The walls begin to crack.

From the battlements, defenders shriek as the first siege tower anchors its rib-bone bridge against basalt crenellations.

Marnac's hordes surge upward, claws scraping stone.

Arrows streak down in desperate volleys, some alight with greenish fire, others tipped with runed metal designed to char demonic flesh.

Wings flap overhead as gargoyle-shaped fiends dive to intercept Marnac's climbing shock troops.

I watch it all from below, where catapults fling twisted payloads.

Some explode on impact, showering defenders with shards of bone.

Others splatter acidic gore that hisses along the ramparts.

The fortress stands proud but wounded, and the Demon Duke's loyal minions know their master is weak.

Their howls hold a frantic edge.

Time to advance.

These chosen bones move through the melee, fifteen feet of undead might pushing between lesser fiends.

My presence forms a wedge.

Marnac's warriors instinctively yield space, letting me approach a section of wall that has begun to buckle under repeated impacts.

A massive battering ram, an immense spinal column reinforced with iron rings, slams into a narrow postern gate set lower in the wall.

With each strike, flakes of curse-stone rain down, and the defenders inside scramble to reinforce from behind.

They pour molten resin through murder-holes, cooking a half-dozen insectoid devourers alive.

Their screams are short-lived, cut off when I raise Aeternus and hack apart a wooden barricade blocking the ram's crew from advancing.

Freed, they push harder, roaring encouragement.

The gate timbers creak.

Another blow.

Something snaps.

A chunk of the gate crumples inward, revealing a gap through which flickers of torchlight dance.

Snarling Marnac-lackeys thrust spears into the gap, tearing at anything beyond.

The defenders retaliate with hooked poles that drag several howling demons inside, where wet chopping sounds ensue.

I step forward and swing my blade at the hinge supports.

With runed steel and impossible strength, I carve through old iron and curse-bound wood.

The next ram strike shatters what remains of the postern.

Splinters fly.

A flood of monstrous infantry surges through the breach, screaming devotion to Marnac.

No words pass my jaws.

I follow, stepping into the fortress's outer courtyard, a space lit by red torches and lined with grotesque statues.

The ground is paved with flagstones etched with demonic glyphs.

Dead defenders, impaled on their own spears, lie scattered.

Those who still live form a desperate shield wall before the inner gates.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

The courtyard erupts in chaos the moment we breach.

Marnac's warriors howl triumph, charging en masse.

The defenders, a mix of demon-duke loyal fiends, are hulking shapes in armor grafted to flesh, wielding polearms that crackle with stored lightning.

They stand shoulder-to-shoulder in disciplined ranks, refusing to break.

Their eyes, glowing slits of infernal light, fix on the intruders with hatred and fear.

They know their Duke is weakened.

They know they must hold this courtyard or all is lost.

Marnac's legions crash against this line.

Acid-spitting trolls hurl globules of sizzling gore that pockmark the defenders' armor.

Gnolls leap overhead to rake with claws.

Winged horrors dive from above, trying to snatch defenders from behind.

Yet the shield wall endures.

Sparks fly as halberds intersect with demonic flesh.

I advance into this melee.

Lesser creatures scatter from my path, instinctively respectful of my size and aura.

I tower over both sides, a silent colossus.

One of the defenders, a hulking figure with a single cyclopean eye, thrusts a runed polearm at my chest.

Sparks and runes clash.

The blow glances off dragon-bone plating.

I respond by bringing Aeternus down in a swift, brutal arc.

The blade cleaves the cyclopean warrior's helm and skull in one motion.

Black ichor fountains, drenching the flagstones.

Screams from Marnac's infantry as they press advantage.

Now a gap forms in the defenders' line where I struck.

Marnac's troops rush in, biting, clawing, stabbing.

The disciplined formation shatters into brutal skirmishes.

The courtyard chokes with corpses.

Arrows from upper balconies rain down, forcing us to keep moving.

Near a fountain carved from petrified entrails, a group of defenders tries to hold a fallback point.

They have erected a barricade of overturned braziers and statuary fragments.

Marnac's lieutenants bark for siege-beasts to move in.

A muscled beast with chitin plating and multiple limbs lumbers forth, grabbing defenders and crushing them with deafening snaps.

I add my blade to the carnage, severing a support beam that topples a stone column onto their heads.

Bone and rock explode on impact.

The defenders yield ground, retreating toward a set of massive double doors that lead deeper into the fortress.

Those doors are carved with twisting scenes of torment and glory, no doubt the main entrance to the reception hall beyond.

They slam shut as the last defenders slip inside, leaving us in the blood-soaked courtyard.

Marnac himself strides up behind me.

He cackles at the sight before him.

"Well done, bone titan," he snarls, he finds cruel satisfaction in our slaughter. "The outer yard is ours. Onward, into the heart of the keep!"

I do not acknowledge him.

My purpose remains.

Let them think I fight for them.

I stride forward, stepping over corpses and broken arms.

The courtyard is ours.

The defenders withdrew inside, planning to make a stand in the more defensible interior.

Wise, but doomed.

We face the sealed double doors.

Marnac's warriors bring forth a second ram, this one crafted from fused jaws of some colossal beast.

They swing it with feverish strength.

The doors groan under the assault.

Defenders from within brace them, but each impact makes them shiver.

Torches gutter as shockwaves roll through stone corridors beyond.

Arrows and bolts from slitted murder-holes on either side of the doors pick off some of Marnac's lesser minions.

I stand before those holes and raise my left arm, letting arrows clatter harmlessly against bone plating, shielding a group of imps that pry at the door's edges with hooked tools.

After a few moments, a hinge pin dislodges.

The ram strikes again, splintering the lower half.

A third strike, and the entire door collapses inward in a shower of oak and iron shards.

Marnac's legion howls and rushes into the reception hall.

I follow, blade at the ready.

Inside, the reception hall is vast, supported by twisted columns shaped like intertwined serpents.

Banners of flayed skin hang from rafters.

A long crimson carpet, woven from unknown fibers, leads from the doors toward an inner gateway.

Defenders line the sides, archers perched on balconies, heavily armored brutes forming staggered rows on the floor.

Chanting comes from alcoves where robed figures channel protective wards, causing runes on the floor to shimmer.

No sooner do we enter than a volley of runed javelins flies at us.

Some strike Marnac's lieutenants, pinning them to pillars.

Others glance off my armor.

I wade forward, swinging Aeternus in a wide arc.

The blade crashes through a formation of halberdiers trying to keep the legion at bay.

Their shrieks fill the hall.

Winged horrors swoop at balconies, engaging archers hand-to-hand.

Black feathers and broken wings tumble earthward.

Gnolls scale the columns to reach the chanting robed figures, but several are blasted off by arcs of violet lightning.

Marnac's voice echoes, ordering his magi forward.

Pale-faced demon sorcerers emerge behind me, hurling counter-spells into the alcoves.

The air crackles with sorcery.

A pair of hulking defenders, their bodies fused with molten metal, charge at my flank.

They swing massive flails studded with demon-fangs.

The impact dents a plate on my arm.

I pivot and thrust Aeternus upward, piercing a gap beneath one's chin.

It falls, wrenching the blade half from my grip.

The second flail-bearer tries to crush my skull from behind.

I release the blade for an instant, spin, and grab the flail's chain.

With a mighty yank, I pull the brute off balance and smash my bony fist into its helm.

Helm crumples, brain-matter and black ichor spurting.

I retrieve Aeternus from the fallen foe and once more move forward.