Alton slumped against the cavern wall, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. His armor was dented and scored, the links stained a deep crimson from the tide of fiend ichor. Numerous cuts and bruises marred the exposed flesh of his face and hands where his protection had failed.
He closed his eyes for a moment, willing his racing heart to slow as he cycled his mana. The dizzying depletion from unleashing Strength of the Pack had left him utterly drained, his core hovering perilously close to empty. But the rhythmic flow of energy helped restore a semblance of balance, refilling his reservoirs one precious drop at a time. The sixth node now shine brightly around his core. Only one left and he would reach the eighth tier, a feat unmatched for half a millennia in Agorra.
A soft shuffling nearby made Alton crack open an eye. It was Lews, the young healer's face etched with concern as he approached. Without a word, the boy reached out, his fingers glowing with rejuvenating mana.
Alton caught his wrist with a gentle but firm grip, shaking his head. "Save your strength," he rasped, his voice little more than a graveled whisper. "There are others who need it more."
Lews opened his mouth to protest, but Alton silenced him with a pointed look. The healer's shoulders slumped in resignation before he turned and hurried off to tend to the wounded.
Letting his head fall back against the rock, Alton took stock of the battlefield. The cavern floor was littered with the broken corpses of fiends, their twisted bodies lying in pools of viscous black ichor. The reek of death and decay hung thick in the air, a noxious miasma that burned his nostrils with every breath.
Yet intermingled with the fiend dead were the fallen forms of Thoiri warriors. Alton's gaze passed over them, a leaden weight settling in his gut. Too many. Far too many good souls lost to this darkness.
His eyes found Miser and Nelson standing vigil over the body of a fallen comrade, their faces grim masks of anguish and fatigue. Nearby, Amelia and Seka tended to the wounded with quiet determination. Letty helped where she could, her brow furrowed with worry as she worked to staunch the bleeding from a grievous wound.
Even General Thrakul looked diminished, the proud Thoiri commander slumped against the cavern wall as he struggled to bind a vicious gash along his ribs. His eyes met Alton's across the chaos, a fleeting moment of grim acknowledgment passing between them.
A low growl built in Alton's throat, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. This couldn't go on. They couldn't keep trading lives for meager victories while the true enemy still drew breath. Ulgarath had to be stopped, no matter the cost. If he didn't end this soon, there wouldn't be anyone left to save.
The Wolf stirred within him, sensing his turmoil and offering its feral strength. But Alton pushed it back, drawing a ragged breath to steady himself. Not yet. He couldn't allow the beast's rage to consume him, not until he was ready to unleash its full fury upon their true foes.
Gritting his teeth, Alton forced himself to rise. His battered body protested the movement, every muscle screaming in agony. But he refused to remain idle any longer.
Amelia approached Alton, her shoulders slumped and her eyes downcast. The usual fire in her gaze had been extinguished, replaced by a haunted look that cut straight to Alton's core.
"Captain," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "We lost four of our own back there."
The words hit Alton like a physical blow, stealing the breath from his lungs. Four more souls added to the ever-growing tally of lives claimed by this accursed war. His fists clenched at his sides as he fought to maintain his composure.
"Who?" he managed, bracing himself for the names he dreaded to hear.
Amelia swallowed hard, her gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to meet his. "Jori. Furn. Hurd. And Desent."
Alton closed his eyes, feeling the weight of their loss settle upon his shoulders like a mantle of lead. Jori, the eager young scout with so much potential. Furn and Hurd, two of his most stalwart blades. And Desent, the quiet private who had only just begun to find his footing in the chaos of war.
"They fought bravely," Amelia continued, her voice strained. "We pushed forward as a company, right behind you. But the fiends outflanked us, and we became surrounded, overwhelmed. By the time we regained our momentum, they were gone."
Her composure cracked, a single tear trailing down her cheek. "I'm sorry. I should have been stronger, faster. I should have-"
"No." Alton stepped forward, cutting her off with a gentle shake of his head. "You did everything you could, Amelia. The fault lies with me and me alone."
Reaching out, he cupped her chin in his calloused hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "The burden of command is never heavier than after a battle," he said, his voice low but firm. "But you cannot allow it to crush you. Our people need you, now more than ever."
He searched her eyes, seeing the turmoil and self-doubt swirling within their emerald depths. "I am immensely proud of the soldier you have become, Amelia. Your courage, your determination, your unwavering spirit – these are the qualities that will see us through the darkness to come."
Alton's thumb brushed away the solitary tear, his touch feather-light against her skin. "We will mourn our fallen brothers and sisters," he vowed. "But we cannot let their sacrifices be in vain. We must press on, for them and for all those who still draw breath in the face of this evil."
Straightening, he let his hand fall away, his gaze sweeping over the battered remnants of his company. "Rest now," he said, his voice carrying the weight of a command. "Tend to your wounds and steel your resolve. We rest for an hour and then march back to Aethelwurn. This is only the beginning."
Alton gathered his core team around him - Amelia, Jonah, Prian, Miser and Seka. Thrakul, the grizzled Thoiri commander, joined them as well, his imposing frame still bearing the marks of the recent battle.
"You fought well today, General," Alton said, his voice laced with a newfound respect for the Thoiri warrior. "Your soldiers showed true valor in the face of overwhelming odds."
Thrakul inclined his head, his obsidian eyes betraying nothing. "The honor is ours to fight alongside you, Captain. Though the cost was high, we have struck a blow against the fiend horde."
Alton nodded grimly. "Aye, but it is merely the first of many. We cannot afford to linger here any longer."
He turned to his officers, his expression hardening. "Wolf Company will depart for Aethelwurn within the hour. Take what fighters are still able and make preparations to move out."
Amelia's brow furrowed with concern. "But what of the wounded? And our fallen?"
"I will remain behind with a small contingent," Thrakul interjected. "We will see to the proper rites for your dead and ensure they are returned to Aethelwurn with honor. I am in no shape to fight right now."
Alton met the Thoiri's obsidian stare, a silent understanding passing between them. With a solemn nod, he said, "I leave it in your capable hands, General. Appoint one of your commanders to oversee the retrieval efforts."
Turning back to his officers, Alton's voice took on a harder edge. "The rest of us must press on. Aethelwurn will soon be under siege, and they will need every blade we can muster to defend her walls."
His gaze swept over them, eyes blazing with determination. "Make no mistake, my friends – the true battle lies ahead. But I have faith that together, we will weather the coming storm and emerge victorious. For Agorra!"
The words rang out like a battle cry, echoing off the cavern walls. As one, his officers voiced their assent, fists thumping against breastplates in a resounding chorus of loyalty and resolve.
* * *
Alton felt the strain of his overexerted mana core like a dull ache throughout his entire body. Unleashing Strength of the Pack on such a massive scale had pushed him to his absolute limits, leaving him utterly drained in the aftermath. Each step back towards Aethelwurn was a monumental effort, his boots feeling as though they were weighed down by lead.
He caught Jonah's concerned gaze and managed a tight smile, gesturing for the old priest to join him. Alton appreciated having Jonah by his side – not only for his wisdom and counsel but for the grounding presence he provided amidst the chaos.
"How fare you, my friend?" Jonah asked once they fell into step, his voice hushed to avoid carrying too far.
Alton exhaled a weary breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I'll live," he said wryly. "Though I fear I may have overextended myself back there."
Jonah elbowed him with a chuckle. "You used your skill on the entire Thoiri force, did you not? You may have overextended?"
With a chuckle in return, Alton said, "It was the only way to turn the tide before we were overwhelmed completely. We knew it was a gamble going in, you agreed to this plan!" He threw up his hands in fake exasperation.
He shot Jonah a sidelong glance. "How many would you estimate were empowered by my surge?"
The old priest stroked his beard thoughtfully. "If I had to hazard a guess? At least a thousand Thoiri fighters, perhaps more. The sheer scope of mana you channeled was..." He trailed off, shaking his head in awe.
Alton grunted, unsurprised by the staggering number. No wonder he felt as though he'd been put through a mana-press. Enhancing that many soldiers at once was a feat he'd never before attempted.
"It seems the higher we climb, the greater our potential grows," Jonah mused. "Once you reach the eighth tier, who knows what limits you might surpass."
That caught Alton's interest, his weariness momentarily forgotten. "The eighth tier" he echoed. "Remember when we thought the fourth tier was the ceiling?" He chuckled.
Jonah nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I have reached the sixth tier as well, I believe the rest are not far behind me."
Alton smiled and nodded for him to continue.
"It happened in the midst of the battle," Jonah explained. "One moment, I was pouring everything I had into blasting the biggest and nastiest looking fiends. The next, this sigil manifested, burning itself into my core." He shook his head, clearly still in awe of the transformation. "I've never felt power like this coursing through me before. It's like the clock has been turned back on my life."
Alton smiled as he listened to his oldest friend, "I've never seen markings like these in any of the texts," he murmured. "Do you recognize them?"
"Nor I," Jonah admitted with a weary chuckle. "Which tells me we're well and truly traversing uncharted territory, my friend. Who knows what other wonders await us in the higher realms of attunement?"
Sweeping his free hand out to indicate the battered remnants of their combined forces, he said, "In any case, I'm grateful to have witnessed the full extent of your growth firsthand. Letty and I were able to synchronize our mana flows, channeling wave after wave of empowered strikes to decimate the fiend ranks."
Alton couldn't help but grin at that, a surge of pride swelling in his chest. "Truly? You'll have to show me that trick sometime, old man."
Jonah laughed, the sound carrying a warmth that helped alleviate the sting of their losses, if only for a moment. "I'd be delighted. Though perhaps once we've both had a chance to recover our strength, yes?"
Nodding, Alton clapped the old priest on the shoulder, allowing the brief spark of levity to bolster his spirit. They would endure, as they always had. And with each battle fought, each evolution achieved, their legend would only grow.
Aethelwurn erupted in raucous cheers as Alton and his battered forces marched through the eastern gate. Word of their hard-won victory against the fiend horde had already spread like wildfire, sparking an outpouring of jubilation amidst the city's defenders.
Alton felt a surge of pride swell in his chest at the deafening roar, raising a weary hand in acknowledgment of their reception. Even in the face of such overwhelming odds, the Thoiri's indomitable spirit shone through, bolstering his own resolve.
Once they cleared the thronging crowds, he turned to address Wolf Company and their Thoiri allies. "You've more than earned your respite," he said, raising his voice to carry over the lingering din. "Get yourselves to the barracks, eat, and see to your wounds. We'll need to be at full strength before long."
With a nod of gratitude, he dismissed them, watching as the ragged procession peeled off towards the cavernous barracks hewn from the stone itself. Only then did he allow himself to slacken his shoulders, the weight of command bearing down on him like a physical force.
His command staff were promptly ushered through the winding tunnels towards the council chambers at the heart of the immense cavern city. As they entered the dimly lit space, the gathered Thoiri commanders and elders rose to their feet in a show of respect.
"Well met, Captain," rumbled General Brethar, the imposing second-in-command. The grizzled warrior stepped forward, the massive warhammer slung across his back leaving little doubt as to his prowess. "Your heroics have bought us a much-needed reprieve."
Alton inclined his head. "The true heroes are those who gave their lives on the field today," he said, his voice tinged with solemnity. "But I'll accept your thanks all the same."
What followed was a brisk but thorough briefing on the state of Aethelwurn's defenses. Brethar revealed that the Thoiri had been hard at work laying traps and fortifications throughout the city's labyrinthine tunnels and open areas surrounding the main gates.
"We've stockpiled weapons, rations, arrows – you name it," the general said gruffly. "And marked all the caches on these maps for you." He slid a rolled parchment across the table towards Alton, who caught it and passed it along to Prian with a nod.
As the briefing continued, Alton couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer scale of the preparations achieved in such a brief window. The Thoiri were leaving nothing to chance in the defense of their home.
When he inquired as to how they'd managed such an immense undertaking so rapidly, the council's answer left him stunned. "A great many of our people refused the call to evacuate," one of the elders explained, his voice heavy with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "They would sooner die defending Aethelwurn than abandon our ancestral home to the fiends."
Alton felt his throat tighten at the depths of conviction those words carried. To willingly remain, knowing the nightmare that would soon be descending upon the city... it was the sort of selfless courage that inspired songs and legends.
With a solemn nod, he rose from his seat, signaling the end of their council. "Then we must ensure their sacrifice is not in vain," he said, his voice catching despite his best efforts. "Aethelwurn will stand, no matter the cost. Of that, you have my solemn vow."
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* * *
Alton strode into the barracks, his boots echoing against the stone floor. The immense space had been converted into a makeshift mess hall, with long tables groaning under the weight of a sumptuous feast. The rich aromas of roasted meats and hearty stews filled the air, making his mouth water.
He scanned the assembled members of Wolf Company, taking in their weary but triumphant expressions. They had earned this respite a hundred times over after the brutal clash against the fiend horde. With a nod of approval, he waved them towards the laden tables.
"Eat your fill and get some rest," he called out, his voice carrying through the vaulted space. "But before you bed down, I want everyone to cycle their cores. We'll need to be at full strength come the morning."
A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the ranks as they settled in, the clatter of plates and utensils soon filling the air. Alton made his way to the head of the hall, accepting a trencher piled high with slices of roasted meat and crusty bread from one of the Thoiri servers.
He took a bite, savoring the rich flavors as he scanned the battered faces of his company. So many had fallen in the battles leading up to this point – good soldiers, loyal friends. A pang of sorrow lanced through him, though he refused to let it show.
When he'd cleared his plate, he rose to his feet once more, raising his voice to be heard over the din. "Before we rest, I want to take a moment to honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of Aethelwurn." The hall fell silent, all eyes turning towards him with a somber weight.
"Jori, Furn, Hurd, Desent..." Alton intoned each name with reverence, letting the syllables hang in the air for a beat. "They gave everything in the battle against the fiend horde. Their courage, their tenacity, their unwavering spirit. They represent everything that we are fighting for, the spirit of Agorra itself. Hold them in your hearts, use that grief, that rage as a weapon, wield it against our foes!"
After his rousing speech, Alton watched as his soldiers dug into their well-earned meal with gusto. The weariness etched into their faces seemed to fade, if only for a moment, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and purpose.
Satisfied, he slipped away from the raucous hall, making his way through the winding tunnels towards his private quarters. The close confines felt almost suffocating after the grandeur of Aethelwurn's main cavern, but he'd grown used to such spartan accommodations over the years.
Shedding his armor, he sank onto the narrow cot with a weary sigh. Fang and Fury lay within easy reach, their blades still stained with the ichor of the fiends they'd slain. Closing his eyes, he began the familiar process of cycling his mana, letting the energy flow through him in a steady rhythm.
The Wolf stirred within, its essence thrumming in tandem with the ebb and flow of power. Alton could sense its hunger, its desire for battle and conquest. But he kept it leashed, refusing to let the primal force overwhelm him. Not tonight. Tonight was for rest and recovery.
He drifted off to the sound of his own breathing, his body finally surrendering to the bone-deep exhaustion that had settled in his muscles...
Only to be jarred awake what felt like mere moments later by a thunderous crash that shook the very foundations of Aethelwurn. Alton was on his feet in an instant, swords in hand as the unmistakable cries of battle echoed through the tunnels.
Throwing open the door, he was greeted by a scene of utter chaos. Thoiri warriors rushed past, their faces twisted into masks of fear and determination. Overhead, the echoing blasts of mana detonations shook loose dust and debris from the cavern ceiling.
"To arms!" Alton roared, his voice cutting through the din. "Wolf Company, to me!"
Already, he could sense the rest of his soldiers stirring, their training kicking in as they grabbed their weapons and armor. Fang thrummed with power in his grip, the Wolf's essence burning white-hot as it scented the bloodshed to come.
Sprinting through the chaos, Alton led his company towards the northern gate, where the sounds of battle grew ever louder. Fiend and Thoiri alike were locked in a desperate melee, their bodies little more than indistinct shapes amid the swirling dust and flashing blades.
Then, through the haze, Alton saw him – a towering figure wreathed in darkness, his very presence a malevolent force that seemed to suck the air from the cavern. Xulgoth, the Sapient commander, raised a single, clawed hand as tendrils of black mana coalesced around him.
The blast that followed was like nothing Alton had ever witnessed...
* * *
Alton watched in horror as Xulgoth's mana blast slammed into the northern gate with the force of a thousand thunderclaps. The shockwave rippled outward, hurling Thoiri defenders through the air like ragdolls. Stone and metal shrieked in protest as the massive barrier simply disintegrated, leaving a gaping maw in Aethelwurn's defenses.
Through the billowing clouds of dust and smoke, Alton could make out the first ranks of the fiend horde pouring into the breach. Twisted, chitinous forms surged forward in a frenzied tide, their bestial roars drowning out the screams of the wounded and dying.
"Wolf Company, with me!" he roared, his voice cutting through the cacophony like a blade. Fang thrummed with power in his grip, the Wolf's essence burning white-hot in anticipation of the slaughter to come.
Without hesitation, he charged headlong into the melee, Fury a blur of steel as he cut a path through the fiend ranks. All around him, his soldiers fought with the same desperate intensity, their blades clashing against an unending tide of horror.
A massive Carrion Stalker loomed before him, its mandibles dripping with viscous ichor. Alton met its charge head-on, the force of their collision shaking the very ground beneath his feet. Fang lashed out in a blinding arc, shearing through the creature's armored carapace with sickening ease.
Another fiend replaced the first, then another and another still. Alton lost himself in the rhythm of battle, his arms burning with exertion as he fought to hold the line. Dimly, he was aware of his core thrumming with power, the Wolf's essence singing through his veins as he pulled on its strength.
Fang and Fury became extensions of his own body, weapons of pure destruction as he wove a deadly dance amidst the fiend ranks. Each strike carried the weight of his full fury, shattering bone and sundering flesh with every blow.
Beside him, Amelia fought with the same indomitable spirit, her blade a whirling dervish of steel and mana. Miser and Nelson stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their tower shields forming an implacable wall against the fiend onslaught. Arrows streaked through the air, each one finding its mark as Letty and the other archers rained death from above.
Yet for every fiend that fell, three more seemed to take its place. The unending horde crashed against Alton and his soldiers in cresting waves, threatening to drown them beneath an ocean of claws and fangs.
Dimly, he was aware of the Thoiri army finally rousing to the threat, their war cries echoing through the cavern as they rushed to join the fray. But it might already be too late – the fiends had penetrated too deeply into the city's heart, their momentum carrying them ever forward like an unstoppable tide.
Alton grit his teeth, his arms burning with exertion as he pressed the attack. The Wolf howled within him, reveling in the bloodshed, its hunger stoked ever higher with each life he claimed. He could feel his core thrumming, the power building to a crescendo as he cycled the mana in a dizzying torrent.
The thrill of combat washed away the weariness that had dogged him mere moments ago. His body was a weapon, honed to a razor's edge by a lifetime of training and hardship. And in that moment, with Fang and Fury as his instruments of destruction, he would carve his way through the fiend ranks until the city was scoured clean of their foul presence.
No matter the cost.
* * *
The battle raged on, the clangor of steel against chitin echoing through the smoke-choked streets of Aethelwurn. Alton's arms burned with exertion, his muscles screaming in protest with every swing of Fang and Fury. Yet still he fought on, driven by an unquenchable fury that burned brighter than any fatigue.
A towering Scythantis warrior loomed before him, its mandibles clacking in a grotesque parody of laughter. Alton met its charge head-on, the force of their collision rattling his bones. Fang lashed out in a blinding arc, shearing through the creature's armored carapace with sickening ease.
As the monster's ichor-slick corpse crumpled to the ground, Alton became aware of a presence unlike any he'd ever felt before. A malevolent aura radiated through the chaos, its sheer enormity threatening to smother him beneath its weight.
Xulgoth.
The Sapient strode through the carnage as if he owned it, his towering form seeming to blot out the very light itself. Alton's grip tightened around Fang's hilt as he beheld the creature's twisted visage – a grotesque amalgamation of insect and nightmare given hideous form.
With a roar that shook the foundations of Aethelwurn itself, he launched himself at Xulgoth in a whirling dervish of steel and fury. Fang and Fury lashed out in a blinding flurry of strikes, each one carrying enough force to shatter mountains.
Yet for all his preternatural speed and power, Xulgoth seemed to anticipate his every move. The Sapient's bulk shifted with unnatural grace, his armored carapace deflecting Alton's blades, though at a cost. Alton could see that his strikes were having an effect, the fiend roaring in anguish with each hit. Alton dove forward and struck out with both blades, piercing deep into the fiends side.
A massive pincer lashed out, catching Alton across the ribs with bone-shattering force. He felt the wind driven from his lungs as he was hurled through the air like a child's toy, his world exploding into a kaleidoscope of pain and darkness.
He hit the ground hard, his sword clattering from his grip as he fought to draw breath past the blazing agony in his chest. Dimly, he was aware of the fiends closing ranks around him, their bestial roars echoing through the haze of his pain. He tried to rise and went back down hard, his body crying out in protest.
A scream rang out, pure and terrible in its anguish. Alton forced his eyes open just in time to see Elda fall, her slender form crumpling beneath the weight of a Carrion Stalker's charge. Mara was next, her lifeblood spilling forth in a crimson arc as a Scythantis warrior's blade found its mark.
No...not again. He wouldn't – couldn't – watch his company be slaughtered before his eyes.
With a wordless snarl of fury, Alton pulled the Wolf's power into himself, feeling it burn through his veins like wildfire. His wounds were temporarily forgotten, his muscles swelling with power. He rose to his knees like a specter on a haunted battlefield and ignited with a furious surge.
He would not fall here. Not while his soldiers still drew breath.
A thunderous war cry split the air as General Thrakul led a fresh wave of Thoiri warriors into the fray. Like a tsunami crashing against a cliff face, they smashed into the fiend ranks with the full weight of their fury.
Alton was back on his feet in an instant, Fang and Fury clutched in his white-knuckled grip as he rejoined the battle with a snarl of pure, undiluted rage. Xulgoth was gone, having moved to another area of the battlefield. Alton dove back into the tide of combat, lives hanging in the balance.
* * *
The tide of battle seemed to shift as the Aethelwurn resistance poured into the streets, their fury unrelenting. Alton felt a surge of hope as he cut through another knot of fiends, Fang and Fury moving as extensions of his own limbs.
Yet that hope was short-lived. A deafening roar split the air, the very ground quaking beneath Alton's feet. He whirled, dread coiling in his gut as he beheld Xulgoth's towering form once more.
The Sapient's mandibles were spread wide, his eyes burning with eldritch fire as he gathered his power. With a sweep of one massive pincer, he unleashed a torrent of pure mana that scythed through the Thoiri ranks. Soldiers were rent asunder by the sheer force of the blast, their bodies torn apart at the molecular level.
Alton could only watch in horror as the carnage unfolded, bile rising in his throat. He tried to move, to act, but found himself rooted in place by the sheer enormity of Xulgoth's power.
The fiend turned its malevolent gaze upon Alton, and he knew in that moment that it recognized him as the greatest threat. It gathered its power once more, and this time Alton was ready.
He poured every ounce of his being into his connection with the Wolf, feeling the primal essence surge through him like a raging torrent. Just as Xulgoth unleashed its devastating attack, Alton countered with a blast of his own – a roiling maelstrom of snow-white energy that rippled with power.
The two forces collided in a cataclysmic explosion that sent shockwaves rippling through the city. Alton was hurled from his feet, his ears ringing, his vision whiting out from the sheer force of the detonation.
When his senses finally returned, he found himself surrounded by the shattered remnants of buildings, his body broken and battered. Every breath was an exercise in agony, his ribs feeling like shattered glass grinding against his lungs.
Xulgoth was already up, limping in his direction. He saw the air shimmer as the fiend gathered power again, knowing he wouldn't be able to respond in time. A shadow fell over him, and Alton recognized Amelia. She was glowing brightly in his vision as she bent down to pick up Fang. He watched her wield a torrent of energy and she surged towards the Great Fiend.
Amelia's form blurred as she charged, the mana around her swirling in a vortex of pure energy. Xulgoth turned to face this new threat, its mandibles clicking in what Alton could only assume was amusement at the audacity of this small human.
But Amelia was no mere human in that moment. She was a force of nature incarnate, The Wolf rode her, a whirlwind of steel and sorcery that crashed against the Sapient's bulk with the fury of a typhoon. Fang blazed with azure light, trailing afterimages in its wake as she wove an intricate dance of death around the fiend.
Each blow landed with a thunderous impact that shook Alton to his core. He could feel the power radiating from Amelia in waves, a brilliant beacon that drew the rest of Wolf Company like moths to a flame. They joined the fray in a coordinated flurry, harrying Xulgoth from all sides.
The Sapient bellowed in rage, lashing out with its pincers in sweeping arcs that could have cleaved a boulder in two. But Amelia was always a step ahead, parrying and riposting with almost preternatural speed. Where she could not deflect, her companions took the brunt of the blows upon their shields, buying her precious seconds to counterattack.
Alton could only watch, his vision wavering in and out of focus, as the battle raged around him. He saw Nelson take a glancing blow that sent him tumbling, only for Miser to step in and deflect the follow-up strike. Letty's arrows found their mark with unerring accuracy, punching through the fiend's chitinous armor and drawing ichor with each hit.
And at the center of it all was Amelia, a whirling dervish of destruction. She was blinding in his manasight, forcing him to quash it. Her face was a mask of grim determination, her eyes burning with the same inner fire that had first drawn Alton to her in that dusty training yard nearly a year ago.
With a final, mighty heave, she brought Fang around in a horizontal arc that caught Xulgoth square in the chest. The mana-infused blade punched through the Sapient's armored carapace as if it were parchment, burying itself to the hilt in the fiend's black heart. She roared and pulsed brighter as energy traveled the length of her sword.
Xulgoth let loose a scream of pure, unadulterated agony that seemed to shake the very foundations of the city. Its limbs flailed wildly, smashing into buildings and sending rubble cascading in all directions.
But the damage was done. Alton could see the life force draining from the Sapient's eyes, the once-bright flames guttering and fading. With a final, rattling exhalation, Xulgoth collapsed in a heap, its bulk hitting the ground with an impact that made Alton's teeth rattle.
The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was Amelia's face, her expression one of equal parts triumph and concern as she rushed to his side.
* * *
Amelia's heart thrummed with energy as she witnessed Xulgoth's body crumple to the ground, his foul essence dissipating into the air. A surge of relief washed over her, but she knew the battle was far from over. The fiend army, deprived of their leader's control, descended into chaos.
"Wolf Company, to me!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the cacophony of battle. Her comrades rallied around her, their weapons at the ready. Prian appeared at her side, his eyes sharp and focused.
"We need to push them back," Amelia said, her gaze sweeping over the streets filled with the clashing of blades and the cries of the wounded. "Prian, take half the company and secure this area, keep the captain safe. I'm going to find Thrakul and co-ordinate with him."
Prian nodded, his face set with grim determination. "We'll drive them out, Sergeant," he said, his voice filled with conviction.
Amelia turned to the rest of the company, her heart swelling with pride at their unwavering resolve. "For Agorra!" she cried, raising her sword high.
The company echoed her rallying cry, and they charged into the fray, their blades cutting through the disorganized ranks of the fiends. Amelia fought with a ferocity born of desperation, her sword a blur of motion as she carved a path through the enemy. She could feel the presence of her comrades around her, their combined strength amplified by their unity.
The battle raged for hours, the streets of Aethelwurn becoming a maze of carnage and chaos. Amelia's muscles burned with exertion, but she refused to falter. She caught glimpses of Prian and his team pushing the fiends back, their movements synchronized and lethal.
As the day wore on, the fiend army's resistance began to wane. Their ranks thinned, and their attacks grew desperate. Amelia pressed the advantage, her company surging forward with renewed vigor.
It took two long days of relentless fighting, but finally, the last of the fiends were driven from the city. Amelia stood amidst the rubble and debris, her sword stained with the blood of her enemies. She surveyed the devastation around her, her heart heavy with the weight of the sacrifices made.
* * *
Amelia sat by Alton's bedside, her eyes tracing the rise and fall of his chest as he lay motionless. The soft glow of the lantern cast flickering shadows across his face, accentuating the lines of exhaustion etched into his features.
Lews had just finished checking on Alton, his brow furrowed with concern. "I've done all I can for now," he said, his voice low. "The rest is up to him and the strength of his spirit."
Amelia nodded, her throat tight with emotion. As Lews slipped out of the chamber, she turned her attention back to Alton, her hand reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
"You stubborn fool," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You always have to push yourself to the brink, don't you?"
She took a deep breath, steadying herself as she recounted the events of the past few days. "We drove the fiends out of Aethelwurn, just as you knew we would. The city is ours again, though the cost was high."
Amelia's mind drifted to the council meeting earlier that day, where they had discussed the next steps in their campaign against Ulgarath's forces. The Thoiri were determined to press the advantage, to take the fight to the enemy before they could regroup.
"We'll be moving out soon, but not without you," she said, her fingers tracing the contours of Alton's hand. "The Thoiri threw a feast tonight, to honor those who fell and to celebrate our victory. There's plenty of that mushroom wine you love waiting for you when you wake up."
Amelia felt a lump forming in her throat as she gazed at Alton's still form. "You have to wake up soon, Captain. I'm not sure I can do this without you." She leaned forward, her forehead resting against his, and whispered a silent prayer to the Mad God, begging for his return.
The chamber fell silent, save for the soft crackle of the lantern and the steady rhythm of Alton's breathing. Amelia remained at his side, her hand clasped tightly around his, as the night wore on.
* * *
Oh Mad God, whose fury once reshaped the land,
Grant us insight, a healing hand.
In the wake of battle, where wounds run deep,
Guide our healers, let their knowledge leap.
From the depths of chaos, where wisdom hides,
Unveil the secrets that healing provides.
Let them see beyond the flesh, to the core,
Where mana flows, and life can be restored.
As you once mended a broken world,
Inspire our healers, let their skills be unfurled.
With gentle touch and unwavering will,
May they mend the broken, and make the wounded still.
Oh Mad God, whose power knows no end,
Grant us insight, let healing transcend.
In your name, we seek to ease the pain,
And bring solace to those who have been slain.