So basically it’s night time or something. In the ranger-camp, people are milling about as the last stages of the retreat are underway. Erasmus is overseeing this operation. He and his paladins are the rear-guard. They cannot leave until the last of the rangers is on the path towards to the capital city/temple thing that you’ll see later. If they botch this, and let the camp be overrun by the goblin-men, the retreating columns of rangers strung along the path will be chewed up.

Erasmus is giving directions, patting shoulders and all that stuff. “Tonight is our last chance to get out of here,” he said to somebody. “There are too few left to defend the ridge from attack.”

“Perhaps you should go next, Erasmus.” Ruadh the old ranger said. “The men in my band are willing to hold that ridge.”

“That will be a death sentence. Any man left here come morning…”

“Aye we know that. But you paladins are the only fighters who can hold off the foe once they break through. We’ll…”

But the ranger was broken off. A shrill note from a trumpet echoed from the ridge. Both men looked over the great mound with wide eyes. No following blast was sounded. Which could only mean one thing…

“It’s the middle of the night,” Erasmus breathed. “Surely it can’t be an…”

“ENEMY ATTACK!” a voice called from the ridge. The sentries on the ridge were roused, peering over the height. Some loosed arrows. In the next moment, dark shadows appeared from over the ridge and fell among the sentries, whooping and howling as they swarmed over the defenders. Soon the ridge was crawling with the shadows, steel glinting among them like stars in the night sky above.

“Enemy in the camp!” Erasmus roared. “Paladins! To me!” With Ruadh and Conn beside him, Erasmus rushed forward, soon joined by the Paladins and dozens of rangers, while others rushed to take up weapons.

The sentries on the ridge died where they stood. The savage howls of the attackers raised in bloodlust as they tore the rangers apart and stuck their heads on spears. The strange figures were pouring over the ridge like ants. Erasmus and the others ran to meet them. Seeing the ridge overrun, Erasmus called for a halt.

“Form ranks! Hold them here!” Arrows flew from the rangers, sending some of foe hurtling to the ground. Erasmus could see the attackers better now. Half naked men covered in dark blue paint which no doubt allowed them to approach the ridge unseen in the dark. But their eyes were grotesquely large, gleaming evilly in the torchlight like an owl’s gaze. A mercenary tribe no doubt.

They descended the ridge and raced across the empty ground, hundreds of them hurtling headlong towards Erasmus’ band, screeching like bats loosed from hell, red tongues lolling. The paladins and the rangers roared defiantly, and the shadow-men crashed headlong into them. They fought like men possessed, throwing themselves onto the enemy, still cackling like madmen as they were run through or hacked apart.

Erasmus split the head of a bug-eyed foe and then deftly took the hands from another that had tried to grab hold of his sword’s blade. “Push forward! Don’t let them bog you down!”

“It’s no use captain!” a paladin named Cyrus cried back. “The mad dogs will bury us with their own…” he was cut off with a strangled gasp as a spear found the man’s throat. With a frustrated cry, Erasmus split Cyrus’ killer from shoulder to groin. But before Erasmus could pull his sword from the tangle of gore, a axe-head cracked against his helmet, making his head ring. He stumbled backwards into his own men. A ranger’s spear skewered the axeman, but the wild-eyed shadow continued to rush press forward until the spear shaft broke off in his chest, his dead body falling against Erasmus and nearly dragging him down into the pool of gore at their feet.

At another point in the ranks, the shadow-men had broken through, splitting the rangers battle line in two. The mercenaries poured through the breach. Erasmus heard a voice cry “Fall back! Fall back!” Which may have been his own, his head was spinning too badly for him to tell. The battle had disintegrated into complete chaos, as rangers and paladins held a desperate fighting retreat in small bands, or else were surrounded and cut to pieces. The shadow-men were rampaging through the camp, setting fires and falling upon any ranger they could find.

In the confusion, Ruadh, fighting desperately with his sword, caught a club to the noggin and was sent sprawling to the ground. Cut to Erasmus looking back at his companion. Erasmus calls out to him dramatically, but is swept away by the tide of battle.

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Cut back to Ruadh, lying dazed on the hard earth. It goes all slow motion as the camera sees two booted feet walk ominously closer. Ruadh struggles to get up, but a boot plants itself against his chest and forces him back down. Conveniently, it is the captain of the Shadow-men, leering with his grotesque, nocturnal ass eyes aglow. His tongue flicks across his serrated teeth as he pulls a primed pistol from his belt.

“Time to die… ranger ass bitch…” he hisses ominously. Or something threatening like that, at least. Cut to Ruadh’s face, his head sinks back. He has resigned himself to death. Cut back to the pistol barrel. But in the background, a cloaked figure comes into focus. A hand falls on the pistol and its hammer. The shadow-man looks at the newcomer perplexed, before the flash of a sword removes his arm below the elbow. The villain screeches in pain and falls out of view. Ruadh opens his eyes again. His vision begins to clear, and he sees Pike standing there, shaking off a severed arm still grasping the pistol.

“You…” Ruadh groans. “It can’t be. Am I… dead already.”

“No. Do you want to be?”

Ruadh begins to slowly raise himself up. “Can’t say I do. Not yet.”

A howling enemy comes rushing towards them with a scimitar raised. Pike casually raises the appropriated pistol and shoots this fool dead. The bad guy makes a dying noise and falls off screen. It’s quite comical.

Pike tossed the spent pistol and stretched forth his hand. “Can you walk, old man?”

Ruadh studied Pike’s face for moment, then took his hand and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. “I can… but… not because you asked or anything.”

“Good. Then stay behind me.”

Cut to Erasmus and the boys, crowded before the mouth of a narrow pass between clusters of titan-trees, fighting desperately to hold off the shadow-men. They brace themselves, the largest assault yet is forming. But behind the milling mass of demonic faces and flashing blades, Erasmus sees a disturbance. A familiar, icy glint can be seen amongst gushes of blood.

Even the suicidal shadow-men fall back in horror as the pale man and his cold sword wades through them like a hot knife through butter, Ruadh trying his best to keep up. Erasmus is distracted for a hot minute, when an enemy champion nearly pulps his skull with a great mace. Erasmus dodges just in time, but slips and falls. The tall shadow-man raises his mace for the killing blow, before a bright light flashes across the screen, and the man’s legs are cut from beneath him. See Pike standing there in a cool pose, eyes all shadowed and shit.

Ruadh rushes over to Erasmus as his buddies help him up. The paladin looks back up at Pike, who’s getting showered in blood. The shadow-men at the front slink back from the sight.

“It’s him…” said a ranger. “The head-hunter.”

“He’s a traitor!” cries another.

Erasmus smiled, none too friendly. “You have the devil’s luck, old friend.”

“What are you doing here?” said Ruadh.

“I said before that I pay my debts…”

“And you said I was the reckless one,” said Erasmus. “Should have quit while you were ahead.”

“We don’t want your help!” snarled a paladin.

“I don’t care what any of you think!” snapped Pike. “But I still have things to do. I have something to tell Erasmus, the old man too.”

Pike held up the black sword and gave Erasmus a knowing glance. The paladin felt a cold knife pierce his heart.

Ruadh also stared in shock at the blade. “How did…”

“I don’t think we have time for that just yet.” Pike turned away from them, facing the gathering mass of shadow-men that were edging nearer, driving themselves into a frenzy of renewed battle-lust. “What’s the plan?”

“We’re the rearguard…” Erasmus said. “We stand and fight to the last man.”

“That plan fucking sucks,” Pike hefted his sword. “Do what you want. I’ll fight, kill the bastards, and see Erda again.”

“Don’t think I’ll let you anywhere near her,” growled Ruadh. “Not after…” Suddenly, Pike tossed the black sword at the ranger, who stumbled backwards as he awkwardly caught it.

Almost instantly, Pike’s strength and vitality seemed to slip from his shoulders. His bright eyes dimmed, and his fierce aura melted away. With a great effort, a lean and haggard Pike leant down and picked up a random sword from the ground. “You want a blood-price for the troll-girl? Well, there’s the half of it…”

Erasmus turned to Ruadh. “I guess that’s as close to a peace offering as you’re going to get, friend. Go on ahead and tell Erda what’s happened here. It’s our turn to shine now…”

Erasmus walked over to Pike. The bounty hunter staggered for a moment and lost his footing, Erasmus catching him by the arm just in time.

“Is that wise? Without the magic of your sword, you’ll hardly be able to stand with those wounds.”

“You’re not exactly in prime condition yourself mate.”

Erasmus looked down at his own blade, seeing the firelight glinting of its keen edge. He looked back to Pike. “I won’t forgive you, if you die before telling me what happened to Myra.”

Pike grinned weakly, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re a big damn hero. Aren’t you? You won’t let that happen.”

Erasmus shook his head and rubbed the scar beneath his eye. “You already have a lot to answer for, Pike. But I’ll add it to your tab.”

“Jokes on you. I’m flat broke,” Pike coughed. “But… I still owe a life debt to Erda. If you can see her safe through this… I’ll buy you a kingdom, with a cherry on top.”

Erasmus shrugged. “Deal”.

The enemy was forming again. Pike and Erasmus, both men bruised and battered and bloody, stood among the paladins.