V3Ch99-Battle of the Charnel Fortress Part 4

“We have our orders. Forward! For the Death God! For the Beastking! For glory!” shouted Elder Olaf.

Despite his infirm age, the Elder led the catfolk in the absence of the Beastking’s consort. In parallel beside his tribe marched over a thousand other beastfolk: the foxmen, the ibexmen, and the harpies. Not to be outdone, the high elf officers led their almost eight hundred men in armor, heads held high, trying to push themselves to the fore.

And then there were the almost two thousand undead.

Tybalt had brought only a fraction of his force into the Charnel Fortress already, after all. Most of them had remained outside, hiding out of sight in the dunes.

They had strict instructions, given in advance, on how close to approach - and what the signal would be to finally invade the Fortress.

As scores of archers pointed arrows at him and his catfolk, Elder Olaf smiled grimly. It had been a long life of service. He eagerly awaited the order to attack. He was ready to die gloriously now.

***

Tybalt returned to his trance-like state, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the crypt, and he took the temperature of the battle.

Upstairs, the barrier was holding, keeping most of the officers away from interfering with the massacre taking place in the courtyard. Over two hundred humans were dead there, most of them killed by the gashadokuro’s invisible scythe, but now it had been slowed down by a single man wielding a sword. Troublesome.

Black Hailgrim, the necromancer thought. He recognized him from Samara’s memories. He was just as troublesome as the rumors about him would indicate.

The warrior also seemed to be doing something with his sword beyond just blocking, using a sort of energy-draining skill. Every clash with the scythe drained a little energy from the monster. It wasn’t enough to make a difference. The gashadokuro’s natural rate of regeneration was enough to compensate so far. But even so, it rendered the scythe harmless for a second or two. That, in turn, could make the gashadokuro vulnerable at some key moment.

“Courtyard undead, protect the gashadokuro if it starts to suffer direct attacks,” he ordered.

His attention shifted slightly. In barracks one, a mage had dissolved the Pillars of Earth blocking access to it.

But it was far too late to make a difference. As she and a handful of mages pushed through the mud that the earthen barriers had turned into, they stepped into what had become a slaughterhouse. Two hundred and fifty dead, dying, or possessed, at the hands of a couple dozen spirits and all of Tybalt’s available huntsmasters.

As the human rescuers crossed the threshold, the huntsmasters turned at Tybalt’s command and fired a handful of ballista-sized arrows.

One got through and speared a mage through the leg. Then the same woman who had dissolved the Pillars of Earth raised a Mystic Barrier. As they struck, the next four arrows turned to a sort of mushy crimson clay on contact with the energy’s surface.

Shit. Tybalt frowned. That was a bad matchup for these mummies. And… does she look familiar?

It was hard to be certain in the dim lighting of the barracks. And even as he had that thought, the same mage whose leg had just been perforated raised a hand and hurled a bolt of some sort of energy into the mummies’ midst.

Three managed to dodge it, but one was hit squarely in the torso. It disintegrated the bandages that it touched and seemed to erode the flesh underneath, two or three inches deep.

Shit. That took out a quarter of William’s health in one hit! He’s down by half now… They had already taken a little damage from the soldiers in the room, but the spirits had mostly kept that under control until now. If it continues at this rate, I’ll lose every Beastking I sent into that barracks. I can’t afford that. Should I pull out my secret weapon now…? No. Too soon for that. I need it to come when they’re exhausted. I could Teleport in, but then I might get killed. That’s out.

“Defend!” he ordered the mummies. “Just use your weapons for defense. Don’t worry so much about attacking. That mage’s barrier will stop your projectiles anyway. Don’t let those bolts hit you. Especially protect William. His health is down.”

The mummies began to comply instantly, conjuring shields and war hammers and beginning to hit the mages’ bolts back like they were playing a sort of ball game.

Then one of the other figures in the group of humans stepped forward, extended a hand, and blasted Holy Light at the mummies.

Fuck me. They even have a priest over there.

“I need help for the Beastkings,” Tybalt sent to the Charnel Fortress. “Can you send Leonardo?”

“Of course, master.”

Was that a bit of pleasure in its voice? Like it was enjoying Tybalt’s more powerful undead being cornered?

He shook his head. No matter.

The situation in barracks two and three. That was what demanded his attention just then.

While the priests and holy knights were getting massacred by the high elves in the chapel, and the occupants of barracks one had been completely killed, the situation in barracks two and three was more complicated.

Most of my zombies and skeletons have fallen. I didn’t seal those doors, so the soldiers got backup, and now the remaining undead in those rooms are about to get crushed…

“Edgard, seal the door to the northeastern barracks.”

“A little busy right now, master.”

“Right. Fine.” He opened a different channel. “Ethelstan, you go and seal the door to the northeastern barracks.”

“Yes, master.”

“After you do that, snuff out the lights in that room.”

Tybalt sensed it as the chthonic mage rushed through the ground to do his bidding.

“Alfred, I need you to deal with the people on the walls…”

That left the main arena of battle for the moment, the courtyard.

He frowned. That still wasn’t going quite as well as expected…

***

“Mages! Need some help!” Hailgrim shouted.

All around him, now, soldiers swarmed, trying to assist him in fighting the giant monster that was swinging deadly scythes around. There were two scythes moving now, apparently because of Hailgrim. He kept intercepting one of them, but the creature had adapted by generating a second one in what must have been its opposite hand. Hailgrim still couldn’t see the creature, so he could only guess.

But the fact that there were two scythes swinging now made the monster’s position far more obvious to its opponent. He could at least see the scythes, and the space where the undead had to be was apparent from that.

Hailgrim fired a few weak Mystic Blasts at the creature when he had a moment to breathe. He wasn’t a mage, but it was a skill he’d picked up, having worked with mana for so many years. He assumed he did a little damage, but the real intent was to guide the soldiers to the location he was aiming at. He could see the scythes, but he knew most of them wouldn’t be able to.

They could see the condensed mana from Mystic Blast, though. They saw the energy crash into something that didn’t seem to be there, just colliding with the empty air. And they came to the natural conclusion.

The soldiers charged bravely in.

Most of the first group disintegrated with a single swing of the second scythe.

In fact, the losses surely accelerated because of the eagerness with which the General’s troops moved to assist Hailgrim. But that sacrifice - and the sheer number of people crowding around - also enabled them to start doing some damage.

Because the soldiers kept moving forward, more determined than afraid.

As Hailgrim’s mana-infused blade clashed repeatedly with the scythe closest to him, keeping it from carving into more people, the other men gathered close around the giant body, keeping it from maneuvering and hacking at the invisible limbs, beginning to whittle it down, injuring the creature despite not being able to see it. Every blow from the monster was still strong enough that it could stagger Hailgrim if he wasn’t enhancing his entire body with mana.

Typical of the undead, it wasn’t noticeably weakening at all. But he could tell they were making progress toward slaying it.

The biggest sign was that the necromancer’s other horror creatures gathered around the invisible creature, trying to protect the giant monster from receiving too much injury. But the monstrous centipede, the scorpion, the multi-armed juggernauts - all of the creatures that had been assembled from human body parts - were being chopped back down to their component pieces. Already, limbs from each littered the ground, reducing their lethality.

Though they had more than the standard number to start with, the sight was encouraging.

Did he think this would be enough to beat us? Hailgrim asked himself, a little nervously. No, there has to be some larger plan.

But he didn’t have much room for analysis. Far more people were dying than necessary. Either disintegrated by the scythe-wielding creature or stabbed or beaten to death by the monstrous undead that surrounded it.

We need more mages. If Mischa was by his side, she’d have sunk the thing he was fighting knee deep in mud by now. If Samara was there, he and the paladin would have relieved it of its arms. But Mischa was doing something else in her corner of the Fort, and it must be important, or she’d have joined him. And Samara… She was still in a cell somewhere.

“What do you need?” An urgent voice came from Hailgrim’s side.

He snapped his head to the side and saw three of them. The few mages under Caracalla who weren’t officers.

Thank Vika!

“Blast the fucking thing they’re trying to stab!” he replied instantly.

One of the mages pointed a spear at the invisible horror, and then a loud cracking sound filled the air.

Hailgrim could have sworn he saw the air crack in front of him for a split-second, but it was hard to be certain.

A moment later, one of the scythes disappeared.

He hacked off one of its arms with that skill!

“Do it again!” he demanded.

But the other mages were already unloading, and the sound of Hailgrim’s voice was drowned out by crashing bursts of ice and three shots of some sort of ray of energy.

The remaining scythe faltered, flickered slightly, then became solid again.

As it swung back toward Hailgrim - probably aimed for the mages, now, he thought - he took heart.

Now it’s down to one arm. If they can disable the scythe for just a second, I can split that thing in half.

He raised his sword, prepared to parry the strike and hopefully make a lunge for the creature’s middle.

As the scythe neared, it flipped its position, going underhand, like a hook. Hailgrim furrowed his brow, uncertain for a moment, trying to figure out what target the monster was going for. The man who had just severed its limb? That didn’t seem right.

Then the scythe flickered invisible - or nonexistent - making the creature impossible to track again.

Why would it—?

The sound rang through his entire body and took him and all the mages around him off guard. A horrendous shriek that seemed to have come from directly behind his head. Hailgrim’s whole body seized up - only for a moment; he had some degree of magic resistance - but it was enough.

The spectral blade reappeared in the instant when Hailgrim’s body froze. It closed the gap with him too quickly to be blocked.

The tip of the scythe ripped into his armor. He felt the opening in the center of the chest in a fraction of a second - and Hailgrim concentrated all his mana as quickly as he could into the space at the front of his chest, trying to provide himself some protection. Still, he felt the scythe enter the middle of his ribs.

A shallow wound, but he suspected it would suffice. He could feel his own vitality draining, the hole in his chest full of some poisonous mana affinity that he didn’t recognize or understand.

No. No, damn it. I still have more work to do.

Their faces flashed before him, those young people he’d been chosen to mentor: Mischa, Samara, Cecilia, Astrid, Elara, and even Chad.

He forced himself to take a step forward, and then another, even as he witnessed the grinning banshee floating back underground, even as the men around him, the elite mages that they had needed so badly, began to disintegrate.

There was no time for regrets now.

Hailgrim had resistances to many things, but he doubted he had resistance to whatever this was. He could feel his consciousness waning, but he shook himself and marched on.

I failed them. But I will not fail the others who still fight on.

Hailgrim used his old Death Ground skill, one he hadn’t had occasion to try in ages. The power had helped him before, to find some vitality deep within himself, a strength that he hadn’t known he’d had in what he had at the time suspected were his last moments.

Sure enough, this time, it turned his forced steps forward into a quick pitter-patter, swift and impossible to track, with grace that seemed unlike him even to Hailgrim himself. Each individual footstep accelerated, his movements already quicker than a normal eye could track despite his weakening body. There was a physical cost to this, but he doubted he’d be around to pay it.

Everything was focused on the great scythe-wielding monster now.

Hailgrim intercepted the undead’s scythe once, twice, three times as he approached it directly for the first time.

Hailgrim’s Spectral Sight hadn’t been able to pinpoint the creature’s shape before, only the outline of the scythes it wielded, but in his mind’s eye, he thought he could see it now.

A great skeleton, grinning mockingly down at all the life here.

Fuck you. Fuck your scythe. Fuck your stupid ceaseless, lifeless smile. Fuck your unearned power, you deathless abomination. The living… we aren’t just meat for you to cut down!

The last thing he was aware of was his steps faltering, his body weakening just out of reach of the undead. His heart full of hatred and regret, he raised his sword one last time, ready to teach the creature a lesson before he himself disintegrated.

He swung the blade. All he could think of in his last moments was a skill he’d taught Chad once, one he himself had learned from a monk. His blade wouldn’t touch the enemy. He could feel his body about to collapse.

But maybe Aerial Sunder would do the job.

Then there was nothing.

***

Tybalt closed his eyes again.

That fucking warrior. No… his name was Black Hailgrim. He deserves some acknowledgement.

Charon, the gashadokuro, lay broken in two on the ground. The creature was not destroyed, but its upper body with its head was separated from its torso and its remaining arm. The Invisibility skill was still working to keep the upper body safely out of sight, but the humans were trampling the skeleton’s lower half.

Do you know how many people I had to sacrifice to make that? I can rebuild it, but what a waste to lose it this early into the battle…

The gashadokuro had killed hundreds on its own, almost as effective as hundreds of lesser undead. It was a shame to be robbed of such a valuable resource, if only for the duration of this fight.

Meanwhile, the other monstrosities were gathered in a circle already, fighting just to remain in one piece, but the courtyard was mostly under control, Tybalt’s chaos contained.

Esmerelda was still fighting - hitting soldiers with her Vampiric Gaze to get past them, and occasionally skewering one with her glaive or getting Sugar to breathe its strange ethereal fire on them - but she and her horse had been injured, and as Tybalt watched, they retreated to stand by the door to the chapel that Tybalt had sealed off earlier. They were surrounded, and only the fact that it was just a handful of men and that her back was to a wall kept them from easily approaching and unhorsing her.

Everyone in the chapel is dead now, Tybalt thought, no longer sensing life from there or hearing any resistance. Finally. Soon I can begin to use them.

***

As the necromancer was having those thoughts, the next stage continued on the other side of the Fortress.

The door to barracks three sealed itself.

The hundred or so men left inside turned, alarmed, to look at the door now blocked off by Pillars of Earth, and then at each other.

A few of them stepped forward to try to break the door down.

Then the spirits entered the room and possessed those closest to the door.

A second later, something snuffed out the torch lights.

The air filled with the sound of screams as some men were opened up groin to gullet, others screeched their unnatural joy at doing it, and still others howled in agony as they began to slowly rot from the inside.

The zombies and other undead in that room had been almost depleted, but as the humans faltered, they gained their second wind and likewise contributed to the bloodbath.

It took only a few minutes before the spirits and Ethelstan moved on to the barracks two.

***

Above it all, on the walls men stood uncomfortably as the enemy army approached - beastfolk, elves, and obvious undead - all, stopping just outside viable arrow range, in neat ranks.

They seemed more experienced than they should have. They marched with a discipline and fervor that Caracalla’s soldiers associated with trained military - or at least experienced killers. The troops had expected to fight a rabble. Undead, led by some half-savage beastman necromancer. Not a substantial force that looked like it might outnumber them.

That combination - being potentially outnumbered and their opposition appearing to be more like a real military than they had expected - by itself was nerve-racking.

But what made it worse was that it felt as if the enemy was waiting for something to happen. It was impossible to know what, but the chaos in the Fort behind the men on the walls, which they could hear even if their eyes were on the outside, created a sense of unease that only grew the longer that these events continued.

***

Edgard shifted Samara, Vidalia, and Dero within the walls on the second level.

It was the chthonic mage’s arms that had grabbed the dark elf earlier, pulling her out of direct danger.

Now Edgard and Dero coordinated, using her senses and his power in conjunction.

“There!” she said urgently, pointing.

Edgard raised a hand, and a half dozen Pillars of Earth shot out of the wall, separating the lead three officers from the rest of the pack in an instant.

Those three officers, of course, held Dominic.

A fraction of a second later, Samara and Dero burst through the wall.

The officers tried to react to their sudden appearance, but before they could get weapons raised, three void daggers drove into their chests. Dominic’s form slumped to the floor and let out a loud snore.

Then Dero had hold of him, Samara’s arm touching hers.

There were projectiles hurtling their way,  and she teleported out.