Every passing second was a nightmare that not even the most depraved hag could conjure. The basement was damp, the steady drip of water forming a maddening rhythm against the cacophony of destruction outside. Dust and debris fell with each explosion, the old walls groaning in protest, threatening to collapse.
Yzael's breaths came ragged and labored, her face a ghostly pale against the dim, flickering light. The pool of blood beneath her seemed to steadily grow with each passing minute, a stark contrast to the gray floor. Gideon's hands were stained red, pressing down on Yzael's wound, trying to stem the flow. His eyes, always so fierce and unyielding, were now filled with raw anguish as panic started to creep into his face.
"Gideon," she whispered weakly, knowing her end was slowly starting to creep closer and closer, "I'm scared."
Gideon's heart felt like a solid piece of lead heavily sinking into the deep abyss. Swallowing hard, the large, solidly built man forced back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. "I know," he whispered back, offering a comforting touch to her shoulder amidst the terror surrounding them. "But I need you to hold on for a little longer. I’ll keep ya alive, I promise…"
Sensing he was about to leave, Yzael reached out and grasped his hand, her fingers weakly curling around his own. “No…! No, please don’t go!” She pleaded as the world shook around them. “I don’t…” Yzael's voice broke as she continued, "I don't want to die alone."
The blasts became more violent, causing the overhead beams to creak ominously. Bits of concrete began to fall, dust filling the air. Gideon shielded Yzael with his body, hoping to protect her from any further harm.
Every tremor was like a ticking clock and each second felt like a lifetime as Yzael’s condition weighed heavily on Gideon's mind. He couldn't stay here, couldn't just watch her fade away. He needed to act.
Through the gaps in the basement ceiling, he could hear the roars of the Weremen and the deafening blasts of artillery. Their only hope lay outside, but that world was filled with chaos and uncertainty.
Summoning every ounce of courage, Gideon stood up, ripping himself out of Yzael’s grip. "I-I need you to stay strong, Yzael.” He said with a voice thick of emotion. “I… I can't let you die like this. I have to find help, even if it's the last thing I do."
“No!” Yzael yelled, as she tried to push herself up. However, the high elf was simply too weak and toppled over in pain. Smacking against the concrete floor, her vision blurred as darkness threatened to take over, but she fought it off as she reached out to the closing door and squeaked out her last plea, "Please…! Please don't leave me alone!"
The door slammed shut, leaving Yzael in the ever-consuming darkness of the basement. The silence that enveloped her was punctuated only by the muffled sounds of the battle above and her labored breathing. The world seemed distant, surreal. Every nerve in her body screamed in pain, but a different kind of agony tightened around her heart.
That of abandonment.
Through gritted teeth, Gideon stepped out into the hellscape above and grabbed Yzael’s sword tight. Bodies of both Weremen and of those strange soldiers were scattered all over the place and the once solid building they had sought shelter in had been completely decimated. Half of the structure had crumbled into rubble as ash and smoke billowed from its core, while the remaining half stood precariously with fire licking its remaining walls.
But as the large man turned his gaze outside, he was met with an apocalyptic scene. The streets were filled with debris, smoldering fires, and bodies. The ground was scarred from the force of spells, strange otherworld weapons, and the tread of those metal beasts.
As Gideons thoughts turned to that monstrosity, his gaze fell upon the massive remains of one slumped in the corner of the street.Iits large turret pointing towards the heavens in a silent, accusing manner an atop its cold, iron surface lay the corpse of an enormous Yoxen. The beast’s thick hide was ripped open and its deep red blood poured over the construct, staining it with an eerie sheen.
Despite the horrid sight, Gideon knew he couldn't afford to be paralyzed by the chaos as a bark of otherworldly weapons resounded accompanied by the roars of weremen. But he couldn’t afford to stare and gawk. Every second counted with Yzael’s life hanging in the balance, and there was no telling how much longer the basement would hold or how long she could hang. The very thought pushed Gideon forward, keeping a low head with, Yzael’s sword reflecting the orange and red glow of the surrounding fires.
Suddenly, just from his left, a war cry rang out, as a group of weremenburst out of an adjacent building and made a desperate bid to run down the street. But before they could make it far, the ground shook once again as deafening blasts, which seemed to be summoned from the skies, erupted around them. The earth shook with each terrifying explosion, creating craters and sending clouds of dust and debris into the air.
Gideon ducked back down behind the partially destroyed wall he had been hiding behind and shielded himself as the chatter of the otherworlders weapons accompanied the rain of death. He has seen Yzael wield all kinds of powerful spells, but in all his time as a freelancer he had never encountered such ferocity in battle.
Weremen under the effects of their horrid shaman’s bloodfury or bloodlust, were known to be near unstoppable. They were absolutely relentless, throwing themselves at formations and cutting them apart without fear or concern for their own lives. And here they were, systematically torn apart from a distance by unseen hands , by a power that neither magic nor sheer brute strength seemed to match.
Turning around and pressing himself closer to the wall, Gideon surveyed the room he was in and caught sight of several lifeless forms sprawled across the room. The structure, though battered from the battle outside, was filled with fallen Weremen, with the shredded bodies of otherworld soldiers laying amongst them.
He knew that while Weremen were brutal and vicious, their shamans often brewed potent potions and concoctions that aided them in battle. Some were known to cure ailments or even mend wounds, while others were made to imbue the drinker with strength. If he could find just one of these vials, it could be the difference between life and death for Yzael.
Even a strength potion could potentially give her what she needed in order to survive long enough to get to healers.
Gideon began his frantic search, weaving through the piles of rubble and bodies. He held onto faintest hope of finding something useful as he overturned each Beastman corpse. But as he checked one body after another, all he found were either empty or shattered vials, their precious contents wasted amidst the chaos.
Even after going over everybody three times, the realization that there was nothing of use hit him hard.
Fissures formed in the floor as Gideon’s hand slammed into it. The warrior’s breath then became ragged, and his vision blurred from the frustration and desperation building within. The weight of the situation pressed down on him as he turned over another body and resumed his frantic search.
He felt defeated, exhausted, and at the brink of despair. How was he going to face Yzael, who was on the very brink of death, with the news that he couldn't find anything to help?
Tears started to finally stream out of his face as he broke down, collapsing onto his knees. The usually resilient warrior, who had faced countless perils and emerged victorious, now found himself shattered in the face of possible loss. The ground beneath him felt cold and unyielding, matching the frosty grip of hopelessness that threatened to choke him.
“I’m sorry…” He croaked, slamming his hand against the ground as the sounds of battle continued to echo around him. “Yzael… I’m so sorry… I don’t know what to do!”
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Each sob that wracked his body carried with it the weight of every promise, every vow, every moment he had shared with Yzael. Memories of their contracts together, from battling monsters in the wilds to clicking mugs together in seedy taverns, flooded his mind. The juxtaposition of those cherished memories against the current reality felt like a blade being twisted in his heart.
But as Gideon's sorrow filled the battered room, a blastwave from a nearby explosion jolted him back to the present. Dust and debris filled his surroundings, and the room trembled under the force reminding the warrior where he was.
Gideon sucked in a few deep breaths and recollected himself as his gaze turned towards this realm’s soldiers clad in their strange irregular uniforms and strange weapons scattered around and scramble to their bodies. He felt a pang of irony in seeking aid from the very enemies he'd been fighting against, but desperation knew no bounds.
In the background, the barks and roars of the Weremen were silenced by the rapid chatter of the otherworlders' weapons. And as much as these foul beasts pushed the defenders back, the otherworlders were slowly and steadily retaking ground, so Gideon had to move quickly.
Pushing over one of the fallen soldiers, Gideon’s hands swiftly rifled through the body’s pockets and pouches searching for anything that resembled potions and elixirs or any form of aid that could help pull Yzael away from the brink of death.
In his hurried search, Gideon's fingers slid across unusual items that felt both alien and familiar. There were tight rolls of white fabric with sticky ends, which he assumed were some sort of bandages along with small sealed packets, which when torn open revealed wet, odd smelling cloths. While everything was foreign, Gideon could clearly understand they were used as potential life-saving tools.
“Ah… Ahh fuck it, I’ll take it all!” Gideon shouted, shoving as much as he could in his own pouches before jumping to the next body.
This one was slumped against a ruined wall with a large chunk of their necks ripped out. The poor soul had a large bag beside him, adorned with that strange red cross symbol. Without hesitation, Gideon knelt down and tried to open the bag, but his fingers fumbled over the curious metal tracks that sealed the bag shut. In his impatience and anxiety, Gideon took his dagger and deftly sliced the bag open.
“Blessed be the ancients! A healer's bag!” The man cried out in relief, barely able to contain his joy. Clear, flexible bags filled with some liquid and a tube attached were accompanied by the same strange medical implements on the other bodies.
However, before he could make his way to Yzael, the distinct sound of the otherworlders' language rang out. Within moments, the staccato of their weapons echoed loudly, drowning out Gideon’s yelp as he instinctively threw himself to the ground, pressing as close to the floor as possible. The unnatural projectiles pierced the walls just inches above him, slicing through the wall like paper.
Suddenly, with the chatter of strange weapons still following them, two massive Weremen exploded through the wall into the room. One, riddled with holes from the outside assault, writhed and flailed wildly as it collapsed onto the healer's bag, squashing it beneath its weight.
Having already rolled out of the way, Gideon watched in horror as the contents splattered and crushed, rendering the once invaluable supplies useless.
"NO!!!" The warrior’s throat released a desperate scream as he reached out and snatched the precious bag.
The second Beastman, though injured, was not crippled and its frenzied gaze fell upon Gideon for just a moment, before scrambling further into the building while bullets followed, slamming into the wall behind it. And It only took Gideon a fraction of a moment to snap to attention and chase after the monster.
The damned thing was going right for the door that held his defenseless and critical injured partner.
In an adrenaline-fueled rush, Gideon sprinted after the monster, gripping Yzael’s weapon tightly in his hand. Turning the corner, he watched as the Beastman grip the handle of the basement door and yanked the thing right off its hinges. Gideon lunged just in the nick of time, catching it completely off guard and sicking the blade deeply into the creature's shoulder before tackling it over a counter top.
The force of the impact shattered the glass and sent various items flying in every direction as the two of them rolled and thrashed, knocking over tables and chairs in the confined space. The creature roared in pain and anger, trying to dislodge the warrior clinging onto it, stabbing him repeatedly in the side with its claws.
Gideon let out a guttural scream of agony as he yanked out the sword and plunged it into the monster's chest. The blade sank deep, eliciting another blood curdling roar from the Beastman as it twisted and writhed beneath him. But with a sudden surge of monstrous strength, the Beastman's hand clasped around Gideon's arm and with a powerful yank, flung the man off like a ragdoll right into a large shelf.
The wounded Beastman, despite having the sword still embedded in its chest, scrambled to its feet in order to make its escape, but before it could make a move, the distinct rapid chatter of otherworldly weaponry echoed throughout the room. Multiple projectiles slammed into the Beastman’s back, causing it to jerk and stumble forward with every impact. The monster let out a pained roar as it crashed face-first into a nearby wall, bits of plaster and brick scattering.
Within moments, the room filled with the presence of the otherworldly soldiers, their weapons trained on the now motionless Beastman sprawled on the floor, riddled with bullets .Their relief was short-lived, though, as Gideon quickly became the new focus of their attention. With their weapons were trained on him, and the soldiers closed in, shouting commands in a language he couldn't understand. Gideon, already weakened from his fight with the Beastman, struggled to stand as blood flowed profusely from his new wounds.
It was difficult for Gideon to process everything around him, there should have been sharp pain, but instead, he felt an odd numbness beginning to spread, replacing the earlier adrenaline that had surged through him. A deep coldness started to spread on his skin as the echoing shouts made everything surreal, as if he was stuck in a waking nightmare.
Dragging himself up to his knees, Gideon's eyes met those of the soldiers. Their gazes were hardened, unyielding, but not completely devoid of compassion. He could barely speak, every word feeling like it was being torn from his throat. His breaths came out ragged and short, but he needed them to understand.
"Yzael..." he choked out, coughing up blood. Using all the strength he could muster, he started to crawl towards the basement, pointing desperately towards the ruined door that led to the depths below. "Please... please… please help her… please."
There was a brief pause, as the leader of the soldiers, a dark skinned man, cautiously started to approach with his weapon still trained on Gideon. The soldier's gaze shifted to the Beast with a sword still sticking out of its chest before quickly snapping back to the armored figure crawling on the ground, his movements labored and weak.
Seeing Gideon's critical state, the soldier's grip on his weapon slightly loosened. He looked to his squadmates for a brief moment, exchanging silent signals. Two of them took a defensive stance, ensuring the perimeter, while another began to cautiously approach the basement door.
“She… She.. needs…” Gideon tried to get out another plea before he let out one last low, dying moan. But even though the warrior had expired, his arm remained stretched, pointed directly downstairs.
“Cooper, Murphy, Rodriguez! On me, we’re gonna take this basement!” DuPont yelled out as he stepped over the body of that strange medieval-esque warrior, his boots crunching on shattered glass.
His soldier quickly formed up behind their Lieutenant while the other posted up, holding security behind the rest of the squad as they approached the basement. The dim light from the room above faintly illuminated the staircase, casting eerie shadows on the wooden steps.
They moved confidently, but cautiously, making sure every inch of their descent was covered and checked for threats. Each soldier's senses were on high alert, tuned to every creak of the wooden steps, every drip of water from the moist walls, and the faint echoes of their own movement.
The basement air was thick with humidity and carried a metallic scent. The soft glow from a single bulb hanging from the room revealed a figure lying on top of a pool of their own blood.
DuPont furrowed his brows as he crept closer, the figure was an ethereal woman with sharp, elf-like features. Long, silver hair spread around her, merging with the blood that had flowed from her wounds. She lay on her side, her deep violet eyes staring unfocusedly at a pile of boxes, seemingly completely out of it.
The rest of the squad swiftly spread out, checking each corner of the basement and ensuring they were not about to deal with any unsavory surprises. With the area secured, Murphy Cautiously approached the injured woman, but still kept his weapon at the ready.
“Clear!” Rodriguez shouted, after tossing over a few boxes, and stabbing another with the tip of his rifle.
With gentle hands, Murphy turned the woman onto her back. The pool of blood had soaked through the back of her ornate clothing, and her breathing was raspy and shallow. As she was flipped, her eyes met Murphy's momentarily, a glimmer of recognition, or perhaps just a last plea for help, flickering within them.
"Heavens... protect..." she murmured, her voice barely audible, before her eyelids fluttered and she slipped into unconsciousness. “Gideon….”
A deep silence permeated the entire basement as the soldiers looked at each other with uneasy faces, but DuPont’s Voice echoed throughout the basement as he marched towards the stairs. “MEDIC! GARZA, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, NOW!”