Volkard took a step forward, and the dead cracked and writhed under his weight.

To his left, Siegfried heard Klara’s armour clank as she held her shield up before her, her face hidden by her helmet. Siegfried, sensing what her plan might be raised his own shield and linked it with hers. It was sheer desperation, but he had no idea what else they could do. He had seen what Eisengrim and Theo could do to their opponents.

Their stand together seemed to greatly amuse their enemy. More of the dead shook and twisted, until Volkard passed through them, and his gory boot sank instead into the dirt floor of the ditch he had willed into existence.

“Who are you?” he asked, clearly in no hurry. He was smiling at them, as if he knew an amusing secret about one, or perhaps both of them.

Klara did not speak. Siegfried was not inclined to answer, either. If this fiend wanted to play with his prey, he would have to find others. More than anything else just then, the prince wanted this horror to be over, whatever the costs.

Their silence earned an apathetic shrug from the black bull.

“Very well,” he said, and attacked.

He swung his blade in a horizontal arc. It was obvious, but Volkard was fast, and the reach he had with his sword was terrifying. Both Klara and Siegfried had staggered back, trying to escape. Siegfried succeeded more than Klara. His shield was merely destroyed. Klara’s was too, but then she started screaming. The prince’s blood ran cold for an instant. As they staggered back, leaving the ruined remains of their shields, he expected to see the young woman’s arm lying there, too.

But it wasn’t, thank God. Klara’s arm was still attached to her, with some of her shield still hanging from the strap which had kept it in place on her arm. The limb was dangling limply towards the ground, and it hit Siegfried immediately that it was broken.

“Run, Klara!” he heard himself yell.

Volkard let out a laugh at this. He followed slowly after them as they continued their retreat. Siegfried ignored him. Clumsily, he managed to undo what was left of his devastated shield so that it could fall do the ground, one more thing destroyed by this monster. At least now it wouldn’t burden him with its awkward weight. He had no idea what good proper balance would do him against a witch who was competent with a sword, but he was glad to be free of the wreckage all the same.

“I’m not running from him!” Klara screamed.

Siegfried let out a growl, snatching at the woman’s sword with his free hand. The move caught Klara by surprise. She tried to fight back, but the sharp hiss she let out made it obvious to the prince she was in terrible pain. He wrenched the sword from her, much to the loud amusement of bastard minotaur that watched them. He was keeping them up with them only, letting them stay just a foot or so out of the reach of his massive sword. The whole scene was somehow absurd and horrifying all at once. It brought back memories of when Siegfried had been young and watched cats toy with mice they had caught before they finally bit their heads off. It made the young man furious, and that fury helped him in tearing Klara Saddler’s sword from her hand.

“You’re not running!” Siegfried yelled at her, just able to see the hate in her eyes. “Klara, I order you to get out of Eichen, and get to the Capital as fast as you can. Tell the King we failed. He needs to mobilise the entire Order and have them hunt this bastard down. I’ll try and buy you as much time as I can, but you have to get out of the city now! We’ve lost here, Klara, but we can’t let it end here! Go…go!”

Klara Saddler lingered. She clutched her shattered arm, and looked from the looming horror to the prince. When she did, Siegfried could see despair in her eyes.

“God guard you, your Grace.”

She was gone then, running as hard and fast into the dust storm as her wound and heavy armour would allow. Siegfried watched her until she disappeared. Volkard must have as well. The beast was close. Siegfried heard him breathing, could almost swear he felt the fiend’s breath on the back of his neck. He turned slowly, his grip on the swords so tight that it hurt. Was he shaking? He did not know. Siegfried was intensely aware of the air and debris swirling around him: of the sound of his own breathing, and the wild drumming of his heart.

Volkard loomed before him. He was easily two feet taller than the prince, and God alone knew how much heavier. His sword was nearly as long as the man was tall, and for a second Siegfried had to wonder at just what kind of creature carried such a thing during the days of the Elves.

“Is this chivalry?” asked the black bull.

Siegfried raised his blades, and slowly fell into a stance. His instructors, from the time he could even hold a practice sword, had constantly lectured him on the simple stupidity of trying to use a longsword in each hand.

Volkard laughed, and looked away. His gaze rose over the prince, went past him, and as he raised his empty hand Siegfried understood at once from the evil smile on that devil’s face what he meant to do before he killed the young fool before him. Klara…

“No!”

The cruelty in the black bull’s smile only grew. His unnatural, horrifying eyes burned as they glanced down at the man that would stand before him.

It was in time to see Klara’s sword flying at his face. The heavy sword smacked hard against him before he had a chance to react. There was a flicker of blood. The black bull let out a shocked cry, and fell back a step.

Siegfried screamed, and hurled himself at the monster. He got within stabbing distance, leaping over the bloodied sword as he chased after his enemy. It had been a spontaneous move, and stupid luck had made it a successful one. Volkard’s free hand was still covering his bleeding face. He took another unsteady step backwards. Siegfried spotted a joint among the rough black armour between thigh and crotch. There were arteries there, if he could just--

Volkard’s arm filled his vision. His sword flew from his hands, and the ground flew from under his feet. He was spinning, without anything to anchor him until a silent crash hit him, and the prince realised he was rolling, bouncing almost along the dirt and the dead. He was numb. Had he stopped? Was he spinning, or was it the world’s turn?

Pain came with his first attempt at breathing. His breastplate was crushing him. His chest burned. Things inside of him were grinding that probably shouldn’t be as he moved. Siegfried tried to make sense of the brown and the red that filled his vision, but it was impossible. Images flashed before his eyes. He tried to pull at his armour, at his collar, but his limbs struggled to obey.

Oh God I’m dying.

Something was shaking. The prince rolled onto his side, and watched the soil tremble. Pebbles started an insane, erratic dance before his aching eyes. He could feel the wind picking up. It snapped at his face. Somehow, he was able to pull his useless helmet off. Some of the pressure eased. Siegfried began coughing then. He mouth tasted of blood and bile.

Get up.

Some semblance of hollow feeling was returning to his limbs. He was bound to have broken bones, or possibly something even worse, but somehow all he sensed were pin pricks far away.

Get up!

Somehow, despite the numbness and the difficulty he had breathing, Siegfried found himself on his feet. A ripple ran through the soil as he stood, and he felt the shock wave of air crash against him a second later. Somehow, he was able to stay standing. He turned then, sensing the source of the trembling air.

The light nearly blinded him. It was as if he were staring into the sun. Siegfried had to blink and look away for a second. When he looked again, he was already trying to get away. He could move faster if he turned away, but he could not.

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Volkard was perhaps thirty feet awaw. He would have been all but invisible in the walls of dust that billowed and swirled around him, but for the light.

It burned white hot from his eyes. It billowed in flames from his bloody mouth. His fist was almost invisible in the inferno that encased it and danced its way up his arm. His sword blazed from pommel to point, as white runes along the blade pulsed and surged.

Volkard found him, his face a contorted mask of fury. He roared, and the very earth itself seemed to shake.

Siegfried felt his feet stop their retreat. There was no way he was going to escape. His hands trembled as they fumbled over his belt. He found his dagger, and drew it, in the grip of some mad calm. He stared down the blazing horror, and waited.

Volkard began his stride toward him, the ground trembling with every footfall. Siegfried wondered, insanely, if he should be feeling warmer than he was, but even if it was getting hotter how could he tell? He was barely able to feel himself breathing. He watched his approaching doom with a detached kind of fascination, and even briefly wondered just how he was about to be destroyed utterly. Volkard’s whole frame burned with literal white hot rage. Siegfried could only hope it was quick.

Volkard was fifteen feet away when the first arrow flew between them. It cut the air a couple of feet ahead of the black bull’s face, and even in his furious state it was enough to make the monster stop his advance. The hate faltered, replaced by sudden confusion. Siegfried felt it too, for a second, until he remembered their line of march.

The archers were in the back. Gerda!

Two more arrows whizzed between the prince and the black bull. One came worryingly close to hitting Siegfried as it spun through the wind and dust. Another buried itself a couple of feet near to Volkard’s foot. The minotaur was looking left then, his burning eyes narrowing. A crossbow bolt shattered against his armoured shoulder as he raised his fist and directed it at a point Siegfried could not see.

The prince was already running by then, dagger in hand. There were still some of their people still alive, but only if he could stop what was about to happen.

Voices reached him from the swirling chaos. He could sense panic and fear. An arrow whistled past his head. A woman was screaming out something like ‘scatter’ and then the light in Volkard’s free hand was gone. The earth shook once again and Siegfried was thrown aside by the shock wave the black bull used to flick the human fly that tried to interfere away.

He came to. How much time had passed since taking flight and waking, Siegfried couldn’t tell. It seemed to have not been many. The dust still swirled around him. He had not seen it, but the sounds had been unmistakable. The ground had torn and shattered once more, and people who had begun screaming had been suddenly cut off. The air was thicker with dust now, making breathing even more difficult for him. Siegfried was too numb to really understand or care. Everything was falling apart. Breathing mattered little.

Siegfried rolled up into a sitting position, quietly amazed he could still move at all. The dagger was gone, naturally. His right arm was still attached, but he could not feel it. It dangled uselessly at his side. He had nothing left to protect him but his ruined armour and the star stone around his neck.

He felt, rather than heard, Volkard approach. The flame and light had died, and the beast was now just the black, bloodied monster that he was normally. The dust and wind stank of death. Siegfried knew with a resigned certainty that Gerda was dead. Had any of those brave fools survived?

Volkard had nearly reached him, a flickering black shadow amid the madness. Siegfried wanted to die on his feet but he was dizzy and tired, and his legs didn’t seem to much care what he wanted any more. He could only watch and wait as the massive bull approached him. It took a second for him to realise that there was something strange about the horned silhouette even as Volkard’s closed on him with all its terrible power. Siegfried could not understand it, until he saw the face in a flash before Theo crashed hard into the small of Volkard’s back. The sword fell out of the black bull’s hand. They flew forward, the two bulls, tearing up the soil as they went until they were a struggling, thrashing mess just a couple of feet from the prince.

Volkard let out a roar and tried to push the younger bull off of him. Theo slashed at the back of his head with a bladed gauntlet, drawing blood. He pulled the black bull’s head back by grabbing one of his horns, baring the monster’s neck. He was screaming as he tried to slice Volkard’s throat with his blade.

Siegfried’s legs remembered themselves as he watched. He was only pulling himself to his feet, so when the next shock wave hit he only was on his knees. This time, the blast of air washed over him, rather than lifting him from the ground and hurling him away as it did to Theo. He could just see the young bull flat on his back several feet away, stunned but already rolling onto his side. Volkard was before him, on his hands and knees, clutching at the blood seeping from the back of his head. Something of Siegfried’s hearing must have returned, for he could just hear the bull swearing.

Terror gripped Siegfried as he approached. He suddenly remembered that he had no weapons. He had nothing to protect him any more, but his ruined armour, and…

Siegfried’s left hand slipped under his breastplate. He found the stone and tore it from its strap. He tightened his grip around it, revelling in the spark of pain he could still feel there.

I’m not dead. Not yet.

Volkard looked up, only noticing him then as he was just a foot away. Even kneeling, he was a little taller than the prince. His eyes erupted into flame. He opened his large mouth to speak.

Before he could say a word, Siegfried attacked. His hand thrust out. It slipped between the monster’s jaws, and he felt his hand graze against throat and tonsils.

The flames in Volkard’s eyes died, and for a second they were wide and confused. He was beginning to move, to react to this insane action. There was no time to doubt. Siegfried hurled himself forward, shoving his hand as deep into the beast’s maw as he could, fingertips still just grazing the star stone.

“Choke on it,” he heard himself scream then, as he gaze one last shove. Volkard gagged, and his throat tightened painfully about the prince’s gloved hand, but he couldn’t feel the stone any more. He started laughing.

“Choke on it you bastard!” he screamed again.

Volkard struck him, batting him away as if he were swatting a fly. Siegfried could feel his ribs collapsing from the force of the blow. The prince bounced along the ground, the wind and laughter knocked out of him. The world was spinning. He wanted to get up, but he could not move.

Volkard was retching just at the edge of the prince’s lopsided vision. He was already pulling himself up to his feet, a hand at his throat as he looked around, trying to find something. His eyes locked on Siegfried instead. He stomped unsteadily towards him, murder written all over his face. Things seemed to slow then for the young man as he watched his death approach.

Volkard stopped a few feet away, just close enough to look into the man’s eyes for a moment. He smiled darkly, pointed his right hand down at Siegfried, aiming whatever he meant to do directly at his enemy’s face. Siegfried waited. Whatever happened next, he was ready.

But nothing happened.

Volkard blinked, astonished. He raised his empty hand, the confusion on his face growing. He rubbed his throat then, and something came over his face the prince could not have imagined: fear. The black bull realised that he had swallowed Siegfried’s star stone. His powers were gone until he could get rid of it. He looked down at Siegfried, and the man hoped he had enough strength left in him to offer up a mocking grin.

Theo appeared then, silently looming behind Volkard, the black bull’s own sword held up in his hands. He swung low, and an arc of blood and spray erupted from the black bull’s ankles as the young bull hobbled him.

Volkard screamed as he fell, his arms flailing. He rolled, instinctively raised his left hand and pointed it at Theo. The young bull reacted with a cry of terror and a blind swing. Volkard screamed again as the sword mangled his hand, fingers and palm half gone in a red mist. Still terrified, Theo lunged after his fallen enemy, and thrust the sword into Volkard’s belly, the Elven blade making a mockery of the armour that was there to stop it. Volkard began to writhe and scream until the blood welling up from his mouth started to choke him.

“Mmmmmmaster....mmmmmassssterrrr…..”

The words reached Siegfried. He understood them, or thought he did.

Theo did not seem to hear them, or he was still panicking. It occurred to the prince then that the young bull had not seen him forcing the star stone down the black bull’s throat, and that he might have been aiming for the chest. The sword twisted and Volkard writhed on the ground as Theo yanked the dripping blade from his spasming gut. Theo hurriedly side stepped, until he was standing parallel to the monster’s shoulders. He was shaking from horn to toe, and looked half mad with terror. He raised the sword above his head in a trembling two handed grip. Volkard opened his mouth, his face bloody and bitter.

Theo brought the sword down then, and cut Volkard’s head clean off.

The body spasmed. The feet kicked the dirt once or twice. Siegfried watched Theo drop the sword. The young bull spotted the prince, and he half staggered and half collapsed to his knees beside the young man. Siegfried had to wonder what kind of mess he must have looked that had his companion so afraid.

Siegfried wasn’t. This surprised him. He had been so afraid of death for so long. His earliest memories were of it snapping at his heels as he fled his falling country. His parents were gone. The people who raised him had gone. Now, it was his turn. Would they all be waiting for him, like the priests always promised?

A prickle of sensation reached him from his left hand. Theo was holding it, grasping it in his own big palms with a comical level of care. As if I were made of sugar.

The young bull’s kind, weeping face filled his vision. Something akin to sunlight was flicking behind Theo’s head, and Siegfried realised that it was the sun. The dust storm had ended, and all the debris it had lifted was falling back to the ground.

“Sir?” Theo spoke then. His voice sounded so far away. “Siegfried, is there anything I can do?”

Siegfried’s mind swam. He could feel himself sinking, and part of him so badly wanted it to end, but he remembered the last words spoken by Volkard and with a terrible clarity he understood, and had to make sure that Theo did as well.

“He…he called for a master,” Siegfried said. The effort to speak was far greater than he had been ready for, and he was only certain Theo could even hear him when the young bull nodded at this. The knowledge that he could be heard, and that his time was rapidly slipping away, drove Siegfried in those final moments. He had to make sure his friend understood.

“He was... a student, Theo. Volkard came from the Dead Lands. Stop him, Theo…at any cost, you hear me? Any cost!”

The young bull nodded. He squeezed Siegfried’s hand. The frightened young man squeezed back with what little strength remained in him.

“I swear, sir. I swear we’ll stop him.”

Siegfried felt such relief come over him. It was growing dark, but he wasn’t afraid. He had done his best. He had wanted more time, but didn’t everyone?

“You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met,” Theo said to him. He squeezed the prince’s hand, and did not stop.

“Thank you,” Siegfried the Uncrowned, Master of the Order of St. Heinrich replied. He died then, his duty done.