BBook 2: Chapter 45: The slaughter of Greysong Keep.

BBook 2: Chapter 45: The slaughter of Greysong Keep.

Bellows of bloodlust and trumpets of fury rang through the open square as the gate toppled inwards. It was not yet on the ground when the horde stormed overtop it, a tide of cloven bloodthirst and hate. It was then I stood alone at the defense’s forefront, sword in hand and grim determination in mind. Nêww chapters will be fully updated at novelhall.com

I was not alone for long.

The air shifted and gave way as a massive, furred white figure crashed into existence at my side. If the horde ahead roiled with bloodthirst, the Behemoth matched them. Thunderous, primal roars shattered the stone around it as the gargantuan being burst forward, right into the horde’s front line.

I joined the battle close behind. Only a fool would stand and wait for the cloven tide to fall upon them. My choice was made, and I took the fight to them instead. Bodies flew through the air with every swipe of the behemoth’s claws, its speed and titanic form wreaking havoc among the fury-tide.

Claymore glinting in blood-stained arcs, I followed in its wake, cleaving through minotaurs that screamed hate into my face.

Another army might have broken from this massive storm of death in their ranks, but I knew my own kind. They’d sooner die than waver. And die they did. Spears and hammers and weapons of every sort were launched at the behemoth as the tide turned to face it, eager for the death and honor that would come from being the one to slay it.

Arrows and bolts rained down from above as I butchered my way through my own kin, following in the behemoth’s path. Too many of them eagerly focused on the rampaging titan before them, and only saw my blade descend when it was too late. Bolstered by Skills and brimming with liquid energy, I moved at a pace outstripped by none in their ranks.

Almost methodical was the descent of my blade, and life after life was cut down. I looked in their eyes as they died and saw only fury and bloodthirst as they went dim.

Still, fast and brutal as I was, to throw myself into their ranks was stupidity. This I found as a mace struck me flush in the back. Even with most of the impact absorbed by my armor and toughened skin, I still stumbled. To fall might have been fatal.

I would never know. The minotaur’s midsection exploded and a dark fist emerged. Valencia kicked the warrior forward and stomped onto his head. Gore followed and the dreadknight lashed out at the next. She stood by my side, her aura of malice giving the berserkers around us pause.

Enough time for me to cut down another one. There was a horde now surrounding us, and we were but two.

Not for long. The Behemoth crashed through the horde, its body resembling a stuck pincushion, snow-white fur stained a pinkish crimson in blood and gore.

“Back?” I grunted, and she agreed. Few minotaurs stood between us and the short gap to where the humans had their defensive line ready. Fewer survived.

Crashing through the horde had taken much of the behemoth’s strength, I knew. Some of mine as well. But every moment I made the horde turn inwards was another moment the humans could fire and whittle down their numbers.

Now, we prepared for the precious few seconds we could as the war-herd turned its focus forward once more.

I glimpsed a golden figure to its rear, hammer held high as it roared orders and gleamed with blinding light.

The other Godtouched. The archon had been ripped from the skies, but I knew it was not dead. It too lurked among the horde’s ranks, ready to strike.

The Behemoth would soon leave, I sensed. It could only sustain so much damage before it would fade away to rest. On impulse, I ordered it forward, eyes locked on the golden champion. Rock crumpled underneath the massive figure as it exploded upwards and lept through the air right into the herd’s back ranks.

Its form blocked my view of the champion as it thrashed about, a whirlwind of crushing might. Claws tore through the thinned ranks of the backlines, fury evoked and overwhelming the fewer minotaurs that hung back.

From their midst appeared the archon, once more mounted. This time on a war-beast that had earlier climbed the walls. A lance draped in shadows blew out the behemoth’s knee, the flesh and blood turned to dust as it struck.

Glancing at the human force nearly cost my life.

The archon blinked into space before me, the beast he rode crushing minotaurs beneath its bulk. The dark thorn of a spear he carried lanced forward, into my side. I nearly buckled as agony flared through me, but swung back at him with all my might.

He was gone before the blow got close to landing.

I reached down and felt dust at my side. My flesh had been transmuted, turned to ash by the piercing blow. Panic in my mind, I uncorked a flask of healing milk and drained it all. Through divine might, the flesh was renewed.

Once more, the beast blinked into existence above me. Now it bounded through the air, its entire mass aimed for me. Atop the perilous heap of bodies, I could not find the footing to dodge in time.

Valencia’s will dragged it from the air, gravity intensified as it suddenly crashed straight down. Through sheer spite it was forced from its leap and down into the corpses below.

Without a rider in the saddle.

The archon’s spear was buried in my chest, I realized numbly. The grim minotaur had teleported right in front of me and spawned with his weapon inside me.

I faltered then. Shock and nothingness within me at the same time. The shadowy thorn spread through me, pain and emptiness at once.

My insides being turned to dust was the most horrific thing I had ever experienced. The gleam of triumph in the archon’s eyes was tired, yet I could not deny it.

Faintly, as my senses began to fade I could hear the dreadknight scream and hurl the archon away, his form blinking through the air.

There were little regrets on my mind as I sank backwards, knowing the end was coming.

Was this how it ended? Just like that. Unable to do anything about it. All my strength, rendered null just like that. Unable to even lift my arms and drink one of the lifesaving potions at my side. Unable to summon the power to activate the Skill I possessed to refuse death.

Valencia stood before me, I realized. Her back to the horde, brimming with hate. Faint sensations of something being sloshed down my throat followed, then pain everywhere inside me as the flesh was regrown.

“You will not die here, Garek.” She spoke, voice hardened with rancor. “Not to this filth. Not today.”

I surged upwards, bellowing even through the hole that gaped in my chest. Eyes wide and filled with rage and fury and some trace of terror at how close I had been to death’s embrace.

The kill had slipped from the archon’s grasp, and now he returned. Once more he blinked into existence as I fought another warrior, off to the side and poised to strike. To stab me and flicker away.

Chains lashed from the dreadknight, constructs of shadows that emerged from her body and raced for the archon. They shackled him, and anchored him to Valencia. His form flickered as once more he attempted to teleport away. But the dreadknight took that from him. With one hand she grasped the chain and reeled him in, aura forcing him down to his knees.

My blade bit into his spine at the same moment Valencia’s fist tore the head clean off his shoulders.

Vengeance may not have been mine alone, but it was still sweet indeed.