Far above the bridge connecting the Garrison to the city, Asrael stood on Lita’s balcony and watched the bored, hungered guardsmen patrol the courtyard below. On either side of the cleanly, nicely swept space, the ramparts hosted the drowsy night-shifters as they approached the end of their dreary duties. The walls had been patrolled, the ramparts swept clean of ashes and rubble and the torches and lanterns had been refueled.
The tall gates were closed- they always were, these days, save for the procession of hungry men, women, and children that the retrieval party had taken with them a few hours earlier. Yohan- a recruit barely out of his training, had been spending the night biting the interior of his mouth as he imagined the filthy commoners eating their food. From his place on the ramparts- just above the door, he rubbed his crotch up against the ancient, corroded stones- scratching his armor more than the boils below his plates of steel. He silently cursed Bartholomew for this gift of his but would be a fool to voice his displeasure- especially when his girlfriends remained unaware of his frequent visits to the man, though he suspected that they, too, would stop by his chambers on the odd occasion.
“Another hour, Yohan. It’s always the worst.” Maximus- the corporal who had overseen his training. spoke as he approached from further down the rampart with a wide yawn and a swinging lantern in his right hand. Yohan sighed and kept his watchful eyes on the bridge he had been charged with guarding. “Don’t I know it? I wouldn’t mind if the Dayers came early for once...” Yohan grumbled as he continued to rub up against the stone hip-high wall. He couldn’t wait to arrive at the barracks and discard his heavy, polished armor to finally get some rest. With any luck, the day’s cargo would actually arrive and he might have a taste of wine to soothe his aching joints.
Maximus stepped up to Yohan’s side and raised his visor to take a breath of the Burgen’s reeking air. “I take it there’s nothing new to report?” Yohan shook his head.
“Of course there is. I saw a turd the size of my arm float by down there... you know, I thought the sewers would dry up now that the commoners don’t have food. Somehow, the stench has gotten even worse.” Yohan grimaced and demonstratively pinched his nose. Maximus chuckled at his man- the one he had carefully selected to stand above the reeking river below- and spoke:
“Oh, some of them are eating just fine. The question is what they’re eating. That log you saw pass you by might’ve actually been someone’s arm at some point.” Yohan felt uncomfortable as they both imagined the potentiality.
Unbeknownst to both Yohan and his Corporal, a pair of green eyes glared down at them from up high- sending orders no living Man could hear.
Ever since the sealing of the gates and the subsequent battles against the people of Pilta, silence had fallen over the city. No cats nor dogs were left uneaten- nor were the insects and the few birds who dared land on any tree or stone would soon find themselves at the mercy of the hungry citizens. The silence was, in the night, so profound that the guardsmen’s armors could be heard clear across the city, which made it all the more troubling as they heard a clatter... across the bridge. Yohan had been the first to hear it and sharpened his ears and eyes to behold the darkness, only to find... a soldier. He shambled- gripping his side while groaning and moaning with pain.
As Guardsmen, they were tightly-knit, for the most part. Most had trained either under one another or with the clattering suits of metal next to them and therefore, it pained them all to see one of their own in apparent agony... but they had been made wise from the people’s tactics. It would not be the first time someone had tried to sneak through the gates- the desperate citizens had attempted to employ a tactic like it, before.
“Hey... do we have anyone outside?” Yohan asked as the man continued to approach in his constant moans. In the darkness; neither could see the stains of blood covering his chain undershirt- all they could see were the glistening of his pauldrons as he shambled onwards. Maximus swallowed and shook his head.
“Not that I know. He’s got a sword, so he’s not an archer.” Yohan gritted his teeth in expectancy as Maximus shouted at the aggressor: “Halt! Don’t take another step without identifying yourself!”
If the man had heard them, he made sure not to show it. His pace did not slow in the least. Yohan could feel the unnerve of the archers at his sides, as signaled by their uncomfortable shifting. The recruit took the initiative to shout:
“Hey, stop! We’ll fuckin’ shoot you if you come any closer-” Before he could finish delivering his threat, another, shambling form appeared from the darkness behind him. Then another. Then another. By long, Yohan was looking at what appeared to be at least five scores of the armored men- all of whom continued to shamble forwards.
“All of you, stop right there! We will fire!” The corporal shouted, before turning to shout at one of his frightened men down in the courtyard: “Go get the Captain! Now!”
Two of his men bolted inside the Garrison, whereas the rest of the collection of men began ascending the stairs up to the platforms to see what was unnerving the gatesmen.
One of the archers nervously fidgeted his bow and reached for the quiver at his hip. Even if his dozen arrows were to strike true through their visors, he- and his brethren, would be powerless to stop so many of them... but the sturdy gate would keep them at bay.
“What the fuck is that!?” One of the archers shouted as a pale, monstrous form ran on four legs through the approaching army. Its pale skin reflected the dim lights of the lanterns and the torches as it charged onwards- knocking its friends off the bridge to fall helplessly into the river of sewage.
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Its white, pale skin was covered in runes glowing the faintest green, but its unnatural anatomy was the most terrorizing thing Yohan had ever seen. Its legs had been modified to resemble that of a horse or a bull and in conjunction with the magically fueled muscles, the fat, flabby form sprinting across the bridge was a fearsome thing- capable of covering ten paces in a single leap.
“Kill it! Shoot! Shoot!” The nervous archers’ arms tremored as the few who had not yet drawn their bows took aim on the flabby, swift form.
“Fire!” The Corporal roared. At the sound of his order, a barrage of fifty arrows loosened from atop the wall- zipping through the air on a collision trajectory for the beasts. None could believe their eyes as the shambling soldiers stepped out in front of the monster and jumped to block its arrows. Steel dug through their bloodless necks, arms, legs, and feet as nearly every arrow in the barrage struck true, but... not a single man fell. Aside from a few groans, they made no sound but for the rhythmic clatter of their approaching armors.
Yohan could not believe his eyes- some of the men had been riddled with arrows. One, at the front, had two arrows embedded past his visor- into what the soldier would’ve assumed to be his mouth or lower jaw, but still... he kept coming.
The monster continued its charge- slamming past the others with uncaring cruelty before finally, it reached the gate. The soldiers on the other side of the massive, wooden barrier leapt back as they all assumed a battering ram slammed into the door to splinter the wood meant to hold it in place. Requests for information sounded from below as fifty men shouted; ”What the fuck was that!?” and variations thereof, but to no avail... how would Yohan even begin to explain what he was seeing?
“Fire at will! Kill them! And find me a fucking officer!” The Corporal roared. The terror-stricken archers all drew arrow after arrow and let loose into the lively river, but to no avail. They had already reached the gate and were pounding on the barrier to crack it faster than the Inquisitors could reinforce the door.
Yohan shook his head and watched their rhythmic, uniform movements. What were these things? How could any force be so unified- so coordinated and uncaring for the men who fell off the sides in droves with every push forwards. He followed one of the still forms with his eyes and watched it crash into the water with a loud splash, where-
He had to blink several times to verify that his eyes were not deceiving him, before making the dreadful realization that the sight of the hundreds of green eyes remained down there- staring up at him as he blinked.
Amidst the shouts for resupplies and assistance, Yohan heard some distant screams of panic, pain, and terror. He leaned over the wall to confirm his suspicion that the screams had come from below the bridge- at the improvised loading station, where the boats had failed to dock. Down there, he saw shambling forms- dozens upon dozens of them, climbing out from the water to make their way for the doors. No man should have been able to survive the river, clad in that heavy armor. No man should have been capable of walking out of the river and assaulting the lackluster defense below the bridge.
“No! No! Ah!” Loud, throat-wrenching screams and gargles sounded from inside the garrison.
“My quiver’s out! What the fuck is going on!? I should have killed ten of them already!” The archer next to Yohan’s station screamed. The Corporal tore his helmet off to run his heavy gloves through his sweaty hair and screamed back into the courtyard: “Where are the supplies!? We’re out of arrows up here-” But none of the men were listening. One by one, they wet themselves as they saw the bright, green, uncaring eyes appear in between the widening crack of the gate.
Yohan looked towards the Garrison and breathed a sigh of relief as one of the supply-runners appeared with an open crate in his hands- packed full with arrows and oils. Before he could step down on the stairs, something white and tall whisked him away and a moment later, more choked screams could be heard from inside.
“Corporal, they’re already inside! They’re cutting us off from the storage!” The Corporal held the lantern up high, frozen in terror as he, too, caught sight of the men shambling from the river- pouring into the Garrison’s now-open back door. Before he could speak a word- before he could even find the calm to think about this unsettling turn of events, the doors leading into the courtyard finally gave way- sending the large barricades soaring through the air, where the beams collided with hapless, equally terrified soldiers. Yohan was helpless but to watch as the numerous beasts took to arms and poured into the courtyard to begin their assault in full.
Mayhem ensued... the ones carrying blades would swing them blindly- uncaring for whether they hit friend or foe and slashed cleanly through Yohan’s fellow recruits. Their strength was unlike anything he could ever have expected from a human and with their sharp blades, they were nothing short of unstoppable. The few times the Inquisition’s recruits could land a blow, the armies of the enemies would shrug them off as if they had not even registered the pain of being stabbed or cut.
None were as frightening as the largest of the beasts- the pale, charging horse-man, hurling boxes, beams- even his own men, at the soldiers.
“Oh, fuck!” The archer next to Yohan screamed as the dead began ascending the stairs leading up to the ramparts. Before the archers, the corporal, and the recruit could even register their poorly position, it was already too late. Down below them, the Courtyard was a slaughterhouse of shrieking, dying men and undying monsters- outside the wall, the long procession of undead continued- barring Yohan’s escape in every direction.
He grabbed the shortsword from the scabbard at his hip and took a step back against the barrier, where his backside clattered against the stone- his itch naught but a memory, at this point. The Corporal and the archers huddled up next to him and watched helplessly as the undead tore limb from limb off of the screaming, fleeing Inquisitors. Yohan caught sight of one of his friends- Gunther, who still owed him fifty gold for a moist evening, pinned to the courtyard by a trio of unhelmeted undead. They had no weapons and most of their armor had been discarded to bare their arrow-riddled, inscribed chests, but they were just as lethal as the armed ones.
Gunther screamed as one of the men bent down to bite into his face. The crisp roar soon turned gargled as blood began to pour down the Inquisitor’s throat and, with a jerk of the undead soldier’s head, it tore Gunther’s nose off.
In the brief, last moments of Yohan’s life, he would be haunted by the sight of his friend looking up at him from the ant’s nest of monstrosities, with a gaping, seeping hole in the middle of his face, before the rest of them descended on him to tear every strip of flesh from his cheeks.
There was no escape. The shambling, uncaring soldiers moved to close in on them from both sides of the ramparts- staring their green, glowing eyes towards the last remaining Inquisitors of the Courtyard.