Tension and tempers snapped, and the forest filled with negotiated death.

Battle Order

D20 + 1 = 15 (14)

Mana: 16 -> 13

Spell: Fireball

8d6 = 25 (1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6)

Onward Soar: 1 -> 0

Mana: 13 -> 10

Spell: Fireball

8d6 = 26 (1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5)

“Lord Sozain, please accept my offerings,” Adam prayed, feeling his magic fill through his body. He could feel the warmth of the magic leave through his body, his magical axe tingling within his hand.

A bead of fire fell from the heavens as the mounted warriors began to charge forward to meet the uncivilised savages. The explosion of fire engulfed the warhorses, which shuddered in terror as the flames licked at their skin through their chain.

The guards had been so orderly, and so perfectly lined for the Fireball, one might have thought they had trained to be lambs to the slaughter. However, as Adam prepared another Fireball, feeling his magic rush through his body, another explosion rocked the horses, silencing them, and causing the heavily armoured guards to fall.

Sara held out her hand, pointing a finger towards the house guards of Tiderock, her eyes glued to them, her gaze as though they were ants. “Oh dear, I’m quite so afraid.”

Korin, with blade in hand, turned to face her, only to be distracted by the cries of the fallen guards, as another ball of fire engulfed them, almost silencing them permanently.

The Marshal didn’t dare to glance backwards, barely out of the radius of the fiery explosion, the screams echoing through his helmet as he slashed his blade downwards, meeting with the mouthy savage who had dared to offend him.

Jurot’s entire body was red hot with rage, only amplified by his excitement. The Marshal had yet to be struck by the flames, meaning he was fresh, and this honour would be his own.

The pair clashed, magical axe meeting magical blade, while the other Iyrmen charged forward, ready and eager to fight. The younger Iyrmen left the four leaders in the capable hands of their own Executives.

“Jaygak,” Jurot called, the blade bouncing off his shield, almost disregarding one of the greatest warriors he had faced to date. “Sir Ivy is untouched.”

Jaygak had stepped forward to deal with one of the fallen knights who was trying to get up from under his dead steed, but pivoted as her glowing blade met the blade of Sir Ivy, their blades clattering for a moment.

“Retreat!” the Marshal shouted, while his warriors were being slaughtered like sheep. He brought down his blade heavily against the Iyrman, and though he had struck so heavily that he would have almost slain one of the Experts within his company, Jurot stood as sturdy as an oak.

“Do you believe the Marquise will leave you be?” Sir Ivy asked, her blade clashing with Jaygak’s once more, the shining light almost searing her through her armour as they fought.

“I hope not,” came the playful response from the devilkin before her.

No, not a devilkin, but an Iyrman. Sir Ivy and Jaygak clashed viciously while the sounds of cries filled the air, and the rage filled howls of the Iyrmen began to cut such cries short.

Sir Gregor had almost managed to free himself from under his horse, but as a shadow formed over him, he raised his sword, though was unable to stop the hurricane of blows which shattered against his armour, causing him to fall still.

Sir Sophie started to stand, managing to free herself from under the horse. Thankfully, no one had-

The knight crumpled like paper as a well placed kick flung her to the side, causing her to almost flip, crashing against a tree. She grunted in pain, trying to stand, before she stared up towards the blurry figure who had a blade pointed down towards her.

“It is best that you remain laying down,” Dunes said, his blade poised to strike through her visor.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Finally!” called a voice, the young woman filling with rage.

“Lucy!” Adam shouted. “Head back to the wagons!”

Lucy drew her large greataxe, ready to fight, but upon hearing Adam’s voice, she turned to face him. “Don’t stop me, Adam!”

“Lucy!” Adam shouted, coughing, undoing his visor as he saw what the Iyrmen were doing to the terrified guards. “Step back.” ‘Oh no. Oh no no no.’ The chilling realisation of what they had done filled Adam. ‘It’s a fucking Marquise! What the hell am I thinking?’

Adam had rained down so much fiery death the previous year, he had become almost used to it. However, back then, the soldiers he had faced had died a quick, near painless death. These guards, however, were too strong to die a quick death.

“Will you hunt down those who flee?” Lord Benjamin asked, his blade clashing with axe, feeling the intense pain flooding through his head.

“I will not deny great pleasure,” Jurot replied, his teeth bared like a beast, his eyes lit up with delight.

The guards had called for the retreat, and as they tried to pull back, shadows formed over them.

Jonn’s blade cut through a guard who had barely reached for his sword, which dropped beside him as the magical blade flashed white hot. His blade cut through almost systematically. Finally, he was able to use his blade for his oath, even if it was to kill guards who had been trapped under their burnt steeds.

Fred remained standing where he was, blade in hand, though he hadn’t taken a step forward. Almost half of the guards, each around the level of an Expert, had fallen to the Fireballs, while the remaining few were barely able to even stand, never mind pulling themselves from under their steeds.

Flashes of fire entered his mind as he recalled a similar scene, a scene which brought a chill through his spine. This time, however, it was not Adam who had been the victim of such terror, but the source.

“Should you have called your fire?” Korin asked, standing beside Sara, blade in hand. She was safe, far enough away that the guards wouldn’t have been able to reach her, even if they had forced their way forward. Still, the young Aswadian remained vigilant.

“Did they not threaten me, a dear noble?” Sara asked, bring a finger to her lip. “They wished to kill us for the same.”

Korin let out a sigh, shaking his head. His eyes took in the sight of the slaughter. He was not apprehensive about killing, but rather, how easy it was to kill so many in one go. ‘So this is why the priests hold so much power within Aswadasad…’

Nirot’s axe cut through the neck of a soldier who hadn’t noticed her approach, her axe cutting through bone. It was not a delightful kill, but it did bring her great pleasure. ‘I should find another.’

Faool’s staff and fist struck another guard dead, and while one beside him stood. The young Iyrman stamped his foot into the ground, taking a firm stance, before his fist, almost like a drill, struck the guard, denting his armour, tossing his lifeless body away from the young Iyrman. He stared at the guard who had fallen to his punch, his eyes glued to the dent. His heart fluttered, still in awe of how far he had come in just a couple of years.

Laygak brought his blade through the gaps of the guard’s visor, causing him to begin to beg, before he was silenced. He stepped towards another.

“Wait, wait,” the guard shouted. “I-, I-, please, wait!”

The begging was silenced forever, Laygak bringing his blade back up, his eyes falling across the sight of death. “Sleep peacefully, for Baktu will watch over you.”

Naqokan almost danced along the field, cutting two Aldishmen, before glancing to the side to see Uwajin forcing her blade through the gut of another, while a sickening crack distracted her, Bavin’s axe splitting a helmet in half.

“I should have expected there would be little fighting around Iyrmen,” Vasera said, crossing her arms, before glancing around at the battlefield. ‘I knew Iyrmen were vicious, but this…’ She glanced towards the Marshal, who was still engaged with Jurot, hearing the sounds of his companions dying all around him.

“Remind me not to cause trouble for the Iyrmen,” Rook said, before cackling with laughter.

“That is your role,” Vasera replied. “I’m the one who is foolish enough to fight them.”

“Do you still wish to fight him?”

“It would be fun.”

“Enough!” came a shout, though it was not a voice any of them recognised. “There is no more need for death!”

Adam heard the voice and turned towards it. Vonda, who clasped her hands together in prayer, clutched a diamond.

“Adam, please! This is enough!” Vonda pleaded as she stared into Adam’s eyes, but noted Adam wasn’t looking at her, but through her. She grabbed his shoulder, and he jolted awake, causing his arm to twitch as he raised raised his axe, scraping it against her armour.

“Huh?” Adam asked, before his eyes fluttered, and he realised his had his axe ready to strike Vonda. He dropped it, his eyes still fluttering wildly.

“It is over.”

Adam glanced across the field, seeing the guards on the ground, half dying, half dead. The Iyrmen had killed those who were conscious, save for the four leaders, while the other guards who had been knocked out by the flames had been left to Fate, for now.

‘So that’s what they meant,’ Cobra thought, staring at the mass of death before her. ‘They’re just porters…’

“What wicked darkness brings such death?” asked a voice from behind.

Adam turned, noting the appearance of another eight heavily armoured knights, each adorned in heavy full plate, wearing white tabards with a rose emblazoned across it boldly. They wore holy amulets in the shape of a rose, each with a sun beneath it, seven with silver suns, one with gold. The seven who wore silver suns focused on the wagon, or rather, the demons beside it. Their authority pressed down against the nearby peoples like a disease.

‘Damn it.’