Surprise was total. The convoy was trudging wearily along, and the terrain gave no indication of danger. True there was a hill alongside the road, but that happened all the time. There was no accompanying chokepoint. Just trees, brush and the road.

The whistling of the projectile sounded more or less simultaneously with the death cries of the jaulys. Two of them. The shaft was enormous and had gone through a matched pair of the beasts of burden. The cavalry looked up and could see no signs of where the bolt had been launched from, but the fanatics had sharper eyes. They made out the outlines of the two ballista even through the careful camouflage, and they shouted the appropriate orders.

The bulk of the cavalry swept out ahead, coming around to cut off the attackers’ line of retreat. Meanwhile six fanatics leapt off their kavars and raced straight up the hill to attack the siege weapons head-on. The dozen or so remaining cavalry formed a loose protective cordon around the wagons, the last three fanatics scrambling out of the wagons to join them.

The response was almost immediate despite the surprise, indicative of relentless drilling and training. Textbook. Emokha had read a stolen copy as part of her training.

Kavar screams began to pierce the air. Gloe still didn’t know exactly how Oresus’ ability worked and he suspected the latter was still figuring out all the details himself. This particular feat suggested that was going well. The cavalry were trained to detect traps or obstacles set up in underbrush. Not seeing any of the signs that anything had been disturbed or tampered with they’d charged straight in.

The plants Oresus had cultivated perfectly matched the native flora and were virtually indistinguishable at a distance. Beneath their leafy disguise lurked interwoven vines, forming tripping hazards strong as wire and as dangerous to cavalry as a prairie dog town. The enemy soldiers realized something was wrong, but they were moving fast, the kavars already worked up by the signal to charge. When Oresus popped up behind them and let out a screech like steam escaping a pipe it pushed most of them over the edge and they bolted. Oresus charged in spear first, prioritizing those who had managed to maintain control of their mounts.

The fanatics on the hill weren’t quite as bad off, but there were having a difficult day as well. Halfway up a hill was not a great place to engage someone who could fly, especially if they could hover with ease. For precisely that reason Emokha had chosen to attack at that point of their climb. She couldn’t just kill them outright regardless of their disadvantageous position. They were still aberrations and somewhere in the general vicinity of her own level. Their shroud gave them quite a bit of protection.

What she could do was harass, attrit, and pin them. If they tried to group up she could simply fly circles around them, keeping them in place. The uneven terrain kept them from moving as a group effectively, so whenever they tried she could isolate and savage one. If they split up they only made matters worse. Each fanatic carried one sword, and they were quite skilled with it. Emokha had four arms, with eyes and brain designed to allow her to manipulate each independently. A lot of her attacks were going to hit home, and each time they did she ripped away some of their defensive shroud. They couldn’t afford to let that happen indefinitely, but she buzzed from target to target so fast it was hard to prevent.

On the road the situation was different. One of the fanatics detected Gloe as he was belly-crawling through the grass, so the stealth attack was off. Without that though things were a bit dicey. It was three to one, even not counting the remaining cavalry. The fanatics were all stronger and faster than him too.

One advantage he had was that they, like the others of their kind he’d encountered, didn’t seem to know how to imbue. That didn’t make him faster than them per se, but it did let him waste less force sliding around. More importantly it let him change speed and turn unnaturally. He used that for all he worth, dodging around like a madman.

Not too far though. If he ran too hard they might give up on him and go after Emokha or Oresus. That wasn’t part of the plan…which was admittedly a little vague about how he was supposed to defeat three opponents each of whom outmatched him individually. He’d glossed over that himself once he’d realized how badly Oresus wanted to prove himself.

Now he was paying for it, taking a beating. Their magical scimitars were punching through shroud regularly but he was still getting some damage mitigation and he’d managed to avoid disabling blows. That was about it though. He was bleeding profusely from dozens of wounds. All without inflicting much if any damage back. This wasn’t going well. He needed an equalizer.

All he could find was a stick. It was going to have to be enough. He imbued, parried three successive blows, then dropped imbue as the fourth came in to knock the improvised weapon aside. The magical scimitar barely slowed as it cut through the wood.

The fanatics were obviously extremely well-trained. Their swordsmanship was impeccable, almost reflexive. They had a well-honed ability to read their opponents movements, stance, center of gravity and the like. They were extremely difficult to outfight.

The fanatic was in the middle of a pass that would allow him several openings for wounding or killing blows. When the sword didn’t encounter the expected resistance it flew off the expected path, and precisely because the fanatic was so well-trained he was completely unprepared for it. Still, his reflexes were incredibly sharp. He threw up his arm and caught the haft of Gloe’s axe as it fell.

Which left him with no available limbs to block the re-imbued stick fragment when Gloe drove it into his eye. He threw himself sideways and backwards, taking the axe with him. Gloe let him have it, considering it a fair trade for the fallen scimitar.

He didn’t have a ton of shroud left. Moreover, in order to penetrate the fanatics’ own shroud he needed a dense imbue, highly concentrated. Imbuing didn’t permanently remove the shroud from his pool, but although he could make the defensive shroud around him quite thin he couldn’t actual drop it, so there was a minimum level under which imbuing was not an option. Probably some sort of defensive instinct or something. If he tried to imbue with insufficient shroud available it just failed. Felt kinda like trying to piss when empty, only with life on the line.

The scimitar was already enchanted though, a fact he knew not only from the evidence of his own senses but also from past experience. These fanatics pretty much had been uniform in gear and tactics. He’d have to strike hard, but the weapon could punch through their shroud without being imbued. As long as these fanatics weren’t dramatically higher level than those he’d encountered before, that is.

As the other two fanatics struck from both sides Gloe went back to dodging, paying the same price in blood, more or less. The third fanatic didn’t seem quite certain what to do with the axe he’d acquired, and it kept him back for a minute. He swung it experimentally, realized it wasn’t magic, then threw it aside in disgust and grabbed a saber off one of the cavalrymen.

Facing two foes instead of three gave Gloe a bit more leeway in his evasions, so he did a hit and run on one of the wagons, cutting the tarp off of it and throwing it aside. No cache of magical weapons or useful equipment revealed itself. Just crates. No time to mess with that. He continued to flee back and forth, still taking care to not run too far.

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Roars of rage echoed down from the hill. The fanatics facing Emokha had finally bitten the bullet and all leapt off the hill at once. They might take some damage landing from that height (again, depending on their levels,) but apparently they deemed it a better option than playing Emokha’s game. The rage came from the fact that six had leapt but only five had landed. The sixth still hung in the air, impaled mid-leap on the Viluota’s scythes.

Actually, only four had made it down intact. Emokha’s scimitar protruded from another fanatic’s back, presumably courtesy of a fantastic throw. The recipient wasn’t dead, but he couldn’t be feeling amazing either. Emokha pried a new weapon from the dying shish kabob’s hand and went back on the attack.

The ground odds were about to become a problem. There was nothing stopping the seven and a half remaining fanatics from abruptly stacking on either Emokha or Gloe, rapidly overwhelming them. It was time to make a move. Gloe ran for it.

Given their levels of training and discipline the fanatics were too savvy to allow themselves to become distracted by the plight of their compatriots, but at the very least their focus split temporarily. Gloe gained a couple steps on them with his change in tactics. He blazed past the stopped caravan, both fanatics in hot pursuit, with the saber-waver still a ways behind.

Their path happened to take them over the discarded tarp, but they were all far too sure-footed for it to become a factor. As Gloe scurried off it there was a moment when one foot was still in contact with it, while the other was on the ground. His peripheral vision revealed that both his pursuers were atop the tarp, seconds behind him. This was it.

His left foot imbued the ground, connecting the two and giving him a stable foundation. His right did the same to the tarp, connecting to that and preparing to disperse force. He kicked his right foot forward as hard and abruptly as he could, and the connection between his bare sole and the tarp made it come with him, right out from underneath the fanatics’ feet.

There was no warning because Gloe had never physically hooked the tarp. Both fanatics went head over heels. They reacted instantly, tumbling and rolling back to their feet, but Gloe wasn’t done yet. Releasing the imbue on his left foot he turned his kick into a spin, flipping back towards them. Now that there was no weight on the tarp he released most of the imbue, only maintaining enough to keep it attached to his foot. That part remained rigid, the rest began to flop around.

Whipping his leg around caused the tarp to flip up and over the two recovering fanatics. As it draped over them he re-imbued the whole thing, then disconnected his foot. Again the fanatics reacted admirably, slashing out at the tarp even as they rose to their feet. Their magical weapons easily sliced through it, imbue and all, making gaping slits in the material.

What they didn’t account for was that the rest of the imbued shroud was still intact, so the tarp was locked into a rigid state. The slashed material was prevented by the surrounding imbue from opening up and falling harmlessly around them. Instead the tarp stayed frozen atop them in the shape it had settled into right as the imbue hit.

They didn’t know the why of what was going on, but they quickly determined a response. Rapidly slashing they cut the tarp apart, freeing themselves. For a brief but crucial moment however they had no visibility on Gloe. He used that time to circle to the side and strike. His scimitar could cut through the tarp as easily as theirs. He took it in a two handed-grip and hacked at his temporarily blinded enemies with all his might. He had time for one hit each, then the saber fanatic was on him. He skated sideways, the latter in hot pursuit.

That gambit had served its purpose. Neither of the fanatics were dead, but both were grievously injured. Those hadn’t been glances but full-force body shots. As aberrations they had a good chance of surviving, perhaps even recovering given proper magical medical attention, but their combat effectiveness was greatly diminished. The gaping wounds on their sides would hinder movement, but that was for later. At the moment both had to staunch the bleeding or there would be no more fights for them. They were out of the fight, at least for a bit.

He had one more ploy to try, and he needed to do it before the third fanatic had time to think. Whipping back around he began to duel. The fanatic was a much better swordsman than he was, a fact quickly evidenced by the fresh blood running down his robe. Gloe had a magical weapon and the fanatic didn’t but it didn’t seem to matter. The saber was a solid enough weapon that it could parry the scimitar, and that was all that counted. Gloe could have done some damage if he could land a hit, but every attack was rebuffed, and oftentimes riposted.

The fanatic had the upper hand and he knew it, but he also had his back to his allies. Emokha’s clash with them was ongoing, and loud. It was hard to tell who was winning by sound alone, but Gloe refused to be turned around. The fanatic decided to end it, and launched a series of blows that would end in a telling strike.

As designed Gloe was completely unable to parry, so he interposed his off arm. The fanatic smiled slightly as the impact came. He was hitting hard and Gloe’s shroud was diminished from the protracted engagement. The blood loss and shock from losing an arm would mean Gloe had only slightly delayed the inevitable.

The blow would have dismembered someone without shroud, but the saber was non-magical so it didn’t have the cutting or penetration enchantments the fanatic was used to. Gloe couldn’t beat the physical speed of his foe, but he could imbue very quickly indeed. Every bit of shroud he had available for manipulation he’d moved to the point of impact. The fanatic’s strength was such that he still got some penetration, but far less than he’d expected.

The blade hung a bit on the dense shroud, and Gloe brought his own weapon back around, severing the fanatic’s swordarm. The demon refused to give up, rolling to regain his weapon, but it was too late. Gloe didn’t let up, relentlessly battering his disadvantaged foe. The fanatic got a few decent unarmed strikes in but proved unable to defend himself without the ability to parry the magic sword. Eventually Gloe managed to decapitate him.

The incoming flow of life energy was considerable, but Gloe couldn’t take the time to assimilate it. Taking the scimitar between his teeth he picked up the new corpse and rushed towards the two injured fanatics who were still patching their wounds. He threw the body at the nearest, feinted towards the far one, then rolled to his left and came back at the first. His scimitar strike was parried, but the injured fanatic was having difficulty moving well and couldn’t avoid Gloe’s follow-up shoulder tackle.

The two injured fanatics and the corpse ended up in a tangle on the ground, but both fanatics managed to avoid having their swords pinned, so they still weren’t easy prey. Gloe ignored them for a moment, picking up the remnants of the tarp and flipping it over them. This time he didn’t bother imbuing it. Neither man had the freedom of motion at the moment to allow them to cut themselves free in one strike. They still made the effort, but while they were doing so Gloe was laying about wildly. Neither demon made it out alive.

Again, the surge of life energy was substantial. Gloe’s left arm was still damaged, but it was somewhat usable now, so he picked up a second scimitar. Then he stopped for a moment to survey the situation.

Emokha was still engaged with other fanatics. She hadn’t managed any more kills, and she looked pretty banged up. All of her foes were bleeding though, and one was down with an ugly leg wound. Oresus was still out of sight but Gloe’s ability gave him a rough idea of what was going on. Oresus was only emitting light pain, while the pain and emotion sources near him were vanishing steadily. It didn’t seem many of the cavalry would survive this fight.

The fanatics must have made the same assessment. Two of them rushed Gloe while shouting at the small cavalry contingent still with the wagons. The caravan began to try to make their escape.

At first they looked to the rear. Although turning around would be a pain they had just traveled the road there and knew it was clear. Unfortunately a large tree trunk sat across it. Oresus had looked at how low the wagons were riding and realized they were too heavy to go cross-country. Laden as they were they needed to stay on the road. As such a chokepoint wasn’t needed to block them in as long as the actual pavement was blocked. Gloe had snuck the blockade in before launching his failed stealth attack.

So the convoy charged forward. The way looked clear, until they hit the spot where the trio had undermined the surface. The lead wagon crashed through violently and the caravan was stuck. The cavalry tried to bypass and make a run for it, but the noise of the road collapsing had attracted Oresus’ attention. He emerged from the brush and hit them like a thunderclap.

Emokha and Gloe had two fanatics apiece, but now that the caravan was well and truly stuck they didn’t need to play conventionally to keep their enemies for retreating. Both used their mobility to hit and run. Emokha was giving as well as she got. Gloe was still struggling, but he was tiring his opponents out.

Once Oresus finished mopping up the cavalry he joined the fight against the fanatics. The unpowered demons had barely managed to injure him, so he came in relatively fresh. It was the tipping point. One by one the fanatics fell.