The demonlings were displeased. They launched another unsuccessful assault on the walls before falling back to regroup. When they returned they assumed a new formation that gave Gloe pause.

Roughly it was a column with an arrowhead vanguard. Screening elements of basic demonlings in front of vets. Made sense, but what troubled Gloe was the centituars in the core of the formation.

Centitaurs were essentially cavalry, it didn’t make any sense to box them in with infantry. Behind the centitaurs were those C-Types who weren’t assuming distributed command duties and the grapplers. And behind them…what were those?

Some sort of new type. They were about the size of vets but they had disproportionately long and large arms more characteristic of C-Types. He counted at least a hundred. So they had built this force up elsewhere and waited to commit it en masse.

Then the wave hit. Basic demonlings began climbing the walls while vets ran up basic climbing poles. The column was centered directly on the gate, and the demonlings seemed to be trying to isolate the section of wall above it.

Boom! Gloe couldn’t see the gate from where he was, so he flipped off the wall for a glance, then leapt back to relative safety. Boom, boom. The damn centitaurs were acting as battering rams. He supposed that made some sense. They had incredibly tough armor. They were going to scramble their forebrains though.

The guards went for the obvious counter and brought up the boiling oil, only to be driven back by a withering hail of rocks. Those new demonlings were slingers, of a sort. They had curious weapons that looked like a cross between a slingshot and a crossbow. Inelegant, but effective due to the slingers’ overdeveloped upper bodies. Gloe imagined they were easy to produce cheaply, and since they utilized stones, ammunition was easy to obtain. In fact he could see a group of basic demonlings tasked with gathering and supplying rocks for the slingers.

Accuracy and range were sub-par compared to more sophisticated weapons, but the demonlings compensated for this by launching a continual barrage on a relatively small area. No one could stand up there long enough to get the oil off the wall, much less aim for one of the centitaurs. The defenders were also light on ranged weapons because no one trusted the prisoners with them. They were worried the commandant might become a friendly fire casualty or something he supposed. Most of the guards carried melee weapons too, so they could beat down prisoners with them if necessary. Maybe a fifth of them were cross-trained with projectile weapons, but only a few were actually specialists.

Insufficient. They couldn’t pick off the slingers fast enough. The gate wasn’t going to shatter all at once. It was thick and banded with steel. Gloe could make basic calculations though. Given a few hours they’d be in. There would still be dozens of slingers at that point.

Perhaps…no. He could probably survive up there long enough to drop the oil, but he’d take a lot of damage, and he’d be lucky if he got one centitaur. While he was healing the others would batter the door down. Could he hit and run the slingers? Yes and no. The grapplers and C-Types were positioned such that they could catch any assailant in a pincer, but he could probably buzz in, smash one or two slingers, then redline for the hills. At top speed anyway.

Too inefficient. Each pass would require him to build up speed from out of sight of the grapplers, then flee out of sight. Otherwise they could intercept him and force him to break off. He wouldn’t be able to reduce their numbers in time like that.

His attention returned to the wall. It really was raining rocks up there. No way to dodge that many, and given the impacts on the wall they had to have a lot of force behind them. He couldn’t rely on shroud to protect him completely. Although…how much life energy could those slingers actually have? Judging by their size they were in the ballpark of the vets. When vets managed to actually land a blow on him they could hurt him, but they weren’t the existential threat a grappler was, or even the serious danger you got from a C-Type.

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That was a lot of hits to take though. He’d probably take between three and eight hits, and that was assuming they didn’t notice what he was doing and intensify fire. If one of them got him in the head he’d be out for a while even if he managed to crawl out of the barrage to heal. One of the grapplers might even take a risk to try to finish him, if they could recognize him at that range.

If only he had…as he wished for a variety of items and abilities he didn’t have something clicked. He dropped off the wall and dipped his hand in one of the water barrels there. Then he grinned.

About fifteen minutes later Gloe was standing behind the gate. A group of guards were supervising as prisoners shored it up with braces and sandbags. One of them turned at the sight of Gloe and his load. “What are you doing with that vat? They can’t dump what they already have up there, they don’t need more.”

Gloe smirked. “This isn’t for them. It’s a special delivery.” He looked up over the wall, listening and calculating. Then he stuck his left hand into the boiling water. Even with shroud his skin began to blister and wither, but it was only for a few seconds. Just long enough to very carefully imbue.

It was a new technique, so he couldn’t hold it for long. Barely seconds, and shedding all the way. But his arcing throw over the wall didn’t take very long either. By the time the imbue failed the water was already mostly clear. No longer held together by the imbue it scattered and fell as boiling rain. As the centitaurs’ surprised roars echoed through the gate Gloe looked at his scorched hand. It was slowly healing, but he was probably going to lose it if he kept doing this.

Still, better the hand than everything. “Perhaps you should see if you can get me some oil or pitch or something.” The guard shook off his dumbfounded look. “Maybe I should.”

...

They couldn’t keep him supplied. The centitaurs were too fast, and once the grapplers realized what was happening they posted sentries. The centitaurs would run as soon as they heard the warning shriek, and since Gloe was lobbing blind he couldn’t compensate or increase the velocity enough to catch them. He was able to disrupt the ramming operation, but only while he had something to throw, and the guards weren’t sourcing and supplying liquids fast enough. The door was still taking a lot of hits. Only a matter of time.

Until the staccato of pelting rocks trickled off. The guards rushed up the stairs to see what was going on. Gloe was curious too, but he had something else to do. If only he had time. He dashed for the courtyard.

Most of the wagons had been out to pick up the supplies, but there were a few left here for repairs. Three had intact beds, although all three had broken axles or missing wheels. It would have to do. Gloe imbued the first one, picked it up and began the all too slow journey back to the wall.

Getting it up the stairs was the real bitch. He had to shift and carry it pointing upright in order to avoid rubbing against the wall. That made maintaining a grip and balancing the thing incredibly straining. He could pick up and throw a wagon, but carrying it in this awkward position was painful. He made it of course, but he could tell he wouldn’t have without his ability.

Once on the wall he took a moment to ascertain why the demonlings had eased up on firing. He needed to know how much time he had left. If he couldn’t get all three wagons up here he’d need to adjust.

There was a man down where the slingers had been staged. The slingers were scattered and the man was surrounded by C-Types, with both grapplers attacking him. Frighteningly though, he didn’t seem to be in all that much danger.

He moved so smoothly that he almost seemed languorous, but each step, each open-handed strike was exactly what he needed. It was like he had eyes in the back of his head and was able to process the fight and choose precisely the right movements. Blows fell just an inch short, his parries caused the demonlings to foul and block each other. They almost couldn’t touch him.

And even when they did the blows didn’t seem to do anything. Oh, they were never to vital areas, but even still there appeared to be no penetration. He didn’t stagger. Didn’t even flinch.

Gloe shivered inwardly. That had to be a chosen or sojourner down there. One who was much higher level than him. He suspected that didn’t bode well, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The man would probably hold for a bit. Gloe went to grab the other two wagons.

Due to the differing profiles and missing parts each trip required a new uncomfortable grip, but he finally made it. He set two wagons on their sides, forming an open-ended triangle with the point towards the enemy horde. The third wagon upside-down on top, forming a rough shelter. Gloe got inside and perched himself where he could touch the corner where all three wagons met. After a few minutes he grinned.

“Guards! Guards!”

“What the…” one of the guards wandered into the makeshift shelter.

“I’ll hold this together as long as I can. Bring up all the oil you can find.”

The guard looked down, then up with a grin. “You’re a piece of garbage, but just this once you’re the goods too. I’ll do it.” Before he left he took one last approving glance at the now-covered murderhole.