Aurelius continued to lock eyes with the towering figure of Grimgor, his heart pounding in his chest. The sheer presence of the Orc Chosen was enough to send a chill down his spine, but Aurelius refused to let fear paralyze him. He knew that the fate of Alerial, and perhaps even the High Elven race, rested on their ability to withstand this assault.
The archers released another volley, arrows whistling through the air and raining down on the advancing horde. Some found their marks, piercing through armor and flesh, but it seemed like an endless wave of the possessed army continued to push forward, undeterred by the casualties.
Aurelius finally looked away from the Orc Chosen, shifting his gaze towards the approaching battle ram. The battle ram, pushed ever on by the horde of the possessed army, was starting to get frighteningly close to the north gate.
200 yards.
Looking around, Aurelius could see the strain on the faces of the elves operating the catapults and ballista. Each shot was crucial, and they couldn't afford to miss. With every passing second, rocks the size of Aurelius flew out from the catapults and defense siege, soaring through the air and leaving massive craters upon impact. Although the siege weapons were notoriously hard to aim, in this battle, it didn’t matter. Given the size of the approaching possessed army, nearly every boulder found its mark upon impact. Unfortunately, none of the catapults had hit the true target yet — the battle ram.
Aurelius refocused on the battle ram.
180 yards.
Aurelius could feel the tension in the air, a tangible thread that connected every defender on the wall. He knew the crucial moment was fast approaching, the time when their preparation would be tested to its limits. As he surveyed the scene, he noticed Lord Gavrel signaling the ballista crews to adjust their aim. Their best hope was to bring down the battering ram before it reached the gate.
"Steady," Gavrel's voice was calm but forceful. "Focus on the ram. We can't let it reach the gate."
Aurelius clenched his fists, his knuckles white with strain. He glanced at Valen, who was coordinating with the archers, ensuring they maintained a steady stream of arrows towards the advancing horde.
160 yards.
The possessed army was now close enough that the mages could fire their spells with deadly accuracy. The mages behind the archers were now fully prepared, their spells shimmering in the air like spectral flames. The mages, led by High Mage Sylara, began their incantations, their voices rising in a crescendo of arcane power. Aurelius could feel the mana in the air thickening, crackling with potential energy. He knew the mages were ready to unleash a barrage of magical devastation upon the enemy.
"On my mark," High Mage Sylara’s voice rang out, clear and commanding. "Release!"
The air seemed to ignite with the release of their spells. Fireballs erupted from the mages' hands, roaring spheres of flame that streaked through the air like miniature suns. They collided with the front lines of the possessed army in brilliant explosions, sending shockwaves that rippled through the possessed. The flames consumed everything in their path, leaving charred bodies and molten earth in their wake.
Interspersed with the fireballs were shards of ice, conjured by the more specialized water mages. These crystalline projectiles gleamed with an ethereal blue light, their surfaces so cold that they seemed to suck the warmth from the air around them. When they struck the enemy, they shattered into a thousand pieces, each shard embedding itself into flesh and armor alike, freezing the possessed soldiers brittle and vulnerable.
Many other forms of magic joined the assault, from beams of white light to spikes of earth jutting up from the ground. Aurelius himself joined in, using his only long-range magic attack, temporal surge. However, given its limited area of effect, Aurelius’ magical attack seemed to hardly dent the incoming army. Soon Aurelius realized that he was likely better if he saved his mana for when he really needed it.
Despite the magical spells arrayed against the possessed army, Aurelius began to feel a sense of despair. There were way too many of them. If Aurelius had to guess, he would estimate that roughly only 1,000 of the possessed soldiers had been killed so far. Yet, thousands more remained, a relentless tide of malevolent force driven by an unholy will. The High Elves’ initial onslaught had slowed the horde, but it was clear the battle was far from over. There was still a long way to go, and that wasn’t even counting the Orc Chosen.
120 yards.
The battering ram was closing in fast, and the tension on the walls of Alerial was palpable. Every heartbeat felt like a drumbeat of impending doom, but Aurelius forced himself to stay calm.
"Catapults, ready!" Lord Gavrel’s voice cut through the air like a blade. "Focus all fire on the battering ram!"
Aurelius watched as the catapult crews adjusted their aim, muscles straining as they loaded the massive projectiles. The air was thick with the acrid smell of sweat and the tang of fear, but there was also a steely determination in the eyes of the High Elven defenders.
100 yards.
"Fire!" Gavrel's command rang out, and the catapults unleashed their payloads. Huge stones hurtled through the air, their shadows racing along the ground below. Aurelius held his breath as he watched their trajectory. The first stone struck the ground just short of the ram, sending a shockwave through the ranks of the possessed.
It flattened several of the front-line soldiers, their bodies crumpling under the massive impact. The second stone flew wide, crashing into the right flank of the enemy horde and creating another gaping hole in their formation.
80 yards.
The battering ram continued its relentless advance, its monstrous frame now clearly visible. Aurelius could now see how the front of the battering ram was reinforced with iron.
"Prepare for the next volley!" Gavrel's voice was hoarse but unyielding. "We must stop that ram!"
Aurelius watched the mages prepare another round of spells, their faces etched with concentration. Sylara was already chanting, her hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. The archers kept up their relentless barrage, their quivers depleting rapidly.
60 yards.
"Now!" Sylara's command was sharp, and the mages unleashed another devastating wave of magic. Fire, ice, lightning, and more, the air was filled with a symphony of destruction. This time, the spells were more focused, converging on the battering ram and its immediate surroundings. The front of the ram ignited, the iron head glowing red-hot as fireballs struck it. Shards of ice embedded into the wheels, causing them to crack and slow. Bolts of lightning surged through the wooden frame, splintering and charring it.
The possessed soldiers around the ram fell in droves, their bodies torn apart by the magical onslaught. But still, the ram moved forward, though slower now, its advance marked by the stuttering steps of the creatures pushing it.
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40 yards.
Aurelius felt a surge of hope as the combined efforts seemed to have an effect. But he knew they couldn't let up. He turned to Gavrel, who was already signaling the catapult crews for another round. The tension was almost unbearable as they reloaded, every second ticking by like a hammer blow to Aurelius's heart.
"Ready... Aim... Fire!"
The catapults released again, the stones flying true this time. The first stone struck the side of the ram, splintering one of the wheels and causing it to veer slightly off course. The second stone hit its mark dead center, smashing into the iron head and causing it to buckle and crack. A cheer went up from the walls, but it was short-lived as the ram, though damaged, continued its relentless approach.
20 yards.
At this point, the first numbers of the possessed had reached the city walls, preparing to scale the 20-foot-tall walls with makeshift ladders. Aurelius's heart sank as he watched the possessed soldiers clamoring up the walls, their twisted faces contorted with a frenzied determination. He knew that, even if they managed to stop the battering ram, if the possessed reached the top of the walls it would spell doom for Alerial and all who dwelled within its walls.
"Prepare for close combat!" Gavrel's order was immediate. "The real fight begins now."
Aurelius drew one of his swords from his spatial ring, preparing for close combat. Just then, Lord Gavrel’s voice rang out again.
“Prepare the oil!”
Aurelius's eyes darted to the left, where a group of elven warriors led by General Farsen was preparing for a desperate counterattack. They had rigged a series of oil pots along the wall, their contents waiting to be ignited. General Farsen caught Aurelius's gaze and gave a nod of understanding. They were running out of options.
"Light the oil!" General Farsen shouted.
Torches were hastily thrown onto the pots, and in an instant, flames roared to life with a sudden, ferocious intensity, the oil pots ignited by the torches creating a wall of searing heat that cascaded down the walls of Alerial. The conflagration spread rapidly, consuming everything in its path and casting a hellish glow across the battlefield. Screams of pain and rage filled the air as the possessed soldiers at the front lines were engulfed in the inferno, their twisted forms now writhing in agony.
The fire looked like a living entity, a ravenous beast that devoured the flesh of the possessed, its tendrils licking up the walls and spreading outward in a wave of destruction. The heat was unbearable, even for the High Elves standing on the walls above. Aurelius could feel the scorching air on his face, the intense brightness forcing him to squint as he looked down the battlements.
Below, the scene was one of utter chaos. The front ranks of the possessed army had been thrown into disarray, their once semi-coordinated advance now a desperate scramble to escape the flames. Bodies, charred and smoking, littered the ground, and the acrid smell of burning flesh filled the air. The fire illuminated the grotesque features of the possessed, their eyes glowing with a mix of hatred and fear as they tried to push forward despite the flames.
Aurelius watched as the oil fire continued to spread, setting alight the makeshift ladders that had been propped against the walls. The wooden structures caught fire quickly, turning into blazing pyres that sent plumes of black smoke into the sky. Possessed soldiers who had begun to climb the ladders fell screaming, their bodies plummeting back to the ground.
Aurelius let out a small sigh of relief; the oil and fire would grant the Elven soldiers temporary respite from the possessed attempting to climb the walls. However, Aurelius knew it wouldn’t last for long.
Despite the devastation wrought by the fire, the relentless tide of the possessed army did not stop. The flames had created a temporary barrier, but the sheer numbers of the enemy meant that they were already finding ways around it. Some of the more determined soldiers pushed through the outer edges of the blaze, their flesh burning but their dark magic driving them forward. Others used the bodies of their fallen comrades to smother the flames, creating gruesome bridges of charred flesh and bone.
Aurelius turned his attention back towards the ram which, at this point, was so close that the details of its construction were painfully clear, even through the smoke.
10 yards.
The ram was almost upon them, but it was now a battered shadow of its former self. The front was a twisted mass of iron and wood, and the creatures pushing it were fewer in number, their bodies riddled with arrows and burns. Aurelius could see the desperation in their eyes, driven by a force beyond their control.
With a final, shuddering push, the ram reached the gate, but it lacked the force it once had. The first strike against the gate was weak, the sound more a dull thud than the expected resounding crash. Still, Aurelius didn’t expect the gate to hold out for long.
Suddenly, a blur caught the corner of Aurelius’ vision. It was the Orc Chosen. The Orc Chosen had foregone its slow walk and was now sprinting at the walls of the city with the speed of a galloping horse. Aurelius watched in utter horror as the gigantic frame of the Orc Chosen covered a dozen yards in a few seconds, leaving trembles in the earth with each gigantic step he took.
“Valen!” Aurelius yelled, gripping his sword so tightly that Aurelius felt as if it would break beneath his grasp.
“Y-Yeah?” Valen said, his eyes also fixated on the Orc Chosen approaching the city walls.
“Tell Lord Gavrel and High Mage Sylara that the walls and gate will fall! Tell them to evacuate the mages and archers to the defendable positions within the city. Have the melee combatants prepare for city close combat!” Aurelius yelled at the top of his lungs, getting out everything in a rush.
Valen shakily nodded, understanding the urgency in Aurelius's voice. Without wasting a moment, he sprinted towards Lord Gavrel and High Mage Sylara, relaying Aurelius's message with an urgency that matched the impending danger. Lord Gavrel's brow furrowed in concern, but he nodded in understanding, swiftly issuing orders to implement Aurelius' plan.
Meanwhile, Aurelius turned back to face the approaching Orc Chosen, his mind racing with thoughts of strategy and survival. He knew that the fall of the walls and gate was inevitable now, but they couldn't afford to lose their entire defense force in the process.
The mages and archers began a rapid retreat from the city walls to the inner city, guided by Gavrel's leadership and Sylara's magic. The melee combatants formed a defensive line, ready to repel the invading forces within the city's streets and alleys.
No.. It’s too late, Aurelius thought with despair, continuing to watch the impending form of the Orc Chosen. The Orc Chosen was now only 10 feet from the wall and with a massive leap Aurelius watched with disbelief how the Orc jumped the height of the city walls, landing on top of the battlements. The Orc Chosen landed with a thunderous crash that shook the very foundations of the wall. Stones crumbled under his weight as he rose to his full height, towering over the defenders like a mountain of pure muscle and fury.
The Orc Chosen had landed 30 feet down the wall from Aurelius. Aurelius could only watch in despair as the Orc Chosen landed next to three High Elven mages who were caught unaware by the Orc’s sudden appearance. Aurelius watched, as if in slow motion, as the Orc swung his massive great axe, cleaving all three High Elves through their midsections with one massive swing. Aurelius started to feel a little nauseous as he looked at the grotesque scene in front of him. The three High Elven mages, who moments before had been channeling their arcane energies with an air of serene concentration, were now reduced to lifeless husks. The Orc Chosen’s great axe had cleaved through them with horrifying efficiency, cutting through flesh, bone, and armor as if they were nothing more than parchment. Their bodies fell to the ground in two clean halves, innards spilling out in a sickening cascade.
Blood sprayed from the wounds, splattering the stone walls with dark crimson. The severed torsos of the mages twitched grotesquely, the last remnants of life escaping their forms. One of the mages, her face frozen in an expression of shock and agony, had her eyes wide open, staring unseeingly at the sky.
The smell was overwhelming, a nauseating mix of iron and the unmistakable stench of death. The ground was slick with blood, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt flesh from the fire spells that had backfired in their final moments. Aurelius could see the dark red pool spreading, mingling with the dirt and debris of the battlefield.
The Orc Chosen stood amidst the carnage, its hulking form silhouetted against the backdrop of the chaos. The great axe dripped with blood, bits of flesh still clinging to the jagged edge. The Orc's eyes were wild, a savage grin splitting its face as it relished the destruction it had wrought. It roared again, the sound a monstrous blend of triumph and rage, sending a shiver down Aurelius's spine.
Aurelius had seen death and battle before, but this was something else entirely. The brutality, the sheer inhumanity of it, threatened to overwhelm him. He fought to keep his composure, knowing that any hesitation could mean his own end. The faces of the mages, their lives extinguished in an instant, imprinted themselves in his mind. He clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening. This monstrosity would pay for the lives it had taken.
Aurelius could feel a slow fury well up within his chest as the Orc Chosen turned to grin at Aurelius with his blood-spattered face. As the Orc Chosen met Aurelius’ furious gaze, Aurelius realized that the true battle had only just begun.