Quintus Drusus watched the monster rising from the sea from atop Joan's white stone walls. The late morning sky had turned an odd yellow. It was unusually warm. He had done as he was ordered and assigned the greater portion of the city guards, the newly renamed Legion of Aiden, to the Great Hall with the citizens of Joan. Not everyone came, he knew. Many from outside the walls did not hear the message, or had chosen to flee the region, but he did not tell Augustine or his new advisor, Sculla.

“Their armor, some of them, they look like the legions lost at sea!” An archer said to Drusus. Drusus had suspected the same thing. Some of the creatures coming out of the sea looked like normal citizens, but most were certainly dressed like legion soldiers. “Could they be the dead?”

“Perhaps. If not, they soon will be. And if they are, we will kill them again. Send for the archers. All of them.” Drusus filled the moment and it felt good.

The Old God had been rising from the sea, seemingly for hours, and the dead army it brought with it now covered the beach. They were far, but from the height of the walls, Drusus thought it might be possible for his archers to reach them.

“Sir, we can’t abandon the southern walls. That Nu horde will be here within the hour!” An archer protested Saint Drusus’s order.

“Look, at that thing. When the Nu see it they will run. We do not need to defend against them. Follow your orders.” Drusus said the words plainly, with the simple confidence of his position. He did not bark and was not riled up. Having been among the ranks of the common soldiers the previous day, he knew the power of a calmly delivered order in the face of chaos. The archer nodded, and left to call the men on the southern walls. Drusus approached the edge of the wall where four archers stood.

“Ready your arrows, men. Let’s find our range.” He said in the same matter-of-fact tone. The four each readied an arrow and followed the call of one. “Knock, draw, go.” They loosed the four arrows in unison. There was only the slightest hint of breeze, and even it blew in a favorable direction; directly north toward this otherworldly enemy. All four fell the center of slowly moving smaller monsters. One struck a creature and it fell.

“Good.” Drusus patted one of the archers on the back, “We are well within range. Let’s form our line here. Let’s do three sets when the others are with us.” Drusus motioned along the parapet of the wall.

“Sir, look.” An archer said, pointing to the shore. Drusus squinted to get a better look. The monster that had been felled was now standing with the arrow protruding from its abdomen. It continued its slow walk as if it had never been hit. “Can these things not die?” Drusus wondered aloud, with more desperation than he meant.

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He nor his men had given the slightest hint of panic. Drusus thought the men's dispassion might come from their faith in their new Children of Aiden, but for him it was simply that the task before them seemed too daunting. It was all so obviously hopeless that the idea of worrying about their fate seemed almost silly. In a sense, Drusus operated as if they had already lost. They were already dead. There was no impulse even to worry. Until they saw the small creature stand. The reality of death crept into his mind for the first time.

“Fire! How about fire on the arrows?” another of the four archers suggested.

“Good. Yes, the four of you get the oils and wraps from the town. Hurry back.” The suggestion, though Drusus had no way of knowing how effective it would be, filled him with hope. He thought of the secretive, empty origin of the new Children of Aiden. Though he knew the ruse, he placed a hand on the red cross of his shield and gave a tiny prayer.

The archers from the southern, eastern and western walls of Joan began to form their lines. As the four archers returned with the supplies to light the arrows, one of the men called out, “Look at that! There’s a man riding through them.” From the walls Drusus and the archers watched the man ride through the monsters. Every one he kicked to the ground or trampled over stood a short time after, unharmed. They moved faster than the others though, and shifted their path toward the man.

“The fool.” An archer said.

“He’s giant! He’s off the horse!” another said, almost excited.

They watched as Otto snatched a sword from one of the sea monsters and stabbed it through another. He withdrew the blade and the thing fell. Then it rose, unaffected. The Urzoth Giant then hacked at the back of the neck of the monster he had taken the sword from until the head was severed. That one fell, too, but did not get up. Instead it crawled towards Otto, who slashed at its arms and kicked the whole where its head had been. For a time, while the Urzoth Giant continued to battle the monsters alone on the beach, the dismembered monster was still, but eventually, the archers on the walls saw it move again. It crawled toward the man who had attacked it.

“Wait! Do you see it, men? They cannot be killed!” Drusus called to his archers. “Only the ones he attacks are fighting him.”

“The rest just pass him by!” Another man shouted.

“Hold your arrows, men. If the big one comes toward the city, we will direct our fire towards it. Until then,” Drusus almost choked on the words, “Have faith. We will be saved!”

The archers seemed to take the words to heart. Without instruction, they placed their free hand on the shoulder of the man next to them. Together they watched as the Urzoth Giant continued his seemingly fruitless battle with the dead.