Heedless to the strike that was coming for their unprotected southern coastline, the Elves gathered in larger than average numbers for an assault on the supermassive undead artillery piece that Kain had been using to lay waste to entire sections of the (relatively) nearby area. Opposed to them was a line of fortifications that would make engineers from World War 1 blush. Lines of razorwire, mines, tank traps, potholes, bear traps, and other manner of inhumane impediments to safe and free movement littered the approaches to The Obliterator, and in true Chaotic Evil fashion, Kain had ordered that most of these things be placed with little no rhyme or reason involved in their positioning.

There were places where you would seemingly find safe passage, only to discover that land mines and potholes were the least of your worries, while lines of razorwire were placed with random angles and in larger or smaller clumps. Tank traps covered from top to bottom in razorwire were strewn randomly across the terrestrial approaches, giving any who sought to avoid them (or use them for cover) no way to move cleanly around them or move safely from one to the other.

And, as if the idea was some commonly known but utterly twisted joke, the engineers had managed to somehow rig an entire section of the no-man’s-land with enough bear traps, potholes, and punji traps to make the act of even attempting to cross on foot or on a mount utter suicide. And that was to say nothing of their most twisted bit of random humor where they rigged up what seemed at first to be a decent place to hunker down out of the line of fire with enough hidden poison gas canisters to make both sides in World War 1 question the sanity of those men involved in setting it up.

The wiser move may have been to prepare a defensive no-man’s-land that would be easy to take advantage of, with well-thought-out barriers leading those unfortunate enough to attack into carefully created kill zones. But to be brutally honest, that just wasn’t nearly as fun, nor was it as exciting or challenging as the mess that was there right now. Maybe there were a few places where the Elves could slip in and get close, and maybe there were avenues that were not as well defended as others, but when not even the people that made the whole mess knew where you might want to attack from they knew that not even those attackers would be able to find a good way through.

Thus, the trap was set, and now all that needed to happen was for the pointy-eared braggarts to stumble in. Would they do the dumbest move possible and send in a melee infantry wave or two first? Maybe they would be smart and direct large numbers of animals to rush forward and tank most of the traps? Maybe the giant tree people would act as slow, usually bipedal, wooden mechs and try and force a breach that way? Or perhaps the archers would come first to try and lay down a suppressing fire of pointy sticks?

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

Well, it didn’t really matter either way. Despite being utterly random, the lines behind that hellscape were fortified to an extreme degree. Siege weapons had been brought up, and lines upon lines of Tier 1 and Tier 2 Undead ranged units were just waiting for anyone or anything to try and cross. And if, by some odd miracle, a melee line did manage to get up close and personal?

Well, there were entire 20 stack armies of Tier 1 and Tier 2 undead just waiting to come in and slaughter with reckless abandon. Plus, there were transports filled with even more undead just hanging out nearby, and that was not counting the warships that were filled with crews who were overly eager to fire off deck-mounted guns and other ranged weapons directly into any hostile force that they were allowed to target. Yes, this would be a bloodbath of epic proportions, and the time when the bodies would start dropping was coming sooner rather than later.

…

As the last glimmers of sunlight began to vanish beyond the western horizon, the elves did something that they thought would both give them some courage and also demoralize their foe. Rather idiotically, they had brought massive war drums to the fight, placing them just outside the eyesight of the defenders and bringing them out just now as the light finally faded.

The drums were pounded over and over in a stereotypical fashion, but while this did energize the Elves, it did not have their desired effect on the Darksolian defenders. While this might have been initially chalked up to the fact that they were mostly undead, the fact remained that the mortals among the defenders did not see the drumbeats as anything ominous. Rather, they relished the noise, knowing full-well that it likely meant that the damn knife-ears were going to do something insanely stupid sometime soon.

Expecting them to rush in (which was their plan, by the way) the mortals among the defenders prepared for the oncoming stampede. Mages used their power to grant mortals the same night-vision capabilities as the undead, and signals were sent to the transports and warships to prepare for what was sure to come. The drums were being pounded faster and faster; the tempo now being echoed by the Elves as they hooted along to the beat.

Finally, the beating stopped and the Elves advanced, letting out a massive war cry. They crossed the line marked by a number of signs telling those who could read them to turn back, and those that bothered to read them laughed as they moved forward. The enemy was asking them to not come for them? The cowards! They were weak, and they knew it! They would fall before Elven might and they would stay not as the living but as mere fertilizer for the plants and feed for the animals!

Meter upon meter was passed, Elves knowing fully that victory was on their side.

And then, without any warning, their nightmare began.