Bloodsworn

Chapter 2.48

48.

Spears came at a dozen angles as Erak waded into their numbers, a wyvern loose upon a flock of sheep. His hammer swatted away the most dangerous of the thrusts and trusted his armor to repel the rest. Behind him he heard shouts of alarm, his militia slowly becoming alert as they raced to reinforce him.

“Have to hold the doorway.” It was his only thought as he stood there, blow after blow hit him, bruises would be forming underneath his armor, but now he brought down the hammer on anyone foolish enough to get close to him. Brains and black blood spattered his body as he killed the weak soldiers, but the press of bodies threatened to push him back.

Again and again he struck and piled the corpses up in the doorway as the mists continued to thin, revealing scores of the infernal soldiers who continued to come forward. Erak smiled beneath his helm as he grabbed at a squealing demon, hand wrapping around its throat as with a strangled roar he picked it free of the ground. It bucked and writhed but his will and fingers were inviolate as he heaved the demon across the stairs to smash into the next wave, all of them tumbling down into a mess of limbs and spears.

One of them began to cry out, a warning or war cry, Erak knew not. He crushed the creature with a single blow of his hammer, finally freeing himself up of the press of the infernal soldiers. For a moment he had a second to think, analyze what was around him as militia squads began to form up behind him.

“Rotate!” A voice called out and Erak moved without thought, sliding back as a squad slammed shields into the doorway, bristled with spears and fought off a new of demons. Pomp flew and landed on his shoulder, coiled around his neck and spoke from inches away.

“They are coming from the war memorial. We won’t have much time before we’re overwhelmed.”

“Get Nevia and tell her to move one of those cannons over here,” Erak thought at Pomp and the dragon flew away as Erak walked back and watched over the line of militia. They didn’t have the deep weight of a true formation to hold for long, but more soldiers were running to help the faltering line. None of the demons attacking were the elites he’d seen in different battles, just the standard run of the mill fodder.

There were a lot of them though.

“Nevia comes,” Pomp crowed as he flew in toward him, landing on his shoulder. Erak held his hammer tight, waiting as Nevia led a squad of soldiers pushed the cannon forward, its wide barrel aimed at the doorway.

“I brought it, but we have nothing to fire,” Nevia informed Erak as she came to stand next to him.

“Tell her to get the mages and have them funnel their Essence into it.” Erak ordered as he waited. Pomp relayed his orders and Nevia was off again, trotting back the way she had come to get his company mages. The lines held better now that reinforcements had arrived, their fighting little more than pushing back and forth as spears struggled to find flesh.

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Erak itched to get back into the fight, to have his blood sing as he slaughtered the weak demons. He needed his men to gather Essence and gain levels so they’d be helpful to him in the future. It was painful to watch as a man fell, throat slashed open by a lucky spear thrust. The next man stood over him, shield slamming into place instantly as the demons failed to crack the shield line.

It was a decent maneuver, something that they wouldn’t have been able to do even a few months ago. It made the faintest stir of pride inside of him as the militia was growing to be at the barest level, competent. Skills were used infrequently, muscle and steel taking place as demon corpses were made into ramparts. Still they came, the black ichor flowed like water but they continued to march forward, driven by something more terrible than death.

Nevia arrived back with the mages who quickly were ordered around the cannon. Erak watched with one eye as they placed their hands on the cannon and Essence flowed out of them and into the cannon. Pressure built up around them, energy crackling in the air as red-orange light began to gather in the barrel.

“Order them back,” Erak ordered Pomp and the dragon roared loudly. A fighting retreat was difficult, the disengage hard to perform if the enemy didn’t relent. Demons did not relent.

“Pomp, give them breathing room.” The dragon launched himself from Erak’s shoulder without another word needed, flying over the top of the line of shieldmen and a blast of arctic wind came out, flesh freezing in an instant as demons were stopped in their tracks.

The shieldwall broke instantly, flowing around the cannon as Nevia put her shoulder to it, shoving it forward on squeaking wheels until the barrel was mere inches away from the frozen line of demons. Now the crowd began to panic, but the press of the bodies in the far end of the clearing pushed them forward even as demonic eyes filled with fear.

“FIRE!” Nevia’s voice boomed, Essence infused in her voice as the cannon fired. Erak’s vision disappeared as heat slapped him like a physical blow. There was no sound of Essence firing, just heat and light and the long moments it took his vision to return stretched out.

When finally the red glare faded out of his eyes he saw the ruins of the doorway. A cannon meant to destroy capital ships had been used on ground forces, blasting apart nearly a third of the wall where the door had been and cleared away the courtyard.

All of the mist had been evaporated revealing burnt stone and glass that glittered and pulsed with heat. Down the column of destruction a pair of buildings were beginning to collapse inwards, the corners broken away. Streams of blue fire rose into the air and disappeared.

Tidal waves coming crashing in, the mist followed back the way it had come. Filling the space in a torrent of crashing mist, it coiled around like a scalded animal, fierce and angry as it reclaimed its space.

“Think that was bright enough for the Sword?” Erak asked Pomp. The dragon chuffed a laugh as it flew over to Nevia and began to order the extraction of the rest of the weaponry. Erak looked over at his crew of mages, all of them laying panting on the ground as if they had just finished a race.

Erak walked out across the burning stone, heat pressing against him but muted by his armor as he entered the remnants of the courtyard. The rushing mist had yet to fully repair its dissolution and the portal that Pomp had reported was easily visible. A crescent of burning blue flame that constant streams rose up and into, deepening its color every second.

As he watched the portal began to crack open, burning embers falling as ugly fingers reached out and gripped the side of the portal, beginning to pull it open. Hellflame flashed out of it in a running river as the world cracked and split in ugly fissures. Horns began to force their way out of the portal, spiraled and cracked, hellflame leaking from the broken open pieces.

“Sword is coming around,” Pomp said, eyes locked on the distant figure.