This imposing creature was something greater and more powerful than the brute I had been killing the whole day. I was certain this was their overall commander and the adversary I had to face myself, alone. There was one problem, however—this commander was surrounded by a mob of its own guardians, many of whom looked so grotesque that they no longer resembled anything human.

Some, I saw, looked thick and bloated, lumbered around on all fours, with bulging eyes and a hideous mouth hung open. Others were tall, with thick snake-like hair and stunted, withered wings growing from their shoulder bones or upper necks. Their ashen, almost olive-toned skin bore testament to the vile powers that coursed through their veins.

“Those are the guardians of this commander,” said Goxhandar. “Faithful servants of the demon are usually exalted by gifts of a most terrible nature.”

“I can’t see how looking like a humanoid toad is a gift!” I replied, sensing my blood boil over how vile these creatures were. I wanted nothing more than to cleanse this ground from their corruption. Their mere presence insulted me.

“Master, if one wishes only to inflict pain, and to devour the terror-soaked flesh of its victims, then does the shape of the body this vile mind occupies hold any significance?”

Goxhandar was right, yet that did not lessen the revulsion I felt towards these creatures. I had to put them down and rid the world of their foulness. But there was a problem—how would I get there? This demonhost was so far and deep inside its army, that even I could not advance that far by myself, and my strength was almost exhausted.

“Why not replenish your depleted vigor through sanguine sorcery?”

“Blood magic?”

“Why the apprehension?” Goxhandar exclaimed. “You have used the so-called blood magic many times before. It was your preferred method of regaining your strength during combat.”

A sudden revelation washed over me, and once more, Goxhandar had proven himself right. It all came rushing back to me.

Back when I had fought Rors at the harbor in Bessou, all those weeks ago, I had been ensnared by the intoxicating allure of his warm blood and unknowingly was about to draw strength from it. What happened then had been so shocking, that I had suppressed that memory deep down. Then, there was that encounter in Caffria, when the blood of Pecca streaked my face. I had felt the same willingness but managed to suppress it again.

“Blood magic unsafe and pollutive.”

Goxhandar was reluctant to speak but did so nonetheless. “For all our time in the other realm we will not speak of, you used blood magic to replenish your strength. As with all such things, a price has to be paid for the borrowing of another’s fading vitality—”

“Which was?”

“Vitality that is taken by force must be repaid by pain. But it was no grave matter. You were masterful with your meditations, and never were too vexed over the cost.”

Despite Goxhandar’s reassurance that it was safe, I could not shake my aversion to using blood magic to rekindle my strength, especially from those vile savages. Even thinking about it was revolting, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to do such dark acts to kill the enemy commander.

I pressed on in relentless attack, but a weariness seeped into my muscles and my mind dulled with every passing step. Because of that, I advanced slowly and with caution.

Now and then, my armor deflected arrows and knives, rocks, and anything else those savages thought of throwing at me, but very few dared to openly challenge me. And even in my tired state, all but the most formidable brutes posed any real threat.

As I advanced, I confronted a particularly powerful brute who conjured a simple fire spell around it. Yet, even that fiery assault was mirrored and countered by the spells within my armor. That sorcerous brute also fell to the Blood Maul.

“More blood! More victims!” I heard Goxhandar joyfully cry out. “More shall fall before us!”

The fighting had been going on for some time now, and my advance had slowed down to a walk. More and more savages tried their luck in besting me and Goxhandar, and they ran in droves against the mighty Blood Maul, only to have their bodies shattered before they could even comprehend their doom.

I was exhausted, but more than capable of keeping the rodents off of me.

“Your reluctance is admirable, but we cannot win this fight without your replenished strength.”

I looked up at the darkened sky, where the sun stubbornly shone, yet very little light reached the battlefield. Much of what had once been lush grasslands was now reduced to a muddy and trampled field of blood and corpses. The foul stink of it all permeated all.

I yielded, and the very moment, I sensed the untapped fountain of power that was all around me, almost inviting to be used. But I only had a fleeting opportunity to do so. With my gauntleted hand, its demonic bone plates articulating perfectly with every move, I reached out and pulled from the nearby corpses.

A delicate pink fire, as a thin and fragile thread of frayed wool, sprang forth from the lifeless body and traveled up to my hand. There it danced before seeping into my flesh and veins. For a moment, I felt vile and polluted, but the very next, a delicious surge of energy revitalized me in a way I’d never felt before.

I was good as new as if no battle had happened. My mind was clear and sharp, and I wished nothing more than to storm forward and smite my enemies down into the ground.

And this was what I did, and what followed was a renewed carnage against the Enemy.

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All fell before and around me, and the ground burned and withered, and the thunderous strikes of the Blood Maul cratered the earth.

“Why didn’t you suggest this before?”

“Must you ask this again, Master? I grow tired of repeating the same answer.”

“Well, never mind then.”

Goxhandar’s response grated my nerves, to my surprise, and it ignited a growing anger within me.

Another brave mob of savages stormed at me, their minds filled with the will of another brutish commander. Without thinking, I transformed that very anger into a most wicked thought that I imagined my mind being a fiery wave and unleashed at them. Both to my horror and delight, conflicting with each other, the already familiar pink flame erupted from my palm and hungrily enveloped the attackers.

Their flesh sizzled and blistered, and agonized cries filled the air. They stumbled around, clawing at the nothing, and then fell over dead. Those who were not burned turned and fled.

I was energized again, and advanced with fury at the cowering horde, felling enemies in their droves. Sometimes they came at me in small groups of twos or threes, while other times they formed a single horde. All fell in the most gruesome way.

By that time, the middle and left flank of our army still held strong. They began a resolute advance that pushed the Enemy back towards the river and twin bridges. But the enemy commander denied a retreat, and with only its will turned the retreating hordes around for a renewed attack. Only that time, they headed for the weakened Stotor volunteer lines.

Those volunteers were under the command of a sergeant from Oade and were now most definitely at the risk of collapsing under the unrelenting attacks. Many of their comrades were dying with every passing moment. They could not see the success of our middle and left flank to draw courage. All they saw was their own men falling, and their lines driven further back.

Slowly but surely they kept retreating, stumbling over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Those who stayed behind, or too late with their retreat, were quickly overwhelmed and beaten to death by spiked clubs and cudgels.

“Wooden spears and clubs, and a thirst for revenge is not enough for a victory it seems,” said Goxhandar without any joy.

“They are close to breaking!”

Then, after hours of fighting and much carnage, the Stotor lines finally broke. I had never seen a more terrible sight, and with a terrifying scream, accompanied by sporadic drumbeats, the volunteer army broke all discipline and turned into a panicked escape.

Like a tidal wave, the Enemy surged forward and drowned the ground the volunteers had occupied and held, and ran madly at the opening. But in doing so, the path before me was now even more thinned out, and I could see their powerful commander—the foul demonhost—clearly.

Unbeknownst to the retreating Stotor volunteers, our left flank was in the process of encircling the enemy. Colonel Piasno’s officers raised flags and barked commands, and his men executed precise maneuvers to remake their lines to meet the flanking enemy. The tragic breaking of the Stotor ranks did not come as a surprise, however, and the reorganization maneuvers were planned well in advance.

Then… the ground shook and I heard trumpets!

From the elevated terrain behind the enemy, beyond the thick shrubs and trees, emerged the Lottie Corisseri at the sounding of trumpets and hooves. Captain Orsin himself gallantly spearheaded the charge, his steel helmet glistening in the dim light, and his red plume waving in the air.

The ground rumbled with an intensity I’d never felt, and all I wanted to do was crawl into a ball on the ground so as not to be trampled. I kneeled and braced for impact.

As the corisseri charged forward, I thought back to when captain Orsin asked baron Fascamonta what would happen to a pikeless enemy against a cavalry charge. Now, right before my eyes, I had the answer. The chaos was indescribable and overshadowed all that happened before.

Hundreds upon hundreds of mounted men, all tall and strong, wearing proud and polished suits of armor, and cloaked in torpos-green and gold of Lottie, charged into the rear ranks of the Enemy. Their steeds were mighty, dwarfing my Velluta, and the ground trembled and shook in their wake.

As the first lines broke into the Enemy, a deafening sound of metal and the dull sound of bodies being rent asunder, filled my ears.

In mere moments, countless foes were cut down and trampled to dead in a relentless fury, but the corisseri meant to ride through the entire enemy army. The entire Stotor army of demonic slaves and brutes was overwhelmed, and its cohesion shattered.

The corisseri were everywhere, moved quickly in wedge-shaped formations, and broke up any larger group of savages that managed to organize themselves. Trumpets sounded and commands were yelled in proper fashion. It was a brilliant spectacle of discipline and precision.

As the corisseri almost reached where I was, I lowered the Blood Maul into the ground, where it dug itself deep, and I kneeled. I did not wish to be mistaken for the enemy, for I resembled not anything like our own soldiers. The charging corisseri galloped past me, left a wide berth, and offered hearty greetings and salutations as they passed.

I knew now was the time to make for the enemy commander, when the chaos was the greatest, and a counter was not yet made.

Again I drew strength from the fallen, and spiteful otherworldly strength coursed in my veins. My armor was enveloped by the pale fire, and I advanced as quickly as I dared at the dark figure looming ahead of me.

As I was drawing close, I heard the unmistakable voice of captain Viccorio Orsin himself, in the thick of the fight.

“Victory, men, is ours to take! Forward!” I watched in awe as captain Orsin struck down enemy after enemy with his long mace, and how he moved effortlessly through the chaos of the fight. I could barely make Velluta move sideways without her protesting, but how Orsin commanded his horse was simply masterful to my eyes.

“There is no room for fear, only victory, corisseri! This is our day, show them your might! Fight harder. Meaner. Better! We have them. Make them pay dearly for any ground they lose!”

And his corisseri around him were so moved and encouraged by his words, that they fought with a zeal I’d never seen before. They rallied, forming smaller units, and once more executed disciplined charges into the heart of the Enemy. All who stood before them fell.

Now the grasslands lay in ruin, transformed into a quagmire of mud, blood, and bodies. Yet, amidst this gruesome spectacle, I sensed a victory that was in reach.

Even I felt the fire burning in my heart kindled over Orsin’s words, and with the Blood Maul, I threw myself into the thickest fights. Mercilessly I cleaved through any who dared challenge me or failed to see me in time. I was wreathed in psychic fire, a residue of the use of blood magic, and my mere presence scorched the very ground underneath me.

I advanced towards the cowardly commander who made others fight in his stead. The beast was close.

In the midst of the melee, a commanding voice rang out, and I beheld captain Orsin himself standing by my side. He had just crushed the bare head of an enemy with his mace.

“You fought with exceptional valor, sorcerer! You were quite a sight amongst the enemy. Are you making for the enemy captain? My honor guard will clear the way for you!”

“That would be greatly appreciated, captain.”

His steed, mighty and thick, with war plate covering its chest and sides and head, snorted and neighed, but stayed perfectly still. With the sound of the captain’s trumpet, his honor guard gathered around him.

Quickly the corisseri honor guard made a wedge-shaped formation and charged into the Enemy that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth. Effortlessly they plowed through all who stood in the way, but before they reached the terrible enemy demonhost, Orsin turned a sharp right and swept through the back lines. He made for the two bridges, and now the enemy army was out-flanked by the Lienor volunteers, and infiltrated by the corisseri. With every passing moment, their numbers dwindled.

Victory was drawing close, and I had to kill the demonhost before it could escape. Its presence was still a danger to all who dared oppose it, and I hastened my advance.

“It is now time to end this.”