Tales of Mantica

by Rospond, Brandon; Waugh, Duncan; Werner, CL

  The two groups kept largely to themselves, the fact that these strangers had mere moments before been fighting and killing his brethren made Aldous feel sick to his stomach. He could see that the same thought had not been lost on the other Brotherhood soldiers, with a number of men having to be held back by their fellows to avoid any acts of outright violence being committed against their new allies. Some of them shouted out angry taunts at the newcomers, who, for their part, merely stood staring back impassively at the Brotherhood men in response.

  He and the other knights had agreed with Gunnar to keep the two factions as separated as possible, but some contact between them was inevitable. His hand flinched reflexively around his weapon's grip at the very sight of the savages. Necessity might have made them allies for now, but the Brotherhood's numbers were small compared to other nations, and no one could be allowed to kill their people without recompense.

  With the last of the Varangur having made their way into the compound, their combined force did not have long to wait before the vast wave of Abyssals came screeching over the rise. Consisting of scores of lesser demons, and being led by the towering, hulking form of a far more powerful moloch, the baying horde bore down on their ramshackle position with a sheer, murderous glee. Aldous smiled; at last it was time for the true battle to begin.

  * * * * *

  Quaid turned to look down the main corridor, trying to gauge the casualties his men had sustained in the early throws of battle. As he watched, one of the already damaged walls was suddenly smashed inward, sending sizable lumps of stone and mortar flying out across the space. Bursting in with the cavalcade of destroyed masonry came one of the feral minions of their enemy, a craven but incredibly vicious gargoyle. Baleful red eyes glowered from a twisted female form, the creature's skin the color of burnt charcoal, with each hand ending in a set of four contorted claws. The disgusting thing locked its eyes on Quaid, unleashing an ear-splitting scream, whilst simultaneously seizing upon an unfortunate Brotherhood soldier who had still been reeling from the collapse of the wall beside him.

  Snarling at the knight, as if it was warning off another predator from its kill, the gargoyle continued along its trajectory, slamming into the back wall with its prey. Before Quaid had any time to react, it had barreled through the obstruction with equal ease, carrying its prize off into the night sky, screeching triumphantly. The entire scene had taken less than a couple of seconds, a man's life snatched away before the dust had even begun to settle, his body to be used for god knew what purpose.

  Abruptly, he was snapped back to his more immediate surroundings as one of the sergeants of the watch grabbed him, screaming into his ear. “They've overrun the west nave, we have to get back to the chancel now or they are going to cut us off from the others!”

  Seeing how many dead and fallen bodies lay around him, men of the Brotherhood and Varangur alike, the idea of retreat railed against everything in Quaid's being. But he was equally loathe to throw away yet more lives in a fruitless holding action that had no real hope of success.

  “Alright!” He shouted, trying to be heard over the noise and chaos of the violence. “Get them back, and I'll cover our retreat.”

  * * * * *

  Gunnar stalked through the halls of the Varangur shrine, his fury rising with every instance of defilement and sacrilege that he came across. He cared little for the dead holy men, they were the ones who had allowed this blasphemy to happen after all, but such desecration of one of their holy places at the hands of the Abyssals was unconscionable. He picked up the pace, deftly switching between a number of different handholds on his axe, a barely controlled manifestation of the man’s impatience to return to the fighting. His armor sported new rents and burn marks from the conflict, but he remained unharmed, his martial prowess undiminished.

  The Son of Korgaan turned a corner at speed, only to be confronted by a lower Abyssal in the midst of yet more debasement. The demonic creature's beastly face was distorted with laughter as it slammed a giant, double-handed axe into a wall-mounted icon that depicted his god in the form of the Reaper. The sacred effigy was shattered into a dozen pieces and, roaring in apoplexy, Gunnar leaped forward, covering the distance in a matter of heartbeats.

  Turning its horned head to face him, the Abyssal's long, lizard-like tongue seemed to leer in his direction. A handful of the small, imp-like beings that had gathered around the larger demon's feet scattered at the sudden assault, leaving their master to weather the onslaught by himself. Regardless, at the last possible moment, the lower demon managed to swing its weapon back around, blocking Gunnar's lunging strike with an ease that belied the creature's comparatively diminutive form.

  The Varangur's axe, a powerful relic dating back to his people's first holy wars against the Wicked Ones, bit deep into the metal of the enemy's, carving a large cleft into the head of the inferiorly crafted weapon. Pushing with the immense strength in his legs, Gunnar managed to force the demon back against the corridor wall before employing the huge length of the beast's own axe to pin it in place.

  Using his formidable weight, which he positioned centrally behind a one-handed grip, Gunnar leaned forward onto the bound weapons, keeping his opponent trapped. With his other hand freed up, he tried to reach the large, serrated dagger that was attached to the cuisse covering his thigh. However, before he could release the blade from its sheath, he felt several of the small imp creatures climbing their way up his legs and torso. The irritating beasts scratched and tore at the joints in his armor in their attempts to get at the human flesh within, all the while cackling incessantly.

  Grabbing one of the diminutive wretches by its neck, he twisted it round to look at the ugly demon's features. Its body was brittle and weak, and he despised the cowardly thing. Throwing it away from him with disgust, the Abyssal slammed into the wall with such force that its neck broke, instantly killing it and leaving its broken carcass to fall limply to the floor. As pathetic and powerless as the imps were individually, there was no way he could keep all of them off him with just the one arm.

  Gunnar bent to one side and heaved, letting his axe fall to the ground and throwing the lesser demon down with it. Finally, able to release his smaller blade, he came down on top of the Abyssal's body and punched the dagger's point downward into its torso just behind the creature's clavicle. Frenziedly wrenching the ragged knife back and forth with his upper body, Gunnar managed to sever the foul being's head from its shoulders. As the decapitated corpse fell to the floor, he stood back and ripped the remaining imps from his armor.

  Free of their grasping talons, Gunner bent to retrieve his axe, lodging the Abyssal's weapon into a damaged section of mortar and levering his own to release it from the binding bite. Just as he was about to leave, the man heard the scraping sounds of movement and turned back to see the lower Abyssal rising upright once more. A leering face had formed where its chest had once been, and, upon seeing the look on Gunnar's face, the grotesque thing burst into evil laughter.

  With the Varangur shrine once more burning at the hands of his infernal foes, the Son of Korgaan hefted the weapon in his hands and stepped toward the Abyssal, grinning evilly beneath his helm. “I'm going to enjoy this.”

  * * * * *

  Grant struggled to breathe through the cloying smog, the stink of burning flesh filling his nostrils. The surrounding nave was on fire, but he had little time to ponder their situation, so numerous were the foes streaming toward his small group of men. Switching to a two-handed grip, he cleaved left and right, the last of his guardsmen pouncing on the enemies as he struck them down, ensuring they were left with no chance to regenerate from their injuries. He could hear Aldous shouting over the din, but given the chaos, any attempt at coordination between them was utterly futile.

  He brought his elbow up and slammed it into the sternum of the Abyssal in front of him, causing it to stagger backward. Stepping into the open space, he swept his sword around in a wide, arcing cut that sliced through its lower torso a
nd buried itself in the creature's spine. Quickly placing his boot against the howling being's chest, with one mighty heave Grant kicked it backward, freeing his weapon. Before he had a chance to recover, however, the knight was immediately bowled over by a massive impact from one side.

  Grant's body was sent spiraling through the air, and he slammed heavily against one of the colonnades separating the nave from the south aisle. The force of the hit traveled through his armor and the padding beneath, and Grant fell to the floor with the deadening crunch of breaking bones. Momentarily blinded, by the time his vision returned, he looked up to see the vast, ruinous form of a moloch stomping through the battle toward him.

  Easily as tall as two fully grown men, and with a mass more than double that, its horned, hellish visage sent fear racing through his heart. Struggling to rise, he could feel his left arm no longer responding to his brain's commands, and a dreadful certainty filled his soul. Picking up his sword one-handed, with the other left dangling limply at his side, he watched as the demon closed on him, its huge, clawed feet crushing both men and Abyssals with every step.

  The moment the beast was within striking distance, Grant tried to deliver a lunging stab directed to the moloch’s heart, but with so little strength behind the movement, the beast easily slapped it to one side before violently slamming its trident-like weapon into his chest, crushing the armor like it was made of nothing. So strong was the strike, that the three-pronged spear was left protruding from his back and became wedged fast in the column behind. The Brotherhood knight's last moments were spent staring in shock into the otherworldly grimace of the monster's snorting, animalistic face.

  * * * * *

  Aldous saw Grant go down but was incapable of reaching him, so overwhelmed were the remaining survivors by the sheer number of Abyssals. He watched, helpless, as the other knight was butchered by the hulking moloch, and he felt the rage rising within him. He had held off from employing his mystical gifts out of fear of leaving himself open and vulnerable to this Korgaan being, the one worshiped by the deranged heathens they now found themselves allied to.

  Not that their erstwhile partners were faring particularly well in the conflict either. From what he had been able to ascertain, it seemed like they were some kind of light raiding party, ill-equipped for manning an entrenched defensive position. The night raiders were undoubtedly skilled fighters; both vicious and fast, they had killed many of the enemy, but they lacked the discipline and cohesion to hold out for any prolonged period against a horde of this magnitude.

  Too often he observed them exposing themselves unnecessarily to the attacks of their targets' compatriots. And the wolves that the Varangur bore alongside them fared little better, at times saving their masters from an unforeseen strike, but all too commonly this came at the cost of their own lives. His patrol was facing the minions of the Wicked Ones, and, rather than soldiers, they had found themselves left with only a bunch of feral warriors to aid them.

  Seeing the last of the nearby Varangur fighters break and run, he retreated back into the northern transept, using the small, enclosed space’s solid walls to protect his sides and rear. It was a desperate move, cutting off any hope of retreat, but Aldous was coming to the growing realization that he was not going to survive this fight. It was, after all, inevitable for a knight of the Retribution Order to ultimately die in the throes of combat, and such an eventuality was something that he was well prepared for.

  Watching the remaining Brotherhood soldiery gradually being worn down, each man resolute to the last, ultimately forced Aldous’s hand. Reaching far down into his soul, he began to feel the stirrings of the deep-rooted, elemental energies that he had been taught to harness. The knight let his mind follow the course of the stream below them, feeling his way along its winding path through the mountain’s gullies until he found what he was looking for.

  The obstruction, an accumulation of collapsed earthworks and fallen trees, had created a small basin that had filled with water over the years. Barely cognizant of his body’s real surroundings, Aldous swerved to avoid a downward strike from one of the enemy’s minions and forced it back with a savage backhanded blow across the face. Attempting to keep his mind focused on the distant dam, he began slowly to manipulate the water pressures within the lake, agitating the usually fairly placid creek. Gradually, parts of the river blockage began to break away, until finally its structural supports became completely undermined and collapsed.

  Aldous could feel the huge power unleashed as the river broke its banks and the huge body of water came crashing down the hillside, completely beyond his ability to control. Reaching out and grabbing a nearby stanchion for support, there was no time to warn the others before the torrent of muddy water came smashing through the church windows, the massive power of it hammering into those inside. Many of the building’s occupants were immediately thrown off their feet and sent spinning downstream in the torrid flows until they came to a stop, crashing hard against the church’s thick stone walls. Some sections of the structure were even washed away, leaving great, ragged holes in the exterior walls.

  While the moloch’s incredible mass helped anchor it against the oncoming deluge, it still bellowed in pain as large tree roots and displaced rocks picked up along the watercourse hit its armored hide and threw the creature off-balance. Seething in frustration, it looked around the wrecked remains of the nave, soon identifying Aldous, the only fighter still standing, as the source of the shockwave. Roaring in fury, it stamped its way toward him through the lessening flood surge, each massive step kicking up large sprays of water into the air.

  Aldous rolled his shoulders, loosening up the tense musculature of his upper torso and prepared to meet the behemoth. The demon grinned menacingly, the chance to test itself against another of the Brotherhood’s knights clearly appealing to the monster. Before it could close the remaining distance, however, Aldous cast his unencumbered arm up into the air, using his magical gifts to raise a huge wall of the dirty, brown water between them. With the beast’s vision obscured, the knight seized the opportunity to cover the ground quickly, advancing up and around to the side of it. Thanks to his affinity with the element, the waters directly surrounding his legs calmed with every step, aiding the man’s movements, rather than impeding them.

  When the sheet of filthy river water fell away, the moloch seemed momentarily confused as it faced the empty side-room where the knight had been standing prior. Suddenly appearing to the thing’s side, Aldous stabbed his sword into the Abyssal’s unprotected underarm, pushing on the blade with all his might. Against any other creature, such a strike, falling as it did above the protection of the ribs, would have been fatal. But the towering demon merely bellowed in pain and anger, and swung its weapon round, nearly taking the knight’s head off with the wild blow.

  Desperately, Aldous struggled to free his sword from the monster’s body, but it was stuck fast into whatever bony structure had saved the Abyssal’s life, and the knight was forced to relinquish it, lest he be crushed by the moloch’s flailing follow up swipes. Leaping back, he threw up yet more intervening walls of water in an effort to hide his movements. He ran over to one of the human bodies that had been thrown against the shrine’s walls. The blunt force trauma that it had sustained had ended the person’s life instantly, and he felt a momentary pang of guilt when he noticed the dead man’s Brotherhood livery. Nevertheless, he snapped up the soldier’s hefty spear and turned back, ready to make his stand against the huge beast.

  Facing himself in the direction of the moloch’s last position, the knight made to circle around it for another strike. With the distance to his target closing, Aldous raised his spear, preparing to launch it at the lumbering brute when it reappeared from behind the pillars of water in front of him. The knight was so pre-occupied with the ground ahead that he had no time to react as the creature’s long trident came slicing out from the wall of water to his flank, its pronged head emerging in a wide, all-encompassing arc. Caught o
ff guard by the monster’s cunning, Aldous had no chance to evade the vicious weapon and was lifted off his feet as its sharp cutting edge ripped through his armor, breaking the spine and causing him numerous severe internal injuries.

  With the moloch stepping through the visual barrier of muddy water, Aldous looked down the length of the weapon’s pole and stared into the grimy, dirt-caked face of his killer. The magics around the two faded as his life energy trickled away, and the Abyssal threw him down to end his final moments drowning under the waters that had once been his ally.

  * * * * *

  Gunnar, having watched the entire struggle from the shadows of one of the nave’s alcoves, silently stalked up behind the demon. His movements appeared impossible for a man of his bulk, particularly one that was equipped with such substantial weaponry and armor. However, the warrior had met with great distinction through his long, dedicated service to Korgaan, and his lord had favored him accordingly with many unusual gifts and abilities.

  The Abyssal remained ignorant of the Varangur man’s presence up until the point where Gunnar brought his massive axe down across its ripped, muscular back. The dark fighter smiled as he heard the monstrous chest snap and crack beneath the weight of the axe. Reaching round, he took hold of the Brotherhood knight’s sword that was still wedged in the cavity underneath the thing’s shoulder and wrenched hard, splitting the demon’s compromised bones and subsequently driving the blade on into its heart.