Leif fidgeted at the edge of the army camp atop a grassy hill not quite tall enough to be considered a mountain. He did so in the way he had been taught growing up, without any movements of his body or any nervousness reaching his face.
The kind of fidgeting only possible if you get beaten for appearing to not pay attention to lessons by the family tutor. The kind of fidgeting that involved mentally pushing and pulling small, mostly opaque grey rectangles with gold and red trimmings.
Now you might feel concerned at the idea of boxes only visible within your mind's eye, doubly so if they had letters, numbers and words on them. These weren’t hallucinations caused by schizophrenia but instead perfectly normal.
The young man moved and adjusted the system windows he had pulled up so they might block out the source of his worry. On another hill of similar size and shape were the enemy. The Enslaved Legion crawled over the almost mountain like the ant-like monsters their black carapace armour represented.
Leif had heard many soldiers doubt the invaders were human at all. They were, he knew, at least some of them. Though he suspected come morning he would be intimately familiar with just what kind of people they were.
“Captain sir!” Came a shout from behind along with running footsteps. Leif turned away from the enemy encampment, blinking the system out of his vision. As he did so sunlight glinted off his polished bronze breastplate, red and gold half cape fluttering in the wind.
“At ease.” Leif said, his tone not hinting at any lack of confidence.
His second in command, a tall man from a northern border city squinted at the light and shuffled so he was parallel to Leif. He stood up straight and saluted, fist to heart. “Captain sir! Orders from above, squads are to muster and report to their captains... Sir.”
Leif nodded and followed the other man's wandering gaze, back to the legion encampment. At the small groups of black figures that were beginning to dig entrenched positions in the valley between both forces.
“Are we… Ya know. Actually gonna fight them? A real pitched battle?” He asked. The two armies had been shadowing each other for the better part of a month, lightly skirmishing over position and resources so the question wasn’t as strange as it might sound.
“Yes, I’m afraid so Heffnir. The generals and seers are planning something for tonight. At least that was the conclusion reached in the officers meeting earlier today.”
“Fuck. Uh, I mean… How are the omens?”
“The omens are good, as to be expected I suppose. Shall we go?”
Heffnir nodded, the taller man followed briskly behind Leif as they wove through brightly coloured tents and below equally vibrant banners depicting noble heraldry. As the two departed dark clouds moved in front of the sun.
===
Rain fell in heavy sheets against the single file column of cloaked soldiers as they rounded the foot of the hill, the ground slick with muddy run-off. Above, fires raged from campfires and torches both, a reminder of warmth and comfort every man and woman taking part in the upcoming assault wouldn’t experience until the battle was won.
Leif marched ahead of his squad, twelve men and women trudged through deep mud thoroughly worked by those that had been before them. Head down as rain soaked his hood, Leif pulsed his aura in short guiding bursts. The invisible echo of power rolling off his shoulders, moving as far back along the column as his level and attributes could allow, just enough to reach the next squad leader, hopefully anyway.
Visibility had plummeted as night had fallen and the rain had gone from light drizzle to a suffocating blanket of liquid. Leif could barely see five metres ahead, the backs of the soldiers he was trailing seeming to meld into the murky darkness.
Two more bursts, quick succession. None of his squad had aura skills but they could still feel the aura of those who did. An innate sense possessed by all living beings. Leif’s [Noble] class, inherited from his father, had granted him a social aura when he had reached the second level. Intended to be used within courts and high society gatherings, the skill [Aura of Nobility] had fast tracked him into being an officer when the war broke out, though he supposed nepotism did most of the heavy lifting.
Unfortunately mud and rain don’t care about one’s birthright or caste. He cursed as part of the hillside slid out from under him making him slide over three metres and out of the single file marching formation.
Three short pulses followed by a fourth longer one. “Wait”, the message said, conveying patience and apology. Using the light from the campsite above and the faint echoes of the advanced squad’s aura pulses he re-orientated and continued onwards into the night. To battle.
===
The Varan camp was alight with controlled flame and bustling with activity. This activity however wasn’t from the usual bustle of soldiers. The kingdom's forces had slowly departed down the back of the hill to avoid detection from the Enslaved on the opposite side of the valley.
The activity was camp followers intentionally making themselves visible so scouts and lookouts with perception skills from the legion camp wouldn’t see that business wasn’t as usual. If all went well, the enemy wouldn’t suspect anything until it was too late.
Legionnaires in dark carapace toiled in the valley below, creating makeshift earthwork fortifications, pits and low walls. This was standard for the legion, the two armies had shadowed one another like timid dancers around the narrow stretch of tamed land between rugged wilderness and a vast lake for a little over a month. During this time the Enslaved would entrench themselves to withstand harassment by the less orderly but more mobile Varan forces.
It was this consistent military doctrine the Varan army intended to take advantage of.
Flares of light magic intermittently lit up the night, fired in high arcs so as to not reveal the many snaking tendrils of soldiers from the assault force creeping forward. Light attuned mages within the Varan camp illuminating the legion’s camp every five or so minutes, it was something the army did every night when the enemy was nearby. To scout, certainly. But the constant bright flashes were an indirect sort of attack, intended to prevent sleep and constantly distract.
A vibrant flash of green. Five minutes. Another, then yellow. “Advance.” The message hidden within the colours relayed. And over a thousand soldiers obeyed. They would defeat the invaders here and now, or die trying.
===
Green, green, yellow.
Green, green, yellow.
Red, green, yellow.
Leif crouched in the mud, his squad fanned out behind him in a loose formation. He squinted into the night, trying to make out the legions earthen walls. When the red flare had been fired, mages with classes attuned to earth had begun creeping forward, their spells and skills evening out the final stretch of ground and filling in the newly dug moat.
The army didn’t possess many [Terramancer]s, so those they did have would be burning through their energy as quickly as possible to ready the ground ahead.
Red, green, yellow.
Another fifteen minutes passed, Leif could see his breath fogging in front of him as anticipation built, men and women fidgeted from where they stood, Leif could hear the muffled clanks of their armour as they shifted. Soon, the blue flare should be any second…
Blue.
Attack.
With a hand on his sheathed sword Leif began channelling a skill into the blade. [Disciplined Strike] would build up energy until he struck out with his sword. With a flare of his aura he relayed his conviction and determination wordlessly to his squad and stepped forward.
To either side Leif could barely make out the outlines of other squads advancing, ghostly silhouettes in the night. It took over a minute of jogging before they encountered the returning earth mages, another thirty seconds and Leif's boots dug into a mound of piled soil, his footing secure and sure. He lunged upwards, the strength afforded from the [Might] attribute and the balance of [Alacrity] carrying him forward.
He reached the apex of the wall and saw two dark figures slumped against the bulwark’s slight overhang. He fell onto the first, his knee impacting the armoured skull, the legionnaire’s head snapping back from both the force of the blow but also surprise. Heffnir dropped next to the other, sword slipping into the gap between neck and carapaced breastplate.
Leif spun at the sounds of muffled yells and cries coming from all around. The alarm had been raised but was being drowned out by the rain. Five Enslaved stumbled out from under a cloth tarp, weapons drawn.
Leif had never stopped moving, he shoulder checked the first sending what he thought was a man tumbling, he drew his sword, hilt warm from the channelled skill, blade practically thrumming with power. With a single horizontal sweep two carapaced corpses fell back, bisected just above the hip. Their deaths instant, [Disciplined Strike] empowering his blade to cleanly sever through their spines.
A whistle blew, then another. Shrill sounds piercing the night as a proper alarm went out, alerting the legions main camp. But Leif couldn’t focus on that, he parried a spear thrust and twisted his body into a counter, empowered by a skill from his [Guard] class; blade bit into organic armour and met the flesh beneath. The legionnaire screamed, a distinctly human sound.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
It sent shivers down Leif’s spine, to know these were people, victims of an enemy of humanity. He cut them down nonetheless.
===
The slaughter continued as the Varan forces seized the fortifications. Legionnaires fled into the night but over twice that number were butchered. Leif climbed back up the earthen wall but visibility was still terrible. Where were the reinforcements? They couldn’t hold this position against a counter attack without them.
Green lit the night and Leif let out a sigh of relief, he turned and saw his men in the trenches below. Only one minor injury, no deaths. None yet.
Varan spearmen began pouring over the wall and moving into a defensive formation with weapons presented towards where the enemy would approach. Orders were barked and ranks came together. Hundreds of eyes peered into the void, would the legion retaliate? Or would they abandon the valley and retreat?
An ear splitting screech split the night, puddles of rain water trembling from the sheer volume. Soldiers reeled and scrambled back. Fear rippled along the line as yells for calm went mostly ignored. Leif flared his aura to prevent panic and his squad stabilised. There was something reassuring about being enveloped by non hostile intent.
What the hells was that? He thought, mind racing. A legion warform? A host? The sound came again, louder, closer. Then chaos descended as dozens of dog sized ants surged out from the darkness. Axe-like mandibles flashed, hacking and slicing. Men screamed as they fell, insects swarmed onto shields and over heads, leaping and latching onto soldiers behind the first row.
Waves of terror, pain and panic washed over Leif, the emotions tangible due to his [Court Empath] skill, he shook his head and mentally pushed the skill’s effect down. The raw emotions and intent faded into the background but the moment of distraction nearly cost him.
A monster leapt onto one of Leif’s squad members but he thrust out a hand just in time. A half dome of grey force snapped into existence between the ant and soldier causing the attack to be deflected. Leif grunted at the sudden onset of strain from the skill but pushed forward.
Don’t die. Please don’t die. He prayed, but the night's events were outside his control. For every Varan soldier who fell another dropped from the wall and into the fight. For over a minute the brutal close quarters melee against the swarm continued.
Leif kicked one of the monsters off of the end of his blade and glanced around. Another screech split the night air, silencing the yells and groans of battle. But instead of a second swarm tall figures in gleaming carapace armour slick with water marched in ominous lockstep. The legion had rallied fast, too fast.
“Captain Sir?” Heffnir yelled. The unasked question hung in the air, Leif felt the attention of his squad slip from the advancing enemy and onto him. We can’t retreat. He thought. A rout now would be catastrophic.
“Stand your ground!” He roared, similar commands were bellowed up and down the reforming defensive line. Leif glanced over his shoulder and back to the glowing hilltop of the Varan camp. “Hold until-”
The night ignited in rainbow radiance as a barrage of magic so thick it was as though a wave of power had erupted from the hilltop. The thaumatic assault from well over two dozen mages soared through the valley, over the Varan soldiers before smashing down into the advancing legion.
But the enslaved weren’t caught flat footed, no army so willing to sacrifice the lives of its own could be. As though compelled by madness the legionaries charged through the elemental destruction. Multicoloured flames wreathed their bodies and destructive sparks danced between spear tips. A hundred fell, immolated by magic. But it wasn’t enough. As a second, significantly smaller barrage of power lit up the sky the two armies clashed. And death reigned.
===
Chaos. It was the only word able to describe the battle. The low visibility rendered all combatants near-sighted and commanders blinded to the greater movements of the fight. Fronts buckled and pushed but neither side could take advantage. Varan cavalry charged into enemy lines after a rolling wave of flames had baked the mud into hardened clay. They were never seen again.
Arrows fell in waves but from which side they originated couldn’t be ascertained. Flashes of power would draw attention, the use of skills acting as a conductor of insanity. Corpses piled up and equal amounts of blood and water stained the ground.
At the two hour mark Leif received a ping informing him of a level up, though his system knew better than to flash a notification into his vision while he was fighting. He gasped in a lungful of air, repeated uses of [Recovery Breath] had limited effects but even a little vitality eased aches and lessened exhaustion.
Leif stumbled back, wiping blood from his left eye. He blinked blearily around, the sounds of battle had become distant and muffled. Moans and cries from the injured and dying came from nearby but he couldn’t see their source. The downpour had long ago lessened but it had been replaced with the drifting miasma of mana essence. Visibility hadn’t improved, if anything it had gotten worse.
Where are my men? He thought desperately. He hadn’t seen most of them fall, Heffnir had pulled back after sustaining a critical leg wound and the rest had slowly vanished as the battle continued. If they had died or fled he had no idea.
He pulsed his aura, desperate to at least get into contact with one ally. During the fighting he and his squad had been pushed away from the now thoroughly ruined earthworks. But now he didn’t know where he was.
The fires of both campsites were no longer in sight, whether they had been extinguished or the persistent haze was shrouding them Leif had no idea.
Footsteps from behind, hostile intent focused on him. A legionnaire missing an arm and with several arrows sticking from their armour rushed him. Half of a snapped spear was thrust at Leif’s neck as he jerked backwards. Phantom echoes of the same attack materialised chaotically around the enslaved strike, the skill used was faint, its form barely coherent for more than a second, a sure sign of the user's exhaustion.
Anger, hatred and not a little desperation radiated off the enslaved as they attacked again and again in furiously wide motions. Leif stepped into an overhead swipe and planted his fist into the gut of his attacker. Air whooshed from the legionaries lungs before a horizontal slash enhanced by [Duellist's Focus] removed their head.
Leif sagged to the ground as the enslaved toppled back, torso becoming obscured by mist. Some sort of enhancing or empowering skill leaked from the corpse, mixing into the air. No wonder they were somehow moving with that injury. He thought numbly.
For several minutes Leif stayed still, propped up by his sword he listened to the ever quieting sounds of battle. A scream, and then nothing. Steel ringing against steel, and then silence. All was quiet.
Is it over? Is it finally done? Thoughts ran through Leif’s exhausted mind. How could he regroup with survivors? Would others come to find him? Had they even won? Or was the legion finishing off Varan stragglers?
A riderless horse came screaming out of the fog, hooves kicking up mud as it rushed past. Leif made to grab for its reins but flinched back as the beast tripped, leg snapping under its own weight as it fell hard into the mud.
Not riderless. Two dog sized insects retracted their mandibles from where they had latched onto the now dead animal’s flank. Their emotionless eyes fell onto Leif as the two monsters swivelled their bodies to face him.
They rushed forward, legs skittering over the churned ground. Leif rolled to the side from his kneeling position. A Projected Shield snapped up around his back as he heard a crunch from a heavy impact. He spun up to his feet but screamed as mandibles latched around his forearm. Dropping his sword from the pain he stepped back and drew his dagger.
The short blade pierced the ant's eye, it went limp, but the mandibles stayed clamped firmly around his arm. The second monster, dazed from running head first into the now dissipated shield gathered itself before coming right at him.
Leif panicked, one arm was useless, likely broken, muscles and tendons severed by insectile blades. His sword lay submerged in mud and his dagger was stuck fast as he tried to yank it free from the insect’s corpse. Pain lanced up his leg as the remaining ant bit through his boot and severed his achilles tendon. Leif fell hard on his side but impacting the ground was enough to let his dagger slip free.
Death rushed for his neck but he twisted, blocking the attack with the dead ant still latched onto his arm. The monster’s body was dislodged from the blow, its vice grip on his forearm slackened. Leif kicked out with his one good leg and sent both carapaced forms tumbling.
He sucked in a breath but there was no relief from the pain. [Recovery Breath] was overused, the effect all but null. His physical attributes dropped, no longer enhanced from being in a combat stance. The ant came again, but the monster's fixation on his neck made dispatching it simple enough.
Leif’s head fell back, a mix of blood and mud instantly soaking his short dark hair. His vision began to fade as blood loss took its toll.
I’m going to die. He thought blankly, but there wasn’t enough energy left for any particular emotion to take root. Fear had long ago fled in the face of exhausted acceptance.
Death came slowly, or slower than one might expect. A mix of increased vitality from attributes and the desperate intakes of healing breaths made the minutes crawl into an hour, then two. His consciousness flickered in and out. Each bout of darkness interrupted by a reflexive gasp and a spasm of pain.
At some point the mist began to burn away as the morning sun rose. In the few moments he could focus Leif saw the aftermath of battle stretching off into the distance. In the dawn light figures stalked the battlefield. Tall and slender with inhumanly twisted limbs, they stopped at corpses and the dying, hunched over as if feeding.
Growling came from his left but Leif was too weak to move. Something bit into his thigh but he could barely feel the pain. Two wolves with mangy coats and sunken features began to tug at his limp body. Feebly he pulsed his aura, but [Aura of Nobility] had no combat potential, it was simply a final, desperate attempt to survive.
An inhuman hiss sent the two beasts whining and scampering away. Dark muttering in a language Leif wouldn’t have recognised even if he were fully lucid drew closer. A figure, taller than any human and twice as thin stood over him. Glowing red eyes bore down from a face lacking any distinct features except for ash grey bark in the place of skin.
It spoke in a guttural hiss and knelt down. A crack formed on the creature's mask-like face in a mock imitation of a smile. An elongated, crooked finger pressed into Leif's chest, the sharpened claw-like end penetrated his battered armour as if it were heated butter and sunk into flesh.
Then something was pushed into him, rushing through his veins and pushing aside organs as it twisted and grew. Leif screamed as his soul was ripped apart.
You have lost 5 levels in the [Fighter] class! -5 to all attributes!
You have lost 5 levels in the [Guard] class! -5 to all attributes!
Warning! You have lost class levels, skills connected to classes with lost levels may be unstable!
You have lost 0 levels in the [Noble] class! Inheritant classes cannot lose levels!
You have lost 4 levels in the [Fighter] class! -4 to all attributes!
You have lost 1 level in the [Guard] class! -1 to all attributes!
You have lost all levels in the [Fighter] class! All skills lost, class perk lost, base stats lost!
You have lost all levels in the [Guard] class! All skills lost, class perk lost, base stats lost!
Warning! You have suffered devastating soul trauma!
Warning! Your body is being forcibly transformed!
Warning! Your body has been irrevocably changed!
Warning! You are no longer a human! You are no longer an enlightened race! You may no longer gain non monster classes!
Error! Inheritant class detected. Class restrictions negated!