The ringing was still vibrating around Dagda’s ears whilst he struggled to regain his vision. There had been no warning, no prelude, one moment everything had seemed to be going all in their favour, those in the forest were picking off any men which strayed too far off the road, the Men’s front line was barely holding its own and were being steadily driven back. They had even managed to create a deep chink in the Men’s centre which was being made ever deeper by the minute. Not anymore.
The men had seemed to be anticipating and were prepared for those green explosives and had moved swiftly to push back against the attack spurred on by the devastation. They had restored their line and now Dagda could only vaguely make out his brothers and sisters which had forced themselves inwards in their eagerness to press the attack. Dagda spied the elder Brendane, he who had led the charge into the breach as he fought bravely on against an overwhelming tide.
“Get them in the air, in the air.”
The sound of Ardgal’s voice by his side bounced around inside Dagda’s head, beside him Ardgal invoked wind Omen and expertly caught and guided back one of those Milesian bombs straight back to its owner, crashing against the Men’s shield wall and sending many flying, though they were soon replaced. For every one caught or sent back mid air two were getting through, with no shields of their own the bombs were causing havoc completely disrupting their attack and allowing the men to continue to move steadily onwards leaving no path to reconnect with the others. Dagda shoved his way forward towards the oncoming spearmen, their wall was tall, strong and any attacks with disc or claíomh were proving largely ineffective. Only Omen would work now. Dagda had been using his source since the fighting started, he knew he could not continue to drain himself, but his anger fuelled him. As he came face to face with the approaching soldiers he felt it build inside of him, fire. It was always the easiest to summon when enraged. Focusing it all on those soldiers quickly closing in on him he inhaled and whispered,
“Tine”
A searing stream of ferocious fire came rushing out from his hand blazing into the men just as the front spears lunged at him. Burning all in his path, shield and man alike, the concentrated blast penetrated right through the first and second lines all the way to the third giving Dagda a brief respite from the fighting. Through the gap he could barely make out the other Druaidíi battling dauntlessly on. I need more, his attack however didn't offer respite for long. It didn’t seem to matter how many times they were set back another man soon took the place of any fallen and they returned the fight once more. When the men came on him this time he couldn’t seem to summon the strength enough to generate Omen. Instead drawing his claíomh he began to try to fight back against the multitude of spears leaping at him.
Then he heard it, above the clash of shields, the Omen strikes, the cries of anguish and despair. It rang clear through the bloodred air, it was Ardgal’s personal warhorn and it was signalling a retreat. He must not of realised yet the other Druaidíi trapped within the men’s lines, they couldn't retreat now, not yet.
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A rage built inside him as another Milesian spear came at him but this one slipped through his increasingly frantic defense, grazing his left shoulder.
Everything was going wrong, all about him was smoke and fire, to his sides Dagda could make out the others scrambling into a retreat but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t scamper away at the hands of the men. He could vaguely make out someone calling his name but all he saw was the Men’s shields in front of him, impenetrable and taunting as they marched ever forward. Bringing his claíomh in a long winding arc Dagda struck viciously to gain some space between him and his foes. It’s Omen I need.
It was within him, he just needed to unleash it. Dagda let his pain and fury wash over him allowing himself to give in to the force, to give in to its strength, passing control of his body to its raw, pure power. The feeling was akin to the feeling he had when climbing Aileann’s highest peaks, once he reached a certain point he seemed above the world as it lay, beyond its confines and Dagda soon began to feel like a passenger inside his own body. He knew he was moving and knew there was a tingling sensation building as the fire inside him ignited. He knew this was happening but he also knew he wasn’t now fully controlling it, the ferocity and brutality that blasted from his body surprised even him, engulfing not only himself but all around him. Dagda watched as the entire first line was cracked backwards by the sheer intensity of his flame. But he also saw too Druaidíi closest to him shying away as they too felt the touch of his uncontrolled blaze.
A final flurry of the men’s bombs exploded to Dagda’s left sending him spiralling back. He landed roughly, his body shaking with the impact, looking up through glazed eyes he realised his mistake. The rush of power and vigour gained by giving himself over to the Omens was pseudo, it wasn’t his and now panic consumed him in his passenger form. He willed his body to move but couldn’t. All he could taste were the flames, still burning viciously about him. Even the men had halted, shocked by the display. Dadga felt himself slowly drifting, away from the fire, away from the battle and away from himself. Suddenly, just as he felt whatever last ounce of resolve and will he had left fading two powerful well built hands planted themselves on him and flung him backwards further into retreat. The force and shock of the impact had a desirable effect and this time Dagda felt his feet rattle and his returned motion control reverberate around his body.
“DAGDA”
Tadgh’s loud carrying voice broke through everything else around him. Unable to answer, Dagda instead grabbed onto him and together they half limped, half ran joining in with the other retreating Druaidíi. Some of them were covering their exposed retreat with Omen and discs but truly they were not much needed. Happy with their day’s work the men seemed content to let the Druaidíi scramble away. Heaped onto a Great elk Dagda’s body failed him and once more he began to slip into unconsciousness once more.
The men’s victory cries and cheers were the last thing he remembered as his vision faded, but there was another sound to his mind too, mixed in with that of the triumphant men, the anguished sound of Druaidíi, Druaidíi left to die, abandoned to pain and suffering.