After a thorough explanation of proper team building with a variety of battlemon types. A loud horn brought the two out of the discussion. They knew what it meant instantly. The synapses in their brain connecting to the proper memory. The enemy was here, and the siege was about to begin.

Quickly, they ran to their companions, passing by frantic soldiers. The war had reached this last bastion of the plains. This castle was the guardian between the conquered lands and Tarkon. If it fell, the enemy would have a staging ground for a full-scale invasion.

Arriving, they found Lucy being shuffled away from the wall, her sycophants bidding her farewell. She waved them off as her knight and bodyguard pulled her into the safety of the inner castle. What remained were the soldiers of Tarkon, priests, wizards and the king himself.

King Andre Tarkon wore full plate armour, an ornate obsidian sword at his waist. The heraldry of his house blazoned upon his armour. He approached the battlements, giving a nod to Peter and Jasmine. His gaze cast down, prompting the two heroes to follow. What appeared in the distance was the first wave.

The besieging army was vast and far more organised than the realm of men expected. Many, even in Tarkon’s own lands, viewed the Lankosians and savage barbarians. Peter himself had been told that occasionally by imperial soldiers. But when he looked out upon the neat lines of marching soldiers. He felt the enemy was far more organised than savages.

The size of the army, its width and breadth, caused his chest to constrict. It was a similar fear response whenever he went on stage for public speaking. Only this was mixed with terror, a terror that made him want to flee. He would have, if not for the odd calmness washing over him. An eagerness to test his powers was a close second, and that horrified him.

The King quickly took charge, barking orders to his men.

“Men to your stations. I don’t want a single stone of this wall without a man within reach.” He bellowed.

“Heroes, please remain in reserve for now. I may call on your powers if the enemy proves too formidable.”

The two heroes nodded, accepting their position as a reserve force. Pleased with the agreement, the king turned to the castle's defence. Peter felt the pull of interest. A morbid curiosity about the facets of war. Knowledge from movies only gave so much information. Approaching the wall, he situated himself in between two soldiers. The pair looked down at the teenager, perplexed for a moment. They soon realised this was no simple young boy. But a powerful spirit blessed hero and so straighten their stance and affixed their gaze forward.

Peter ignored this and focused on the approaching army. The word immense did not do this army justice. The entire view was awash in lines upon lines of marching soldiers. If one could see that far, they would note the sheer diversity amongst its ranks.

But to Peter, it was an army that reminded him of that scene from Master of the Rings. The scene was the massive army of elves and humans laid siege to Kordor in the first age. That scene always seemed unrealistic to him. But now, not only was he proven wrong, but was facing an army of such a size.

Gulping saliva, he tried to keep his childish heart steady. He was afraid, so fearful he could fall to his knees and sob. But something kept him standing. The eagerness welling inside and the longing to unleash his powers. The feeling scared him more than the army.

He watched as the invading army approached just outside of now range, according to the archer beside him.

“Come on, you bastards, just a little further and I’ll feather you.” An archer muttered.

Instead of getting what he wanted, the besieging army stopped just shy of arrow range. Lines of beast-kin stand shoulder to shoulder. Suddenly a breach forms, soldiers widening a gap as a lone soldier rides forward.

Riding a horse at a trot, the figure arrives just before the wall. Waving a blue and white flag, the figure raises it above, just before a voice echo around the castle.

“Humans of Tarkon, we are the United Realms of Lankos. We claim the plains, stolen from our ancestors and defiled by human hands. We will reclaim these lands for their rightful owners. As for this castle, we will conquer it. You may flee in shame or die as warriors.” He declared, sending his challenge to the entire castle.

Once finished, the rider turned back to the army, his fellow soldiers closing the breach. Swallowed by the mass of deadly warriors, the rider vanished into the sea of enemies. Peter turned back to the stone-faced king; his features slowly broke into a grin. It was as if being threatened by such a grand army was amusing.

“What do you say men, should we surrender?” The king spoke, dripping with sarcasm.

What followed was a loud roar in the negative. Every soldier cheered at once.

“Never!” they cheered in defiance.

The king appeared to glow to Peter, an aura radiating from his regal pose. If he were a subject, he would have likely beamed with pride. But to him, it was like watching a movie, not entirely real, but entertaining. Instead of getting into the boisterous atmosphere, he returned to his refuge. Noting Jasmine, vacating his orbit and heading for Lucy.

The picture warmed his heart. He didn't entirely know why. Jasmine had become a surrogate mother to the young girl. Perhaps Peter was a geeky brother. Family born of necessity, he wondered if in other circumstances, would the same thing happen? He doubted it, and yet he hoped they would stay together.

Seated, he watched the proceedings. The preparations for war were in full swing. A cacophony of movement culminated into a spread of deadly weapons, pressed to their purpose. The ease with which people rallied to take up arms and focus solely on killing was frightening. Protecting your homeland likely encouraged that.

Only peter wondered if there was more to it. More than just defending the realm and the patriotic call to action. Looking around, he could see anticipation and rage. The soldiers' eyes showed anticipation and rage, rather than stoicism.

“Hate is such an excellent motivator. I wonder if, when this is done, will I be a monster or not?” He muttered, contemplating the morality of fighting in this war.

Eventually, the engines of war stirred. The enemy condensed, but also spread to surroundings. He could spot constructs in the distance, legions of workers building. He didn't need to be a medieval expert to identify trebuchets and siege towers. Hours went by and the two sides brought their weapons and tactics into position. They positioned ballista, stones, and drums of boiling water on the walls. Archers and eagre men waited for their charge to strike.

Eventually, the time had come, and the first attack begun. Soldiers loaded giant stones onto the catapults and launched them. Peter could see them rise, becoming tiny pinpricks. Slowly, they descended, becoming larger within sight. Colliding with the wall, stones smashed stones. Many took cover with commands to take cover. He did so, leaving his crate to hide beneath a stone pillar.

The castle shook with every blow. The enemy was just out of range and the impotent soldiers could not return fire. Eventually, after several pelts, they stopped. The soldiers ordered the robed men forward. Peter had seen them before, priests of the earth's spirit. They left their confines and begun the repairs. He could see them channelling spirits from the stones.

Using their pendants, a common tool for spirit users. They shaped stone like clay, waving their hands and willing the mineral to move. In between the trebuchet pelting the wall like a dart competition. These little worker bees kept up their endless chore of repairing as much damage as possible.

It was a dangerous gig, while Peter was cowering behind a pillar. One of the earthmancers, a term he used. A flung boulder rendered him a red paste when he failed to move. He was not the first to die. Peter witnessed several deaths, as the enemy seemed to have infinite ammunition.

Eventually, their ammunition proved to be more finite. A lull in combat settled in, as every man on the wall raced to shore up their positions. It was insanity, reminding him of an ant colony desperately trying to maintain efficiency. All the while, a five-year-old was burning them alive, akin to a cruel god. The men barely regained control, even with their king’s charisma. The man stood resolute, eyes boring into the far-off enemy, as he flung death with every stone.

“Return fire!” The King ordered.

They responded by hurling their own massive stones. Peter had not been aware they had trebuchets of their own. Sending the vengeance back at the enemy, most of them missed. But a few found their target and only dust and bloodied remains left. The two sides then saw how many of each other they could squish.

Trebuchets continually pelted each other, most barely doing any damage. Only the unlucky few, unable to escape in time, fell prey to gravity with all its cruelty. Eventually, the exchange slowly petered down, likely a diminishing of ammo. The shift in tactics was swift and soon after, the enemy was marching.

Peter witnessed giant siege towers slowly making ground, the enemy force using it as cover. Arrows rained down from the wall, but the advance continued. Anticipating a fight, the young man tried to stop his hands from shaking. His eyes were wide, mouth dry, and the anticipation of combat loomed.

He was a hero, that is what he told himself. In those moments of doubt, he clung to that statement. Ice slowly formed around his fists; he was ready, as any teenager on the battlefield was. Still, he shook, and only a single hand on his shoulder seemed to calm him. He knew who it was, and it made him feel safe, despite the situation.

Jasmine, Elisara and Halmar approached, their gazes locked forward. Peter’s heart swelled; he wasn't doing this alone. Despite his own internal crisis, having friends by your side helped more than he will admit.

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“They're going to breach the wall?” Peter shakily questioned.

“Not if we have anything to say about it.” Halmar answered, his rapier clutched and ready for battle.

It felt good to have allies in this turbulent time. Though the King kept us in reserve, Peter suspected we would need them soon. Soon seemed to arrive far quicker than intended. Siege towers advanced, launching arrows and boiling water. The screams of the enemy were deafening, only succeeded by the war cries.

Before they knew it, the towers had arrived. Despite the attempts from the fire priests to burn them. They seemed impervious to fire and to the more magically inclined, a faint shimmer of a protection spell surrounded it. In response, the fire priests focused on scorching any besieging force that dared to exit the wooden structure.

As the monstrosity arrived, the wooden creation of war fell open. Within the structure, the beast-kin beat their chests and roared. They were hungry for battle and bloodshed. With feral determination, they burst from their confines. Leaping down onto the wall, the barely equipped frontline met resistance.

Unlike the armed and armoured soldiers of Tarkon. Leather armour and short swords equipped the beast-kin. In comparison, the Tarkonians wore steel plate armour, swords, and shields. The beast-kin fell upon the soldiers like an avalanche of muscle and fur.

“Push them back, someone break that tower!” someone bellowed.

The Tarkonians pressed forward, shields raised, and hearts made of steel. Blow after blow of claw and sword descended from the ravenous attackers. Despite the ferocity, the line held, but there were far too many. Soon the wall became a maelstrom of violence and gore.

Beast-kin ascended ladders, flooded from siege towers. The immensity of their numbers and the ruthlessness of each nearly overwhelmed them. Peter felt the urge to wade into battle despite his own fear. The ice chilly feeling in his chest threatened to burst. Before he could, the voice of the king resounded.

“Do not lose heart, my brothers. Let us send these honourless dogs to the Infernum!”

The king leapt over his own men; an impossible feat given his full plate set of armour. Agile and swift, he landed atop a crowd of beast-kin. His broadsword slicing through everybody in reach. The broadsword sent body parts of man and beast flying. Once his bloody work was done, he eyed the rest of his enemies. Their advance from within the tower had halted.

Fear replaced their feral gazes, and soon that was the last expression they made. Raising his left gauntlet, a ball of fire manifested from nothing. The fiery orb, a spiritual manifestation of his bond, hurtled through the air. Despite the tower being shielded from fire, this did not protect those within. The tower turned from a protective enclosure to a burning hell.

They screamed and writhed as the king of Tarkon commanded his spirit to scorch the earth. With another agile leap, he returned to the wall. There he stood, proud and strong, his sword raised to the heavens.

“Do not lose faith, my brothers, show the courage and pride of Tarkon! Just as the crimson priest laid down his life to defend the holy land. So must we match his deeds with our own? Let us send the beasts back to their holes!” He spoke with vigour and sureness in his words.

His men agreed, cheering back to acknowledge the rightness of their king. Embolden, they set forth with a new resolve. They sent every beast-kin that dared taint their wall flying. They removed the ladders, decapitating enemies the moment their heads appeared over the wall. It was a brutal melee between the guardians of the wall and the ascending beasts.

They sent more siege towers, each successfully emptying its occupants. Only for them to be slaughtered upon exiting. Flames licked their charred bones as over a dozen fire priests set them ablaze. Whatever they were doing, it was working. The besieging force was being pushed back. Very few even made it to the wall. Soldiers cut down or burned those who reached the wall.

The siege lasted for hours; Siege towers slowly dwindled; ladders proved ineffective, and every choke point was stocked full of soldiers. No matter how many bodies the enemy threw at the wall, Tarkonian spirit endured. Morale was high and enemy casualties sky rocketed.

It was then a change as a tactic presented itself. Instead of siege engines and ladders. The enemy army partitioned and a smaller force of light infantry separated. Elisara, using her spell of bird's-eye, spotted the strange actions. She described the new group as a pack of lupines, lightly armoured with only sheathed, short swords.

Suddenly, like a shotgun blast, the group sped forward with inhuman speed. Dodging every single volley, they made their way to the wall almost instantly. Once they were in range, they leapt with the skill of master gymnasts and sank their claws into stone. From there they ascended, striking terror into any soldier who dared look down.

“Pour the boiling water!” A soldier commanded.

Scolding hot water fell like a waterfall of second-degree burns. The giant metal tubs tipped on their axis by assigned men. Yet no one heard the roar of pain. Instead of the burning wails of scorched enemies. Only the sound of claws digging into stone, once after the other. One man looked down, horrified to see their efforts pour over the enemy, leaving them unharmed. Scolding liquid was only a simple bath to a bunch of smelly dogs. The heat had no effect, barely lessening their advance.

“They have protection against heat!” A soldier yelled before his head left his shoulders.

Blood gushed as the body descended to the ground. Behind him was a feral humanoid wolf. Predatory eyes darted around, charting his next victim. Before he could take another life, a broadsword hit squarely him in the chest. At the blade's end was a Tarkonian royal knight in full plate armour.

The beast slid effortlessly off the blade and fell to his death. The victory was short-lived as another arrived to replace him. Quickly, they mounted the battlements, slicing their claws into everything within reach. Many soldiers died defending their small corner of the wall. The king and his knights sent forth replacements, only for them to be cut down.

Authorities dispatched fire priests to contend with them. Raising barriers of flame, they boxed the enemy from all sides. The torrent of fire kept them at bay, only for a blade to emerge from the flames. A transparent sword sliced through the heat and someone flung it with significant force. In an instant, it landed in the chest of a priest, staining his fine robes with blood.

The barrier wavered, and in that moment, a gap emerged. Taking full advantage, they poured out of the flames, cutting down every servant of the spirts they could reach.

“You filthy heathens!” The knights yelled before wading into battle.

Enraged by the death of their holy men. The knights of Tarkon charged into a brutal melee. Yet despite their ferocity, they were over-matched by the sheer strength of their opponents. The lupine enemies condensed into a wall of fur and ferocity, keeping one of their number protected.

The back liner knelt upon the stone, withdrawing a waterskin from his belt. He poured the contents, revealing blood.

“Demon summoner!” One knight yelled.

The dire situation prompted the King to command the heroes to deploy at last. And so they did. Peter was eager while Jasmine quietly assessed. The wolf-kin soon noticed their presence. The predatory beasts broke through the barricade of knights and sent their more ferocious members to stop the newcomers.

With every moment passing, more enemy soldiers ascended ladders. The breach created by the lupines allowed the besieging army a single entrance to overwhelm the defenders. Knights slowly fell to claw, their bodily weapons able to cut through armour. Realising the threat they posed, the king ordered them back.

The heroes took the initiative and sped forward. Jasmine was the first to meet the enemy. Instead of launching his claws, the transparent short sword was the weapon of choice. The wolf swung his blade, only to be caught by a side block, leading into a solid jab to the gut. Instead of falling to the ground, clutching his stomach. The short sword sent the half-man, half-wolf flying off the wall. The sound of a thud proceeded the few seconds before he went air born.

Following her astounding show of superhuman strength. Both her allies and enemies paused for a moment. This didn't last as Halmar sped across, aided by his wind spirits. Ducking and weaving through sword and claw. He made his way past the line, slicing through every piece of flesh he could find. Before he could make it, eldritch energy blasted him back. The lupine figure in dark robes raised his claws, sending sickly energy in every direction. Strangely, this energy held no sway over his allies and only pushed back man and spirit.

“Elisara, can you disable the summoning?!” Halmar frantically asked.

“I can try, but I need time.” She answered before seating herself in lotus position.

Chanting in the arcane tongue, the witch sent her power. Like ethereal chains of binding, the magic attacked the summoning spell. Tearing pieces of the diabolical work to shreds. Angered by the interference, the summoner commanded his fellow kin to target the witch.

Predatory grins crossed their faces. Sword and claw rose soon after. Their victim was before them. Only the heroes lay in their path. Like pack animals, they identified the weakest link. Their sights affixed to Peter, seeing him as an easy kill. Crouching on all fours, they sped, easily dodging Jasmines strikes.

Attacking from all sides, Peter found himself surrounded by vicious animals. Fear threatened to take hold, but at that moment, instinct took over. Exhaling mist, the air froze and extended its icy touch. In a moment, his attackers turned from dangerous killers to ice sculptures, posed in several forms.

Emboldened by the act, a smirk crossed his face. Eyes locked to the remaining wolf-kin surrounding the summoner. He didn't know if the wolf-kin's expressions were shocked, and he didn't care.

“Ice blast!” He blurted out, raising both his hands.

From his palms, ice spewed forth, freezing everything it touched. The wolf-kin desperately tried to evade, but a simple wave of his hand froze them in place. Step by step, Peter moves forward, blasting everyone that came near. Littering the wall with ice sculptures of terrified demi-humans. Eyes burning with heat that felt the exact opposite of the chill in his heart.

With every single enemy frozen, only the summoner remained. The robed lupine muttered something in arcane tongue, gesturing his claws at Elisara. A scream resounded and by instinct, Peter looked back. Blood erupted from her mouth as her tongue fell limp on the ground. With her spell ended, the summoner cackled madly.

“Finally, that wench is silent and quite good since I am finished. See you all in the Infernum!”

Withdrawing a dagger, he plunged the blade into his heart. From the wound, blood didn't flow. Instead, he expelled an ungodly fire. His body warped and bloated before splitting in the middle. What emerged was something Peter had seen countless times in his L&W campaigns. It was a demon, no doubt about it. A giant, red-skinned humanoid with a spiked tail, bat-like wings and horns. What shocked Peter was not the visage, but the voice that came forth.

“Woah dude, that's hardcore summoning, respect.” The demon said to the bloodied corpse.

His slit eyes scanned the field of battle, settling upon Peter. They widened slightly. The kindred feeling he had with his fellow demons whispered the truth.

“Woah, hey little demon dude, my name’s Greg and I would suggest bouncing. I got a job to do, and it will not be pretty.” The demon suggested, raising his well-muscled arm.

Snapping his fingers, tiny flames manifested behind him. Hanging in the air, they slowly multiplied and forming into smaller versions of the demons.

“Come, boys, we got a job, pillage and killing. It's going to be a good day.”

His demons split off, slaughtering every human they came across. His demons quickly drenched the wall, once a vanguard for humanity, in human blood.

“Fall back!” The King commanded, his knights following him down a narrow passageway.

“We need to get out of here!” Jasmine added, trying to pull Peter back.

Resisting, the young hero stared up at the demon, his hands ready to ice every demon in sight. Looking back for a moment, he noted Elisara in Halmar's arms. The blood had stopped. Their eyes met, and he knew what she wanted.

Shaking his head, he refused to flee. Turning to Jasmine, he conveyed his desires without words. Ready to leap into one of the greatest heroic charge of his life. Instead, he floated above the ground.

His fellow companion in the great game of heroes. Was gripping him by the shirt and dangling him above the ground.

“We are getting out of here.” She affirmed, with no intention of rebuke.

“Sorry girlie, that little dude is kin, he needs to go through processing.” The demon calling himself Greg stated.

Suddenly, and with a wave of the demon's hand. A fiery portal appeared below Peter, emerging from the tear in reality as many grotesque tentacles. Wrapping themselves around his torso, they pulled with inhuman might.

His shirt ripped easily, and before Jasmine could make a move. He vanished into the portal, closing behind him. Shocked, she paused only for a second. She barely registered losing her friend. Only cold reality pulled her from the stupor.

Demons were everywhere, and lamenting his loss would only get her dead.

“Don’t worry girlie, he's in a better place.” The demon said with finality, hands on his hips and demonic legions pouring out of fire behind him.