Buren's vantage atop the hill provided a grim panorama of what lay ahead. Rain-laden clouds, dripping with melancholy, had drenched the impending battlefield into a treacherous quagmire. Far below, the silhouette of the town's walls jutted out, faint and ghostly, obscured by a shimmering curtain of rain and pale mist. Betwixt him and the town was a writhing sea of shadowy figures, their presence announced more by the fetid aroma of decay than by sight.

"Who would've thought we'd make it this far?" Azure's voice reached him, pulling him from his reverie.

Without turning, Buren acknowledged her presence with a slight nod, a gesture she understood. Camaraderie born of shared travels and battles had birthed an unspoken language between them. She stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"We've ventured through countless leagues, endured relentless skirmishes, and many a sleepless night," she mused.

"For this very moment," Buren responded, his metallic arm emerging from the cloak's concealment. It stretched out, elongating cruelly, fingers coiling into a fist. Its clawed extremities grated against each other, the sound reminiscent of steel being sharpened — a relentless reminder of the torment it once wrought upon him. It was longer than his real arm had been, reaching past his hip, and had many cruel spikes and jagged edges of dark metal, calling to mind an instrument of torture. And that it had been, at least for him.

"Our journey was not in vain," Azure whispered, her fingertips grazing the cold metal, a gentle contrast to its harsh form. "After today, it will all be over."

"One way or another," Buren's voice was tinged with a foreboding chill.

She chuckled, lightening the mood. "I didn't forgo the luxury of baths for weeks to meet my end here!" Playfully, she nudged his natural shoulder. Memories of their shared past flashed before him - her soothing touches on nights when the burden of his metal limb seemed too heavy to bear. Their bond had been forged in the crucible of adversity, their embraces a salve for the wounds of the world. Yet lingering at the back of his mind was the uncertain future of their bond. As he gazed at her sky blue eyes, he wondered whether their alliance endure the mundane trials of peace? Could a union between a human and a Dryad ever find acceptance?

Interrupting his contemplation, Anod, a behemoth of a man, tattooed and unfazed by the elements, strode towards them. The drizzle condensing into drops on his bare chest did nothing to dampen his mood, like it never did.

"Why the long faces?" Anod boomed with an unyielding charisma, his voice a strong and steady. He looked them square in the eyes, attempting to pierce the fog of their internal disquiet. "Your minds fill your vision with gloomy apparitions of things to come?"

Without waiting for an answer, Anod stepped closer. With deliberate care, he pressed his palms over their hearts, feeling the nervous beatings. "Disregard those unwelcome hallucinations," he admonished softly, "and feel the strength of your bodies. The vitality. The life pulsing within."

Buren and Azure looked at each other, then back at Anod. The taller man grasped their hands – Buren's left, the one still flesh and blood, and Azure's delicate fingers. Gently, he placed them over his own heart. It was so expansive that their hands barely overlapped. They felt its pulsations – strong, deliberate, unwavering.

"I feel no fear," Anod declared, his voice resolute and brimming with conviction. The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a slight smile. "Only the readiness to achieve at my peak, to surpass even my own expectations. To take on whatever is to come. And deep down," he added, looking into their eyes, searching for the warriors he knew lay within, "I know you feel the same, underneath the noise of the mind."

A third hand slapped onto Anod's chest, this one with colored fingernails, grabbing Anod's considerable pectoral muscle. "Yeah, I think I'm starting to feel it too," Toksaris quipped, giving the muscle a squeeze. Buren and Azure pulled their hands away, Buren rolling his eyes, while Azure chuckled. Anod gently shoved Toksaris' hand off him and said, "Are you sure you are headed for battle? Because you look like you are going to a ball, and not as one leading in the dance, either."

Toksaris looked himself up and down, running his fingers through his long, curled hair, and seeming satisfied with his immaculate mage's gown with its intricate flowery details, and finding the flowers woven into his hair still in place. "It has been a while since I performed with mages of this caliber," he said. "Had to look my best. Is my makeup still in place?" he had asked Azure.

"You look dashing, dear," Azure had said. "And don't fret about the flowers: I made them so they won't budge until tomorrow. On the downside, you couldn't remove them even if you wanted."

Buren once more surveyed the battlefield, thinking, "I wonder if I'll come to miss even their constant babbling?"

"I came to inform you the war council convenes," Anod pronounced with his impeccable intonation. "They await our presence."

"One last thing," Toksaris said. His hands, shrouded in the folds of his cloak, emerged holding several small, luminescent stones, each pulsating with a soft inner light.

"These," he began, his voice steady and clear, "are callstones. A creation of my own design, intended to keep the Seekers of the Artifact connected, even when physically apart."

He handed a stone to each of them. Buren examined his, watching the light ebb and flow like a living thing. Azure held hers up to the light, her eyes reflecting its gentle glow, while Anod turned his over in his palm, a look of curiosity etched on his face.

Toksaris continued, "To activate it, simply touch the stone to your heart. This will send a signal to the other stones, alerting the holder that a meeting has been called."

He demonstrated, pressing his stone against his chest. The stone flared brightly for a moment before returning to its gentle pulsation.

"The stones will then guide you to the one who summoned you. They light up brighter when pointed in the right direction, much like in the children's game of 'warmer and colder'. However, remember, this ability can only be used once before I need to recharge them."

A playful glimmer appeared in Toksaris's eyes as he added, "So, only use it in times of trouble, or if you're feeling particularly lonely."

"With these callstones," he concluded, his tone becoming more solemn, "the Seekers of the Artifact are never truly disconnected."

Buren slipped his stone into his pocket, feeling its warmth against his side. Azure and Anod nodded their thanks, each pocketing their own stone with care.

"I'll go meet up with my people," Toksaris chirped. "We make our own plans, anyway."

Buren nodded, motioning towards the grand tent. Toksaris headed for the mage regiment, while the three of them strode to the command pavilion. The entrance was flanked by guards, their postures stiffening as the trio approached. Inside, the air was thick, a medley of dampness and pungent incense. As they entered, a hushed silence blanketed the room. All eyes were on them. As Buren rested both arms on the table, an involuntary ripple of unease spread among the nobles at the sight of his mechanical appendage. The pause was brief, but palpable, before the king resumed their debate, drawing attention back to the looming war.

The king paraded back and forth atop his steed in front of the vanguard, fervently encouraging the troops and inciting a fervor against the impending enemy. From his position at the very back of the column, Buren could scarcely discern the king's words. A vast army sprawled across the hills: the cavalry leading the forefront, followed by battalions of foot soldiers, and then the archers. The rear guard shielded the archers - a motley crew comprised of warriors deemed too frail for the frontlines. These emaciated soldiers in their tarnished garments sneered at Buren, assuming that his placement in the rear was a deliberate slight from the military leaders. Buren took it in stride, knowing the less his actual role in the upcoming battle was known, the lower the risk of it reaching enemy ears.

Further separated were the ethereal Dryads, standing in their unique phalanx, preferring not to mingle with the human soldiers. On an adjacent hill stood the mages, appearing more like casual observers than participants girded for a life-or-death battle.

As the horn sounded with resounding urgency, the ground trembled under the combined might of soldiers descending the hill, their war cries filling the air. The enemy, termed the dark legion, remained seemingly unperturbed, their ranks shuffling aimlessly, a stark contrast to their own regimented formation. Buren recognized the danger in underestimating this appearance of disorganization; a lesson he had learned the hard way during his first brush with the Fouled.

With the major force of the enemy engaged elsewhere, Buren had space to maneuver. Urging his horse to a gallop, with Azure and Anod tailing closely on their steeds, they circled the town's outskirts. The cacophony of clanging steel signaled the frontline's engagement. Their stratagem was straightforward, more of an outline rather than an actual plan: launch a direct assault, diverting the enemy's attention to one flank, thereby allowing them an opening on the opposite end. Though they anticipated detection, they banked on the enemy undervaluing a mere trio, a miscalculation the group would exploit before the enemy had a chance to get a word out. A blood-curdling shriek emanated from the city's heart, causing the scar over Buren's eye to twitch involuntarily. The formerly subdued foes became frenzied, attacking with a disregard for their own lives. The soldiers' triumphant shouts morphed into horrified screams as the fetid puppets they had cut down easily thus far now struck back.

"It seems to have swallowed the bait," Buren mused, and spurred his horse to go faster.

Approaching the city walls, archers atop took aim, but their arrows went wide. As they neared the imposing stone barrier, Anod shouted, "Your move, boss!" While staying right by the bottom of the wall made them a harder target for the archers, Buren was all too aware of the dangers of lingering: boiling oil and explosives. He surveyed his right arm, the sharp, metallic fingers gleaming menacingly. Much of their success hinged on his mastery over this arm.

Balancing precariously on his saddle, Buren cast his gaze upward, sizing up the barrier before him.

"Flood me, this is one high wall."

Azure, always the voice of encouragement, replied, "You've got this. Show them what a real wallflower can do." Buren grimaced, but launched himself, embedding his claws into the wall. He dangled there for a moment before his feet found purchase on the stone surface. Once again, he had to marvel at the strength and agility of the arm. It had made climbing a trivial matter, as he could easily lift his own weight with the single arm alone, and so much more.

Oh, so much more.

Propelling himself with astonishing speed, he scaled the ramparts, like an arrow shot straight up, his cloak billowing dramatically. He flew over the battlements and the heads of the two archers hiding behind them. The duo of unsuspecting archers gazed up, things that used to be men, their faces, a grotesque blend of decay and death, betraying no surprise. Mid-air, Buren dispatched one with a crushing blow that split its head like an axe does to a log, landing gracefully as his foe crumpled. The second, abandoning its bow, drew a tarnished sword. Buren deftly deflected its strike with his iron forearm, retaliating with a lethal backhand that sent the creature careening off the battlement and crashing through the shoddy roof of one of the buildings within the walls.

Securing a rope around a crenellation, he threw it over, enabling Azure and Anod to ascend. "Impressive," Azure remarked, scanning city, which was veiled by even thicker layer of mist than the outside perimeter. "You give the squirrels of the forest a run for their money, or nuts, or whatever."

Another haunting shriek, like a serrated blade scraping against solid bone, pierced the air, echoing from the city's architecture so he could not pinpoint its origin.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

But she could: "There," she pointed. Without a word Buren stepped off the battlement. He struck his claws against the stones and slowed his descent, showering sparks all the way down.

"Showoff!" Azure's voice teased as she and Anod made for the stairwell.

The Fouled soldier he had dispatched earlier was extricating itself from the debris of the barn it had crashed into. Despite the shattered bones, its continued animation was evident; its head remained undamaged. He ignored it and hastened on, darting from one empty street to the next, each corner cautiously scrutinized before he moved on. The raucous clamor of battle echoed beyond the walls, but the city's abandoned streets and buildings stood eerily mute.

That silence was soon disrupted. An undead giant, concealed in the shadows of what appeared to be an old barn, burst forth through the rotten double doors.. Decay had stiffened its joints, making its posture stooped, but even then it towered over two meters high. Its brawny physique, covered in coarse hair, showcased tusks jutting from its lower jaw. Its gut was torn open, and as it advanced, it trampled its own entrails, dragging a hefty, blood-soaked wooden club.

With a guttural growl, the beast took a swing at Buren's head, the strike strong enough to pulverize him if it hit. He retaliated swiftly, thrusting his iron arm toward the base of the club. The weapon splintered, its fragments soaring overhead, but the impact jarred Buren, almost wrenching the metal appendage from his body. He staggered, and before he could regain his stance, the behemoth lunged, pinning him beneath its colossal, rotting mass, forcing the breath from his lungs.

Desperately, he tried prying the monster off with his right arm. However, his hand plunged through the creature's decomposing flesh, trapping it. Fetid saliva dribbled on his face as the horror opened its mouth wide and bent over to swallow his head whole. He reached up with his left arm and, knowing he would not have the strength to rival the monster's, jammed his gauntleted fist down its throat. It bit down, the metal protecting his hand crumpling under the enormous pressure of the massive canines. Sacrificing his arm would only buy him a few seconds to try and struggle his other arm free, and he wasn't making any progress.

From the distance, a shout rang out. "Hey, over here!" The beast's gaze shifted just as a muscular fist, adorned with brass knuckles, smashed into its face. A left cross of similar, devastating effect caused its head to spin over ninety degrees with a wet snap, followed by a tackle that knocked it down so Buren could finally draw breath again.

"Next time, pick on someone your own size," Anod quipped, extending a hand to help Buren up.

Yet, the giant wasn't finished. Its head lolled grotesquely, its face mangled, an eye dangling precariously. It came for them again, tireless as all those who know not the rest of the grave, heedless of the damage done to it that would have incapacitated a living being. It lunged again, only to collapse abruptly. In its place stood Azure, her twin daggers glinting.

Anod chuckled, "Must've seen you sneak up and sever the calf tendons hundreds of times, yet I still never see it coming."

She smirked, twirling a dagger. "Let me know if you ever spot me. Means I must be slipping."

The creature dragged itself on the ground towards them, until Buren put an end to its misery with a downward arc of his fist that split its skull like a watermelon, adding bits of brain matter to the mess of gore and slime already tarnishing his cloak.

Azure approached, concern evident. "You alright?"

He nodded, ignoring the tearing pain in his shoulder, "I'll manage."

Azure cautioned, "Remember, only your arm's iron. The rest? Just as soft and squishy as the rest of us."

He considered in passing whether anyone would describe his body, comprised of wiry muscles and taut tendons, as soft, but saw no point in debating the issue. "We need to press on. It's close, I'm sure of it."

Soon, they approached the walled castle nestled in the town's center. The castle's highest spire vanished into the mist, but Buren discerned faint traces of movement above.

Azure squinted, her keen eyes scanning. "It's up there, directing its minions. The fog won't hinder its sight. Its eyes are not like ours."

Anod added, "Loads of Fouled on the ramparts. Doubtless, more inside and in the stairwell leading to their leader."

" We won't be taking the stairs," Buren interjected. "Such towers are designed to restrict movement. With the stairs spiraling clockwise, I'll have less room to maneuver my right arm, while they'll have ample room, as well as the high ground. They'll have every advantage, cornering us from both ends. I'll climb the walls again. You two should retreat the way we came."

"That won't work either, not with the archers around," Azure interjected, her voice laden with conviction. "Scaling those walls will be impossible without us drawing their fire."

Buren had already foreseen this complication, but he'd hoped to present his companions with an honourable exit. "Very well. Once I'm out of arrow range, retreat immediately."

Azure's eyes bore into his. "I hate the idea of you confronting that monstrosity alone, but it seems there's no other way."

The castle walls were bristling with wooden spikes, and impaled upon them were the mutilated remains of those who had resisted the takeover—some were barely scratched, while others were reduced to severed heads. These former defenders, now twisted and reanimated, reached out, gnashing their teeth in futile rage, bound forever to the spikes until the ravages of time consumed them. Would their souls ever find peace?

More bodies writhed, hanging from the ramparts. These grim decorations provided an unexpected advantage. Buren boosted Azure and Anod up, using one of these hanging bodies as a makeshift ladder, before hoisting himself up. Reaching the top, they silently dispatched the nearest guards. Anod, quick to improvise, seized a hefty wooden shield from one of the fallen and strapped it to Buren's back.

"This should offer some protection," he muttered, "but it won't save you from a direct hit."

Buren nodded thankfully.

Azure extended her hand, and Anod swiftly placed his atop hers. Both sets of eyes shifted to Buren. There was a brief hesitation—the ritual was familiar, but they hadn't performed it since Buren had received his iron arm. With a breath, he settled his metal hand atop theirs. The trio exchanged firm nods before pulling away.

Remaining in position, Buren watched as Azure and Anod moved to create a diversion. Their signal came as a flaming Fouled was hurled from the battlements into the courtyard. Anod's mocking shouts drew the enemy's attention, diverting them from Buren's path. Seizing the moment, Buren sprinted to the spire, dispatching two sluggish undead on his way, and began his ascent, scaling the tower much as he had the wall. Erratic arrows whizzed past him, some embedding into the shield on his back, but he climbed with an unpredictable rhythm, making it nearly impossible for the archers to land a direct hit.

Reaching the summit, Buren found himself on a flat stone surface, surrounded by three stone arcs that converged in the middle. Above, metal beams spiraled upwards, forming the iconic spire that could be seen for leagues on a clear day. There, eerily suspended from the spire with its long spider-legs, was his target—the Malignant One.

A member of its royal guard—a hulking giants adorned in rough iron platelets—spotted Buren, raised an alarm, and quickly drew the attention of its brethren and their master. As the Malignant One descended to assess the intruder, Buren took in its grotesque transformation. When they had last met, its corruption had only just begun to manifest, in the form of boils and beginnings of a chitinous carapace, but now it was like a harvestman from nightmares, an enormous human head malformed by tumors radiating arachnid legs, its many dark eyes fixated intently on him. With a roar, it exhaled a thick, dark fog that clung to Buren.

"Nice attempt!" Buren shouted defiantly, shaking a small vial of yellow liquid. "But thanks to the Dryads, I'm shielded from your treachery—at least for today." Had he not consumed this potion—a rare elixir they had hunted for in a perilous satyr-infested forest—the Malignant One's dense fog would have converted him into a mindless minion. Yet, since there wasn't enough potion for every soldier, the fallen would inevitably rise to betray their former allies, so they had been on a tight timetable from the start.

"Remember me?" Buren yelled, pointing at the scar that marred his eye. "You gifted me this token, and now, I'm here to return the favor. An eye for an eye!"

The colossal leader of the dark horde unleashed a roar filled with pure malice, its cavernous mouth threatening to swallow Buren whole. Swiftly, it brandished a jagged front leg, aiming directly at him. Buren nimbly sidestepped, but the limb's force drove through the stones of the tower. Seizing his chance, Buren swung his short sword at the extended limb. To his dismay, the blade merely glanced off the dark armor, leaving no mark.

"Still adjusting to wielding the sword with my left hand," he grimaced.

Without missing a beat, the creature swiftly retracted its leg and, with brutal efficiency, swiped it horizontally. Buren dropped into a roll, narrowly evading the leg that cut down one of the less fortunate giants just above the knees.

He rushed to one of the stone arcs and grabbed it with his right arm, hurtling himself in the air and caught a firm grip on the spire. With renewed determination, he lunged at the monstrous archspider, with sword poised to run it through. But with reflexes that belied its size, the creature deftly sidestepped. Its retaliatory strike came faster than he could blink, but just as fast—faster than he could have even thought, he later considered—was his right arm that intersected the strike with a blow of its own. He was thrown violently backwards, grasping for anything that would stop him from flying straight off the tower. He collided with something that softened the blow but still knocked the wind out of him—no, someone. One of the giants. Buren's impact had carried both of them over the tower's edge, and they plummeted down, with Buren practically embedded to its side.

"Sorry, you're going to have to make this trip without me!" Buren shouted. Using the strength of his iron arm, he pushed off the giant, propelling the creature to the ground below and flinging himself back onto the tower's side.

Buren sought a brief moment of respite, but it was not to be. The Malignant One was descending towards him, the wounded limb dripping with dark ichor.

"The legends held truth," Buren realized. "My arm can harm it."

Below, King Devon surveyed the battlefield, sensing the momentum shifting against them. To one flank, the Dryads unleashed their full might upon the enemy. Their colossal tree forms trampled the withered monsters, while their nimble warriors, clad in form-fitting natural rubber armor, deftly sliced through the undead.

From the opposite side, the ethereal chants of the mages wafted on the wind, their high, almost effeminate tones contrasting starkly with the devastation they wrought. Even the most hardened soldiers swallowed their crude comments about the mages appearance as the Fouled were engulfed in flames, blasted by thunder, and turned into pillars of salt. The sheer might of the Scytheans was awe-inspiring, yet chilling.

But the heart of their formation wavered. As soldiers fell, they soon rose again, turning on former comrades with a hunger borne of the grave. The piercing cries of the Malignant One echoed, sending shivers down Devon's spine. He strained his eyes, attempting to peer through the thick fog, thinking he glimpsed movement atop the town's central tower. But certainty eluded him.

His gaze returned to his troops, witnessing the onset of panic. They were retreating, terror evident in their eyes. "We must buy the Bearer of the Gauntlet all the time we can," he thought urgently. "If the horde redirects its focus to defend its master, we may never have another opportunity like this."

His fingers clenched around the hilt of his ornate blade. "Forgive me, Coldwood, for dragging you into this mess," he silently lamented, drawing his sword and raising it high. With a fierce determination, he charged headlong into the fray. "Hold the line, men!" he bellowed. "Push them back!"

"The King stands with us!" came the rallying cry. Bolstered by their sovereign's valor, the soldiers surged forward with renewed ferocity.

Amidst the chaos, a thought of his trusted ally, Buren, flashed through Devon's mind. "I trust you to see this through," he silently implored, as a monstrous Fouled giant lumbered toward him, its massive feet crushing its lesser kin. With unwavering resolve, Devon pointed his sword at the behemoth, standing his ground. His final thoughts were a silent plea to his friend. "Finish what I could not."

A sudden, guttural noise caught Buren's attention. He narrowly evaded a torrent of corrosive sludge that poured from the creature's maw. The acid corroded everything in its path. Desperate to gain an advantage, Buren climbed higher. Yet, he soon recognized the flaw in his tactic: the creature advanced relentlessly, leaving no escape route. Each of its strikes was calculated, shattering the tower's very structure, forcing Buren higher and higher until there was nowhere left to go, as it waited below with outstretched limbs that would impale him the moment he fell within their reach.

Buren could see the malevolent intelligence behind those multiple eyes, the fanged grin that spread on its face in anticipation of its impending victory. Clinging to the tower with one hand, he felt the chilling realization that only a few meters separated him from the sharp pinnacle that would mark the end on his line.

He reached into his cloak, retrieving a glass bead with swirling purple light. Crushing it, Buren silently prayed it would summon the mages he'd been promised.

"I hope this message can't get lost in the mail."

A thunderous boom resonated, a stark contrast to the bleak drizzle. With realization dawning, Buren leapt away from the spire and unstrapped the sturdy wooden shield from his back in midair and, harnessing the power of his metal arm, hurled it like a discus at the dark beast. The shield struck true, drawing blood from a weak spot at a joint. Before it had the chance to recover, a lightning bolt struck the steeple with ear-splitting din, and for a second all he could see was white light. When his vision returned, he saw the spire glowing white hot, and the monstrosity still clutching on was dazed, with smoking blisters appearing on its face.

Capitalizing on the momentary stupor, Buren lunged, delivering a devastating blow that crushed the carapace so its nose caved in its face. He was launched back up by the counterforce, while the reeling fiend fell to the floor below with an enormous crash.

Down, but not out, he realized as it started to get its legs back under it. He needed to end this fast: if the thing turned to run, to hide until it had healed its wounds, they might never get a second chance like this.

The stones of the base of the spire gave away under his grasp, so he hastily grappled for a new purchase, cutting his left palm in the process. The sight of the fractured tower crown inspired a desperate idea. Striking the weakened structure, he watched as stones began to crumble, cracks spiderwebbing across the tower. He hammered at he already beaten stones, and cracks started appearing and small rubble poured down in swelling rivulets. The monster was almost back on its feet when his fist punched through, the stones having given away, and the pointed brass summit of the spire toppled, falling like a lance from heaven, still burning hot. It pierced the creature through one eye and speared it to the stones underneath. It screeched and trashed, then quieted down until its legs curled up towards the sky, and it lay unmoving, dead, with its viridescent blood running in small brooks in the spaces between the slabs of stone comprising the floor, like water down many crisscrossing channels.

Exhausted and battered, with everything except his tireless metal arm aching, Buren clung to the remnants of the spire. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in. When the remaining arcs of the tower collapsed, he was too fatigued to move. The rubble consumed him, and everything faded to black.