Another arrow, this one got a Fomori. It didn’t die, but its day certainly wasn’t a very pleasant one from that point on as two more Paladins smashed it down. Collin just moved on, picked another target, shot. He was going for the powerful enemies, the rarer ones who tended to actually hold fights like this together. Normal undead were stronger than humans, if only for the manic frenzy in which they fought, but their ability to damage a truly strong individual- like a Paladin- was limited by their basic physicality. The killing blows in a fight like this would mostly be coming from stronger constructs that attacked those distracted by their lesser brethren.

So Collin slotted those instead. One at a time, killing twice or thrice a second, feeling his many quivers slowly empty of the hundred or so pounds of iron he’d been carrying. That was fine, he had backups placed right next to him. Collin was in a good spot, with plenty of sight lines, good defensibility and a lovely summer breeze coming in from the East. The only thing which would have perfected his little rampage was if he’d had a picnic.

But life wasn’t perfect, he supposed. Collin settled for just imagining one as he turned a Dark Elf’s skull into several pieces of a Dark Elf’s skull.

Up ahead Ado was still fighting, but Hexeri had reached her. Even Collin couldn’t hear the words exchanged, catching only the occasional one, but as far as he could tell she was doing her job of orchestrating the retreat. Good, they’d all die very very quickly if they didn’t get the fuck out of there. He was no white knight, and he’d not been able to find a conveniently located sunrise to emerge over when he arrived. This wasn’t a saving of the day, just a saving of some of the idiots who’d survived its night.

Collin took a Lich’s arm off, and actually surprised himself, that he’d gotten through its defenses. The momentary distraction sent a spell it had been weaving unstable, and it and everything within fifty feet was incinerated. Shame he couldn’t count all the extra kills, because that would’ve pushed him to the top of the scoreboard by a mile.

At a glance, he saw Ado and Hexeri were now making their way back. Hemorrhaging men, as people surrounded on all sides tended to do, but managing steady progress. Collin shifted to protecting them directly; interrupting killing blows, icing particularly stubborn resistance leaders, keeping them from losing any limbs or heads as best he could manage. They were a good hundred feet away, but at their rate he found them almost on him within a minute.

That was when Collin saw that he, now, was starting to become surrounded. Not quite as thickly, but certainly moreso than he’d have liked. It was time to make a hasty retreat, he decided, and so he gave out the order for their Hail-Mary.

It had to be said, as far as diversionary ambushes went, several dozen fucking Vampires was hard to beat. They just came flying at the undead- their fellow undead, Collin supposed- and started killing. Crushing skulls, punching off limbs, slashing apart several ranks in as many seconds and making a nice, comfortable space for the spearmen to take formation. It was a nice, careful, orderly retreat with everyone covering everyone. And that wasn’t an easy thing to do. It took dozens of hours of drills just to hold a shield wall properly under the sorts of pressure they were facing now, scores more to properly move in one and keep it cohesive. And if these weren’t Kaltans, Collin had no doubt the introduction of Vampires would’ve had their formation coming apart.

Every single one of his soldiers would have been an elite in any other army, and by God did they kill their way off that battlefield. The thinned ranks still at their backs came apart like opened curtains, and Collin’s Rangers and Ado’s coterie all packed themselves safely within the formation as they moved off.

Almost half an hour had passed in total from Collin’s first arrival when they were finally, properly safe and free of the carnage. Everyone present dropped down and started gulping down oxygen like it was going out of fashion. Collin didn’t blame them, he was too busy doing the same.

“Head count.” He barked out, galvanizing his own thoughts only with a considerable effort. Grunting, groaning annoyance answered him, which was itself rather promising. Irritated soldiers had rarely suffered the worst they could have.

Officers headed out, speaking to serjeants, who tallied the men. Collin had a spare few minutes whilst that was done, so he attended the matter closest to his heart.

No Rangers dead. That was something, at least. He wasn’t sure whether he’d survive another of them meeting their maker. Not without the Dark Lord himself keeping the unlucky sods company.

Night came on sooner than any of them would have liked, Collin most of all. The dark was always the enemy of most men. Ordinarily, he’d have appreciated it. Kaltan’s Rangers always did their best work at night, after all, when their enemies were blind and their attacks unseen.

But the Rangers were a small sliver of his forces today, and they would be for years to come. Ten. It was pitiful. Sad, tragic. Ten fucking rangers left from a force which had once boasted hundreds. Collin took a moment to recall General Venka, then spat at his feet in the memory.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Shortly after that, the fires started. Undead didn’t like fires, but they just couldn’t help but start them up whenever they were unleashed on a city. Humans needed fire, after all, and so many houses were things of straw or light wood.

So many panicked people kicked over lanterns, or threw them at their attackers. And fire left unattended- like by a city claimed by death- spread like…

Well, like wildfire.

It was wild, at least. And it was awful. The flames started as a dull glow, like rays of dying sunlight peeking out over the crest of a horizon. Then they grew. Soon enough much of the city seemed engulfed in the conflagration, history and life consumed as one. Collin wasn’t optimistic- stupid- enough to hope that the Dark Lord’s forces were sitting on the pyre, they’d have been cleared out long before it started.

But there’d be no more trouble from them, that much he was fairly sure of. Even with an army of unthinking automatons it took a while to properly organize a march, and never longer than after a fight. Particularly a hard one.

So they could all sit back, rest, and watch the show. He glanced around, curious to see what would await his searching vision.

Well, there wasn’t a surprise. That was for sure. Collin saw haunted fear, hatred, regret. Guilt, misery, defeat and horror and disbelief. So much disbelief. But mostly he saw hatred.

Good. He might have expected that much- this was, after all, a company of veteran warriors- but it was useful to have the confirmation. Fear was useless, regret a mixed bag. Guilt was better, misery worse, defeat a practical end to any utility he might have found. Horror was fear, writ more, and disbelief led to madness more often than battle.

Hatred, though, was good. Collin could work with hatred. He had worked with hatred. Hatred got things done, it turned men into killers, into soldiers, into winners.

And they would win. Staring at the distant blaze, wincing at the thought of whoever might still have been trapped within it, Collin promised himself that much. They would fucking win.

“Thinking about revenge?”

Collin almost stabbed the source of the voice, and halted just in time to avoid introducing Queen Ado to a pathetically ignominious end. She was beside him, waiting expectantly. Expectant of what?

An answer. His thoughts were still slowed by combat, trapped in that paradoxical state of lightning-fast cognition aimed everywhere, and at nothing in particular. Adjusting to conversation was like trying to cook with ice.

He managed it fast. Collin had plenty of practice.

“Lucky guess.” He shrugged, though it’d been more of a safe one. She made lots of those, he’d noticed.

Without prompting, the young Queen took her seat beside him, and Collin stiffened. He glanced over half anticipating hostility, but saw none. And that made him all the more ill at ease.

It wasn’t that he had limited experience with women. It was that he had no experience with women who weren’t whores or soldiers. A life spent killing was good for lots of things, but conversation with the smaller sex was not one of them. Fortunately she seemed to have more to say, lubricating their discussion conveniently as she did.

“My brother died.”

As far as openings went, Collin had heard better. He shrugged. Shit conversation was about the only kind he ever had anyway.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“He died badly.” The woman continued, hardly seeming to hear him. “Painfully.”

Collin shrugged again.

“It happens. He take any undead out first?”

She glanced at him, frowning.

“A few.”

“Then it wasn’t a waste at least.” Collin replied. “That’s about as best as you can really hope for, anything else…All bets are off.”

She studied him for a few moments before speaking once more, seeming to hold a greater focus now and letting it bear down upon him.

“Do you have any brothers?”

The question was a surprising one, though it shouldn’t have been.

“No.”

“Did you?”

Collin hesitated a moment longer this time.

“Yes.” He said, after a second. “I did. Three of them, all older. Dead for years now. One went in the uprising- my dad tore the cock off the man responsible. The other two…The Dark Lord’s bastards got them.”

And then they got all his friends, then they got his dad, and one day Collin’s luck would run out and they’d get him. But he’d not die in a waste, either. And he intended to kill a lot more than just a few before he went out.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The Queen told him, voice sounding suddenly tight. “I’m sorry for…A lot.”

Collin thought about that.

“Thanks.” He said, awkwardly. The woman smiled for a moment, and he wasn’t sure why until she spoke.

“It’s relaxing, speaking to someone who isn’t a politician. You have no idea how stuffy it was in there. Or…Well, you probably do actually. I’d dared to hope my brother would be of some help but he was even worse. Stabbed me in the back, went along with everything the others said just dripping smarm and…” She hesitated. “And I had him beaten once I was back in charge, tossed around and humiliated. Even after he helped me. I was…So cruel.”

The woman’s eyes were wet, and Collin looked away. He was struck by the sudden urge to say something, and simultaneously by the sudden absence of anything which might be worth saying. His mind scrambled for long moments to coin a response before his mouth finally went off on its own.

“Bottle it.” He said, quickly. “Pack it up, and cram it down deep somewhere. All that grief, that upset. Keep a hold of it, then use it. You’ll know when. A fight, a chase, anything like that. Won’t be long, in our line of work, before you find someone you don’t mind splashing it all out onto.

Collin was rather eager to find one for himself, even just saying it. The Queen, though, seemed to find the idea rather less appealing. She studied him like a leper, sympathetic and warm. It pissed him off.

“When did you first start doing this?” She asked. “Fighting, warring. Killing.”

He thought about it, and realized he didn’t actually know. There’d always been cause to train in his house, even before the uprising. Collin had been very young when it started- though already practicing even then. And once it was over…Well, half the cutthroats in Kaltan might have gone for the price he’d had placed on his head by disenfranchised nobility.

Then the Dark Lord had come, and started a fight which dragged everybody in regardless.

“A while.” He said at last.

“That must have been hard.”

Collin felt his lip twitch, resisted the urge to snarl.

“It wasn’t. It was something that needed doing, so I did it.”

Ado eyed him, face an unreadable mask. “I think I finally understand the feeling.” She whispered.