Black and red ichor rained from the sky, flung off reddish blades and spat from open mouths.
They drenched the protective steel outer layer of every warrior. Some seeped through the gaps and crevices, invading the pure landscape of white. Others flowed down the curved chest plates in streams, down the leggings, the sabatons and pooling on the now-reddish stone.
Screams rattled the air. The ground shivered as if seeing the ghostly visage of floating souls rise from their corpses. The haunting cries of pain and death grew more and more inhuman.
Red bodies flew through the air. Shortly followed by rumbling, a cloud of dust and the red blur of a corpse dropping to the ground.
Yet the cheerful hum of blades continued on their merriment, eager for flesh as the briefest touch left deep valleys. The thunderous boom and flashing of mini-supernovas continued to coat the starless sky of stone. Each flashbang grew further and further from the exit.
The din of chaos grew quieter and quieter, like a newborn being swayed to sleep by a parent.
Yet, much like the creaking door and footsteps reawakening the baby, the throaty rumble and booming footsteps of a massive shadow behind the red vortex would too rejuvenate the spirits of a dying battle.
But the red-encrusted suits of steel remained unphased, recklessly pursuing the fleeing backs of the enemy, swords and shields waving in the air.
The golden eagle flew at the forefront, guiding the charge, its beak remaining pointed at the swirling black and red vortex.
A massive humanoid hand reached through the portal, each finger the length of a spear.
The knights stopped in their tracks. The once raging fire in their veins was snuffed out in an instant, freezing over. Their bodies shook.
An eerie silence dropped upon the battlefield. Only to be shortly broken by the screeches of twisted excitement and joy and the stamping of feet as the horn-headed humanoids bounced up and down, slamming each other in the back.
A bead of sweat dripped down Cyrus's forehead, "It cannot be...a-a cyclops?!" An earthquake erupted from within him, coursing through his flesh. His blade rattled as if it too was disturbed by the monster's presence.
But unlike its opposition, the hand swiftly moved into action. Forming the shape of a claw, the hand sank its fingers into the mana-reinforced stone like the crunch of one's teeth digging into dried fish.
Cracks propagated through the surface as a massive hunk of stone and the clinging dirt beneath it was ripped from its place. It was the size of a Carthaginian elephant.
The stone clattered as they detached from the island and tumbled into the crater, matching the chanting demons in their dissonant, erratic rhythm.
Like a discus olympiad, the Cyclops drew back its arm and let the boulder loose at the assembled soldiers.
The meteorite sang its lullaby of permanent sleep as it hurtled towards the troops, echoed by the chamber like a choir for a funeral of the deceased.
As the hypnotic magic was dispelled by a bucket of cold water from the Styx, a booming shout gurgled from Cyrus's clattering lips, "SCATTER!"
The warning of doom sprung the knights into action, dispersing like a school of tuna in the face of a shark.
Screeching, shrieking and screaming all joined in the din of terror as the rock ploughed through the ranks of demons stuck on its unending prophecy of doom.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Like a blood-red sun, rising from one side and disappearing on the other, its spherical shape buried itself deeply in the floor, pulverising many a warrior under its heel.
As the black and red tar spilled from the rock onto the floor, the ground too became infected with this rabid disease. Shattering in a fit of insanity, it turned on its creator's minions, its shards shredding through armour and flesh remorselessly. Many a man was lanced through the chest, the momentum pinning the still-warm corpse into the neighbouring wall.
Like a curtain, the dust parted, revealing a second, similar-sized chunk of stone. Much like its predecessor, the rock crashed into the floor with a thunderous boom, raising back up the drapes of dust.
Beneath the cover of the grey mists, hidden assassins whizzed through the air, embedding themselves in friend and foe alike.
Ghostly figures lurched and tumbled in the fog, filling the air with raw screams of suffering, only to fade into violent coughs as the dust clogged their lungs.
Even the golden eagle, once arrogant and proud, bowed to the might of cyclops, its wings ravaged down to nothing but stumps, its body riddled with deep gouges. But it remained standing, ready to face the monster's might. It teetered to the side as a white-encrusted, half-kneeling, white-wolf-headed figure desperately clung to the pole like a walking stick.
Staggering and coughing, he slowly edged his seemingly petrified legs over to a pile of fallen corpses.
The bodies shuddered. A blood-drenched hand reached through the gaps, pushing and shoving at the bodies. A pair of metal-encased legs were kicked aside, releasing another stream of red.
Propping the standard against a crevice as leverage, the Aquilifier grabbed the man's hand.
His muscles grew taut. His breath came in short, rough bursts. The two white bushes on his face narrowed. The small trickle of red liquid seeping from his mouth stemmed. His legs braced against the warm stone, the sandals revealing the blackish-red contents below the snowy exterior.
With a mighty heave, the three corpses were shoved aside as the man's face and upper layer were revealed. The cassis seated lopsidedly on his head contained many dents, with the right flap completely missing. His face was covered in blood, from whose, the standard bearer couldn't tell.
A burning fire lit in his once-soulless eyes once more, "Imperator, what are your orders?!"
Cyrus placed his bloodied hand on the man's shoulder, "No surrender frator, we fight till the end."
"But sir..."
"No surren..." Blood gushed from the general's mouth, his words fading into a gurgle. Cyrus's hand slipped from the man's shoulder. His eyes rolled into the back of his head.
The man gazed down at his commander, his hand clenching the yellow pole. He ground his teeth. In a low, inaudible tone, he replied to the unconscious man, "I'm sorry, Imperator."
Blue words appeared in front of him.
[Sentience gained! Class evolution discovered! Would you like to switch from [Unique][Legionaire] to [Unique][Aquilifer]!]
[Y/N]
He nodded numbly, mumbling out the word, "Spells."
[Here are the available spells: [Rally], [Command], [Voice Projection], [Eagle's Might], [Eagle's Courage]...]
[For further information, tap to open the full statistics and descriptions sheet.]
Activating [Voice Projection], the Aquilifer croaked, "Retreat..." His low-pitched whisper was magnified into a thunderous boom that bounced off the chambers.
A roar of challenge responded in kind. Followed by the familiar crunching of stone, and finally, that dreaded airy tune of death.
With his duty complete, the man ripped several pieces of soggy underclothing from one of the corpses and attempted to tie the standard to his back.
A thunderous boom echoed from somewhere nearby. The flying daggers controlled the air once more.
In a half-crouched manner, the standard bearer dragged his leader towards the distant, faint blue glow of safety.
Between long intervals, it briefly flicked as bodily silhouettes disappeared within.
Only ten paces to go. Five paces now.
Dust billowed. Massive objects landed all around him, sending shrapnel flying into his back. Only the occasional gut-wrenching scream could be heard with every few impacts.
The standard bearer felt nothing, just unbridled hope and desperation for safety.
Three paces. Two paces.
With the swirling blue portal in hair's breadth away, he maneuvered the general's body into a princess carry, stood to his full height and dashed into the warm embrace of the vortex.
Upon exiting the other side, the soldier acted the spell [Command], managing out a raspy bellow of "SHUT THE PORTAL!"
The blue light snapped out.