Amelia stood with Wolf Company, concealed behind a ridge that veiled their presence from the Edorian camp, sprawled a mile away. Tension clung to her like a second skin, her focus sharp as she awaited Alton's signal to advance. Beside her, soldiers shifted restlessly, the air thick with anticipation and the weight of the moment.
She thumbed her sword in its sheath. The pommel in her hand gave her a sense of calm. Her core was full, as was the reservoir in her blade and every reservoir in her armor. A night of intense cycling from them all had paid off. Fatigue wore at her from the hectic past few days, but the soon to come adrenaline surge would fend it off.
Turning her head, Amelia caught Nelson's eye, and they shared a knowing smile, a silent exchange of courage and resolve. In that fleeting moment, her thoughts drifted, painting a picture of the simpler life her parents had envisioned for her, one filled with the joys of marriage and children, maybe even twins.
She allowed her thoughts to runaway for a few moments. It was the first time since joining the army that she had really thought much about her future. Most soldiers didn’t live long enough to return home with the current war ongoing. She had accepted her fate when she joined, but now? There were many possibilities for her future, and it was comforting.
A memory of Rico, vibrant and alive one moment, lifeless the next, sliced through her daydreams like a blade. The pain of his loss, still fresh, served as a stark reminder of why she was here. With renewed determination, Amelia steeled herself for the battle ahead, her resolve unwavering.
The very thought of her fallen comrade bolstered her resolve, guiding her focus back to the task at hand. She was a warrior, through and through, committed to safeguarding her country and its people, regardless of the personal dreams she might have sacrificed along the way.
“Never again…” She whispered to herself.
As the first rays of dawn kissed the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of gold and crimson, Amelia took a deep breath, readying herself for the signal. The quiet before the storm was always the hardest, a test of patience and nerve. She heard exhales all around her as her brothers and sisters prepared.
---
Davih stood atop the ramparts of Fort Kitsu, his gaze sweeping over the thousands of troops arrayed below him. The morning air was crisp, filled with the electric charge of anticipation and the solemn weight of what was to come. He raised his arms, commanding silence, and when every eye was upon him, he spoke, his voice booming across the courtyard and beyond, fueled by a cleverly modified communicator to carry his words to every ear.
"Soldiers of the Third Army, today we stand on the brink of a battle that will be etched in the annals of history, not for its conclusion, but for the valor and bravery you will display," Davih began, his eyes blazing with fervor. "We face an enemy numerous, yes, but remember, so did the Mad God in the days of old. Against impossible odds, he triumphed, his victory a testament to the indomitable spirit that dwells within us all."
A murmur of approval rippled through the ranks, the mention of the Mad God stirring hearts and bolstering courage. Davih waited for the sound to die down before he continued.
"We are not alone in this fight," Davih continued, his voice rising with passion. "Know that the Wolf lives and rides this very moment to our aid. Wolf Company has struck fear into the heart of our enemies, burned their supplies and cut off reinforcements. That army,” he points out towards the Edorians, “is scared, hungry and paranoid! They fear you!”
His words sparked a fire in the eyes of the gathered troops, a collective resolve hardening in their gaze.
"Today, ancient allies fight alongside us! Thoiri tribesmen from the mountains join Wolf Company from the south. We will attack from the north and box them in! I call upon you to believe. Believe in the cause for which we fight, believe in the strength that resides within each of you, and believe in the victory that awaits us. Have faith, for the Mad God watches over us, His might guiding our arms and shielding our hearts."
Davih paused, letting his words sink in, the silence a powerful echo of the gravity of his message. A slow cheer built from the assembled soldiers, starting far in the back of the courtyard and building to a deafening crescendo.
"And should fate decree we meet our end on this battlefield, let us meet it with passion and honor! Let us leave behind a legacy that will be remembered not for how we died, but for how we lived, for the courage we showed, and for the hope we gave to future generations!"
With that, Davih drew his sword, holding it high for all to see, its blade catching the first light of dawn and reflecting it like a beacon of hope. He infused it and let the shine of mana glow. Having reached the fifth tier during the vicious fighting following the retreat, his ability to infuse had increased. His blade shone like a beacon to the hearts of his soldiers.
"Today, we fight not just for Kitsu, but for the very soul of Agorra. To battle, my brothers and sisters! For freedom, for honor, and for the Mad God!"
A thunderous roar erupted from the troops, a resounding chorus of determination and readiness. The various units and companies marched out of the massive gates leading from the courtyard. The Vanguard took their place, the tip of a spear of vengeance being wielded by ten thousand souls. Skirmishers prepared to act as flanking guard, shield walls were erected and locked together through bonds of soul and blood.
Davih led them out of Kitsu. His heart swelled with pride. They marched not to their doom, but to etch their names in history, side by side with legends, united by a common cause and an unwavering spirit of defiance. He spared one last thought for Alton, hoping to see his friend one more time before the end.
---
Alton stood perched atop the same ridge, his gaze piercing through the early dawn's haze. He searched the western horizon for any sign of activity from Fort Kitsu. The tension hung heavy in the air, a palpable force that seemed to grip every soldier standing in readiness behind him. Despite his efforts, the distance shrouded any evidence of the fortress's assault, leaving him to rely on the scant updates delivered by his scouts.
His thoughts momentarily turned skyward, a silent prayer forming in his mind, calling on any higher power that might lend their aid. He hoped, with every fiber of his being, that the tribes the Thoiri had contacted would arrive in time to tip the scales in their favor. The future of his beloved country, the dream of a peaceful existence free from the shadow of war, weighed on his shoulders.
Taking a deep breath to center himself, Alton swept his gaze over his company and the gathered Thoiri warriors. At that moment, a scout arrived, breathless from the sprint, confirming that Kitsu had initiated its offensive. Alton could not see the action from his vantage point, but the knowledge that his compatriots were already engaging the enemy galvanized him.
Without a word, he raised his hand high above his head, his fingers spread wide against the breaking light of dawn. His company, a mosaic of anticipation and resolve, watched intently as he closed his fingers into a fist, one by one, a silent countdown to the moment of commitment. As his fist clenched fully, a thunderous roar erupted from the throats of every Agorran and Thoiri present.
With a collective surge of energy, they charged, a flood of determination and steel that cascaded down the ridge. The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath the weight of their resolve as they streamed towards the Edorian camp. Alton circulated and took his place at the front. There was no more time for strategy, only violence would reign today.
He took a deep breath and roared his defiance at the heavens. The echo of his battle cry carried across the valley, a clarion call that signified the beginning of a pivotal chapter in the struggle for Agorra's freedom. His call was taken up again and again by the warriors streaming behind him.
The Edorian sentries panicked at the sight once Wolf Company cleared the last ridge. There was a contingent of forces facing them. They were expected, then. Alton smiled as he considered the opposition. They had planned for this, but they still underestimated his company.
With fifty feet to go, he pulled both swords free and infusing them with his mana. Fang and Fury glowed brightly in the dawn light. One last roar escaped his mouth before steel met steel and the battle to decide the fate of Agorra began.
—
Alton and Wolf Company behind him wove through the battlefield. Their movements were synchronized in a deadly dance of attack and retreat. As they cut their way through the Edorian forces, Alton remained acutely aware of the importance of maintaining their formation to prevent encirclement. The battlefield around them was a maelstrom of chaos.
Alton's blades moved with lethal efficiency, each strike bringing down an enemy soldier. He kept them infused to prevent his swords from getting stuck in the enemy armor. It was only a matter of time before Edorian elites responded, so he kept a close eye on his core. The enemy came at them in waves as they moved through the camp.
Alton shouted out his commands as the battle ebbed and flowed. Their advance halted as the Edorian resistance got thick. Alton shouted out for a controlled retreat to reset their position. His call was echoed through the field and his empowered soldiers took on the brunt of the assault to allow the common troops to back off.
The Edorians chased and engaged greedily, falling by the dozens to infused blades. Alton was a whirlwind, moving up and down his line to break the enemy. Every time he found a cohesive unit, he surged and devastated them. The more troops they peeled off the lines against Kitsu, the higher the probability of a win.
Yet, for every enemy they felled, more seemed to take their place. The Edorians, sensing the threat posed by this cohesive unit, redoubled their efforts to break through their defenses. The pressure mounted as the enemy launched wave after wave of attacks, each more ferocious than the last.
Alton gritted his teeth and shouted for his soldiers to consolidate and form a square. The Edorians were committing to surrounding them now. He had to choose, stay and fight, or flee back to the mountains and regroup. He glanced over his troops, forming a defensive position, and counted his team still intact.
He decided to hold their ground and force the enemy to commit. Shields locked together under the leadership of Nelson and Miser. Spears were pointed out, ready for bodies to impale. Short spears were thrown at the stagnating Edorian charge and the Thoiri unleashed a tide of arrows from the safety of the square.
Alton remained outside of the square. He posed a singular threat to the Edorians and planned to continue his one man onslaught.
---
Amid the swirling melee happening outside of the defensive square, Alton found himself drawn into a series of confrontations with mana-empowered Edorian elites. Fourth tier at a minimum, able to infuse weapons and armor. No one soldier was a match for him alone, but they were coming in waves of two and three.
Each encounter forced him to use a varying amount of mana. The battles tested the limits of his skill and stamina, as each elite warrior wielded their mana-infused weapons with lethal precision. His new armor held strong, deflecting hits with ease. He had time between two waves to check and found its mana reservoirs holding near half.
He gritted his teeth and checked his core, also near half. He drained some from Fury and brought his own back up to three-fourths. The area outside of the square was becoming a charnel house of blood and viscera. Bodies littered the area and Alton saw with dismay that several were Thoiri. The young soldiers were getting drawn out of the square or dying to fill the gaps.
A new threat bloomed in his manasight. Alton's focus narrowed to the immediate threat before him, losing sight of Wolf Company again amid the chaos. He turned to face the approaching figure and noticed a difference right away. The warrior was dressed in pure black plate mail that resembled the tier five foe he fought up on the mountain pass a month ago. His walk was slow and confident, a commanding tone emanated from him.
Alton hesitated and took a step back. The warrior was surrounded by capable looking soldiers that had a different air of around them. Finally, no more dregs from farming villages. This looked like elites from the heart of the prince’s forces.
The realization struck Alton with a jolt of alarm. Elite soldiers on the level of his team produced complications to the plan. He hoped Edoria would continue wasting common soldiers and detract from their numerical advantage. Alton backed up to get closer to the square. He needed to warn the others.
“Amelia! Amelia!” Alton shouted, his back to the closest side of the shield wall.
There was no answer to his call. The Agorrans and Thoiri manning the wall just shook their heads. He turned and slipped through the wall, searching for his second in command. He found her near the other side, sealing off a breach. There was no time to evaluate casualties, but the square seemed to be working.
“Amelia” he shouted once he was closer.
“Captain!” She disengaged and jogged over to him.
“Heavy elites coming from the north side. I will take the lead, but there are too many for me alone. Gather anyone who can disengage and handle tier four and above. We have to take care of this group before they wreck our defensive position.” He ordered.
He waited long enough for her to nod and turn before he sprinted back over and through the wall. The elites were only a dozen feet away now. Alton pulled both blades free and infused, pulling more mana from his swords to his core. All distractions fled his mind as he focused on the approaching warriors.
---
Alton, his resolve steeling, stood firm as the group of Edorian elites fanned out before him. Their leader was a menacing presence, a testament to the dire straits he and Wolf Company faced. The hulking warrior clad in black plate armor stepped forward, his sword gleaming malevolently in the light of the battle. With a deliberate motion, he pointed his weapon at Alton, singling him out for a duel.
Understanding the gravity of the challenge, Alton's eyes narrowed, his focus sharpening. The elite's challenge was obvious, and Alton accepted. As the hulking warrior's comrades maneuvered to engage Wolf Company, Alton, with a swift, calculated movement, launched himself at one of the smaller groups attempting to flank him, hoping to thin their numbers before the main engagement.
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His blade sang through the air, cutting down one, then another of the elite's allies, his movements a blend of practiced grace and lethal intent. Before he could further disrupt their ranks, the lead warrior intervened, his speed belying his massive form. With a powerful swing of his wicked sword, he forced Alton back, the clash of their blades echoing across the battlefield.
Alton found himself locked in combat with the Edorian elite. Each strike, parry, and counter a testament to their skill and determination. Around them, the battle raged on. In that moment, their fight became the center of the universe, a singular contest of wills and mastery. All of Alton’s concentration narrowed down to one singular foe.
The duel continued with the air crackling around them, charged with the raw power of mana as both combatants drew upon their inner reserves. Their bodies glowed with the light of power. Alton moved with the agility of a storm, his blades a blur of motion, Fury singing a song of aggression while Fang whispered promises of swift demise.
The Edorian elite, a behemoth clad in darkness, met Alton's onslaught with the unwavering might of a mountain. His own sword, a monstrous creation of dark steel and malice, countered Alton's twin blades with devastating arcs of power, each blow intended to crush and annihilate. His movements were surprisingly agile, despite his armor. This was a swordsman trained from an early age, a master every bit of Alton’s match.
Their blades met in flashes of light, sparks flying as mana-enhanced steel clashed, the sound a terrible symphony that spoke of destruction and beauty intertwined. Alton darted around his foe, a dancer in the deadly ballet, striking from every angle, his swords cutting through the air with precision born of desperation and hope. The Edorian elite, unyielding, turned with each attack. His own strikes a counterpoint to Alton's speed, his power seeking to end the dance with a single, crushing blow.
Around them, the world seemed to hold its breath, the clash of their swords a beacon of struggle amidst the sea of conflict. With each pass, they pushed the limits of their skills and bodies, mana coursing through their veins, lending them speed and strength beyond the mortal ken. The ground beneath their feet bore witness to their battle, scarred and scorched by the unleashing of their powers.
Alton traded small wounds and hits with the Edorian warrior. His armor held admirably but he could feel it being pushed to its limit to absorb the powerful strikes. A powerful flash of mana erupted through the manasphere. Alton and the Elite whipped their heads towards the square. Alton jumped back to create space and turned sideways to keep the soldier in his peripheral vision. When he scanned for the source of the disturbance, his heart caught in his throat.
Amelia was fighting off three of the warrior’s lackeys. She was standing over the downed body of one of the twins. Alton was sure it would be Nelson. A sword was sticking through his gut and blood pooled all around him. Alton could see Lews trying to get near them, but the fighting was too thick.
Mana was swirling around Amelia with incredible density. She was ascending. He knew it. Movement on his other side flashed in his vision just before the elite’s blade came in for an overhead strike. Alton threw himself backwards and their duel resumed. He spared one last thought for his lieutenant and faced the elite.
Alton dug down deep into his core. He saw the glyph floating on the surface, and it beckoned to him. Mana was fed into it, slowly at first, but then it drank greedily. Alton felt the temperature lower, and he prepared to see the Wolf standing in that eternal blizzard again.
Surprise flashed across his face when the Wolf answered him in the real world this time. Power flooded through him, frost formed on the grass near him and over the armor of his foe. His two swords began to glow with a deeper blue light as his mana turned from a calm lake to a roaring river inside his soul.
“Alton, it is time. You are ready, and I am with you.” The spectre of the Wolf formed to his right.
He flickered his gaze over it and realized it was transparent. Alton reached out and his hand passed through its back, which stood at eye level to him. The wolf turned and looked at him.
“You are not strong enough to manifest me in full yet. You possess a suitable vessel. I will join my soul to it for the time being. I will lend you my power. Say the words, Alton. Words have power when two realms intertwine,” it said.
All of this occurred in seconds. The Edorian elite only just moving from his position in a charge, his blade held high again. Confusion flashed across Alton’s face at the Wolf’s words. What was it asking for? The words came to him in answer and he grinned despite the situation.
“Strength of the pack” Alton roared for all to hear.
More power flooded his core and his body. The ghostly spectre of the Wolf seemed to flow inside of the reservoir on Fang. Mana exploded through the blade just as Alton swung it up to deflect the incoming blow. He heard a rallying cry sound behind him and prayed it would be enough.
The duel resumed in earnest. Alton surged with everything he had, using both blades and every technique in his arsenal. Where before the two warriors were evenly matched, now the advantage clearly laid with Alton. Each strike pushed the warrior back, each slash left deep dents in the midnight armor.
Alton took a vicious kick to his side that threatened to shatter both bone and resolve, but found a sliver of opportunity amidst the maelstrom of combat. With a warrior's instinct, he drove Fury deep into the warrior's armpit, where armor yielded to necessity, finding flesh and blood. The world narrowed to the heartbeat between breaths as he rolled forward, evading a deathblow by mere inches, his blade slicing through the enemy's calf with a precision born of desperation and skill.
The air was thick with the scent of blood and ozone, a tangible reminder of the stakes of their duel. The Edorian elite, a titan in black armor now marred by his own blood, let loose a bellow that was part rage, part agony. His sword, an extension of his will, descended in arcs of desperation, seeking to end the duel with sheer brute force.
Alton, however, danced on the edge of the storm, his movements a testament to the years of training and battles past. Each dodge, each weave, brought him closer to victory, to survival. And then, in the heartbeat where destiny seemed to pause, he found his moment. Fang, twin to Fury and now empowered by the aspect, arced upward in a strike, severed the warrior's arm in a spray of blood.
Disarmed and desperate, the Edorian elite sought to close the distance, to turn the duel into a grapple where perhaps his remaining strength could prevail. But Alton was the tempest, untouchable, moving with the grace of the Wolf whose spirit infused his blade. With a maneuver as fluid as it was deadly, he evaded the grasp of his foe, Fang finding its mark deep in the warrior's chest.
In that moment, a blast of mana erupted from the point of impact, a shockwave of energy that rippled through the air, visible proof of the power that both combatants had drawn upon. It was as if the very air trembled at the release, a testament to the strength and will of the fighters. The Edorian elite's body convulsed once, a silent testament to the end of his journey, before collapsing, the life extinguished from his eyes.
Around them, the battle raged on, but in the wake of that final blow, there was a momentary lull, a breath taken collectively by the universe itself. Alton stood over his fallen foe, his chest heaving, Fang still lodged within the warrior's chest. The victory was his, bought at the cost of pain and peril, a stark reminder of the razor's edge upon which fate danced.
---
Amelia was in a desperate struggle over Nelson's prone form. The stupid man opened himself up and took a blade that was meant for her. The sword still remained, driven deep into his gut. There was no room to breathe as she fought off three elites circling around. The fighting was thick all over, her vision limited to just her immediate surroundings.
The first elite she killed pushed her over the edge to the fifth tier. It brought with it a formidable increase in power, yet the elite Edorian forces pressed hard against her defenses, threatening to overwhelm her. Each swing of her blade was in raw defiance, her resolve tempered by the fires of skirmishes and battles that had led her to this precipice of despair and determination. One thought reigned in her mind, Not Again.
The battle's tide seemed insurmountable until a familiar surge coursed through her veins, a raw and wild power that echoed the desperate fight at the doomed pass. It was a call to something primal within her, a force that demanded she rise beyond her limits. With a fervor borne of necessity, Amelia welcomed this surge. She let it fill her, expanding her senses and sharpening her reflexes. She said a quick thanks to the captain, knowing him to still be alive.
Her sword danced a deathly dance, never in one place long enough for the opposing side to block or avoid. Amelia's focus narrowed to the desperate struggle over Nelson's prone form. Her recent ascent to the fifth tier had granted her a formidable increase in power, yet the elite Edorian forces pressed hard against her defenses, threatening to overwhelm her. Each swing of her blade was a defiance, her resolve tempered by the fires of countless skirmishes and battles that had led her to this precipice of despair and determination.
This newfound strength became the fulcrum upon which the battle's outcome teetered. With each elite Edorian that fell to her blade, Amelia felt the balance shift, her movements a dance of death that left no room for retaliation. Her adversaries, once confident in their superiority, now faltered under the relentless assault of a warrior reborn in the crucible of war. Her sword danced a deathly dance, never in one place long enough for her opposition to block or avoid.
Her new found speed and strength more than evened the odds. Each blow from her blade cut deeply into finely made armor, denting swords and removing limbs. She surged and pressed her advantage. It was now or never. Her fate was to be decided here, standing over her friend. Amelia let out a roar and heard it echo from all sides. She was not the only one to receive the bolus of power.
Just as Amelia dispatched the last of the elites, a tumultuous explosion of mana erupted from the other side of the clearing. It shook the very ground beneath her feet. The shockwave was a physical manifestation of power, a beacon that pierced the fog of war. Turning towards the source, Amelia's heart raced with anticipation and dread. The explosion's sheer magnitude spoke of a pivotal moment in the battle, a turning point that could herald victory or catastrophe.
Amelia smiled when she saw the form of the captain standing alone. A towering corpse in midnight armor laid at his feet. Alton raised Fang and let out a howl that pierced her very soul. Amelia echoed it and it was passed down the line, deafening despite the din of battle. The courage of the Edorians failed.
The first to run was Amelia’s next target. His head swiveled from her to the captain and back before he threw down his blade and tried to run south past Wolf company. An arrow took him in the back before he made it thirty feet. The sight of their elite running broke the nearby soldiers of Edoria.
Many threw down their weapons and tried to run, most surrendered. Amelia checked on the rest of her team and found them all alive. Lews was already tending to Nelson, who was breathing but unconscious, the sword now removed. Her non-enhanced forces and the Thoiri had taken casualties. That much was clear. She grimaced as she tried to ignore the reapers bill.
More and more soldiers surrendered, even outside of the nearby area. Amelia felt confusion for a moment before a runner dressed in an Agorran uniform made it to Alton. She ran over to listen to the message, barking commands to watch the prisoners and keep their guard up.
---
Alton stood and stared down at the body before him on the ground. A respectably skilled foe, no doubt, dead for his country. That could have been Alton on another day, in another battle. The irony and fragility of life as a soldier twirled across his thoughts. There was still a pulsing of power coming from Fang, and it comforted Alton. He would never have to fight alone again.
“Sir,” the messenger said aloud to Alton, who stood staring down at the corpse of his foe.
“Sir?” The messenger repeated when he didn’t answer.
“Captain?” He heard the voice of Amelia and it snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Sergeant,” Alton responded with a wide smile and walked over to embrace the young woman.
“Sir, Wolf Company…” Amelia started to report, but Alton held up a hand to stave her off. He scanned the area and saw the fighting was all but over in this area of the battlefield. Alton turned to look at the messenger, who stayed quiet during their embrace. The kid was barely fifteen, if Alton guessed. He tried to put on a friendly smile and nodded.
“Sir, Major Corbin sent me. Third Army controls the battlefield towards the fortress. Tribesmen hit the Edorians from the side and they crumpled. Key targets have been neutralized and the surrendering force is being corralled. From what our intelligence can gather, Prince Amir was slain in the fighting. We have been unable to confirm a body as of yet. End of message, sir,” he reported.
“Thank you, son. Take a breather before you head back. Tell command that I think I know where the prince’s body is.” Alton responded and gave the messenger a fatherly pat on the head.
Alton stood over the corpse again and then bent down to remove the helmet. Seka could confirm the identity. She was back at the camp in the ridges with the injured. He motioned one of the Thoiri over and sent a pair to retrieve her. Then he posted five more to guard the corpse and prevent any lingering Edorians from getting any ideas.
“Let’s go see our company, sergeant. Amelia.” Alton said and wrapped his arm around her.
He flashed her a massive smile. She was coated in blood. They both were. Bodies littered the clearing as they passed through. Alton’s smile faded at the loss of life on display. All in the name of unfettered expansion, why wouldn’t Edoria just leave them alone?
They reached the middle of the former square and found Lews tending to the injured. Miser sat with Nelson, yet to wake, and cradled his brother’s head. Prian was holding a sobbing Letty next to them. Alton got closer and realized she was holding her hand over her eye. His heart broke for his young team. It was too much too fast for them, for anyone.
—-
In the aftermath of their hard-fought victory, with the din of battle still ringing in their ears and the field strewn with the evidence of their struggle, Alton gathered Wolf Company around him. The air was thick with the scent of valor and the bitter tang of loss, a poignant reminder of the cost of their triumph. His gaze swept across the faces of his comrades, each one marked by fatigue and the grim satisfaction of survival against daunting odds.
"My friends," Alton began, his voice cutting through the silence with a clarity that reached every heart, "today, we have forged a victory not just for ourselves, but for all who cherish life and freedom. Each one of you has fought with a valor that honors not only our fallen comrades, but every soul who dreams of a world free from tyranny."
He paused, letting his words sink in, his eyes reflecting the depth of his emotions. "We've proven that life, our lives, are worth fighting for. That the bonds we share, the alliances we forge in the heart of battle, are our most treasured assets. And in honoring those who have fallen, we pledge to carry their dreams and sacrifices forward, to ensure their loss was not in vain."
Alton's voice grew firmer, imbued with the resolve that had led them through the chaos of combat. "Ahead of us lie more battles, challenges that will test our spirit and our unity. But let this victory serve as the foundation upon which we will build our future, a testament to our strength and our determination."
He lifted Fang high into the air; the blade catching the light and casting a glow that seemed to pulse with life. "Power is not bestowed upon us freely; it is carved from the very essence of our being, earned through blood, sweat, and tears. We've felt the presence of the Wolf today, guiding us, lending us its strength. And we carry that spirit within us, a beacon of hope and resilience."
At that moment, Alton howled, a primal sound that resonated with the raw energy of their shared ordeal. The howl was taken up by his company, then spread to any Agorrans close enough to hear it. A chorus that echoed across the battlefield, a symbol of their their indomitable will.
As the sound faded, a solemn silence fell over them, a collective moment of reflection and acknowledgment of the path they had chosen. They stood together, a company bound by the fires of battle, ready to face whatever the future held with courage and an unwavering commitment to their cause. In their hearts, the memory of this day would burn bright, a beacon guiding them through the darkness, a reminder that together, they were unstoppable.
---
Poem commissioned after the Battle for Fort Kitsu.
In the shadowed vale 'neath Agorra's skies,
We raise our voices, where our faith lies.
Mad God of storms, of wild, untamed might,
Beneath your gaze, we bask in your light.
From mountains high to the valleys deep,
Your whispers stir the land from its sleep.
Agorra, our home, in your shadow cast,
In your strength, we anchor, held fast.
Victory's song, on our lips it dances,
To Agorra, land of our heart, it advances.
In battles fought 'neath the moon's watchful eye,
Your beauty guides us, our spirits fly.
The wolf howls within, its call fierce and bold,
A symbol of power, in Fang, we hold.
Through blood, sweat, and tears, our strength we earn,
In the fire of conflict, our spirits burn.
To those who've fallen, in silence, we bow,
Their courage and sacrifice, we avow.
In their memory, our resolve we find,
Their legacy, forever intertwined.
A foundation built on victories past,
A future where Agorra's banners cast.
Through trials and tribulation, we rise,
Beneath the Mad God's ever-watchful eyes.
The Mad God's blessing, a tempest's embrace,
In his madness, our path we trace.
Agorra's children, fierce and free,
In victory's song, our destiny.
We worship the storm, the chaos, the wild,
In the Mad God's image, we are styled.
Our faith, unbroken, in the dark we stand,
With the Mad God's might at our command.
The echoes of battle, in our hearts remain,
In our veins, the rush of the mountain's rain.
Agorra's song, a hymn of the brave,
In the shadow of the Mad God, we're saved.
Rejoice in victory, in the power we wield,
In the bloodied field, our fate is sealed.
The Mad God's favor, on us bestowed,
In the heart of battle, our courage showed.
The wolf's howl, a call to the wild,
The Mad God's children, fierce and beguiled.
Agorra's lands, our sacred trust,
In the Mad God's name, fight we must.
Through storms and darkness, our faith is our guide,
In the Mad God's shadow, we take pride.
Agorra's strength, in our hands it rests,
To the Mad God, we offer our best.
So sing the song of the Mad God's might,
In victory's embrace, we find our light.
Agorra's champions, bold and true,
In the Mad God's name, we renew.