The soldiers kept swarming up their ropes. One man almost at the top fell from the heights, screaming all the way down, as his rope was cut.
THUD. SQUISH.
Beside him, another recruit had nearly reached the top. His face, young and wide-eyed, was etched with determination. He could almost see it—the honor, the rank, the status that awaited him. With a final grunt, he pulled himself up, just as a soldier from the Belief Settlement slashed his sword down, cutting the rope.
His body plunged back toward the ground, but even as he fell, he did not scream. His final thoughts were of the afterlife, the reward he would receive for his sacrifice.
‘My place is with the martyrs.‘
SQUISH.
On the ground, those still alive pushed forward. With every ladder set against the walls, with every grappling hook that found purchase, the recruits moved with fervour more than strategy. Each one knew that whether they lived or died, there was a higher purpose.
"Do not fear death!" one of the recruits shouted, his voice hoarse from the effort. His eyes gleamed with fervor as he stabbed upward with a spear, his weapon clashing against the defender's shield. "Our reward awaits, either in this world or the next!"
Around him, the other second-class recruits echoed his words, their voices a chant that rose above the din of battle. It was a mantra they clung to as they climbed, as they bled, and as they died. The Faith was their shield, and they would not falter.
For every rope that fell, another went up. For every recruit that died, two more took his place. The thought of giving up did not cross their minds. They were not just fighting for themselves, they were fighting for something eternal.
‘We are not forgotten. We are not forsaken.‘
‘‘‘
Then, Nadir made his move. From the rear of the battle, Nadir raised his hand, signaling his seasoned warriors forward. The second-class citizens had done their job. The enemy was tiring, and now was the time to strike. His warriors, fully armed and trained, advanced in tight formation, shields up, spears gleaming in the rising sun.
Nadir grinned broadly as he watched his armies advance. ‘The walls will fall now.’
The veteran soldiers reached the walls, climbing the ladders that had survived the first assault, and throwing scaling ropes with practiced ease. Unlike the desperate swarm of second-class citizens, these men moved with purpose. They were there to kill.
‘‘‘
Oliver felt the shift immediately. These were not the same desperate fighters they had been cutting down. These were professionals. “Here they come!” he shouted, trying to rally his men.
The battle intensified. The veteran soldiers fought with precision and skill, forcing their way onto the walls. The defenders were being pushed back, inch by bloody inch. Oliver found himself in a deadly duel with a warrior who had managed to leap onto the wall with a fluid grace. Their swords clashed, sparks flying as the sounds of battle roared around them.
Stevens grappled with another soldier nearby, both of them teetering on the edge of a crumbling ridge. The Belief settlement’s troops were exhausted, their lines breaking under the relentless pressure as Nadir’s forces pushed forward, gaining ground with every clash.
Sweat dripped from Stevens’ brow, his muscles straining as he fought to maintain his footing. The soldier opposite him grunted, trying to shove him backward, but Stevens dug his heels into the ground, refusing to give in.
“Stay strong! Reinforcements are coming!” he shouted, rallying the few soldiers still standing nearby. But their morale was waning, fatigue evident in their weary eyes. The sight of Nadir’s forces advancing—organized and relentless—was enough to chill anyone’s resolve
Just when it seemed like the walls might be breached entirely, a loud CRACK rang out from the front gates.
“The gate!” Stevens cried, wide-eyed. "They're trying to ram it down!"
A battering ram, carried by a dozen of Nadir’s warriors, slammed into the gates with a thunderous impact. The wooden barrier groaned, shuddering with each hit.
BOOM
BOOM
BOOM
“Get reinforcements to the gate!” Oliver ordered, but his voice was drowned out by the relentless sounds of combat.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
They couldn’t hold for much longer. Oliver knew it. His men knew it. And Nadir’s soldiers, smelling victory, pressed their advantage. The battle had been raging for almost a whole day.
But just as the gate seemed ready to splinter, a horn blew in the distance. A deep, echoing note that rang through the battlefield. Both sides paused for just a moment, straining to hear.
WOOOOOWOOOOO
It was Atlas’s signal.
The Portal Crushers were here.
***
Nadir’s army hesitated, uncertain of what reinforcements might mean for them. The battle hung in a delicate balance, with both sides battered and bloodied, and the fate of the Belief Settlement teetering on the edge.
Atlas’s voice boomed loudly through the battlefield. “We’re here! Push them back!”
The tide of battle began to shift. The arrival of fresh troops reignited a spark among the beleaguered defenders. Stevens, seizing the moment, twisted his opponent’s arm, leveraging his weight to throw him off balance. With a final push, he sent the soldier tumbling down the ridge.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh……”
SQUELCH
“Let’s show them what we’re made of!” he yelled, rallying those around him as they surged forward, determined to reclaim the ground they had lost. The fight was far from over, but with Atlas and his reinforcements, there was a fighting chance.
‘‘‘
The Portal Crushers stormed into view, their fighters charging across the battlefield like an unstoppable force. Dust clouds rose from the ground, and the sound of clashing metal rang out as they slammed into Nadir's army from behind with a fierce, coordinated assault. Atlas led the charge, his twin swords gleaming in the sun, cutting through the men with precision and fury.
At his side, Portilla and Crushir, the teenage trolls, looked almost gleeful as they barreled forward. Their full plate armor and oversized forms a banner of strength.
“This is fun!” Portilla shouted, leaping onto an enemy and sending him crashing into the dirt.
Crushir roared in agreement, his large club swiping through Nadir’s soldiers like they were nothing. “More! More!” he bellowed, sending bodies flying.
The trolls’ confidence was infectious. Despite the mass of fights, they fought with a playful ferocity that astounded everyone on the battlefield—especially Nadir.
‘‘‘
As the battle raged on, the mini fairies flitted through the chaos, their tiny wings shimmering in the dim light. They darted between fallen soldiers, collecting mana coins from pockets with gleeful precision. Some fallen soldiers had a few coins, while others had none, but the mini fairies had a system. They always remembered to collect at least one per person, and if someone didn’t have any, they’d simply take two from the next one they found.
“Got one! Got one!” one fairy squealed, clutching a small coin triumphantly.
“Me too! Me too!” another chimed in, buzzing around a nearby body.
“Coins! Coins! Collect the coins!” they chanted, their laughter blending with the sounds of battle.
The sight was both comical and unsettling as they zipped around, their excitement cheerfully on display.
Whenever Nadir’s soldiers tried to interfere they were zapped for their efforts.
‘‘‘
Meanwhile, in another part of the universe, the Red Fairy lounged back in her plush anti-gravity massage chair, a satisfied grin on her face. She giggled softly, watching the mana coins pour into her account like a steady stream.
“More coins!” she said, her laughter growing with every deposit. “This is the life, the good life!” Her inner greedy Atlas looked aggrieved as his backpack filled with coins.
“Keep it coming bitches!” she exclaimed, revelling in her good fortune while the warriors fought on, unable to stop the mini fairies from taking advantage of the battlefield for their own gain.
‘‘‘
From his position on the palanquin, Nadir watched in disbelief. His eyes narrowed as he noticed something odd. Time and again, his men would strike the trolls down, only for them to rise again, wounds knitting themselves together as if nothing had happened. His mouth tightened with rage.
“How?” he whispered to himself, leaning forward as he watched Crushir take a sword to the side, only to laugh and slam his attacker into the ground.
SLASH
The wound closed within seconds, leaving nothing but torn armor behind. “How do these humans keep regenerating?”
One of Nadir’s lieutenants, bloodied and panting, approached. “My lord, these... these creatures are not human. They fight like monsters, they heal—”
“Impossible!” Nadir snapped, slamming his fist against the armrest of his palanquin. “How could they be anything but human?!”
With their full armour on, the trolls did indeed just look like abnormally tall soldiers.
“But they can’t be, my lord. No human can do what they do!”
As if to punctuate his words, Portilla took an arrow to the shoulder, THWIP!, and simply grinned, pulling it out and tossing it aside. She barreled into a group of Nadir’s soldiers, smashing them aside as if they weighed nothing, laughing all the while.
“This is... impossible,” Nadir growled, his mind racing. He had faced all kinds of warriors in his conquests, but never ones like these. It was as if the wasteland itself had birthed monsters in human form.
The trolls, oblivious to Nadir's growing frustration, continued their rampage, their enthusiasm never waning. Crushir headbutted an enemy soldier, sending him flying into a group of Nadir’s men. “We are the best, Portilla!” he yelled, giggling as he kicked another soldier into a pile of his comrades.
“We are so strong!” Portilla agreed, her voice full of glee as she knocked away a barrage of spears with her club.
***
Meanwhile, Atlas moved like a whirlwind, his swords cutting through Nadir’s seasoned warriors with ease. He could see the confusion in their eyes, the way they glanced nervously at the trolls, unsure how to deal with enemies who simply refused to die. Atlas’s grin was sharp as he took advantage of their hesitation, felling soldier after soldier. His hot pink armour sparkled. A symbol of hope. And battlefield fashion.
With the Portal Crushers closing in from all sides, Nadir’s forces were being pinned down, forced into tighter formations as they struggled to keep the trolls and Atlas’s warriors at bay. The momentum had shifted, and Nadir knew it.
“They’ve cut us off,” a lieutenant muttered, his voice trembling as he stared at the chaos around them. “We can’t break through.”
Nadir’s teeth clenched in frustration. His mind raced for a solution, but nothing seemed to fit. He had been prepared for many things, but this—these regenerating monsters—had never crossed his mind.
“Keep fighting,” Nadir snarled. “We will not be defeated by something like this.” Yet as he watched his soldiers fall, and he saw the trolls tearing through his ranks with ease, a knot of doubt twisted in his gut. This battle was turning into something far more unpredictable than he had expected.
‘‘‘