Otto pulled himself from the muck. The thin crust of ice from the previous day’s storm broke with a barely audible pop as he brought himself to sit. He gathered his surroundings.

It was all death. The bodies of his people were strewn in the filthy mix of wet, cold dirt and gore. Otto looked at each of them. There lies Urloch, Canton there, Saian here. All gone. Otto wondered how many of the enemy it took to do this.

Was he in pain? No. Or yes. It didn’t matter. Not to him and not to any of the men he sat with. He stayed there in silence for a time before he saw the body of his king.

“Butchers!” He roared as he held the headless body of Brennus. His screams carried over the forest. If any Novissime were in the area they would surely find him. He knew it, but he didn’t care. Let them come. All of them.

Otto sat in the feeling, holding Brennus as the icy rain began to fall. He sat, unflinching as each stinging drop struck him. There was a heaviness, a tightness, in his chest. But Otto was a strong man. He knew he could break the chains that bound him to the grief that welled inside him. Otto did not want to escape. He held tight to the feeling as much as he was held by it.

No, there was the Urzoth at the camp. I didn’t die here, and I won’t. Otto pulled himself from the muck. Gather the women and kids and return to the Tuculli, he told himself, head west, the Nu should be close, so we will stay out of their path. He tried to form the words he would use to rouse the Urzoth. This was his role now.

Otto had found enough words by the time he reached the camp, but he found it silent. They’re hiding. One by one he pushed aside the hide flaps of wagons and tents. He found nothing. Then he saw the bodies of the women. He was callused now. Not many, he thought, unbroken. They must have fled.

Otto searched the edge of the camp and found the trail made by hundreds of footprints. On the outside edges of the trail he saw the steps of Novassime boots. “Taken?” Otto had to sit to collect himself. Of course, this was not a hidden camp. Not a familiar forest his people could disappear in. They killed us and made our people slaves.

"We have failed."

The rain stopped. Otto resolved to take the only steps he could. Brennus should be buried, not left to be eaten like the rest of us. He would then search the area for other fleeing survivors.

As he trekked back to the horror of the battlefield he heard horses coming through the low branches. Otto didn’t crouch or try to hide. He stood as a statue while four fat little men in leather hats and coats on nearly identical thin tan horses came to him. They were not Novissime, he could tell. Their eyes were thin and their faces much more round. It may have been the coats, but they seemed as wide as they were tall, or short as Otto saw them. Their ears were an inhuman shape; too long and thin and pointed, almost to the point of folding over. The Worm didn't mention those.

“Are you the dreadful Nu, then? You come to finish me! Come on!” Otto shouted. It wasn’t one of the powerful shouts of his past. More despairing. The Nu horsemen surrounded him silently. One spoke to the others in a strange foreign tongue and they came a little closer. Otto remained still, numb to any fear he may have felt. He saw their teeth; needle thin and sharp those of a bat. He scowled in disgust.

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They were shorter horses, overall more sleek than the Urzoth’s, coming to just under the top of Otto’s head. As they closed in, the horse in front of Otto sneezed and without a thought Otto punched its nose.

It reared up then started to hysterically buck, but the Nu rider steadied it with little issue. As Otto watched he felt the rope of the Nu behind him fall over his head and begin to tighten around his arms and chest. The two on the sides of Otto hopped off their horses and came to him, each brandishing a wide, curved blade that reflected a tinge of red light.

They were barely the height of his chest, and Otto had been drained of all excitement since waking up in the sludge of death. He snatched one of the blades as he would from a child and sunk it into the Nu’s head.

Before they could react he had killed the second man on the ground. The Nu with the rope pulled at it, nearly causing Otto to lose his balance, but he took a few giant steps in the rope’s direction, caught himself then took a might swing at the small horse, cutting clean through the soft tissue at the front of the beast’s throat, then again at the rider’s leg, severing it before the horse had hit the ground.

The fourth rider had fled and the third lay dying, screaming in terror and looking up at the Urzoth giant. With all the power he could gather, Otto brought his foot down in a colossal stomp on and through the Nu’s face, killing him.

He continued on his path as if he had not even seen the riders. Otto buried his king. The ground was wet from the storms as far down as Otto dug. He had no shovel. He scooped the cold wet dirt with his meaty hands until a sufficient grave had been dug. When the headless corpse had been placed and the hole filled, Otto knelt in honored silence for some time.

He rose as the first beam of sunlight peeked through the gray storm clouds. He looked up to let the warm light radiate over his face. He felt dirty. More than he had ever felt anything in his life.

"So I am dirty now." Otto said. The simple acknowledgement of his situation was all he permitted himself before he went about his tasks. Always forward. Otto recalled Brennus's words again with more than a touch of sadness.

He examined the battlefield remembering the direction the surprise attack seemed to come from. A distraction there and there. In the middle here, that was the bulk of them. Otto thought, then turned the opposite way, this way then.

Otto walked north. As he expected he found no trace of either fleeing Urzoth or pursuing Novissime. Then more movement. This time not a horse but a white haired man running toward Otto.

"Ulrich!" He shouted, catching the Urzoth as he fell desperately into Otto's arms. Otto lifted him and saw the terror on his face.

"It won't stop Otto! They're all gone! It's everywhere! Death is everywhere! Otto they're all gone!" Ulrich fell apart in Otto's arms.

"Gather yourself!" Otto barked and shook the man. "Speak plainly. Be of use!"

Ulrich wiped his face and shook off the smallest portion of his panic. He raised his posture and stared back at Otto's towering figure. He fell apart again as soon as he went to speak.

Otto slapped him with the back of his hand, a little easier than he had hit the horse. That was enough.

"The Novissime attacked us, sent us running, we got lost, then we found the camp and they were gone! Me and the others, we thought everyone was dead! We tried to go north but they were there! Millions of them!" Ulrich was about to lose himself again. He couldn't speak any more.

"The Nu?" Otto asked more to himself.

"Yes, they caught us. They killed the others and made me watch! Otto, I'm sorry." He began to cry and fell to his knees.

Otto's first thought was to leave him there. What use would he be? But the Urzoth are the wolves of the forest, he remembered Brennus' words, "and the wolf dies alone." Otto said, lifting the man to his feet. "Take me to them."

Ulrich led Otto to the top of a tree covered hill. It was as close as he cared to venture to the horde, but it was close enough. Otto could see the flames of Nu campfires and torches scattered among a sea of horses and wagons. The little creatures scurried about as far as he could see. He thought of the Worm, understanding the little man's fear for the first time.

"The Nu have arrived."