Time regained itself at the observatory. In the Spider’s lair, the floor above had given way to crushing many of the Fallen. The matriarch herself unburdened herself of the slabs of debris with her thick, shadowy appendages that pulsed with mass. She surveyed the destruction with the mix of colors in her eyes, vibrantly glowing. Her behemoth had dug up a handful of his brethren. He then went to her, kneeling. What remained of Diapson the head priest was a writhing mess of viscera. The Spider closed her eyes, trying to gauge the situation by feeling for her web. She quietly opened them slowly. “It would seem while this one slept, the web was set to blaze.” She looked at the tunnels leading out from her chamber. Most had caved in with the explosion. The matriarch turned to her children with a look of calm resignation. “Let us go forth and etch the anguish of our existence onto their mind and souls.

Several hunters were milling around, confused by the white flash following the explosion. The rubble from the arena unsettled and creatures were slinking out from beneath it. Keoma, shaking off the dust, yelled out at the militia. “We don’t have time to lose our nerve. Everyone at the ready. When they charge at us, discharge the first volley from the rifles. Cut down what we can and retreat. Unleash another volley after the vanguard falls back. We’ll keep doing this until we either win or we make it back to Leoris!” Keoma unwrapped a large metal cudgel adorned with spikes from the supply of weapons.

A thick darkness physically manifested and leaked out from what was once the floor of the observatory. The tentacles, stretching outward, exploded and flung the heavy concrete slabs through the air. The Spider climbed out amongst the debris. Blood stained her pale face and the black dress she wore was now rags from the blast. Her wounds were healing and her eyes burned with yellow intensity. The offspring clambered out from beneath the rubble, with the largest Fallen taking up the front line of the group, excavating his brothers and the monsters from the wreckage as he moved. Her Fallen advanced forward towards the militia.

The clergy members also slithered out from the destruction. The enormous head priest was the first to show off his abominable form. From his stomach to his chest, a vertical mouth full of sharpened fangs that gnashed and growled. His ribs seemed to snap apart and formed additional appendages to move his massive body. He bent backwards and then twisted on all fours.

Keoma and the hunters stared in horror. Stokely took a knee with his cannon. He slammed the chrism chamber into the backside, sending a sparking fireball into the oncoming threats. The resulting blast and the firing of chrism scattered the Fallen into melee confrontations with fighters from Leoris ready to take the initiative of their advantage.

Desdin was going full tilt in the direction of the sound of rifle fire. He pulled his helm over his head. It was in the shape of a drake. With an extended nose guard bearing a wide steel set of straight teeth with fangs in place of canines. Two horns twisted on the top of it with one broken off. Even though Keoma’s students had sealed it together, the right half of the mask bore cracks. The armor didn’t impede movement and was fit to form. Layered in dragon scale with silver lining on the pauldrons and dark red paint flourished throughout the set. He had the long sword sheathed in a black scabbard above the short sword on his left side, with the other short sword sheathed behind his back with the hilt pointed out on his right side.

He witnessed the citizens of Leoris fleeing the scene, with Yulsif and Ingrid pulling up from the rear. As he passed them, he observed the hunters standing ready with their rifles while the rest of them were engaged in a desperate melee. Desdin surged onto the stage, drawing both of his short swords and eviscerating the first Fallen he came across. Like a whirlwind of steel, he cut through five of the reanimated creatures, with each stroke of the sword being fatal. He skid to a stop in front of Stokely and Keoma, with blood and body remains crashing to the ground behind him.

Keoma and Stokely observed Desdin’s deadly skill in awe. Keoma tried to put the display into words. “I heard that the eleventh warden’s specialty was being ambidextrous. He was rumored to be able to duel with various weapons simultaneously. The training focused on the realization that an empty hand or stationary body part is useless.”

Stokely slammed his sword into a Fallen that had come at them. “This isn’t the time to lose yourself in admiration, old timer. We can’t lose to this foreigner. I’ve got my eyes on that enormous Fallen. Drifter! Take care of the trash. Don’t let them embarrass us,” Stokely said.

Desdin’s voice echoed from his helm as he spoke. “The creatures operate on instinct alone. The Fallen are newborn and don’t have any experience in battle. Their movements should all be clumsy and predictable. Be patient and wait for your opening! If you know anything about fighting, then don’t embarrass yourselves here.”

Keoma and Stokely stared up at the enormous Fallen. “She just gave birth to this thing?” Keoma asked while winding up his cudgel. The behemoth roared at them and made a wide swing at Stokely, who could not dodge the girthy arm and braced for impact. The punch knocked him several feet back. Keoma took the opportunity to swing the cudgel right into its cheek. He smacked several of his teeth loose and a spike pierced through its cheek.

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The behemoth was steadfast and grabbed Keoma’s wrist in his hand. He jerked it up, snapping the bones in his left arm. Keoma yelled out in agony. The behemoth then sent a decisive blow hurtling at Keoma. Stokely stepped in on time while bringing his sword down with all of his might, sundering the arm off of the Fallen before it reached Keoma. The behemoth stumbled back, grasping his bloody stump, and both Stokely and Keoma struck it hard in the midsection. The Fallen doubled over, touching the ground with his hand. They then moved out of the way, signaling the marksmen to open fire on the behemoth.

Riddled with chrism fire, the Fallen rose up in a bloodied roar. It struck Stokely with an open hand, sinking his claws into his flesh while Stokely endeavored to keep the Fallen from reaching for his vitals. Keoma jumped into the air and planted his cudgel into the skull of the behemoth. With the spiked weapon still buried in his forehead, the Fallen creature fell back. Using his good arm, Keoma pulled Stokely up and yelled, “Grab the cannon!”

Stokely armed himself with his cannon once more. Keoma stood between the creature and Stokely as he was loading a fresh steel ball glowing blue with chrism. As the monster moved to pommel Keoma, a shot from a chrism rifle took out one of its eyes. Standing close by from a hill above them was Walstaff, with a smoking rifle. Drawing his cane sword, he leaped down from the hill, plunging it into the chest of the Fallen. The creature shoved him out of the way, where he slid across the earth. The creature stretched its mouth wide, roaring intensely at the trio. It was then that Stokely discharged the cannon directly into the jaws of the creature. His skull was pulverized into a pulp as he fell backwards.

Keoma and Stokely seized Walstaff and carried him off. The trio made their way through the pines, past the ongoing melee and the riflemen. Keoma’s mangled arm dripped blood onto the forest floor. A jagged bone stuck out from his forearm as it dangled lifelessly at his side. Stokely had blood trickling out from his shoulder from five puncture marks from the behemoth’s claw. “I guess we will retire now. Had to pick a fight with the big one, young one?” Keoma asked. Stokely gave him a thumbs up, appearing haggard from the fight.

Desdin was advancing meaningfully through the melee with a hurricane of steel, blood and limbs. He had noticed the spider from a distance. She was in the form of a frail, pale woman. She had been roaming the battlefield watching and gauging him. Staying far enough away he wouldn’t be able to charge at her without leaving himself vulnerable. “If you are waiting for me to tire out, you are out of luck. I’ve been doing this kind of thing since the day I was born,” Desdin said out loud.

She was guiding Desdin into a dense area of the forest by forcing him to chase after her. Circling him and observing him with each engagement. He could hear the branches above him rustling and breaking. He looked around and saw it. A massive creature with a shredded purple robe. It had no less than twelve bone limbs and was curling around a multitude of trees. He could make out the face of the head priest somewhere in the mess of flesh. “I thought you were plenty ugly when you were alive,” Desdin said.

The monster ripped bark and branches apart as it circled downward at Desdin, hissing and growling. The terrifying way it moved kept stripping the trees as its many appendages assaulted Desdin. He did his best to defend against the attacks, matching each striking appendage with his own flourishes, or deflecting with his greaves, gauntlets or pauldrons. He realized he was losing ground, though. Unable to find an opening in the abomination’s onslaught, he retreated with each flurry. He backed himself to a hillside in between two tree trunks. The monsters clawed and gnashed at him with otherworldly fangs, flinging saliva at Desdin.

Desdin thrust forward with both swords, jamming them deep into the maw of the creature. He then rolled and tumbled to a safe distance. He placed his hand on the hilt of his long sword, drawing it out and clutching it with both hands. “I was hoping to save this for her, but I haven’t used Dragon’s Breath in so long that it might be a good time to warm it up.” The blade’s edge developed a dark red luster. Desdin’s eyes also turned crimson. As the abomination reared up to strike at him, Desdin decisively delivered an elegant stroke with both hands. The blade met no resistance in its flawless arc. The creature’s claws, fangs and body split in two from top to bottom.

He exhaled a deep breath and surveyed the surrounding trees. Shadow like vines unearthed beneath him and he rolled backwards to evade. He turned, and she was behind him, unleashing a second salvo of tentacles at him. Both volleys formed into one massive limb that caught him in the chest and lifted him through the air. He avoided being impaled, but the appendage pushed him through the tree line and crashed him into a pine. Several branches caught him as he fell to the ground with a dull thud.

He shifted from his back to all fours while slowly recovering his stance. His entire chest throbbed with a searing pain when he tried to move. She had knocked him away a great distance. Desdin’s sense of direction became distorted, and his vision blurred for an instant. He was going to need every second it would take for her to appear before him to gather himself for the next attack. He steadied himself and focused on the blade of the sword he held in front of him.

Memories of his training filled his mind as he beheld her stirring darkness growing and twisting in the distance. He recalled his days from long ago training with Jonah. A time when his father was assembling the wardens. A world before it became filled with monsters threatening to devour him.