Book 4: Chapter 58: The Battle for Hume II |
Michael turned his attention from the rift in the distance to the oncoming horde that was approaching. Now that they’d confirmed that the rift was being held open from the other side, they had to shift to their plan B. They would fight until they could create a gap at the rift and then He, Ollie, Marcus, and Pyotr would force their way in.
As the first of the horned men reached them Michael fully activated his smite, igniting Ruin in golden flames as he stepped forward with his shield. The horned men hadn’t hesitated when they’d seen their fellow explode, gutted by stakes, or crushed by flying rocks, but when they saw the gold flames spread across him they slowed for the first time.
Pyotr didn’t let them alter course, his scarf whipping forward with a shortsword and impaling a horned man through his gut where he’d slowed down. He threw a small fireball right behind the blow immolating three more even as he stepped forward with his sword in hand to strike another before Michael could step forward.
The other horned men saw the cost of hesitation and charged him. A half-dozen of them struck at him with spears. Three shattered against his armor, two broke on his shield, and one simply shattered in the air before it could reach him. He slammed one to the side with his shield, burning him with divine fire, and smashed through two more with a swing of his mace. The other three tried to rally as more joined them, but before they could he shifted Ruin to Rend and cut them down, even the slightest wound from the weapon would smite them with holy fire so he kept his movements minimal and quick.
Marcus had not stopped firing since loosing his first shot, using reaper to unleash death. Every time he pulled the trigger was a flawlessly executed shot to the vitals of a horned man. The horde was such that even a hastily fired shot into it would’ve been successful at wounding or killing one of them, but for Marcus that wasn’t enough. Every shot he fired was a kill, sometimes two. He would shift his firing based on where the enemy was the thickest and which ones falling over would cause the most momentum to be lost within the charge. He didn’t worry about any of them reaching him. With Pyotr and Michael just in front of him, he knew none would pass.
Ollie raised his staff. As they’d been watching the charge he’d been muttering the foulest curses he could imagine under his breath. His voice began alone, then it seemed to split into two, then four, then eight. At the tip of his staff were eight miniature suns spinning rapidly around one another in a chaotic orbit, growing hotter and hotter while they grew more and more condensed. All eight of the voices he was speaking with ceased at once and he pointed the staff upward toward the horned men.
“Burn ya cunts,” he said with a smile as all eight spheres flew in an upward arc. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, then all eight of them exploded at once. Half-spheres of heat and force exploded outward where the enemy was the most concentrated, making it look as if a bomber had just released its payload in the center of them. Dozens of horned men were evaporated instantly, more were set aflame and began screaming and writhing on the ground, and more were simply thrown by the sheer force of the blasts, breaking necks and limbs as they landed in shattered piles.
The pattern of battle continued that way for some time. The horned men charging across the field, reaching the traps, then being crushed by boulders, then hit by arrows and bullets before being softened up one last time by the cavalry charge and finally reaching the soldiers and knights at the front. The first time the horned men reached them it was only a few dozen, but with each successive wave more of them made it until Michael and the others were fighting constantly.
As Michael continued to meet the attack he began to spread out his healing, extending it out in a massive aura until it covered the entirety of the front line. As he did so he activated his eyes of love and eyes of judgement. After the prayer he’d shared with everyone he could feel every cell in his body amplified by divine power from the gods and he used that to focus all of his blessing. In all the times he’d healed he’d realized that it worked best when he knew who he was healing. When he felt what they felt, and knew who they were. If he wanted to keep everyone around him standing, he needed to know them all. He’d spent the last several months meeting everyone he could, drinking with them, praying with them, or just sharing a meal. In that moment, he turned his abilities to knowing them even more.
He felt the fear in a man’s heart as the horned men reached the front lines. He hadn’t wanted to be in the front, but he’d been worried his friends would see him as a coward. In spite of his terror he thrust his spear forward and didn’t step back, feeling warm blood spill across his hands as the blow landed true. He felt a woman rage as she imagined these savage rift monsters getting past her, making it to her children back in Lataxia. He saw a young man standing with his wife, sealing their union in front of Veras, and his promise to return. An old man with no friends or family to speak of, that had volunteered anyway. He was barely standing, with only some titles to buoy him, but he held his ground anyway, keeping his shield up and his spear raised out of love for his fellow man.
Michael felt it all, and he felt his healing increase in scope and potency as it spread out further and further. Along with all the other information he was receiving he took on the barest fragments of their pain to even further amplify his healing. He felt a woman’s ribs get crushed by a horned charge, a man’s shoulder run through by a spear, and a knight’s knee shattered by a falling horse. They were healed before they even fully stumbled backward, and pushed themselves directly back into the fight.
As he healed and monitored so many people he himself never stopped fighting. With his focus divided he was fighting on pure muscle memory and instinct. For many this would lead to death, but for him it was almost ideal. Every basic slash, stab, sweep, block, and bash had been honed by perfection. He had never stopped practicing, never taken a day off unless he’d been forced to, and now he was an automaton of death. Horned men would rush him, finding themselves swept away by powerful strikes, unable to break through an ironclad defense. Michael could hear Bruntus roaring praise with the same enthusiasm as Durand as he watched him fight.
They kept up the fight, not letting the horned men break through even as they continuously attacked. It almost felt as if they could hold them forever, but of course the horned men were far from the only threat the rifts could bring. Very suddenly, the horned men were no longer the only thing pouring out. Silver-winged harpies flew out and upward with terrible shrieks moving straight up and toward them. Massive scorpion-like insects with humanoid torsos and four arms began to emerge mixed in with the horned men, and alongside them were dozens of chitin-armored horned men with atrophied lizardmen sealed into the armor to enhance their strength and defense with magicka. Mixed in with them were swarms of smaller insectoid creatures. Some of them flew out across the battlefield like attack dogs, others swarmed across the ground, and many took flight among the harpies. Behind all of them, were hundreds of humanoid insects with wings. They hung back, flying out over the battlefield to get a picture of the situation before directing the others.
With most of the traps triggered and the horned men still absorbing the majority of the attack the new creatures emerging were able to swiftly cross over the battlefield as they made their way toward the front line.
Luckily, just as the enemy had kept a large number of forces in reserve, so had they.
With a roar from the east that shook Michael to his soul Parthax appeared with golden wings spread wide as he began swooping toward the battlefield. He flew toward them with mighty wingbeats that carried him to the edge of the fight in moments. His mouth opened as he reached it, and he unleashed holy flame.
Michael had compared Ollie’s fireballs to a salvo released from a bomber, but the dragon’s breath had no equivalent. It flowed out across the rift creatures like a tsunami, burning through hundreds of them in an instant as it passed over. For the first time some of the horned men seemed to break and attempt to run, but the flames found them anyway, and those few that managed to avoid them were thrown to the side by Parthax’s powerful wingbeats.
While Parthax melted the grounded enemies with his breath, the harpies were able to avoid him as they quickly approached, blocking out the sun as they flocked toward them. Unfortunately for them, Azalceus, sorcerer prince, had been preparing to join the battle with his people.
Michael felt his magicka channels react as the Prince, along with his fellows, unleashed his spell. Out of the sky dyed red by the rift, lightning began to fall. It tore through the cloud of harpies disintegrating them by the dozens before spreading out to the rest of the battlefield.
In spite of the powerful spell though, a number of the harpies managed to reach them, and Michael noticed that all of them were holding circular objects within their talons. One of them took a shot to the heart from Marcus and fell behind them in the middle of their line, the object she’d been holding landing with a wet thud.
Comments 1