, and with the other he absentmindedly stroked its bladed edge.

  Demenn hoisted his spear above his shoulder, with the point straight in front of him. He shifted restlessly, looked around, and, after seeing that all were ready, nodded to Skull. Skull nodded back, and began moving his hands through the air. Tracing sigils with his fingers.

  "I hope that you are truly ready, friends. Ready for one hell of a death." With that, and a few more muttered incantations, the entire group vanished from where they had been. All of them besides Sophella and Niethel, who had just finished stringing his bow and began slowly walking to the edge of the top of the hill. From where he was, he could see everything for miles around, and Lueke's group was amazingly open. He fit an arrow to his bow.

  "Are you ready?" Niethel could not tell if Sophella sounded worried for him, or if she was just worried about herself or Skull.

  "I should be down there with them, not up here with the archers. But once again Demenn manages to convince me to stay away from the fighting" With that he focused on one specific werepyre in the group and loosed and arrow. As soon as his fingers left the taught string and it snapped forward, his hand was back in his quiver. "I wonder if he realizes just how worthless it makes me feel to say 'yes' to not actually fighting." In fractions of a second, another arrow was attached to the string and he had sighted another werepyre. "I can't live like this forever." He loosed and pulled, looses and pulled. Shooting of one arrow after another with machine-like consistency and accuracy. Looking over his shoulder, Sophella still sounded worried.

  "You'll be down there eventually, and can you even see them from here?"

  Without slowing down his tempo, he scoffed. "Hah! Don't insult me." And kept on shooting.

  * * *

  Demenn closed his eyes for half a second, and when he opened them, he was directly behind the main army of werepyres. Not all of the werepyres were facing forward, however, and so Demenn was able to see the surprise in the eyes of the werepyre that stood in about ten feet away from him. Right as his feet touched ground once again, Demenn launched his spear from its throwing position straight at the werepyre that had seen him. His spear flew through the air with remarkable clarity and grace, as if it knew what was to come. Before it had even left his hand, he had drawn his sword and was rushing after it.

  His spear buried itself inside the werepyre's mouth, slicing off its tongue and embedding itself into the back of its throat, and seconds later, while it was still stunned, Demenn was right next to it, slicing his sword through its abdomen. He was relieved to find that his sword slid through it with ease, he heard a satisfying snap as its spinal cord was severed, and felt the pain in his hands lessen even more as the werepyre's torso sagged to the side and fell from its legs. At first, the two halves were kept together by the last half-foot of flesh Demenn's sword had not gotten to, but once the disintegration set in, even that was lost, and the torso fell to the ground. The werepyre growled for a bit more, but with a spasm it died even before the rot reached its heart.

  'Good,' Demenn thought, 'I was hoping this thing could kill them.'

  Even as he reveled in his kill, he realized that none of the other werepyres would die that easily. The first one had been surprised, and had taken a spear to its face right before being struck. Still, he hoped that he could keep up the momentum. He quickly ripped out the heart, ate it, and ran at the second closest werepyre. It was prepared for him, and bared its claws in fury, but right as he reached it, its left eye popped out of its socket, propelled by the arrow that replaced it in the werepyre's skull. The instant switch in visuals that came with one eyes turning over and looking to the side was too much for the werepyre, and Demenn was easily able to dodge past its strike and slice down onto its leg. It hit the ground hard after having only one leg to its name, and he separated its head from its body, ate its heart, and moved on.

  Elsewhere, events were occurring similarly, and just for a bit his small group made good leeway against the enemies before them with a little help from Niethel. Brand, Varus, Samael, Valdivai, Skull, the first unit captain, and several others had already achieved a kill. Unfortunately, they had yet to reach those werepyres that were Lueke's special guards, and were at the moment killing regular werepyres. Also, as each of them killed their opponents and ate their hearts, they discovered something strange about werepyres.

  Even though stealing the sustenance from a werepyre's heart made one certainly feel stronger than ever before, it was not proportional to the strength of the werepyres. For instance, if one killed a first class werewolf or vampire, and ate its heart, one would gain the entirety of its strength, but such was not the same with werepyres. It was as if werepyre blood was diluted, and only gave a fraction of the strength it should. As one, they realized that werepyres really were the strongest beings in this forest. Still, for now they were winning, and putting the lie to that statement.

  But then the arrows stopped coming, which Demenn had known would happen. But it seemed too soon for Niethel to run out of arrows. For a moment, Demenn was afraid that the top of the hill had been overrun and that Niethel and Sophella had been killed, but as he rolled under a beast's sucker punch and stabbed his sword into its chest, he looked up and saw a small black werepyre flitting back and forth in the air so fast that he appeared to teleporting. He was catching the arrows as they shot towards various figures in the melee, and stopping every single one. Eventually, Niethel appeared to wisely stop shooting, as the arrows stopped coming.

  Thankfully, though, by the time the arrows stopped, the group had done their job, and now only the special guards of Lueke lay between them and him. The guards were clustered around him like a phalanx, and none seemed like they were going to move, but then the small black one from before landed in front of them, between them and Demenn's group, and drew a strange sword from his belt. It was a normal, double edged straight sword, but at its tip, it curved by ninety-degrees and became something like a scythe. He snarled, and any condescension that may have been held for him based on his size was lost at the ferocity in his voice.

  "I am Death, both in name and in deed. Is there any among you cowards and animals who thinks that he is strong eno
ugh to fight me in single combat."

  Like the first time a challenge had been given in battle, Demenn was about to volunteer. Unlike the first time, however, he was beaten to it. The first unit captain walked in front of all of the others and drew his half-sword half-scimitar from its scabbard.

  "My name is unimportant, but our deeds are the same. I will kill you."

  Death's lips twitched, and in a flash he was several feet past the captain, his wings stopping him abruptly with a flurry of wind and a contraction of muscles. His sword was in front of him. Blood dripped from the blade of his scythe, and his red eyes flashed even brighter. The first unit captain still stood where he had been, and Demenn was astonished. He had not even seen the strike, none of them could have. A flash of white lit up his black figure as he smiled and licked the blood from his scythe, but it turned to a frown as the captain swept past him just a fast as he had before.

  Death sprang back, even as the captain passed him by, and he growled when a burst of red appeared on his abdominal muscles and began dripping down his body. His sword came up in front of him in preparation. His voice held a small note of pain and anger.

  "I'm impressed, stranger. It has not been since before the last battle our kind had that I have seen a fighter who can match my speed." His tone was civil, but underneath it carried undertones of rage.

  The captain grunted in reply, there was a similar red line across his side, and his looked to be deeper. Before he had even finished his almost-silent dismissal, he was gone, and barely a moment later, so was Death. They reappeared seconds later about fifteen feet to the side just long enough for their swords to clash. Sparks flew from their swords, and then they were gone. Once again they were seen, off to the side, but as soon as metal met metal, they were gone. Demenn and all others who were aware that this battle was occurring were dumbstruck by the speed and finesse these two warriors displayed in their furious exchanges.

  Sometimes they would appear just a moment to clash, and other times they would meet for up to ten seconds while spewing forth attacks with lightning fury. At first they were on the ground, but eventually they began to fight in the air as well, with the captain sporting wings and proving that he was just as effective with them. Death used the last part of his weapon to pull the blade of the other to the side before slashing from the other side, while the curved half of the captain's blade swam and dived around Death's blade. At about their seventh or eighth exchange, Demenn recovered from his dumbstruck mesmerization and began charging towards Lueke's entourage. It was only seconds before he heard footsteps behind him as those around him followed suit, in fact, Brand even began to pass him by in his first class form before Demenn increased his speed. The werepyres, numbering about thirty, besides Lueke, outnumbered them, but they were the elite of their respective armies. At a bark from Lueke, the werepyres spread out and prepared for the charge.

  When the two sides met, it was not like two armies, or even two groups, it was as individuals. Each person from the group found another to battle, with some finding two or more. Brand threw himself forward and tackled the closest werepyre to him, bringing it to the ground and wailing upon it with all of his strength. The werewolf rolled and fought back, using all of its strength in turn. Samael flew above the melee and back down, hoping to get a clear shot at Lueke, but his headhunting was stymied by two werepyres that flew up into the air and clashed with him. Their brute strength surpassed even his, but his speed in the air was beyond them, and he buzzed around them, slashing and hacking with his weapon like a mongoose attacking two snakes. Even though one of them was a speed werepyre, and could have outclassed Samael on the ground, with his specific mutation, none could contend with Samael in the air. It was obvious he wanted Lueke all two himself.

  Valdivai met with a strength werepyre on the ground in her Other form as well, and soon remembered why they were so feared. Its first blow with a large ax split open the ground, but she was able to dodge with her insane speed and came around to its side to pepper it with stabbing strikes. Her kama-clubs swung around in arcs and stabbed holes into it with every attack, and in moments its side was covered in blood and open wounds. Every twist of her wrist sent her weapons out in an attack, and each found its mark. It was unfazed as it came around with a spinning, sweeping strike that she came under and began working on its abdomen and the inside of its other leg. It kicked out and she caught the blow with one of her blades, moved around under it, cutting a long slice around the bottom of its leg, and laid waste to its left side now.

  Despite its amazing healing factor, which was already closing up the first wounds it had received only second ago, the werepyre was still losing blood every moment, and the wolfsbane metal of her blades slowed down the healing even more. It swung around with an elbow and followed with a slow swing of its ax with one hand, but she moved with it. Faster than it could swing in a circle, she was behind it even as it was still spinning. Finishing her work on its back, and adding to the pool of lifeblood already on the ground under it, Valdivai climbed up its back using her weapons like icepicks and got onto its shoulders. It feebly tried to reach its hand up to yank her off, but it had no strength left, and fell to its knees even as she hacked into its neck over and over again until she was able to grab its head, twist, and yank it off. Unfortunately, her next opponent was a speed werepyre.

  Varus was also in his Other form, and had his sword-knife with him as he battled with a speed werewolf and discovered why they were a bad match for Other form vampires. This werepyre was faster and stronger than he was, and had it not been for the foresight granted him by Dimitrious' blood, he could tell that he would have been killed already. Fortunately for him, however, he was now one of the most dangerous fighters in his group, and he knew exactly where his opponent was going to attack before it even moved. Every time it sprang at him, he would barely move to the side and stick his knife somewhere vital. He barely avoided death every time, but now the werepyre was slowing, and breathing heavily. It lunged at him one more time, but even before it had completely moved, Varus was to the side, and rammed his knife down with both hands into the back of its neck. It fell, and he wasted no time taking it heart.

  Skull was having the most fun out of all of them. He glided backwards, his feet never touching the ground as two werepyres charged. His face lit up with a skeletal grin as he made a sign with his hands and dozens of oversized undead sprang up from nowhere in between him and the two aggressors and charged them. He smiled as he flexed his new abilities. He had not even needed the raw materials to make the skeletons and zombies, he was now able to simply create them. He wondered what else was in his new bag of tricks.

  Unfortunately, others were not doing as well in their fights. The humans, both Paladins and vampire slayers, had to fight just to stay alive, and many times fought two or three to one against a werepyre. They did their part, however, and when the Paladins grew in size, they were able to contend with the werepyres at an almost equal level. And although the vampire slayers were not doing any significant damage in their battles, neither had any of them died. They were experts at staying alive, and it seemed that they were doing better and better as time passed.

  There were only three or four werewolves left, and that seemed surprising to Brand, until he remembered that the werewolves, while having kept the lion's share of the troops from the battle with the vampires, had lost all of their best fighters in Blood, Scar, Ghost, Rhave, and Lyke. These leaders left were good warriors and vicious fighters, to be sure, but they were simply not prepared to fight werepyres, and were frequently engaged in battles with strength werepyres, when they should have attacked speed ones. Granted the dynamics of their strengths and weaknesses had not been known until the fight, but other races seemed to be picking it up, and even the werepyres were starting to understand, which was dangerous. What made it even more deadly was that the werewolves did not seem to be catching on, which made Brand curse their race's bloodlust.

  Brand had been able to quickly
overpower the first werewolf he had tackled, and had pounded its head into the ground before taking its neck in his jaws and yanking it off, but as soon as he had finished, a strength werepyre had charged him and the two of them had clashed hands together, trying to force the other one down through sheer strength. Brand had not wanted this kind of contest, but he had been caught in it as a last resort. He could tell from the beginning that he was going to lose it quickly, and his mind raced as he tried to think of what he could do to reverse his situation.

  * * *

  Demenn, on the other hand, had the unenviable problem of having both a strength werewolf and a speed one charging at him. The larger one looked like it was bigger and stronger than even the other strength werepyres out there, and the small one was almost as small as Death, which signaled to Demenn that it must be very fast. Demenn had seen what both could do alone to the wrong fighter, and now he faced two that looked exceptional. Never before did he wish for his Other form then right at that moment.

  The large one brandished a huge mace that resembled a spiked tree more than anything else, while the small one held relatively small swords in each hand. They walked toward him slowly, wanting to make sure that he did not get away from them. It seems that they had paid attention to the fight with the werewolves, and knew who Demenn was. He stood in place and released one had from his sword, allowing it to fall to the ground at his side. It may have looked like a battle stance, but in reality has was trying to give his right hand a rest from the burning the sword was giving him. True, it had gotten far less than before with the werepyres he had already killed, but it was still quite painful, and he needed everything he could to live through this.