Behemoth-bane leapt back from the action, his coat covered in sticky, black, corrosive fluids. Calmly, he holstered his blades - half of the melee fighters already felled. Next, he produced his gun and loaded a single round from within his coat.
“C-Commander! My men are dying!”
“And more will die.” The Ghast promised as he raised the pistol to the skies and fired a single tracer round. The red-hot projectile soared high above the battlefield, rippling through the atmosphere of vapors. Lamp-fuel, weapon-fuel, Ghast-grade accelerant; everything the army had had on their hands now ignited in an instantaneous, bright, white flash of flames. It lasted only a second or two - long enough for the gasses to burn out.
None had ever seen so much fire - a grand explosion the size of most of their towns of origin that flashed past in an instant, filling the men with disbelief that it had ever taken place in the first place. Some of the Monstrum had suffered dearly in the blast - already shedding flesh and skin to ready themselves for the battle to come.
But the grand total remained unchanged - the monstrum hadn’t taken the direct damage Jarek gathered the Ghast had intended and, despite his brief moment of inspiration upon seeing the atmospheric conflagration, his heart soon fell into his chest as the mass of hellspawn began to move into the passage.
But the explosion had caused a secondary effect. The leaves and trees had caught fire - fire that spread as quickly as the beasts through the dense vegetation. The brief spike in temperature returned as the forest began to rage with fire.
The Ghast gripped hold of Jarek’s silver plate of armor, brought him close and raised his mask ever-so-slightly to display his horrific mouth. As if on reflex, Jarek extended his consciousness to every man on the battlefield to hear the Ghast’s words: “Warriors, push into the hole! Artillery - maintain fire until you see the Behemoth, then redirect! Priests- build that wall. It is time we meet our end, free men of Cradle!”
Jarek heard the crowds roar in cheers - every one of them sharing in the confidence that the Ghast exuded. His tone of voice was that of complete authority - of complete faith in his plan and the mission; an inspiration to all… but Jarek. For he understood what the others did not.
They really were going to die.
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With his assistant General close behind, Behemoth-Bane arrived at the precipice of the hole, watching the men as they shot, stabbed, slashed, smashed and cleaved the Monstrum. The spawn had turned their attention back on the narrow passage, no longer intent on wasting energy and life by crawling up the burning hill.
The fire of the forest burned so brightly Jarek imagined, for a brief moment, that daylight had come to absolve them of the darkness. But in truth, the red-hot fire was nothing as benign as the sun - it was to be the harbinger of their death. And hopefully the Spawn’s.
Behind them, the priests were hurriedly stacking bags of sand to create a flimsy wall - a sturdy thing that would do nothing to stem the tides of the horde, but that was never the Ghast’s plan. Rather than healing, he had sent the rarer; more valuable men to the back - in a position from which they could easily exfiltrate as the next stage of his plan came into fruition. And as the rising temperatures promised- that time was almost upon them.
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Jarek was sweltering hot. The silver plate had become almost unbearable and the hilt of his decorative blade was becoming warmer than his body - meaning the surrounding temperatures had already surpassed his body’s capacity of thermoregulation.
“Men! Hold them off as long as you can - until the last round has been fired; until the last sword has been swung, we’ll fight for the freedom of Man! Your children will walk Cradle - free from the tyranny of these beasts!” The Ghast had both his guns out, wandering behind the line of firing men. Heavy machine guns, shotguns, rifles and pistols were fired into the screeching mess of increasingly more frantic beasts.
The smoldering ashes of their brief pyre was rising around them - kicked up and disturbed by every movement of an arm, every step of a boot, but none cared for their burning eyes or the sweltering heat. This was not a battle to ward off suffering. This was not a battle to save a warrior’s life. This was Humanity’s stand against the beasts - the monstrosities that had oppressed their kind for thousands of years.
The melee-fighters stood behind the firing line with bent knees and tightly-gripped weapons - eager to shed blood alongside the legendary warrior.
“Because of them, you have starved. Because of them, you have watched your loved ones suffer! If we fail, then we will continue to live like pigs to the slaughter - do not let them pass!” The Ghast roared, his voice shifting in and out of his demonic speech, which only seemed to strengthen the resolve of the men.
Gunfire, explosions of the artillery - the heat and the fire made the General’s skin crawl, but not as badly as when he watched the Ghast fire a single round out into the sea of beasts to strike down a single, raised gland poised for dispersing corrosives.
Breathing had become nearly impossible. With every rush of the enemy, a new gust of scorching air blew from over the beasts. Already, the Monstrum had begun to blister - their pallid skin writhing with regenerative tendrils that failed to compensate for the rising temperature. There simply was no mechanism for it.
Several of the Monstrosities had begun to leap - sensing that their current environment was a threat to their combat capabilities.
The Ghast’s guns fired louder even than the artillery and did not stop until the creatures had nearly fallen upon the firing line.
“Riflemen, retreat to the sides! Fire over shoulders - do not hit the melee! Melee, engage!” At his command, they shifted.
Even in the heat of the battle, Jarek envied the man’s control - how quickly the men sprang to action at his word. These men were not fighting for the Governor; these men were not fighting for the Ghast. They were fighting for a cause - a cause they were willing to die for. But he, with his short, decorative sword had pissed himself several minutes ago and was struggling to find the strength to even move.
Corrosives rained down upon his men, obliterating armors and flesh, but even with bared bones and profusely bleeding ulcers on their bodies, they continued to clash ahead. Was this some form of trick of the mind? Was this some sort of psychic urging from the Ghast? Surely, they heard his voice - they heard that he was as inhumane as the monstrosities. His violent disregard for their lives should have told them as much. Yet all around him, they threw their lives away only to be overshadowed by his skill and the unrelenting fury with which he fought.
By the time a grand pile of dead Monstrum had built up at the front of the passage, the temperatures outside had begun to have the desired effect. The beasts were dying - choked by the scorching hot fumes that had begun to severely limit their visibility. But the artillery was set on its right trajectory - firing unrelentingly at the Hive.