“Aethereans in the open! On the ground and open fire now!”

Already on the ground, Markos moved towards Ferat. The machine gun was already firing, bullets spitting out the barrel as Markos hurriedly grabbed the ammo belt. Holding it up to prevent any jamming, he kept his head down. Mounds of dirt were the best cover they had.

The Aethereans weren’t any better off. The portal opened a good two dozen feet from the nearest trench, past the barbed wire and mines but still with a way to safety. The mad scramble to reach it only made them get even more in each other’s ways. Bullets streaked in from all corners as the garrison opened up, even from up above, as machine gun mounts on the towers poured their fire down.

The spotlights moved, now directed at the mass of Aethereans moving into the former defensive positions. Most of them, still caught in the open, tried to open fire on the glaring searchlights. Their aim was poor as tear-filled eyes provided a debuff they couldn’t overcome.

Meanwhile, the illumination only made them easier targets.

Still, the pouring out of Aethereans wasn’t slowing, even as bullets ripped through them. The chattering of the machine gun stopped, and Markos hurried to help Ferat reload.Behind them, cannons fired, infantry guns and anti-tank cannons firing high explosive rounds into the emerging Aethereans. The portal was a hundred feet wide, but that wasn’t wide enough. Shells landed, Aethereans and their body parts flying.

Markos finished loading the second belt, and the machine gun started firing again. Now, it wasn’t only a one-way exchange. Aethereans had made their way to the trenches or behind the growing piles of bodies of their dead, providing cover. The initial shock had worn off, and the Aethereans were opening fire.

“Forward! Into the trench line! Section two provides cover fire, leapfrog!”

Ferat was already lifting the machine gun up, and Markos hurried to break down the tripod.

He folded it up quickly and then ran, trying to keep low to the ground as bullets flew overhead. None of the Aethereans had a machine gun set up, but it still felt like his heart was pounding in his throat as he dashed across the grounds. The lip of the trench was just ahead, and he slid into the chest-high earthwork, moving to where Ferat waited with the machine gun.

Two seconds to set it up on the lip of the trench, and now they were firing again, suppressing the Aethereans for the second section to make their dash.

The Aethereans had by now set up a path of sorts, moving body pile to body pile, still losing soldiers to the incoming fire. More flooded into the earthworks, and the heads of soldiers too untrained to stay below the trench walls moved down communications trenches. They’d be able to flank the garrison soon.

“Markos, Saval, clear them out of that communications trench to the left! Gorel, take over for Markos on the machine gun!”

Markos handed the ammo belts off to the soldier running up next to them, then moved down the trench to the left. Saval was an older Scaverian, a bent and probably oft-broken nose joining shattered scale patterns on his face. Nodding briefly, he took a position just slightly behind Markos.

Squatting down to keep his head underneath the sides of the trenches, Markos hurried towards the corner, Saval beside him. Hand pawing for a grenade, Markos rounded the corner.

Eight Aethereans were running down the trench’s length. None of them had bothered to hold back and provide covering fire. They were too close for the grenade. Dropping the grenade, Markos reached for and raised his rifle quickly, firing as soon as he had a steady shot.

An Aetherean in the lead screamed as a bullet shot into his belly.

You have hit your target in the Lower Abdominal. You have inflicted 30 damage to Alan Marrows with a Duravel Mark IV Bolt Action Rifle. You have destroyed their Spine and portions of their Lower Intestines. You have killed Alan Marrows, Level 2 Mechanic/Level 1 Conscript. You have earned 80 XP

He didn't have time to disable the UI. A second one dropped from Saval’s shot, blood pouring from their throat. Markos hurriedly worked his rifle’s bolt.

Some of them stopped, beginning to aim. A second bullet fired out, catching one in the arm. The other one fired, and Markos heard a muffled grunt behind him.

Seconds passed slowly as the bolt worked, the next round loading as the number of feet between him and the charging aethereans reached single digits.

He didn’t even try to aim before pulling the trigger.

You have hit your target in the Left Eye Socket. You have inflicted 35 damage to Kylie Rivers with a Duravel Mark IV Bolt Action Rifle. You have destroyed their Eye and four portions of their brain. You have killed Kylie Rivers, Level 2 Baker/Level 1 Conscript. You have earned 80 XP.

He dropped his rifle, drawing his bayonet. The lead Aetherean was still charging, too fast to slow down. The point of Markos’ bayonet rammed into his throat, blood spraying as he severed an artery.

You have hit your target in the Throat. You have inflicted 25 damage to Milo Warrick with a Bayonet. You have destroyed their Windpipe and Cartoid Artery. You have killed Milo Warrick, Level 2 Cooper/Level 1 Conscript. You have earned 80 XP.

Two other Aethereans rushed past, and he heard an alarmed yell from Saval. He moved towards the third, who was already swinging a knife of their own at him.

He dodged under, bayonet moving up. The Aetherean's attempt to parry was crude but effective, and for a few seconds, they both moved swiftly between the tench walls, attempting to land blows. He could only half-see the slumped-over body of Saval, one of the Aethereans repeatedly hammering him over the head with their rifle before another blow forced him to dodge away. The other one from before was dead.

The Aetherean’s sloppiness caught up with him as Markos grabbed his arm to stop his next blow. The Aetherean wasn’t swift enough with his own open hand. A pained gasp ripped out of a too-young face as Markos drove the bayonet into his abdomen.

You have hit your target in the Stomach. You have inflicted 30 damage to Calo Masters with a Bayonet. You have destroyed their Stomach. You have killed Calo Master, Level 2 Dandy/Level 1 Conscript. You have earned 80 XP.

Another Aetherean was on him, screaming as they charged from Saval’s motionless body. He dodged, ramming the butt of his gun into her face as she tried to turn. The battle cry turned into a shriek of pain as her nose crunched underneath the blow.

You have inflicted eight damage to Callie Davis. Your blow has broken her nose. She is suffering from Pain, Pain (Acute), Nausea,…

He tried to draw his bayonet again to finish her off. Something rammed into the back of his head, driving him into the dirt of the trench instead.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Head ringing, he tried to get back up, only for something to ram the back of his head again. He tried to flip over, only for a massive weight to come down atop him.

You have been engaged in a grapple. You are cut off from all available oxygen supply. You will begin suffocating if you-

Doing his best to ignore the system, Markos tried to push himself back up, to get on his side, anything. The Aetherean above him babbled, saying something in a tongue he could barely understand. He could make out one phrase.

“Forgive please”

The hands around his neck tightened. His vision swam, black spots appearing, consuming all he could see. No

The weight vanished, and someone pulled him back. He gasped, air filling his lungs as he coughed and sputtered.

“For fuck’s sake, you leave my side for ten seconds, and already you’re almost dead. The world hates me having assistant gunners.” Ferat said, hammering Markos on the back. The blows didn’t help much in getting the dirt and grime out of Marko’s lungs, but they certainly jolted him further back to awareness.

Next to Ferat was the still body of an Aetherean who couldn’t be more than sixteen, blank eyes staring up at the sky. None of the bodies littering the trench besides Saval could be older than that.

Markos looked at the corpses, then his stomach turned ill and he vomited away from the corpses.

“I’m here to help you guard the trench. The machine gun’s gone, gave its little mechanical life away, saving me from a rifle grenade. Gorel wasn’t so lucky. He got a face full of fragmentation and a free ticket to the rear. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind one myself. How about you?” Ferat offered Markos a hand

“Yeah,” Markos choked out, reaching for the hand and pulling himself up. “Let’s fall back to the corner. Let them run down into our fire.”

Ferat shook his head. “Squad’s going to come up, clear this out. Consider what you’ve been through, observation.”

Markos opened his mouth to argue, then just as quickly shut it. The other Scaverian was right. He turned his attention to his status bar.

HP: 13/60

He’d be one bullet away from death, one bayonet stab.

“Come on, let’s find a safe place to hole up.”

***

The command center was chaos in the towers as the Aethereans poured through the portal.

“Artillery support is a minimum of ten minutes out. Most batteries are in the middle of letting their artillery barrels cool off-”

“-rocket barrages are still moving into position-”

“-more of them are streaming through Major, and no one can get a clear shot at Traveler!”

Machine guns were firing from the observation deck down at the merging mass of Aethereans. Bullets streamed in through the portal, hitting the ranks of Aethereans, trying to force their way through.

It stalled their advance. And it also told them the portal wasn’t one way, which gave a straightforward solution to the advancing army of Aethereans. The Major turned to one of the radio operators.

“Tell the Musveil to prepare a round as fast as possible, and once it’s loaded, I want it fired through that portal. The second round is to be prepared immediately after. Loudspeakers are to warn our troops thirty seconds before firing.”

The radio operator paused for a second, then quickly nodded, adjusting his set. “This is Point Forward to Ashveil Six. Orders from the local garrison commander are as follows-”

The Major tuned out the coded orders and turned his attention back to the battlefield below. This would be dangerous. Even if it went through the portal, a blast that size this close…he could hope for minimal casualties among the soldiers desperately keeping the Aethereans at bay.

***

Markos crouched, peaking over the edge of the trench.

A bullet zipped over his head, and he ducked, cursing at whatever Aetherean had noticed him. More Scaverians had gone ahead and cleared the next trench out. He and Ferat now occupied separate observation posts built into the communications trench. Aethereans still streamed out of the portal, but the corpse mounds were high enough that it wasn’t a lizard shoot. The only good news was that they were slowly cleared from the trenchworks even as more poured out. But numbers would make the difference eventually.

More bullets flew, and Markos ducked, cursing. He paused before getting back up, realizing something was being yelled underneath the sound of bullets flying and infantry guns barking. The loudspeaker mounted on the bridge towers was broadcasting.

“-All troops prepare for impact. Fire is danger close. Prepare for impact.”

Artillery support?

Something shrieked behind him, and he turned to look. Back at the bridge, the Musveil was moving, barrel lowering as it moved on broken tracks to face the portal. Markos huddled against the trench wall to take cover but couldn’t bring himself to lower his head.

He didn’t know if it was a perverse glee on the Aethereans being on the other side of this kind of firepower or having never seen one of the last creations of the gods fired before. But he needed to watch.

The ground quaked as the Musveil fired, throwing Markos off his feet as the train-sized carriage shuddered and the shell flew out of the barrel. Markos looked for any kind of solid ground to use as cover while the car-sized shell flew toward the still-open Aetherean portal. Magic sigils appeared around the edges, and the portal began to shrink.

It's too little too late. The shell passed through the portal. Cursing, Markos cowered behind the trench wall.

The earth jolted, throwing Markos against the side of the trench as a howl blasted across the air, a screaming explosion that stabbed into Markos’ ears. He screamed as the wall of the trench came down, earth piling on top of him as tremors rippled around him.

Buried under the earth, he tried to dig himself out. He couldn’t see. He could barely move, with more weight piling on top of him.

Your strength score is becoming insufficient for the amount of earth on top of you. Asphyxiation may begin in two minutes.

He was not dying here, not like this. He pushed harder, felt the dirt shift around, and then the touch of air on his fingertips. His lungs burned as he moved through, pulling and grasping for anything to pull himself out.

He could see the light and pushed, breaking free of the dirt.

Gasping, he breathed in acrid air that burned his lungs slightly less than holding his breath had. Choking and gasping, he dragged his rifle from his almost tomb, looking around for Aethereans, Ferat, or anyone. He could find none and scrambled up the slope of earth the trench wall had become.

His hand brushed against another, and he turned to see one of the Aethereans from before, lifeless eyes staring into his. He hurriedly moved away from the corpse.

He peeked cautiously over the edge, rifle at the ready. The portal was still there, billowing clouds of black smoke pouring out and that revolting acrid smell. The piles of Aetherean bodies, the earthworks, most of the Aethereans were gone, the earth blasted into a shredded mess by the Musveil. Torn-apart bodies littered the field, metal fragments and shrapnel scattered among them.

Through the smoke, he could see beyond into the still-shrinking portal to what had once been a hill. The slope of the hill was gone a massive crater in its place, a chunk removed through the hill. Gore and torn-apart bodies littered the remnants of the hill. He couldn't see if any Aethereans were still alive on the other side.

A shrieking noise of metal moving against metal tore his attention away to the bridge. The Musveil’s barrel returned to its initial position as the crane on its back moved, grasping a shell from within its ammo tractor.

That was the final straw for the Aethereans. They were fleeing. Most of them went towards the shrinking portal, even as screams of the wounded and more clouds of smoke emerged from it. Others ran for the forests.

The portal continued shrinking, panicked Aethereans still trying to rush through. Only when it reached the size of a person did the remaining soldiers run for the forest instead. Markos didn’t fire after them.

Ferat suddenly appeared on his right, startling Markos. He almost jumped as the machine gunner seemingly sprang out of the ground, suddenly beside him.

“What?” Markos yelled. Ferat shook his head and gestured towards his ears. His hearing was as shot as Markos’.

The occasional Aetherean still fled into the forest or isolated pockets held out in the trench works, pinned down by the continuous fire from the towers. But the majority either died or fled through the portal, leaving the bridge to them. The portal's creator had also vanished, with no sign of where they had been, only a line where the broken and destroyed ground became smooth and flat once more.

Looking past Ferat, other Scaverians dug out of the mess of collapsed earthworks and obliterated defenses. Even further back, the inner ring was pulling in towards the bridge. They were pulling back.