Under the relentless rain of projectiles, the white-furred abominations suffered in the trickery of humans once again. Though the arrows lacked the precision to strike fatal blows, each one that found its mark was enough to send sharp pangs of pain through their sinewy flesh. They snarled and twitched in frustration as the assault persisted. It wasn’t the lethality of the attacks that tormented them, but the unrelenting irritation, a cruel mockery of their supposed superiority.
They had had enough.
The fragile restraint they had shown, the meager attempt at caution—crumbled under the onslaught. Wariness had proven futile, turning into a weakness that only prolonged their suffering, instead of sparing them. To these savage beings, caution brought nothing but more pain. And so, instinct won, abandoning all reasons, they let their beastiality loss free. With a guttural growl, they abandoned restraint and gave in to their primal fury.
Snarling and slavering, the invaders surged forward, their monstrous maws snapping as they charged headlong toward their tormentors. But just as one beast lunged, its gaping jaws wide with rage, a single arrow sliced through the night. Its flight was unnervingly fast, like a bullet unlike any other, and it struck with surgical precision as if the one who released it had predicted everything. The arrow plunged into the open maw of the charging hound, piercing through its brain and emerging subtly from the top of its flat-top-skull. The creature crumpled mid-leap, its lifeless form collapsing to the ground.
In the far distance, from the shadows of the forest, the old chief allowed himself a faint smile, his steady hand lowering the bow that had loosed the killing shot.
And then, the forest erupted.
By then, flaming arrows arced through the air, their fiery tips streaking against the dark canvas of night. The defenders had unleashed a new wave of chaos, this time from the treetops and forest edge, not for the creatures, but for the surrounding.
When one of the flaming arrows hit a soaked bark of a tree, a wave of fire was ignited, rolling to cover it whole. The first tree erupted into a tower of fire, its light casting long, menacing shadows over the battlefield. One by one, more trees ignited, the flames spreading with ravenous hunger, turning the dark forest into an inferno.
Flames blossomed wherever the arrows struck, igniting oil-soaked wood and foliage with explosive brilliance.
For a brief moment, the defenders hesitated, caught between awe and terror as the rising flames painted their surroundings in hues of orange and red. But there was no time to marvel.
Amidst the blaze, Kaiser tightened his grip on his sword, the heat licking at his face as a roaring command pierced through the cacophony of crackling flames and screeching howls.
“Burn the land!”
It may sound like an unreasonable demand, but it's their only saving grace in this war. With the distance they have been maintaining disappearing, traversed by the invaders with terrifying speed, giving them mere seconds left before clashing. Running from those things are suicide, obviously. Their slender body structure was constructed more for speed. A clash was unavoidable, their only salvation lies in turning the very forest against their enemies. The inferior volunteers and hunters can only rely on smoldering heat to obscure their scent, thus rendering the invaders main sensory used to perceive the world a mess by heat, which disrupts smell. Putting them in an environment surrounded by fire will be like blinding their vision, thus giving them a significant advantage in an all out clash. Fortunately, the forest was in their favor thanks to it being surrounded by things to burn.
Heeding the command, the defenders worked quickly. Lanterns were smashed against piles of dried leaves and thick undergrowth. The flames began to spread, consuming everything in their path and filling the air with smoke and heat.
With this, the monsters’ primary sense was obscured, hopefully. Blinded by the smoke and the suffocating heat, their keen ability to track by scent would be nullified in the chaos of the inferno.
As the roaring flames intensified, casting the forest in an apocalyptic glow, the defenders wrapped fabrics around their lower faces as protection from the smokes. Unsheathing their weapons, while rangers kept sending arrows at the darting hounds. The invaders closed the final stretch. Their snarls grew louder, their claws tearing through the earth in a frenzied charge. Then, just as they were about to reach the defenders, a towering wall of fire erupted in their path, ignited by the Hunters.
The flames roared high, blocking Kaiser’s view of the charging beasts. For a moment, all he could see was fire—wild, untamed, and unyielding. The heat was oppressive, the air thick with smoke, but he stood his ground, sword drawn and heart steeled for the clash to come. However, Kaiser can't help but be apprehensive because from the looks of it, even if one of the invaders was dead, eleven was still too much for an army of Hunters and Volunteeres. Taking on all eleven of them despite their numerical advantage promises a catastrophic loss of men, perhaps even defeat. After all, half of their army was untrained civilians, not soldiers.
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Things weren't looking good for them.
'Where the heck are those guys...'
But then, a low, echoing horn resounded, cutting through the crackling inferno and ringing in their ears with shallow, but booming noise. Kaiser grimaced, irritated by the sudden sound. However, his heightened senses caught a distinct, sickly-sweet scent carried by the warm, smoky air. Faint and but noticeable for his sensitive senses, which is incomparable to humans, second only to the white-furred hounds in this battlefield. It was the unmistakable stench of blood—fresh and potent, yet unnaturally enhanced, as though altered by some human artifice.
His brow furrowed. It wasn't there before, was it the high-ranking Hunters doing?
'Wait… Are they dividing them?'
That's the most logical conclusion he could come out of, considering the absence of key figures, Alfred and Garba. Kaiser had been wondering where they were, but as it turns out, they were executing a crucial plan, perhaps their last.
Somewhere in the shadows, hidden from sight, the strongest of their forces were lying in wait. Timing was crucial, and now, with the invaders disoriented by fire and fury, the trap had been sprung. The bait—a concoction of blood and rot—was too tempting for these particular beasts to resist.
Divide and conquer: a timeless strategy.
In this case, dividing and *devouring* might prove effective against such fearsome foes, it was a calculated necessity. The defenders knew their strengths and weaknesses well—though their forces numbered nearly two hundred, they paled in individual prowess compared to the eleven monstrous invaders. But by splitting the beasts and overwhelming them with sheer numbers, they might stand a chance of picking them off one by one.
Blinded by rage, smoke, and fire, the white-furred abominations faltered. Their ears twitched toward the sound of the horns, their noses twitching greedily as the enticing scent wafted through the air. Slowly, they began to separate. Three veered to the right, two to the left, leaving six charging headlong toward the army Kaiser’s is blending in. The hunters and volunteers standing beside him exchanged nervous glances.
The six invaders were left at their mercy.
His hopeful expression turned grim as he cursed.
'The f*ck... Did they miscalculate?'
From the looks, yes. Then again, In the chaos of war, nothing could be predicted perfectly. The hunters had done all they could to manipulate these beasts, but even the best-laid plans had limits.
Still, six was a daunting number to face, even with nearly a hundred defenders at his side. In Kaiser's judgement from what he had seen so far, a single white-furred abomination could take on fifteen or twenty of their men's, even death, victory isn't certain. Heck, Kai wouldn't be surprised if thirty died trying, because one snap by that invaders mouth is capable of instantly killing a man, their claws were equivalent to a deadly, their speed unrivaled. Truly a nightmare in the flesh, unlike any other.
No more traps or schemes. They had exhausted everything, even arrows were running out. From here on out, all they have left is their swords, axes, bows and spears.
'But Damn, six?'
It would have been more ideal if it was five.
Kaiser was dubious of their victory against half a dozen invaders, even if their numbers were over a hundred. Fortunately, his here. And if his not mistaken, the old chief remained with them, as well, stationed atop a strategic high point, hidden, his bowstring drawn taut and ready to rain precise death from above. That old mad was their best marksman, having already killed one invader. It wasn't that grim...
As the hounds surged past the wall of flames, and the hunters in front surged forward to meet them, shouting their war cries. Kaiser’s breath caught. Now that they were closer, he could see them clearly—and they were even more nightmarish than before. Three meters tall, with sinewy, elongated bodies like grotesque parodies of horses, their skeletal frames had white furs, beneath blackened skins.
Forget about hounds, those sh*ts are three meters tall horses! That said, the invaders were an entirely new species of creature to be specific, he just didn't know what to call those nightmarish creations.
He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. Thinking of turning back... Sadly, he can't after saying all those heroic bullshit*ts without living up to it.
Steeling himself, Kaiser adjusted the fabric mask covering his nose, shielding himself from the stifling smoke. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, the flickering flames dancing along its steel blade as he stepped forward. Around him, the defenders roared, summoning their courage as they charged into battle with wild war cries.
Radiance of the burning woods touching their sweaty faces, rain of stray ashes was carried by the warm wind.
**Elsewhere, on the eastern side of the battlefield…**
A broad, muscular figure stood in a wide clearing, framed by the distant flames and the glowing embers floating through the air, as dark smokes rise above the night sky. Alfred, the commander of the hunters, was an imposing figure. His brown skin glistened with sweat, his massive greatsword resting on his broad shoulders like a deadly extension of himself. Around him stood a dozen warriors, a mix of his strongest soldiers and trusted comrades, including Brick, the spiky-haired brawler who radiated barely contained energy, fearless arrogance and composed resentment. All of them watching as the distant woods burn.
Alfred’s grim eyes never left the dark line of the forest ahead. He stood in tense silence, waiting for the inevitable. The air was thick with the putrid stench emanating from the crashed crate of rotting meat placed at the center of the clearing. It was a beacon, deliberately designed to draw the beasts to them.
When a low rustling reached his ears, Alfred exhaled slowly, his hands tightening around his weapon.
“They’re coming,” he muttered, his voice deep and steady.
---
**On the western front…**
Under the pale light of the moon, an old man sat cross-legged on the scorched ground, his face serene despite the chaos not so far away from him. Windslayer, his transparent blade, stood planted in the earth before him like a gravestone marker, catching the moonlight in ghostly hues.
Garba’s lips twitched in a wry grin as the sound of approaching beasts broke through the night. His old eyes glanced at the cleanly sliced crate of rotting meat nearby, its vile stench assaulting even his hardened senses.
“Ah, it seems my lovely hounds, had come to dinner at last...” he joked, chuckling weakly.
But his humor soon faded. His expression darkened as he counted the shadows shifting in the distance.
“Cursed luck, that’s more than I asked for,” he clicked his tongue.
Garba calmly rose up, pulled Windslayer’s hilt and took a deep breath. Before slowly looking up to appreciate the moon above, hanging ominously, casting its cold light over the battlefield.