Chapter 7 Echoes of the Damned

Without pausing, the man surged through the smoke like a beast, impaling his foes with his spear and tearing off the heads of the unconscious bandits, and seemingly dragging them along.

"Humans don't move or fight like that! He battles as if his body means nothing to him! Doesn't he feel pain? It's like we're up against a beast..." Regras thought, watching his men fall while their screams filled the air. For the first time since becoming immortal, he felt fear. “BURN HIM!” he ordered.

“I call upon the furnace where tainted souls are tormented, become thy strength and burn with my fury! HELL FIRE!” the bandit mages chanted and scorched the man, but instead of dying or just stopping the man casually walked slowly towards the mages, enveloped by the flames his body seemed to gain mass overtime and one by one picked the mages up and dragging them along within the massive ball of fire.

“STAY AWAY! DIEEEE DIEEE!” the mage screamed their voice crack in fear but it was useless, they were helpless against an undying enemy, their scream just added to the hundred agonized souls.

"Captain, we're losing men! What do we do?" a bandit asked, his voice shaking with terror as the eerie sounds of the mysterious man drew nearer.

"Retreat to the forest! The Cult's magic tools will conceal us!" Regras commanded. The bandits ran as fast as they could, each one clutching a pendant and pouring their mana into it, hoping the Cult's magic would protect them. But it was useless.

"Kekekekekekeke," the mysterious man cackled, hunting his prey. One by one, screams of terror echoed as the bandits met their grisly end under the chilling glow of the moonlight.

"How is he finding us?!" Regras thought frantically. He remembered the gift from the masked man. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a dark purple bottle. "This has a higher concentration... still in testing, but all tests have been successful. If you need strength, it might just be the thing you need," he recalled. Desperate, he drank the entire bottle of the witch’s poison, hoping it would give him the power to defeat the monster.

Power surged through his veins, mutating and contorting his body. "UGH GAAAGH!" Regras screamed as the transformation overtook him. Filled with newfound confidence, he revealed his towering, monstrous form to the mysterious man.

"WHERE ARE YOU!? YOU BASTARD!" he roared in rage.

A large shadow loom above him and cough his attention, he looked back on it to see what it was.

But to his horror, he did not find the man. Instead, he found an amalgamation of his men’s corpses—a towering blob of rotten flesh and blood, reeking of death. A strange familiar feeling of fear washed over him.

As the hundreds of eyes around the flesh blob glared upon him, filling his heart with primordial horror. Despite his monstrous form, every fiber of his being screamed to flee. The blob spoke, "There you are..." with its hundred mouths, then sprouted a flower-like maw atop its head, blooming under the moonlight.

Despair and helplessness washed over Regras. Yet despite it, a flicker of fighting spirit lingered in Regras’s heart. "I'll just injure it and run away!" he thought.

"HEAVEN PIERCING THRUST!" He roared trying to strike the thing, but his right arm vanished as if it had never existed. "huh?... GAAAGH!" he screamed.

He stepped back, hoping for regeneration, but it didn’t come. Overwhelmed by fear, he tried to run, begging for mercy. "PLEASE SPARE ME! I'll quit being a bandit and live an honest life!" Regras pleaded but the Monster didn’t react. "Somebody help me!" he called, but no one answered.

"You're the only one left alive in your party," the monster stated coldly. "I've devoured all the others."

"WHA—WAAAA!" Regras screamed as his left leg the one that is soaked in the mysterious man’s blood started twitching and bulging. "AAAAAAGH!" he cried out, his huge frame slamming to the ground. “What just happened?... my leg!” he saw his leg slowly turning into a form similar to the monstrous blob. “HAH!” he screamed hitting his leg and cutting out the wriggling mass of flesh from his body “UGH!” groaned Regras gritting his teeth trying to endure the pain. Still, he tried to crawl away.

“What is going on?... Why is this happening to me?... Why is this thing here!?” Regras thought, his mind spinning in panic. His body was broken, blood pooling around him as his vision blurred. “We were so close… so damn close to taking what was rightfully ours... Why?”

The questions swirled in his mind like a storm as he lay there, helpless, the fearsome enemy looming over him. As his life slipped away, he felt his consciousness slipping too, and in that moment, his memories came rushing back like an uncontrollable flood.

His thoughts shifted, and suddenly, he was no longer on the ground, bleeding and broken, but standing tall once again. The harsh wind biting at his face, the weight of responsibility in his grip. It was as if time had reversed itself.

Regras stood atop the stone wall of Vilehold Keep, the cold wind tugging at his cloak as he gazed down upon the massive army of the Noclan Dominion. The sight of their blood-red flag—bearing a golden axe—sent a chill down his spine. Their weapons, dark with the stains of old blood, gleamed menacingly in the distance. It wasn’t just the size of the enemy force that unsettled him; it was the aura of death they carried with them.

He gripped his spear tightly, feeling the weight of it in his hands. He had the numbers—mercenaries and soldiers from Legulia—but even then, something gnawed at him. The rumors of the “undying beast” echoed in his mind, gnashing at his resolve. Could we win? he thought. But there was no time to hesitate. No time to second-guess.

As he watched the enemy approach, the ground beneath his feet seemed to shake. He could feel the heaviness of what was coming. The battle, the fear, the weight of the decisions he had made... all pressing down on him. And deep within, that nagging feeling of something wrong, something just beyond reach, wouldn’t leave him.

“Commander Hollen, I hope you’re doing well at the capital… this is going to be a long day,” he muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper, but the weight of the words hung heavy in the air.

Dante, one of his most trusted men, sprinted up the stone stairs to join him. "Captain, the mercenaries and soldiers are fully equipped and ready to hold the lines."

Regras nodded. “Good. Get them to their stations and wait for my orders. Keep them sharp.”

"Yes, sir!" Dante saluted before quickly turning and dashing back down the stairs.

As Regras scanned the horizon, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Captain Hothorn approaching, his armor gleaming in the fading sunlight. The captain of the Legulian army, despite his years, carried himself with the poise of a seasoned veteran.

“I see everything’s prepared, Captain?” Hothorn asked, his voice calm but with an edge of concern.

Regras gave a tight smile, trying to ease the tension. "Ah, Captain Hothorn! You’re looking sharp in that armor. It’s like you’ve turned back time and gained forty years of youth with that polish! Ha, you’ve still got it."

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Hothorn chuckled, though his eyes never left the encroaching enemy. "Flatter me all you want, Regras, but I don’t think this armor is what’s keeping me young. It’s the battles we fight." He let out a long breath. “But looking at that army... they didn’t come just for the fortress. They're here to make sure this border is theirs, no matter the cost."

Regras nodded, his expression darkening. The size of the Noclan Dominion's force was unnerving, and he could feel the tension rising in his chest.

A few minutes later, two riders emerged from the Noclan ranks, heading toward the gates of the fortress. One carried the blood-red flag of the Dominion, and the other held a strange horn, its crystal end glowing faintly. They stopped just short of the gates, the flag bearer planting the banner firmly into the ground, marking their claim. The second rider raised the horn to his lips and, with a surge of mana, amplified his voice, making it echo over the walls.

“My name is Commander Gordon Yasmar of the Noclan Dominion. We are here to take this fortress. Surrender now, and you will die swiftly. Resist, and you will face a fate worse than death.”

The words crackled through the magic-enhanced horn, cold and commanding, making the ground seem to tremble with the threat.

Sonia Reveck, Hothorn’s second-in-command, stepped forward. She pulled a similar device from her coat and handed it to Hothorn without a word. He took it, his jaw tight, and raised it to his lips, his voice steady and strong.

"This is third division Captain Jarvan Hothorn of the Kingdom of Legulia," Hothorn’s amplified voice rang out. "We will not surrender, and we will not allow you to take this fortress! Leave now, or we will give you a fight you’ll regret."

The two sides locked eyes, the tension thick in the air. Gordon Yasmar's voice returned through the horn, low and cold.

"You've been warned, Captain."

Without a word, Yasmar signaled to his men, and they began to withdraw, leaving the flag planted in the ground as a symbol of their claim.

Hothorn turned to Regras. "Tell your men to get into position and be ready. We won’t have long."

Regras’s eyes were sharp, the steel of his resolve evident. "Already done. We can’t afford to wait."

Regras watched as the forces of Legulia and his mercenaries took their places, forming their ranks and bracing for the assault. Despite the preparedness, his mind lingered on the reports—the unsettling whispers about the "undying beast"—but there was no time for doubt now.

“This is it,” Regras muttered to himself, barely audible. “Let’s see if they’re truly ready for this.”

Moments later, the Noclan Dominion’s army began advancing toward the walls of Vilehold Keep. The ground trembled beneath their march.

“FIRE!” Commander Gordon Yasmar shouted, his voice cutting through the air.

The ballistae fired in unison, their massive arrows screaming toward the fortress.

BOOM!

“EVERYONE, HOLD YOUR POSITIONS!” Regras commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding before him.

In retaliation, the fortress fired back, catapults hurling rocks at the advancing enemy. The Noclan ballistae stopped momentarily, but soon they began placing ladders against the walls.

“ARCHERS! FIRE AT THE ENEMY CLIMBING THE WALL!” Captain Hothorn bellowed, his voice sharp with authority.

Hours passed, the siege continuing with little progress. The enemy’s efforts to breach the walls faltered as they were met with heavy resistance. But soon, the Noclan commander, seeing that his forces were stalled, made a drastic decision.

“UNLEASH THE BEASTS!” Commander Gordon yelled, his tone grim.

From the back of the Noclan army, soldiers hauled several large cages forward, each one shaking violently. The army's medics stepped up, injecting a strange liquid into the creatures inside.

GRAAAWRG!

The beasts roared as they came to life, their eyes glowing with madness.

“What in the gods' name are those?!” Regras muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "MEN, BRACE YOURSELVES!"

The cage doors flew open, and the beasts, driven by an insatiable thirst for blood, scrambled up the walls with terrifying speed, cutting down Legulian soldiers in moments, as their blood and flesh flew everywhere.

“GUAGH! AAAH!” solders screamed in agony and fear spread around the fortress, yet their resolve and spirit remained as hard as steel.

“HOLD YOUR SHIELDS!” Captain Hothorn screamed, his voice filled with urgency.

The creatures broke free of their synchronized movements and began to scatter, moving quickly through the fortress’s defenses. Regras’ mind raced. They were no longer just facing soldiers—they were up against monsters.

“MAGES, FORTIFY THE WALLS!” Regras shouted.

At his command, the mages quickly gathered their energy, chanting in unison.

“With the will of the earth and the strength of the mountain, please protect those of solid will… CLAY AEGIS WALL!”

An orange dome of energy enveloped the fortress, glowing fiercely as it solidified into a protective shield. But even with the wall up, the beasts kept coming, relentless and savage.

One of the beasts lunged at Regras revealing its monstrous humanoid form armed with multiple limbs with sharp claws, seeing this Regras braced himself for an attack gripping his spear, although his heart was filled with fear he steeled his spirit prepared to face the beast.

The beast arm and sharp claws swing towards him.

“GUGH!” He groaned as the monstrous force of the attack dropped at him breaking the brick pavement beneath his feat. “M-MONSTER!”

The beast tried to attack once more, but the difference between a ferocious animal and a veteran warrior was clear. With a quick, precise motion, Regras struck it down, “HEAVY SLAM!”

Watching as its massive form crumpled to the ground. He stood over its lifeless body, his gaze fixed on the creature’s hideous form, still trembling from its death throes.

"What… what are these things?" he muttered, his stomach churning.

Suddenly the beast started twitching, and it immidietly tried to lunge at Regras once again.

Regras caught off guard barely guarded against the beasts attack. "UGH!" he groaned.

"BRAAAAGHRAA!" the monster growled striking for a second time this time its attack connected, and Regras's arm was pierced by its sharp claw.

"GRAA" Regras growled gritting his teeth. "GATLING THRUST" thrusting his spear at the beast. "WHY WONT YOU DIE!"

"Oh embers of life guide us to your light and grant us power! FIRE BALL!" one of the mages chanted and pierced the Beast's head burning it and killing it.

"Thank you" Regras said, the beast dropped down on the ground and Regras looked at it thinking it would still stand up, but it didn't "they are not completely immortal!" he thought. "AIM FOR THEIR HEADS" he commanded.

The rest of the soldiers and mercenaries follow suit and quickly dispatched of the rest of the beasts.

Hours passed in a relentless grind, and despite the monstrous assault from the Noclan Dominion, the Legulian and mercenary forces still held the walls. The beasts wreaked havoc, but the line had not broken.

"Commander, what should we do? We're not getting any closer to taking the fortress," a soldier from the Noclan army said, his voice thick with frustration.

Commander Gordon’s gaze hardened as he stared at the fallen beasts scattered beneath the wall, his expression one of bitter disappointment. “We’re done here. Tell the men to retreat.”

“Retreat? But we’re still in this! The fight’s just begun!” the soldier protested, his voice rising.

“I said, RETREAT!” Gordon barked, his tone sharp and final.

The soldier hesitated, confusion and frustration flashing across his face, but in the end, he obeyed, turning to relay the order.

As the Noclan forces began to withdraw, Regras felt a strange mix of relief and unease. The battlefield, once filled with the roars of combat, fell quieter. The Legulian soldiers, though battered and bloodied, couldn’t help but cheer. They had held the line. The fortress was still theirs.

But something gnawed at Regras. A sense of unease settled deep in his gut.

“This… it was too easy to call it a victory,” he muttered, unease shifting into dread.

Hours passed after the failed siege, with the soldiers tending to the wounded and cleaning the battlefield, yet Regras couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. His mind raced, restless, as he scanned the horizon.

Then, through the haze of exhaustion and smoke, a new presence appeared—an army on the move, approaching along the road leading to the capital.

“Reinforcements? Why are they here?” Regras muttered aloud, squinting into the distance.

Captain Hothorn’s voice cut through his thoughts, laced with suspicion. “Regras, did you call for reinforcements from the capital?”

“No,” Regras replied, his confusion growing by the second.

The unfamiliar army halted behind the fortress. A figure in a flowing cloak stepped forward, his presence commanding as he addressed them.

“I am Commander Tedrick Mars of the Second Division,” the man said coldly, his voice like ice. “We come by the order of Prince Kaelean Von Legulia. Surrender the mercenary traitors, led by Morias Hollen, now. If you comply, no one will be harmed.”

“Traitor? What—what are you talking about?!” Regras shouted in disbelief, his heart racing.

Before he could say more, a sword appeared at his throat, the cold steel pressing against his skin. Vice-Captain Sonia Reveck stood behind him, her expression hard as stone.

“Surrender, Regras,” she said, her voice unwavering. “No one has to get hurt. If you’re innocent, you’ll have a fair trial.”

Regras’ mind raced, his thoughts a whirlwind as he saw his men—already weakened from the siege—now at a clear disadvantage. The Kingdom’s forces were in the ascendant.

With a heavy heart, he knew there was no choice.

“MEN, SURRENDER!” Regras shouted, his voice strained with the weight of his decision.