Saul Earthshaper chanted the words of moving stone once more, this time rolling two hundred pounds of round boulders up the obsidian stairs of Mont St Michel.’s wall. As the rocks flowed upwards, their edges rounded, magic reshaping them into nearly perfect spheres, ideal for dropping on skulls.

“Ah, good morning Saul, you pay your respects to Matimeo yet?” Asked an older militiaman, his blond hair trimmed short to better seat his helmet.

“Aye, paid it while he lived, and I'll be the one to seal his grave. Best to let others see him now.” Said Saul, reciting his chant once more and stacking the boulders against the exterior battlements.

Pascal eyed the rocks, letting out a sigh.

“Wish we still ‘ad arrows.”

“They’re just outside the wall, if you fancy a jaunt, I’m sure a strapping warrior like yourself could fill his quiver in a minute.” Answered Saul.

“And get my dick ripped off. In half that time.” Snapped Pascal, picking up one of the ten pound spheres and tossing it.

It was a casual toss, but they both watched it fall, picking up speed til it cracked open a hellhound. Skull shattered, brains squirting out the nose as the beast slumped, its tongue still licking the air, trying to reach the obsidian wall.

“Nice shot.” Said Saul.

Pascal grunted. “The way they twitch afta you crack’ em. Never stops being creepy.”

“I love the sound it makes. Really lets you know they’re dead.” Said a deep voice behind them.

The third man picked up a rock with both hands, aimed carefully, then shot it like a basketball, one hand pushing, the other guiding. It plummeted, as rocks are known to do, and landed squarely on a scorpion’s head.

“Oooh.” Winced Pascal, whistling as the audible crunch reached them.

Jets of some pinkish fluid shot out of the scorpion’s head. Spasms wracked the arachnid’s body, only to cease abruptly as all legs curled underneath it in death.

“Nice shot Clawd!” Said Saul.

“See, it's satisfying. Really lets you know they’re dead and that one less monster wonders the world.” Said Clawd, spitting over the wall as if to say ‘good riddance scum’.

“Aye, guess so.” Said Pascal, repeating a phrase his wife had often berated him for.

But she was gone, along with most of Avignon. Pascal glanced down the walls, seeing a full three fourths of the walltop occupied by felinid militia. Former slaves who were filling out nicely. It left him with a strange feeling in his chest. Hoping that one of these men would make Niana happy, give her some abs to distract from Matimeo’s death. For the loss of the strongest felinid did not mean all strength had left Mont St Michel. He did not expect to see that hope walking up the stairs.

“Lady Niana! What an unexpec- Welcome!” Said Pascal, snapping to attention and saluting her.

Saul and the surrounding felinids joined in on the salute.

“Don’t salute now! There are enemies to squish. Get back to it.” She ordered.

“Yes my lady!” Shouted the men, picking up rocks and aiming them with newfound strength.

“My lady, the walls are safe for today. All thanks to your past interventions. Please, do not burden yourself with the minor troubles, not when- uh, not if you have larger concerns.” Said Pascal, trying not to pick at the fresh wound of Matimeo’s death.

Niana often spoke in a childish manner, as felinids were often want to do, since they matured physically before their speech could fully mature. Leaving them with odd tendencies towards the juvenile. But that was not a sign of immaturity. Niana had escaped slavery, fought at Lightning Lord Liam’s side, and been the last one to escape Pandora. Her courage stood above all in Mont St Michel, as did her cunning. A fact made true only by Matimeo’s passing.

“I am the one who decides where we stand and where we will fall.” Said Niana, stepping onto the battlements where she balanced on the smooth obsidian.

One hand carried the rod of Taloc, and the other hovered near Quetzalcoatl’s fang, ready to draw the blade, yet forever reticent to call upon its vicious power. For there was alway a blood price to pay for drawing the godslayer.

“Yes ma’am!” Snapped Pascal, straightening a bit at her words.

A smile found its way onto his wrinkled face. Half relief, half pride in his Lady’s inner strength. The sky was a haze, not overcast, yet darker than it ought to be. Winter’s breeze often cooled Mont St Michel, but today the wind had stalled, leaving the city to stew in the fog of nightsoil. Niana’s ears twitched, facing the forest. Pascal raised a hand, signaling all to halt, an order that passed from Clawd to the next soldier and continued recursively along the wall.

Silence.

Along the walltop all felinid ears began to twitch, aiming for the forest. Dense, five years overgrown and untended by humans or fire. Branches blocked any view, while sticks broke beneath the passage of large beasts.

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“We’re under attack. Sound the call to arms.” Said Niana, conjuring her own spell to wake the sleeping hulks.

Within her den –little more than an empty warehouse connected to a grain silo– the largest hulk, Dot, stirred awake, grateful to hear her master’s clarion once more. It was time to feed. More than that, it was time for all the hulks to feed.

Atop the walls, Pascal held an Auroch’s horn to his lips, blowing it in a deep bellow that alerted every man woman and child in Mont St Michel. Women found blades, for monsters enjoyed the taste of tender flesh, children ran for the chapel, Joining the men who were already barricading the entrances, preparing spears and multiple layers of defense. A dozen horns took up the call, echoing through the city until it felt like the heavens themselves had opened and were singing Taloc’s return.

Niana drew the fang, knowing blood would soon run free. But as she grasped the blade, the ID that lived within the sword finally stirred. An intelligence always known to Niana, yet never in her conscious thought.

‘you are not the lightning daughter.’ It whispered.

Niana hoisted the blade in front of her, holding it vertical, with the scimitar’s guard near her lips.

“I am the lightning daughter’s heir. Her eldest daughter. Heed me now and slay her enemies, for you are the blade that must strike true.” Whispered Niana.

‘Liesss.’ Said the blade. ‘You are not her heir.’

Niana’s teeth slipped past her lips.

“Semantic cunt. I am her First-Found. First Acolyte of Saint Liam Green, and rightful protector of Mont St Michel, the Lightning Daughter’s northernmost holdings! Obey me!” She hissed.

‘First-Found…’ Whispered the blade, once more falling asleep.

Bastard. You worthless ingrate! Why wake up to abandon me in our time of need! Thought Niana, lowering the blade as the first wave of monsters came into view. Scores of hellhounds ran towards the wall, sprinting as if their lives depended on it as the wendigo lashed them with black fire. Each stroke stole the flames from their hides, leaving long bleeding sores wherever it touched. They were sprinting onward now, coming too quickly, rushing forward in a mad frenzy to escape the wendigo. Not looking ahead.

Niana felt the mana moving, and understood the wendigo’s intentions too late. For it was a master of shadows, anathema to her. Orbs of darkness cloaked the hellhounds heads, blotting out the sun and sounds. Earplugs that sealed a millisecond before the first hellhound ran head first into the wall. Neck snapped, leaving it to suffocate beneath the rushing horde of hellhounds. Scores of animals died at once, their spines snapping as the wendigo tricked them to run beyond their abilities.

“What in blood heaven are they doing!” Gasped Clawd, his knuckles clenching white against a spear.

“Building a ramp. As only demons can. We’re about to be breached, summon all reinforcements!” Said Niana, voice growing in strength as she spoke.

Horns echoed through Mont St Michel again, this time the chorus of heaven was accompanied by the wendigo’s drumming, as he lashed more and more creatures forward in a constant stream. Endless creatures sprinted forward, pain driving them blindly. A few survivors began to linger about the wall, only to be slain by bolts of darkness from the Horned shaman’s staff of rotting blackwood.

His first bolt sent the militiamen diving for cover, they’d never expected to see an enemy magi arrayed against them, and the sight of it was too much. It reminded them of the slavemasters, those few magi who forged the slavecollars. Those who enchanted the collars, and yet were enslaved by them. Unable to join human society, yet in no way felinids.

And on the creatures came. Always blind, always screaming from the lash. Always mortal creatures of flesh and blood, slayable runts. Beings that the demons had used up, and now extinguished their mortal existence in favor of building a ramp. Niana ducked behind the battlements, checking on Dot and her hulks. They were trundling out of their warehouse, picking up speed as they marched towards the gate. A dozen seemed to get lost, and aimed for the gate of earth in the west, but Dot and her main bugs were heading south, to the gate of fire. In support of Niana’s defense.

“Where are our bowmen?” Shouted Niana.

“Holding spears! Our hunters ran out of darts the day before last. They’re on the rear wall now, look at them coming around.” Said Pascal, pointing at two squads of men who were jogging along the wall.

They would reach the felinid lines and fill in gaps left behind by dead or wounded. At least, that is what had been drilled into them. Minds and bodies knew what was necessary, and Niana had no doubt that the archers, former men of Avignon, would fight to the death, for there was not a coward amongst them. Hellhounds, orcs, and shadow panthers had refined them, culling the cowardly, the unsocial, and any who lacked the will to fight.

Niana poked her head between the crenelations, ducking as an axe bounced off.

“Demons! Hold the watchtowers! Keep the demons out!” Shouted Niana.

Her call was picked up by Clawd, who shepherded Saul and the handful of low level magi into the towers. Bloodless demons could only be slain with magic, meaning Matimeo or Niana were needed to address their threat, but now only Niana remained. It was an old problem, and the solution had been suggested by Matimeo while he still lived. There were magi within the walls, a handful of priests who could do little more than bless a wound or empower a blade. Spells that lasted several hours each but only if the priests were guaranteed protection while they channeled. Such magic would only be sufficient if a mortal soldier could go mano-e-mano with a demon. An absolutely mental idea, but one that occurred quite frequently in tower fighting. Mortal men could hold the door, physically barring the way with shields and furniture while a handful of empowered warriors slew the demons. Unfortunately, that tactic required them to abandon the wall. Felinids rushed into the watchtowers. Securing them and preparing to fight from their upper floors. Murderholes were opened, and rear doors bolted shut.

Niana wrapped herself in wind, flying to the top of a nearby watchtower. At some point the wendigo had been joined by other shepherds. Demonic beings, one half bull, who sent living animals into the wall. They’d stopped using magic, and settled for flensing them. Oft stabbing out eyeballs with horns or claws. With poison infecting the animal, making it more susceptible to pain’s convincing qualities. Whips drove the aurochs into the walls, thuds the felinids began to feel. Only ten more feet remained, and still beasts were driven on. With no end in sight.

Except the end was obvious to all. Once the pile of meat surpassed the wall, the demons would enter the city. Niana could see them, hundreds of them, all arrayed in front of her–

–No.

The spirits whispered of two more companies. She turned to the left, and saw a band of demons lurking near the gate of fire. Neither advancing nor retreating. Just waiting.

Why wait by the gate of fire? We would flee to the north or east if you breach this wall…

Understanding howled through the air. Mirrored by the savage cries of hulks in combat. And in the distance, the gate of earth ground open.

The demons were already inside the city.

They’d ambushed the hulks, Mont St Michel’s mightiest defenders.

Niana’s heart sank, knowing she would bear the moniker of First Found, and epitaph of First Slain.