The beetles charged. Horns forward, heads to the ground, devouring the open space and then driving their momentum into the enemy line. The enemy line buckled, gave back, gave back, then held firm. The sheer weight of enemy numbers backstopped their advance. Individually each beetle was a poor match for its adversary. Beetle soldiers started to fall. One here, one there, one caught in an ambush, another just overwhelmed by brute force.

But battle calmed the beetle soldiers. Long practice had them reforming smoothly, trimming their lines and grouping together. Soon there were no individual soldiers. There was only one mass of organized muscle, the beetle phalanx, with its deep ranks and shoulder-to-shoulder companies, horns fanning forward. Together the beetle phalanx ground into the enemy. So began the long, slow push.

Bob kept a side-eye on George. He was waiting for the moment when the beetles suddenly looked at each other and realized there was a dog in their midst. A dog sitting at the top of the most wanted list. Bob needed to get George out of there. He was scratching his head, wondering how on earth he could evacuate the dog, when, what, the beetles, were they, were they opening up a path for the dog?

Bob needn't have worried. Somehow George had managed to ingratiate himself with the surrounding beetles during their long trek together. I mean the way the beetles treated him... It was like he was an old war buddy and not the flame that had burned down their city.

Dogs really had it nice. Imagine what it'd be like to be universally loved. Heaven on earth. The beetles ushered George through to the front lines. He might have been their chosen champion, the respect and deference they showered on him. But George certainly earned his keep. He trotted forward and unleashed a billow of red flame that vaporized a knot of enemies. The beetles swarmed in after their champion.

Arthur didn't feel the need to concern himself with the small fry. He was a big fish. His target was other big fish. That or maybe the animal just had no idea what he was doing. He was blind after all. Either way he literally straight-lined it towards three's company.

Young trees blocking the way, splintered. Lesser monsters, dashed underfoot or tossed to either side. The giant woodlouse, viciously horn-skewered. The woodlouse hadn't even had time to curl up defensively, so suddenly did Arthur steamroll into it. The blunted horn penetrated soft flesh and a transparent liquid gushed out as the woodlouse seemed almost to deflate.

Arthur barely seemed to notice. He increased pace, hauling his trophy in front of him like it was a fancy hat and not a colossal monster slowly dying. He charged clean through the melee. Arthur was on the warpath. Bar not the way of the beetle and his rider. Arthur ramped up speed as he neared the patch of oak trees, he couched his lance and galloped at the enemy stronghold. For glory!

The beetle-train slammed into one of the ancient trees. There was an explosion. Woodlouse blood and guts rained down on everyone. The beetle's horn had thrust clean through the trunk and nearly impaled Chad, who was trembling on hands and knees staring up at the weapon hovering in front of him. The poor woodlouse, caught between the tree and the beetle's head, had been viced together and splattered under the pressure. Crack. The oak teetered, it wobbled. Rad looked up, open-mouthed, as the enormous pillar of wood trembled over his head. The oak held.

Arthur's charge was broken. The beetle kept rotating his legs, trying to power through, but he was all tangled up in the branches, his horn caught fast, his strength and anger dripping away. The mighty oak had endured. The strength of age and slow growth. Bob, on the other hand, had been thrown clean out of his seat as the impact jerked the horn-peg out of Arthur's body. He'd landed in the mud a few feet away and skipped across the ground before being deposited in a friendly bramble bush.

Bob staggered up to his feet, mumbling something about two eight five. The sounds of battle raged all around him. He was disoriented. His head spun and his vision doubled. He put one hand against a tree to steady himself and was almost beheaded by a reaper insect's stray slash. He managed to duck out of the way at the last second, only for an owl-bat to score a mean scrap along his neck. He whipped Harry off and cloaked away the animal. It was a madhouse. He'd just gotten to his feet when a spider crashed into him. He tensed, preparing to defend himself, before realizing the spider was already dead, its belly slashed open. His vision cleared. Where was Arthur?

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Rad was walking calmly over to the pinned Arthur, screwdriver in hand. "Two eight two," Bob called out, "two eight one, two eighty."

Rad wasn't distracted. He didn't even look around. Maybe he couldn't hear Bob. Bob rushed forward. He'd make it. He could still make it. Bob tripped over a root and face planted. A good thing too because one of the last surviving Raupenflieger exploded over his head. But when Bob looked up, Rad was standing beside Arthur's head.

"Two seven nine!" Bob shouted at Rad to stop.

"Two seven eight," he pleaded with the man. The heartless, evil man.

The screwdriver started to whir. Vrrr-vrrr-vrrr. The blade slid cleanly into Arthur's head. The beetle stopped struggling. The blade slid out. The whirring sound stopped. Rad turned away and walked back to his friends.

Bob jumped up. It wasn't over. Not yet. Bob threw himself forward, he somersaulted, he dodged, he'd made it all the way to Arthur's side. He gasped for breath as he swung his pack around and fumbled for a health patch. He'd made it. He dropped the patch. He grabbed out another one. He dropped it. He caught it. He tore it open and slapped it on Arthur's side. He'd made it.

He sighed, relaxed, let himself slump against the beetle's body. Arthur didn't stir. Bob prodded the beetle. Nothing. Bob prodded the beetle harder. Nothing. Bob swallowed. He took out another patch. He slapped it on. The patches were magic. Magic! That impossible force of fantasy with the power to do the unthinkable. Arthur would be okay. Arthur was Bob's companion. His knight. His steed. Bob and the beetle. They'd crossed blades together. They'd galloped across the plain together.

Dammit! When had Bob started caring so much for the animal? Bob pounded his chest. This weak heart of mine. Arthur didn't move. The patches were broken. They weren't working. One hole in the brain too many.

"Two six four. Two six three." Bob moaned into Arthur's side. It was his fault. He'd wounded Arthur to the point where the beetle couldn't defend himself properly. Why hadn't he healed the animal on the way here? He could have. He should have. But in his head, he'd still thought of the creature as a monster. A thing that couldn't appreciate good intentions or gratitude. He worried the animal would betray him. He was the betrayer. Arthur was dead.

Bob had been so prejudiced against the creatures. He'd attacked them without cause. He'd ravaged their home. He'd farmed them for experience. And even after he'd seen past their monstrous form, he'd doubted them.

He heard the beetle's war music echoing across the forest. The rear ranks drummed their horns together, encouraging the front-liners to hold steady, to keep the line and push back the enemy. The beetles were gaining ground inch by inch. Their enemies were disunited. One monster would backstab another while it was distracted by the beetles and the beetle war machine would grind forward.

And what was that? George was padding lightly over the beetle's backs. He made his way up and down the line, fire-breathing away a pockets of fierce resistance. Look how the beetles trusted him. Look how they worked together. And Bob had sent Arthur into battle blind and wounded.

Bob wanted to be a better man. But the way was hard. And every step brought him fresh regrets. Harry threw himself up as a dart flew at Bob's position. They hadn't hesitated. They hadn't hesitated. They'd meant to kill him here. Harry caught the dart a few inches away from Bob's face. The blade penetrated easily, but the handle and feathers stayed caught. The dart continued to strain against the cloak, struggling to break free and push its way into Bob's face.

That must be Lad's companion object: telekinetic darts. Or is telekinesis his ability? It didn't matter. Bob's mission was clear. His course set. His intention sharp. They would know the mud magician.

A few testing drops of rain pattered down and then the storm came. The rain sheeted over them. In two seconds everybody was drenched through. Water pooled in the churned up earth. The leaves trembled. A cold, dark, night rain. The rain of the mud magician. Bob rose to his feet. Hood up. A pearly, white dagger in hand. The smile of death.

The three men faltered a little at the sight of him. At those dark, burning eyes. Something about the figure made them uneasy. Their base senses tingled, telling them to flee, to run away and never look back. They felt his eyes upon them and they were afraid. He was chanting. They tried to parse out what he was saying. Some arcane formulation, some spell of destruction, some evil prayer. Numbers, they heard numbers.

And then out of nowhere a massive crocodile lunged at the figure. They were saved. Fortune had not abandoned them. But then.. Chad stepped back instinctively. The crocodile had disappeared. Just vanished. Like the earth had suddenly chasmed opened and swallowed the monster under. It had happened in the blink of an eye. That terrifying monster just, snap, and disappeared. Hell had reached up and devoured the beast.

Chad shook his head. The knife fell out of his hand. There was no fighting something like that. He looked from Rad to Lad, begging them with his eyes: "they should run, they had to run. Now was their last chance. Their own chance. That thing wasn't prey. That thing was a demon, an avenging angel, a god of death." The cold rain sheeted over him and he felt the chill in his bones. It was a monster standing there in front of them. A monster that eats monsters.

They would know the mud magician.