His throat was sore, raw like bark from a tree rubbed violently. I’ve done what I can, he told himself, feeling his trachea and knowing the iron he tasted was how the gods told him he had done well. He wouldn't lie, he would prefer a more direct way for the gods to communicate with him...
Around them, the fighting continued. He leaned on his bro while he turned to fight. And die, if need be, without mercy. He had done what he could using his grenades. Their lives were in the hands of the city guard, now; ironic, he told himself as he waded through the heavy-feeling battlefield, that the power they had gained from war luck should be our downfall. Perhaps the Wardens chose wrong? "Cover me!" he shouted as he performed a daring maneuver which left several destroyed automotrons in his wake.
It could have been dying tiger’s roar and nothing else. This final stand. Or it could have been the desperation of a child who didn’t want to die -- not yet! But he found himself a more focused, concentrated, and willing spirit than ever. before He wielded his blade with enthuse, where even his hand, wrist, and fingers performed little flourishes he knew only from fancy. No more bodily disobeying. His whole form worked to his advantage in this serendipitous war serenity.
He slew dozens. Maybe a hundred, it he wanted to fib a smidge. Jiehong destroyed at least as many. He wanted to spend his last few precious breaths doing something important, perhaps reconciling with his blood, such as. Yet doing so would admit they were as good as dead. Admitting their end had come was not something he wanted to acknowledge. So, he kept his mouth shut. He looked closely at his brother, and he thought of the good times; like sunshine, those memories filled with mind with hope.
Which was what he and Jiehong needed as he saw, finally, a gold-golem enter the field flanked by several red-golems. And a troop transport — how had they not seen the troop transport?! Too focused on not dying? He chided himself, though he knew he shouldn’t… he was new to this battlefield stuff. He couldn’t have eyes everywhere at once.
Seeing their doom enter the field in the form of yet more gold-golems, he had no reaction. His limbs moved independently of him. He fought to buy himself not victory, but precious seconds of life. He had no plan for the golems. No grenades, no magic, bodies pushed to their limits already and drained. There was nothing else for them to do. Nothing except accept their grisly fate…
Readying to charge the enemy one last time, he placed his hand on Jiehong’s shoulder and told him, “Let’s give these excrement-lords one last go, eh?! Charge ‘em with me, together!”
Jiehong clasped him back and said, “I’m with ya… buddy.”
Walking back several paces to gain maximum momentum, the young Ranger-Knights began their death sprint when the ploys of destiny forced a dead stop.
From the city walls arrows rained down from an unseen source. The arrows peppered the enemies; more unexpectedly, the arrows burst into flame, sending leaping tongues of blue fire throughout the enemy ranks. With such precision, the arrows rained, the armored gold-golems even found themselves within an early grave.
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Turning in all directions to find their saviors, he saw a group of men on horseback giddying their way over. As the riders made their way around the city’s walls, they cleaved a path through the massed enemy, sending dozens to their maker. Meanwhile, arrows continued to rain from the walls, he witnessed at least a dozen archers taking aim and releasing arrow after arrow.
Using their cover to advance close to the wall and around the edge, and hopefully all the way to the main gate on the other side of the city wall, he and Jiehong used their remaining energy to make one last dash to safety. He had reached his breaking point. It was now or never: he breathed in, then out. He placed one foot in front of the other. I have to make it. I have to make it… he repeated like a mantra.
About half-way along the city’s impressively sized left-defensive wall, they met the horseback riders. The riders dressed in a thick leather hide reinforced with metal bits on the shoulders, chest, and legs. Even their horses wore armor, a defensive measure which featured many oblong spikes, some of which jutted ‘gruesomely’ with automotron limbs.
“Get inside the city’s gates, young riders. We will protect you!” the captain — he assumed — told them.
“Yes, sir!” Jiehong shouted.
He saluted and the two boys resumed their march.
The riders protected them with every step they took, putting the enemy to route.
By the time the boys made it to the front gate — and also seeing the widespread destruction which graced the town’s entryway — both boys could hardly move. Forcing their bodies to over-perform, however, the boys knocked loudly on the gate. It was a formality, just to make sure. But an unneeded one, as they soon discovered, for the door opened, slowly, as their balled-up fists contacted the door.
“Come in! Come in — quickly!” the town guards shouted as the massive front gate swung open a crack.
Needing no more time, he ushered Jiehong in first, the guards actually needing to open the gate a touch more to accommodate his girth. Following at Jiehong’s heels, he slipped in behind, taking in one last sight of the war-ravaged countryside before the iron gate locked shut.
He wanted rest. To sit down for even a few minutes. Maybe sleep? Just a small nap, he wanted. Forty-minutes.
But as the saying went, there wasn’t any rest for the wicked.
Wicked good in their case, but all the same...
“This way!” a guard shouted.
Not in the mood to resist, the boys followed, literally too tired to argue.
Letting their eyes make love to their new location, the boys visually apprehended Thundervale.
If he had to sum up his take on the town, he would say it was ‘quaint.’
Cobblestone streets, small two and three tiered homes with horseshoe-shaped shingles lining the way, covering the houses totally, not unlike a turtle. Chimneys shucked smoke, foregrounding how, even in terrifying times, daily life ground on.
He was sure he heard many sounds of daily life — merchants calling out their goods, people haggling over prices, but he heard none of it. He was too distracted, too tired. He only had ears for the angry guards, who every few seconds turned their way to ensure he and Jiehong didn’t get any funny ideas about running away. Or so he assumed.
The guards ushered them into a small, reinforced guardhouse. Once inside, the guards ushered them further by guiding them to the basement. His heart started and failed twice before settling. Jail cells! What do they think we are?! He wanted to say.
As if to punctuate the issue further, overhead and from a higher floor, came a rumbling boom. On the sole table in the dank and empty jail, candlelight flickered from the rumble.
The guards roughly forced the boys to a corner and pointed spears at them to prevent them from moving. He held his breath — are the guards going to kill us?