Maiden Battle (part 2)

What was that feeling? It wasn’t quite excitement. It wasn’t quite fear. It was the feeling of allies rushing past you; the feeling of fireballs flying through the air, illuminating the battlefield; the feeling of catching the enemy off-guard and piercing their heart with blades. Whatever that feeling was, Gin was relishing every moment of it.

The battlefield was filled with squadron W’s shouting. They were in unison, ordering one another to attack in a certain pattern. The moment another enemy was found, the offence group quickly finished them off. The was a beauty to watch, almost as if their numbers deficit was negligible.

Even the armoured non-combatants played their part. They drew the attention of the stealth bestials, only to have their attacks blocked. The baits played the role perfectly.

But Gin had to make sure he did his job too. At this point he knew his words wouldn’t mean anything. He had to lead through example. For every mage Gin killed, his confidence grew. His attacks became more fluid. His body danced in the desert stage. The yellow sand reddened in the onslaught. The crimson of blood splattered around him. He was a spectacle to his allies; a demon to the enemy. Any doubt people had, prior to the battle, was now dispersed. Partly due to his killstreak. Partly due to the fact that they couldn’t afford to have any otherwise. They had to focus on their own battles, and so did Gin.

The enemy’s bodies were frail. They didn’t have armour; they weren’t packed with muscle. Surprise attacks were all they could do. However, with each passing fireball, more hidden mages were revealed. Stealth was all they had. Now it was gone. That didn’t stop them from coming though.

Gin felt the scraping of nails on his chest plate. It was as if the only place the enemy could aim for was his heart. But that was protected. The attack was futile. It only revealed where the enemy was. Another dispatched foe.

His blades were covered in blood that dripped onto the bodies they came from. He rushed further into the battlefield, dodging enemy fireballs and ally bodies alike. Then he culminated in striking another foe he spotted. How many has he killed now? Too many to count. Yet they kept on coming.

Gin felt nails pierce his Xernim. They got stuck before they reached his shoulders. He used that moment to turn, putting the hidden enemy off-balance. A swift strike and the mage materialised. An ally took the opportunity to finish her off.

‘Thanks. There’s another one five metres ahead of you,’ Gin ordered.

‘Yes sir!’

Gin touched the marks the enemy left on his Xernim. Was this why the Xernim grew? he wondered. No. Focus. One lapse in concentration could prove fatal. A fireball splashed just in front of him. It was a stark reminder that the threat was both above and in front of him. They continued to rain down from the mages in the distance. The squadron couldn’t quite reach them. However, if they continued to dodge and block the fire, they were a non-factor. For now, the objective was to make sure the enemy mages didn’t get past them.

Suddenly, the sands began to shift beneath him. His footing was unstable. A fireball hurtled towards him. He couldn’t dodge it in time.

Gin held his shield above him to block, but someone held his hands back. He immediately twisted to and slashed down his saboteur. However, it wasn’t fast enough. The fireball hit his back dead on. The armour blocked most of it, but the flaming oil splashed on impact. Some entered the gap between the armour and body. He writhed in agony, but refrained from screaming in pain. Crying out loud would only draw unwanted attention.

Luckily the flames died out before they spread. However, left a scorch mark or two, with the remaining oil searing into his skin.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

‘Leader! Are you Ok?’ an ally asked, getting in front of him to cover.

‘Get two more and cover for me,’ Gin replied, grimacing as he did so.

He deactivated the blade on his right arm and put his arm behind his shoulder. In the heat of the battle, he shouldn’t pause for even a moment, but the burning oil prevented him from fighting properly.

‘Enemy three metres at thirty degrees. Two more at two-seven-five,’ Gin instructed. He needed to make sure his defenders noticed, as they deflected projectiles that was coming their way.

‘We see them!’

‘Good.’

Gin’s thoughts were conveyed to the Xernim. They grew a slender branch that twisted its way inside Gin’s armour, stopping where the oil resided. The branch curved, wiping off the oil in the process. A sense of relief filled Gin as the pain stopped, albeit a bit of throbbing from the spots.

‘I’m fine now. Back to formation!’

Gin’s allies nodded and returned to their positions. They were just as covered in blood as Gin was. This was what they were trained for. It intrigued Gin how they showed no remorse for killing their magi brethren. They ripped through the enemy’s chests like it was a cotton candy.

That brief pause made Gin realise how tired he was. Sweat dripped from his forehead, mixing with the blood. He was conscious of his panting. Compared to the hundred one versus ones he fought, this was on a whole different level. This time his opponents didn’t stop coming. For every one he had slain, he saw another two. If the reports were true, the combatants were outnumbered by at least three to one. Gin had already filled his quota but he knew he could do more.

Gin steeled himself, degrading the grown branch and reactivating his blade. He let his unconscious take over, drowning out the fatigue he had but losing his basic senses in the process. All he could remember was the constant slicing, striking and dodging. He harboured no feelings for his victims. He couldn’t even remember their faces. They all fitted into the same generic mould.

He didn’t know what drove him. He didn’t know why his morality didn’t stop him. He was killing another living being, yet he was enjoying himself. A manic smile spread across his face as he cut down his enemy. Was it him trying to prove a point to, the now dead, Rob? Or was it how his village got destroyed at the hands of the mages? Was this all just mindless revenge? Maybe the colonel was right. Maybe he really was childish.

In his careless train of thought, Gin felt someone grab his shoulder. He immediately spun around, swinging his blade for the next kill. His attack aimed for the neck.

‘Leader!’

Gin’s arm froze. It stuck to stone armour, cutting a few centimetres deep into it. His eyes widened as he realised who he almost decapitated.

‘Ah,’ the messenger whimpered.

‘Sorry,’ Gin meekly apologised, lowering his blade. He then turned to his block and bellowed, ‘Formation three!’

There was an echo of ‘formation three’s as his block repeated the order, making sure everyone heard. They moved around Gin, displacing him from the front line, moving him and the messenger towards the middle of the block. They were away from the front lines and safe from a sneak attack from the back. It was the safest place to be in their situation. Gin looked forwards, turning his back to the messenger and prepared to defend him, just in case a stray fireball was to fall towards them.

‘Did a report come in?’ Gin asked the messenger.

‘Y-Yes,’ he replied, still tense from his near-death experience. ‘The utility group spotted a group of juggernauts bestials approaching.’

‘How many?’

‘Three-hundred B or above ranked mages.’

‘That many?! We were told they were just a scouting army.’

‘We didn’t know they’d have reinforcements.’

‘How much longer till our reinforcements arrive?’

‘Less than an hour.’

‘Tsk,’ Gin tutted, deflecting a fireball before he could continue.

‘Your orders, leader?’ the messenger asked.

‘They’re much stronger than us. We’ll get decimated if we continue to be spread out like this. Execute group formation five.’

‘Understood.’

The messenger took off his helmet then put his fingers inside his mouth. He let out a piercing whistle that attracted the attention of a single tinoo. It perched on the messenger’s shoulders, watching the messenger’s myriad of hand signals. It nodded then took off into the sky, shrieking at the cluster of tinoos that flew above everyone. Then the tinoos changed formation, flying in a pentagon, which everyone saw.

Gin had gotten accustomed to constant shouting. There was consistent communication. Everyone knew what they had to do and made sure their neighbours did too.

The offence group began to track back. The several blocks meshed into a singular compact one, arcing in front of the artillery group. A sea of bodies laid in front of them. Beyond that, the enemy fire elementals looked on in horror as their surprise attack had been so easily dealt with. By low-ranked mages no less!

Gin watched their movements. They split down the middle, allowing room for their reinforcements to arrive. Three-hundred tall, beefy mages marched their way towards squadron W. This was their last attack. This was squadron W’s last stand.