BBook 2: Chapter 46: The Slaughter of Greysong Keep II.

BBook 2: Chapter 46: The Slaughter of Greysong Keep II.

One great enemy had been felled this day. Now, another remained to be overcome. If I could muster the strength to do so. This body could endure much pain, withstand all but lethal blows and forge on. Such had been the nature of its creation, to be the greatest warbeast ever to grace this world.

Every foe I faced today was also made in that image. Every blow I struck that did not kill counted for little. And even as my arms grew weary from the lives I reaped before me, my enemies did not. They were many, and only we few remained.

The human defenses were broken, and their kind had retreated deeper into the fort.

Now, only I and Valencia remained. The dreadknight remained as eager as ever, still fresh from when the slaughter had began. We rested now in this brief moment as the enemy milled about, the archon’s death creating a momentary relief.

One of their leaders had been felled, and the rest were given pause. They would come again, of course. I saw that in their blood-shot eyes, heard it in their furious bellowing and smelled it in their rage-laden scents. Only for now, something pulled their proverbial leash and held them back.

Whatever it was, I took the moment to rest, to recover some of my expended energy. I had burned through many of my Skills this day, but my ace still remained.

It Will Not Die remained untouched, a singular invocation that could turn the tide. For now, I had emptied my stock of potions and draughts so I would not need to use it. I had not yet needed to use Fell The Harvest, the singular true strike it provided another trump card. All my others had been used over and over. Only Cloven Crash remained, as I had surprisingly not needed to use it often. Valencia’s aura gave the same effect for no cost on my part.

The dreadknight taunted the horde from atop the mountain of corpses we stood upon. Her bloodlust unsatiated, eager to grind more of them beneath her fists. And her words gave them pause. They knew, same as I.

Here stood a fiend in human skin. The System itself gave the knowledge that she had killed more minotaurs than any of them. Perhaps not combined amongst their ranks, but her fists had put thousands to the grave. And through this alone they would fear her.

Through this fear they faltered, and I gained precious moments of rest.

The horde shifted and began to part, and a golden figure stomped from within.

He was my height, taller than the bulls around him. Armored well, a hammer in either hand and cape upon his back. Pearl-white horns atop his skull and brilliant goldish fur.

The champion. The second Godtouched.

He stood before the horde, and called to me in a language I had not heard for so long. The bulls milled in confusion and even Valencia looked surprised as the words rang through my mind, followed by shock. He did not speak in the common tongue, nor the minotaurs rough dialect, but in English.

“I have found you.” Came the simple statement.

I paused, my mind struggling to put together a sentence in a language this body had never spoken and who’s mouth was unaccustomed to the motions.

“What do you want?” Was all I struggled to return.

“Your head, of course. We both know why.”

“More power for you? Kill me so the Gods Above will give you more gifts?”

‘Sure, let’s go with that. Power doesn’t mean that much to me.”

“Then why?”

“Think about it; The Gods Above put us here, in this hellhole of a world. They’ve got the power to send us back home.”

I had not thought of that, nor had I ever pursued that second part. Did not particularly want to either.

“In this body, with all the power granted by them. Think of how glorious it would be!”

“To get shot in the face by some scared human on the streets? Tranquilized, vanished into some lab by who knows who?”

Now, she possessed a plethora more.

The minotaurs came from all directions now, without a defensive line to stop their angles of attack. And strong as we were, we could not fend off death from all sides.

“Good luck. Do not dare die here.” Was all the warning I got before Valencia leaped into the horde’s midst, corpses breaking under her boots and darkness following her wake. She had abandoned me, I thought at first.

No, she was splitting the horde. Taking away their attention so that fewer climbed the mountain of bodies at once.

I cursed the God’s Above for my stupidity as I committed the most inane act possible and followed her off the hill of bodies. Up there, alone, I was a prime target for spears and projectiles. Down here, I was death for anything in my reach.

I met blows head-on, only staggering slightly as my own return swipes ripped through defenses and tore open bodies. Here I needed little technique, and more strength. Roar after roar ripped from me as I called on Cloven Crash as many times as possible just to stay alive. My spear fell aside, useless in these tight quarters. The claymore I grasped in both hands and spun in massive arcs, my entire strength in each blow.

It cut through armor and bodies alike, the enchanted edge severing limbs and lives. Yet not without resistance, and not without a price.

Until finally, heartbreakingly, the blade shattered mid-stroke. The magic within could sustain no more and I was left with a broken hilt and half a blade. This sword had carried me through so many battles, been a trusty force that saved my life. Now, it had lain low its last foe, and I cast it aside with a moment’s regret.

A mace I ripped from the grasp of a dying minotaur and began to lay about with it, the crude hunk of flanged steel shattering skulls and cratering bodies.

Another I seized so that I stood with one in either hand, piles of gore and broken bodies around me. My breath came heavy now, my vision clouded by blood and more flooding my nostrils. Almost blind, I continued to bash away, my armor being beaten and torn as it too did its best to eat up blows.

Until finally, nothing remained.

I stood alone, an untold tide of death in every direction. A stranger’s weapons I held in each hand, my vision blurred and senses dim. Shaking my head to whip the blood from my fur did little, and the back of my hand only smeared it further.

I was exhausted. Out of potions, on the verge of using my last Skills.

Valencia emerged from a heap of bodies, ragged and tired as well. They had literally buried her in bodies in the attempt to kill her. They had not succeeded.

“Excellent.” The champion’s voice boomed.

He alone remained of the minotaur warherd. Fresh and beaming, he approached. The horde he had expanded to wear us down while he remained untired. Ready to finally set foot on the battlefield and win the day.

I took solace that even if we died here, we had single-handedly brought low a great horde. Spared thousands from the slaughter that would have followed. My farm was safe, and those I cared about would not die to the tide that would have come.

If he was at all phased by the fact his entire warhost was dead, it did not show. If anything, the Godtouched looked pleased.

“Rejoice, for you are worthy.” He smiled. “Your lives will end here, but in death you will move my great vision forward. Another world awaits me, and you shall be the catalyst that propels me there.”

“Never.” Valencia spat in defiance. “I will tear victory from your grasp, leave you a corpse among a thousand others of your kind.”

“Your flame burns hot even now, woman. I will see it extinguished.”

Too many words, not enough action from this pompous braggart. I had yet to see him land a single strike on anything through this battle. Now, only he stood between us and victory.

“The life will be snuffed from you before that.” I spoke. That was all I had to say, and the time for words was long past.

Only death came now. His or ours. No inbetween.