Charles Devereux rested his ear on his betrothed's belly, hoping to feel Lucas's tiny kicks. Lucas, still unborn, responded with a playful nudge in response to his father's touch.
Charles chuckled softly, "Aren't you a lively one."
He was already in his formidable ironclad armor, its polished steel surface etched with intricate chevrons proudly displaying his past achievements at Warden’s Gate. His tall, broad-shouldered frame made him an imposing figure, further emphasized by the gleaming armor. His wife, her eyes filled with concern and hands cradling her burgeoning belly, pleaded with Charles to stay by her side.
"Don't be an imbecile, you meathead," she exclaimed, frustration evident in her voice. "How long have you been away from me just for your gate? Haven't you done enough? Let others handle it. Please, just be with me and our child this once."
Charles sighed, knowing this conversation all too well. He deeply loved his wife and unborn child and wanted nothing more than to be with them. But the horrors he had witnessed firsthand at Warden’s Gate hardened his resolve to fulfill his duty. Charles truly believed he was in the right as he understood the immense evil lurking outside civilization's last bastion. He knew better than most that it would be the definite end for all once Warden's Gate fell. Flashbacks of the horrific carnage inflicted by the abyssal creatures ran through his mind. He saw again his comrades torn apart in previous battles, their screams echoing in his ears as they were shredded to bits and devoured by the relentless monsters. The beasts reveled in the torment they caused, tearing off limbs with gruesome precision, ripping flesh from bone, and drawing out the agony until their victims bled out in excruciating death. Charles knew with a chilling certainty that if these creatures breached Warden’s Gate, everything he held dear would be subjected to the same nightmarish fate.
"Vivane, We've discussed this," he replied gently as he put his large, callous hands on her shoulders. "I want to be here, but you haven't seen what I've seen. No matter the reason, I can't turn away from a call to arms."
Vivane's scorn was palpable. "You're impossible," she retorted sharply. "If you face death, remember that your child will grow up without his father, and I most definitely will take a new but smarter husband."
Although Vivane did not mean any of it, her words stung, but Charles maintained his composure and offered her a reassuring smile. He kissed her one last time and embraced her lightly, careful not to hurt her with his heavy armor.
"Don't worry," he said softly. "I'll see you both again, my darlings."
With that, he left their home in the southern district of Havencrest. Charles glanced at his household before his departure towards his call for duty. The Devereux household was a quaint two-story cottage nestled among towering oak trees lining the cobblestone street. Its facade radiated warmth and comfort despite its modest size.
Charles made his way through the streets of Midhaven’s capital that were bustling with life, lined with ancient cobblestones smoothed by generations of footfalls, to join up with his childhood friend, comrade, and neighbor Belthas. Clad in weathered armor that bore the scars of countless battles, Belthas stood tall with a stern countenance softened only by the loyalty etched into his gaze. His presence exuded the seasoned strength of a warrior who had faced the Abyssal Horde and emerged unbroken, a testament to his steadfast resolve and unwavering courage alongside Charles at Warden's Gate.
“How did it go with the wife?” Belthas inquired teasingly, a mischievous smile playing on his weathered face.
Charles chuckled lightly, delivering a playful punch to his comrade’s shoulder. “Oh, you know how it is with the ladies belonging to our lot,” he replied. Belthas leaned in, with a sudden disappearance of his humorous expression and his tone more serious now.
“She’s right, you know, there is still more in this life for you to see. All the youngins and an ol’ dog like me heading off to fight gods know what is fine and all. But man, you’re about to have a kid. A kid who has not remembered his father yet. If you’re thinkin of heading back, nobody’s stopping you. Go right ahead.”
Charles’s expression tensed up this time as he pondered the words of his brother-in-arms. Despite Belthas' calm demeanor, his words conflicted Charles more than his wife ever did.
“Am I sure I truly know what I’m doing?” Devereux thought to himself.
He returned to his prior expression and replied to Belthas, “If Warden’s Gate were to fall, none of it would matter. My wife and child will perish along with all of us. Besides, I’m not the only one with a reason to stay behind, you old knacker. A lot of us do, yet we persist. And there are already enough lads with even more important reasons to remain.”
“Well then, you do you, Charles Devereux,” Belthas sighed as he realized there was no more convincing a man who had made up his mind to this degree. “Let’s head out.”
He and Charles departed from Belthas’s home and strode purposefully toward the heart of Havencrest, where the ground echoed with the resounding rhythm of countless footsteps. The city's streets were a labyrinth of ancient cobblestones, worn smooth by generations of feet and framed by buildings that spoke of centuries past. Charles listened to the chirping of birds among the tall, sturdy oaks lined the thoroughfares, their leafy canopies casting dappled shadows over the bustling scene below, and the two companions could hear the nearby rushing noise of the Lucienne River’s flow of water, which divided the entire city in half. Buildings of stone and timber rose on either side, their facades adorned with intricate carvings and vibrant murals depicting scenes of Midhaven's storied history. The two comrades seamlessly integrated into the ranks of thousands of fully equipped men and women, their armor catching the sunlight and glinting brightly as they marched through the bustling streets. All around them, the citizens of Midhaven's capital lined the thoroughfares, a scene of mixed emotions: cheers of encouragement for the brave defenders bound for West Elysium and tearful farewells to loved ones departing into uncertainty.
Along the route, bystanders offered various gestures of support, from fervent prayers to heartfelt blessings. Despite varying backgrounds and social status, all shared a profound awareness of the looming threat posed by the Abyssal Horde and the pivotal role of the Warden Defense Army (WDA), the inter-kingdom organization established for the sole purpose of defending the Warden’s Wall mountain range, as their ultimate hope. Devereux and Belthas were swept by a surge of emotions, pride and honour foremost among them, as they marched with heads held high alongside their comrades. Amidst the city's ancient architecture, the occasional modern touch emerged: rune-etched lamp posts casting a soft, magical glow; intricate fountains adorned with sculptures depicting heroes and kings of old; and banners fluttering proudly in the breeze, displaying the sigil of the WDA. Each detail spoke of a city steeped in tradition yet embracing innovation. Continuing onward, the towering gates of Havencrest loomed into view, their massive stone arches adorned with intricate carvings depicting heroic battles and ancient legends.
As the massive force of human soldiers and mages assembled outside the gates, mixed with both troops of the WDA and the Midhaven military, the commanding officer diligently reorganized everyone into their respective phalanxes. She was a seasoned veteran with a commanding presence. The commander stood tall in her intricately detailed armor adorned with the Alliance's sigil, her weathered face marked by scars earned in battles against the Abyssal Horde. The air was thick with anticipation as they awaited the arrival of the Eisenhammer legions and the knights of Lorendal to bolster the forces of Midhaven. Rune-powered tanks and artillery, including an array of cannons and mortars, were lined up across the horizon, their gleaming barrels pointing toward the long road to Warden’s Gate. Overhead, the skies teemed with airships of various sizes, more joining the fleet from the Midhaven sky dock, their shadows dancing on the ground below. Riflemen and infantry stood at attention, gripping their rifles, pikes, swords, and shields, ready for the command to march. The Midhavian mages, mounted on their majestic griffins and wyverns, swooped in and landed gracefully on the hillsides, reporting to the WDA commander orchestrating the massive gathering.
“Heh, you can never get used to this sight,” Belthas remarked to Charles, his eyes scanning the bustling scene of soldiers preparing for battle.
Charles nodded in agreement. “It’s a spectacle, alright. A shame we can't always gather this way without doomsday looming over us.”
After hours filled with the meticulous organization of troops and equipment, a squadron of WDA outriders on their flying mounts landed nearby and hurried to the commander. “We’ve done it, sir. They’re here,” one of the outriders announced breathlessly.
The commander gave a nod of acknowledgment, and a murmur of anticipation rippled through the assembled ranks. All eyes turned to the horizon as the ground began to tremble slightly. The endless numbers of dwarven legions emerged from the Underpaths, a gargantuan subterranean transportation network that spread across all of West Elysium, arriving via their rune-powered trains at the underground station beneath Midhaven. Though shorter, each dwarf wore heavy ironclad armor that appeared more robust than any human counterpart could bear. The legionnaires wielded massive hammers and axes while their ranged troops, armed with expertly crafted blunderbusses and rifles, marched in disciplined formations.
“Can’t get used to this,” Charles muttered, unable to tear his eyes away from the impressive display of dwarven technology.
Belthas grinned. “Aye, they sure know how to make an entrance.”
The dwarves also brought their technological marvels: towering rune-powered automatons that moved with an eerie semblance of life and colossal mechanical exoskeletons piloted by dwarves, standing as tall as two men. Tanks and other war machines followed, their sheer size and complexity dwarfing the human-constructed counterparts.
Just as Charles was absorbing the grandeur of the Eisenhammer machinery, the skies darkened once more. The mages of the elven kingdom of Lorendal arrived on countless flying chariots and carriages pulled by nagas, garudas, and other magnificent flying beasts. The chariots, adorned in white and gold, carried elven mages dressed in intricately decorated silk robes, each wielding a staff topped with a gleaming core that pulsed with magical energy. Charles noticed among the majestic flock a naga that appeared larger and more marvelous than the rest. Its serpentine body, covered in iridescent scales that shimmered with hues of emerald and sapphire, undulated gracefully through the air. The creature's head was adorned with a crown of golden horns, curling elegantly backward, framing a face with piercing, intelligent eyes that glowed with an inner light. The naga's powerful form included a sinuous tail ending in a fan of delicate, translucent fins that fluttered like the wings of a dragonfly.
“Must be their grand mage’s naga,” Charles assumed.
“Here comes the shiny bastards,” he heard a soldier muttering within his assigned phalanx.
One of the recently arrived WDA outriders, tasked with summoning the Lorendalian forces, approached the commander.
“The rest of the elven army is dealing with an internal matter; a grand mage of theirs has gone rogue. This detachment of mages is all they can spare,” he reported.
The WDA commander shook his head and sighed, “I hope this is enough, but we will suffer losses.”
Around her now was the dwarven legate who led the legion to Midhaven and an elven grand mage in charge of the mage detachment who would assist the WDA. The dwarven legate, clad in ornate, rune-etched armor, exudes an aura of disciplined authority, with his stoic visage framed by a braided beard adorned with intricate metal beads. The elven grand mage commanded attention with flowing robes of azure silk decorated with shimmering golden runes that pulse softly with latent magical power, his presence marked by a staff topped with a glowing crystal that seemed to be harboring a source of energy like no other.
“This is all ye pointy bastards can come up with? A merry band of prancers?” The dwarven legate bellowed with a chuckle
The grand mage responded, “I’m sure you’ve heard about our predicament, Legate Theodorus. We cannot take lightly a mage with such power gone corrupt. We will contribute our best to the alliance, and this is it.”
The legate said with a laugh, “So what? Your grand mages are nothing when blasted in the face by our fine old blunderbusses. Or, some good beer from Mithrilpeak will do to bring ‘im right back to your shiny castle.”
The grand mage, unable to find the humor in dwarven satire, sighed and rolled his eyes. He swore, “One more word from this dwarf, and I am pulling back my mages.”
Caught in the exchange, the WDA commander prepared to intervene when a lightning bolt of purple energy struck the ground nearby with a thunderous roar. From the dissipating sparks emerged a human woman, her armor gleaming with scales and sharp edges in hues of black and purple. Her silver hair was tied into a ponytail, and her eyes glowed with a mysterious but vibrant aura. Her bright skin contrasted starkly with her darker attire. The soldiers and elves around the scene immediately recognized her and gazed in respect, except perhaps some dwarves that… live under a rock. However, even the dwarves already suspected she must be from the RRC (Royal Reconnaissance Corps), given her thunderous entrance, demonstrating power. The RRC consists of only those whose magical prowess, technology expertise, or physical capability are high enough to rival even the grand mages of Lorendal, imperial forge masters from the heart of Eisenhammer, and Midhaven’s draconic knights. Not a soul in West Elysium is lawfully permitted outside Warden’s Wall to venture into the Abyssal Wastes except, of course, the RRC.
“It’s Alyssa. Things must be serious if an RRC agent is here,” said a soldier.
The WDA commander asked Alyssa, still cackling with purple energy from her landing, “How long do we have left?”
She looked the commander in the eye and answered, “Not enough. The horde marches without rest, and one of us suffered mortal wounds just to bring us this intelligence. They’ve got revenants this time, and it takes a damn tough one to let an RRC agent end up like this. This horde’s bigger than the last. I hope you’re ready, commander.”
The grand mage, dwarven legate, and WDA commander looked at each other with concern, doubting whether the mass of force they gathered would be enough.
“Silvaris, where are the rest of you?” the RRC agent asked the elven grand mage.
As he explained the inner conflict that had Lorendal’s hands tied, the agent replied, “If the gate were to be breached, we are desperately going to need far more elven mages as one of our last resorts. Shame they could not be brought here when they are needed more than ever.”
“Well then, what say we simply rely on sheer dwarven firepower to blast 'em to bits, eh? Your shiny pets ain’t doin' much in a siege like this anyway.” Theodorus added.
The grand march began with a resounding tumult reverberating through the earth beneath their feet as the final preparations concluded. The combined forces of elves, humans, dwarves, and beastfolk moved in unison, a formidable armada stretching across the horizon. Above them, a diverse fleet of airships, majestic chariots drawn by garudas, and soaring nagas painted the sky with their presence.
Charles and Belthas guided their contingent through the expansive farmlands of Midhaven, where fields lay quiet under the watchful eyes of halting farmers and curious villagers. Crop fields stretched endlessly across the ground that touched the Lucienne River. Each pause in labor and every eager face at the roadside spoke volumes of support and apprehension. The scene was a tableau of awe and reverence, where the ordinary inhabitants of these lands bore witness to the extraordinary might arrayed before them. This sight was not unfamiliar as the road had seen the passage of many armies bound to defend Warden’s Gate. However, familiarity did not diminish the spectacle. The blend of intricate machinery, potent magic, and fearsome beasts reminded all who watched of the stakes at hand and the unity forged in the face of impending danger.
A fresh recruit conflicted about whether he should feel eager or terrified of arriving at their destination muttered, “My legs are ‘bout to snap. What’d the dwarves build the Underpaths for anyway if our lot can’t even use it?”
Charles scoffed at the newbie and answered, “Kid, have you seen how many of us are marching? A train of the Underpaths can only fit so much.”
Charles was lost in thought throughout the journey. His mind drifted back and forth between his family and his duty ahead, only stopping to converse with Belthas and the other comrades here and there. Countless men and women, all with families and loved ones of their own are enlisted periodically whenever the threat of invasion is imminent. Although they return victorious each time, not all come back, while the monstrous beasts of the abyss replenish their numbers rapidly after each defeat. The life of an individual on the west side of Warden’s Wall is precious, fragile, and loved, while the monstrous horde Charles was about to face again mindlessly throws away their own as cannon fodder as they will never run out in quantity.
Charles turned to his friend Belthas, who was daydreaming as he marched at the side. “I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. Say, if I don’t make it, return Soulrend to my family.”
He softly let out those words as he stared at his sword sheathed at his side. Soulrend, the family heirloom blade of Charles, was a saber that originated from Mithrilpeak's dwarven forges. It gleamed with a silvery-blue hue from its mithril alloy, adorned with intricate runes glowing softly along its length.
“And I’ll tell you again to quit the nonsense, lad; this is nothing new to us. You’ll be fine.” Belthas said disapprovingly.
After a moment of silence between the two, Belthas sarcastically added, “Well, if you hit the grave, I’ll take that fine dwarven forged blade for myself and sell it to some old trot at Havencrest Market for some solid coin. So you’d better not.”
“If you ever dare to do that, old man, I’ll come back from the dead to take ya with me.” Charles jokingly warned him.
The WDA commander informed the men and women to stop at the border city of Lukendorf before the bridge leading to beastfolk territory. The armies marched long enough and required rest. A tiny line of white, supposedly the snowy mountain range, could be seen in the far distance if one were to look from an elevated spot in Lukendorf. The city marked the edge of Midhaven. Its streets were lined with sturdy stone buildings, some showing signs of age with ivy creeping up the walls. Merchants hustled in the market square, their colorful stalls offering everything from fresh produce to intricate crafts. The air buzzed with the mix of different languages and the scent of various foods. Soldiers and travelers moved purposefully through the bustling streets, creating a lively atmosphere. Charles and Belthas encamped with the rest of the armada outside the city while the higher-ranking officers and commanders entered it to replenish army supplies. They brought a regiment of soldiers, including Charles and Belthas, to help carry supplies from Lukendorf back to the encampment.
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As Charles and Belthas entered through the city gates, Beastfolk merchants, travelers, and immigrants, their presence added to the vibrant diversity. They mingled seamlessly with the locals, selling exotic goods of their homeland. Their unique attire and wares brought an extra splash of color to the already bustling market. The city's proximity to beastfolk territory made it a melting pot of cultures, where humans and beastfolk coexisted and traded freely, reflecting a spirit of cooperation and mutual respect. The beastfolk were the most varied species in appearance and biological features. Each resembled different types of animals and creatures: sleek, agile humanoid felines with fur in a spectrum of hues; sturdy lizardmen with scaled skin and sharp claws; towering wolfmen with powerful builds and keen eyes; majestic tigerfolk with striped fur and graceful movements; ratmen with wiry frames and twitching whiskers; small, amphibious frogmen with smooth, moist skin; and elegant birdmen with feathers in vibrant colors and wings that allowed for brief, soaring flights. Despite their diverse appearances, they all shared humanoid forms, standing upright and possessing a blend of human and animal traits that made them both familiar and fascinating.
Charles had seen beastfolk here and there back where he lived in Havencrest, but Lukendorf is a different story as they were a prominent part of the city’s population. He and Belthas have repeatedly passed this place during their previous marches from Havencrest to Warden’s Gate. As the regiment approached the warehouse, a few dozen townsfolk were waiting, ready to pass the supplies to the soldiers from their warehouse. Belthas recognized a few of the men and women he had familiarized with during his past trips into the city. While the commanders were occupied elsewhere, Charles joined him in mingling with the friendly locals.
“Well, hello there, lads!” Belthas announced, Back again, are we? Lukendorf's got a knack for pulling you in, hasn't it?"
He clapped a sturdy man on the back, prompting a hearty chuckle from the gathered locals. "Hope you lot have been keeping this place lively in our absence!"
The townsfolk exchanged knowing glances with Belthas and Charles. They were accustomed to the man's jovial demeanor and welcomed the familiar banter that always accompanied the soldiers' visits.
“Oh, shove it, Belthas,” one of the older women replied with a grin, “I’m sure this shabby old town’s nothin' compared to you fancy folk living up in the capital. Why don’t we head over to the pub for the night, yeah?”
Belthas shook his head and replied, “Ah, sorry, love, not this time, as much as I’d love to. We’re heading straight to the mountain as soon as these bags and crates are hauled back to camp.”
A beastman with the head and features of a grey wolf added, “Maybe that’s a good thing. Knowing Belthas, he could probably chug up the whole Lucienne dry if he wanted.”
A young man beside him on the verge of laughter continued, “And make those demons run with tails between their legs at the sight of an old drunken Midhavian!”
The group erupted in laughter, the camaraderie and jesting banter lifting the spirits amidst the seriousness of their mission before the commander came and barked them back into discipline.
The marching force eventually saw the towering peaks of the Warden's Wall in the distance. These majestic mountains, cloaked in mist and snow-capped peaks, stretched like a formidable natural barrier across the horizon. As they approached, the terrain changed drastically from the lush farmlands of Midhaven to a rugged landscape where icy winds cut through the air. The slopes of Warden's Wall were treacherous, dotted with ancient pine forests clinging to rocky outcrops and occasional cascades of ice-fed streams tumbling down towards the foothills. A creature with the head and talons of a mighty eagle, yet bearing the large body form of a feline mixed with humanoid features and feathers that ranged in hues from deep gold to vibrant crimson, closed in from a distance with a cloaked man on the saddle. Charles recognized him as an outrider of the Warden Defense Army as his garuda mount landed at the front of the army to meet with the commanders.
He reported, “Good to see you, commander. Clan Sazakag answered our call and is already waiting at Warden’s Gate. The horde has closed in faster than we'd expected. You must hurry.”
The commander looked toward Silvaris and Theodorus in agreement, and the three of them signaled their respective armies to march at a faster pace. The thousands of men and women, eager to reach Warden’s Gate after days of relentless marching across the continent, had finally arrived at the edge of the mountain range. After passing through a few towering mountains, the colossal gate itself came into view. It was a spectacle among spectacles. Warden’s Gate was built through the combined effort and resources of all races in West Elysium, guarding the sole passageway suitable for an army to pass through between West Elysium and the horrors beyond. It was almost as tall as the mountains themselves. It demonstrated the engineering prowess of the dwarves of the Eisenhammer Empire and the magical finesse of the elves of Lorendal, combining intricate runic patterns with formidable stone and steel fortifications. At its heart stood the gate itself, a colossal archway flanked by towering walls that stretched far into the mountains on both sides.
Charles felt the somewhat nostalgic chill of the frosty mountains, briefly subdued by the constant radiating heat from the myriad of machinery stationed across the bastion. The fortress buzzed with activity, resembling a thriving ant colony. Inside, a mass of beastfolk stood primed and ready, their varied colors and physical differences making for a vibrant sight. War paints adorned their furs and skin, and their towering spears loomed twice their height. Among them, the colossal war beasts, a rare sight outside their clan, added an intimidating presence. Nearby, mystic shamans in makeshift tents marked with Sazakag's sigils bestowed blessings upon their kin while alchemists tirelessly brewed potions for the impending battle. Meanwhile, flying war machines and beasts from Havencrest were docked at the nearby port, undergoing essential maintenance and configurations by both dwarven and human engineers. Mages arrived on these beasts, meditating along the mountain's edges to be away from all the noise and harness their magic effectively for the imminent conflict.
“Charles, Belthas, Gremory, Tobias, Ethan, Haladar, Gertrund, Fimir. Here. Now.” The WDA commander's voice cut through the bustling preparations, summoning the seasoned veterans familiar with battles past.
“What do you need from us, commander?” Charles answered the summon, stepping forward.
“You lot have been under my command for quite a while. Consider yourself promoted to sergeants of the Warden’s Defense Army from now on. Now listen up. As sergeants, here’s a task I need you to do. By now, you know very well that whoever is stationed at the ramparts first in line will meet their certain death. Go and pick out the regiments that you’ll put up there as our first defense.”
The commander then proceeded to raise her voice loud enough for the surroundings to hear and announced, “Listen up, these eight here are now fresh sergeants. Do as they say.”
Charles, Belthas, and the rest had faces of reluctance as they processed the commander’s words, who was imposing on them the responsibility of selecting who gets to die first. However, as veterans, they were not too surprised as the commander had done this before during the preparations for past sieges. The eight then gathered and proposed ideas on proceeding as ethically as possible.
“Logically, it’s best that the dwarves are put at the front. They’ve got thicker armor and heavier weapons than all of us. A line of them is the same as a solid wall of steel,” Gremory proposed.
Charles took a moment to consider the approach.
He responded, “Agreed, but we will have diplomatic repercussions afterward once the dwarves start questioning why we’re sending only their kin to die for us.”
Belthas then stepped forward and suggested, “How ‘bout we simply put a mix of everyone? Eisenhammer’s got armor heavier than your mum’s mass, yes, but we all know they ain’t moving around in all that lump of metal any faster than my buddy Charles’s pregnant wife. So why don’t we all play the saint of equality and put every type of poor sod up there, yeah? Dwarves, humans, and beastfolk, both young and old alike, can give their lives for the gate side by side as a symbol of unity. A shame the elves won’t join our lot and safely blast boring old fireballs behind the safety of our steel.”
Despite Belthas’s seeming lack of seriousness, the bundle of freshly promoted soldiers rolled their eyes, shook their heads at Belthas’s demeanor, and went along with it as they did not wish to cloud their heads and test their moral compass any longer. When the rest went about to sort out their task while leaving Charles and Belthas behind, the pair stopped holding in their internally built-up laughter and let it erupt.
“HAHAHAHAHA, you old bastard. You are not using my wife in another one of your jokes again.” Charles chided, somewhat mesmerized by how his friend manages to make him laugh despite it being something he could take offense at.
“Are you sure about that lad? Your face says otherwise! But hey, fret not, your deary Vivane could probably still outrun these stout little chaps,” Belthas bellowed as his laughter echoed into the air.
Charles replied, “Oh stop it now, you…”
He paused as he noticed the ground glowing and a wave of heat growing stronger on his back. The next thing Charles knew, he was propelled forward and crashed into the ground. The ear-splitting sound of the fiery impact rang in his ears. The exact spot where Fimir and a regiment of the WDA were standing was now a crater, with fumes of smoke engulfing the entire area.
The horns blew.
“They’re here! They’re coming!” shouted the sentry from atop the tower, his urgent voice filled with dread.
“To the ramparts! Load the cannons!” yelled the commander nearby, her voice cutting through the chaos.
Soldiers and beasts scrambled into position, their movements swift and purposeful. War machines hummed to life, and airships soared overhead, readying for battle.
“Charles! Charles!” Belthas shouted at his face, “You alright? We need to go.”
Charles’s senses returned to him as he hurried with Belthas atop the ramparts of the gates. There was not sufficient time to sort out who was going on there. The Abyssal Horde was here. Anyone within proximity must get up there immediately. This did not scare Belthas or Charles. Despite his obligations and ties back home, the sounds of war and duty were the only things he could think of at the moment. In fact, this gave the two men feelings of relief and pride as they got to be the ones first in line to defend the realm rather than sending off others like a coward. The ascension to the ramparts was long, as the height of Warden’s Gate was almost as tall as the mountains and surpassed any other structure in West Elysium.
As they rode on one of the dwarven-engineered rune-powered elevators steadily ascending to the top, Charles witnessed the other side of the civilized world, and it was a sight to behold in pure terror. Although it was supposed to be a bright day, there was nothing but an eerie red darkness in the skies above the wasteland. The entire horizon, as far as the eye could see, was covered entirely with endless swarms of demonic beasts and creatures. The ground below was filled with craters and cracks from past sieges that Warden’s Gate had gone through. At the fronts of the horde were siege towers as tall as Warden’s Gate itself, ready to let the horde climb right over the gates as it was the only way past the indestructible fortress. They had massive horns sticking out of the tips and appeared constructed with bones. In the distance were colossal beasts with forms that seemed like a combination of grotesque creatures put together. Their eyes burned with a malevolent glow as they unleashed primal roars that sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest men and women. The already dark skies of the Abyssal Wastes darkened even further with an armada of winged demonic creatures of all sizes. Most of them resembled serpents, while others looked to be gargantuan flying insects.
“They were right,” Belthas muttered. “This one’s bigger than the last.”
Above the skies on West Elysium’s side of the gate was littered with airships, aiming their broadside cannons towards the enemy. Mages were stationed on the sides of the two mountains that Warden’s Gate was between, while some were with the soldiers on the ramparts. When Charles glanced behind, the ground was scattered with numerous mortars and artillery, primed and ready for the order to fire.
“What are you waiting for? Start the bombardment!” The WDA commander screamed.
A short moment later, the noise that followed from the blasts of the enormous quantity of artillery made any thunderstorm as quiet as a whisper in comparison. Every soldier cowered, covering their ears as human and dwarven artillery unleashed an onslaught of ammunition at the horde. Mages and Sazakag shamans summoned missiles and projectiles of their respective elements and propelled them in the enemy’s direction, amplifying the bombardment. As Charles looked up, cowering amidst the cacophony, he saw the oddly satisfying sight of the abyssal creatures in the distance burning in fumes of flames and torn into shreds through the explosions and shockwaves, effectively thinning the swarm.
As a newly appointed WDA sergeant, Charles ordered, “It’s our time. Riflemen! Get to the front and fire at will!”
The long line of dwarven and human riflemen scurried with determination to the front of the ramparts and unleashed waves upon waves of volleys into the horde. While the colossal beasts were unaffected by mere bullets, the lackeys smaller in size were slaughtered through the storm of bullets, only catching a break during the time intervals of the guns reloading after each volley. The air was filled with the acrid scent of magic and gunpowder, mingling with the shrieks of wounded creatures. Charles glimpsed at revenants in the distance, mages of the abyss cloaked in darkness with hollow faces twisted in malevolent glee. Their eyes gleamed with a sinister light as they prepared to direct torrents of dark magic toward the defenders,
“TAKE COVER!” Belthas screamed.
The riflemen and the piked infantry stationed behind them cowered as they prayed the incoming projectiles would not land on them. A moment later, Charles was propelled to the side as a large boulder conjured by the revenants hit the ramparts. While the architecture was undamaged, it left behind a canvas of blood and guts on the area of impact among the rubble. As Charles, with his ears ringing, stood back up, he felt a hand grab his foot. It was a dwarf whose entire bottom half was crushed by a piece of the boulder.
“End it… Make it stop…” he gathered his remaining breath to mutter those words before his eyes depleted of life.
Charles lowered himself and used his two fingers to close the eyelids of the dwarf.
“Back to your positions! Keep firing!” He yelled at the men and women around him.
After a few more volleys, the colossal siege towers were close. Some crumbled from the massive bombardment, but not all, as they were explicitly designed to withstand blasts from artillery.
“Pikemen! To the front!” Charles ordered.
The riflemen stepped backward as the infantry, which included dwarven, human, and beastfolk, took positions and aimed their long pikes at the front, followed by Eisenhammer automatons and exoskeletons right behind.
Belthas walked to the back edge of the ramparts to signal the reserve troops at the back that the siege towers were near. The infantry holding the line is going to need constant replenishment in numbers.
The towers of bones, horns, and skulls were meters from the walls.
“Hold the line,” Charles ordered as he glared forward.
The siege towers docked on the ramparts as the men and women grip their pikes.
“Remember the fate of your loved ones if you let these things pass. Hold!” Charles commanded.
“Drinks on the house to whoever has the highest number of kills!” Belthas added.
Roars of colossal abyssal beasts echoed below as they climbed toward the pikemen holding the formation. The head of a serpent-like monstrosity appeared from beneath the gate, snatching a beastman and hurling him into the distance. Swarms of demonic horned beings, equipped with jagged weaponry and armor made of bones and scales, poured from the siege towers into the fray, pushing back the defenders with overwhelming force. Winged nightmarish beasts swooped down in flocks to harass and claw at them. The pikemen held the line as best as they could, thrusting their spears with all their willpower, as fallen comrades were quickly replaced by the reserves waiting behind. Dwarven automatons and exoskeletons were the bulwarks of the defense, as they served as the backbone for the pikemen.
The skies above were filled with aerial clashes with nagas and garudas that served the defenders against the flying monstrosities of the abyss. Amidst the chaos, an airship filled with Midhavian crew with its engines sputtering and ablaze crashed on the nearby mountainside with a deafening impact, exploding into a fiery conflagration that sent shockwaves through the battlefield. Charles and Belthas stood side by side, swords in hand, slaying one beast after another and watching each other's backs amidst the cacophony of explosions, roars of creatures, screams of men, and the clashing of metal. Belthas was occupied, dueling with a dual sword-wielding creature of the abyss, when suddenly, a belu with murderous, glowing eyes knocked him to the ground from behind while his guard was down. Belthas mistook it for one of his comrades as the creature shape-shifted into one of the soldiers of Midhaven. The belu, now in its true form of a green-skinned monstrosity, grinned maliciously as its eyes burned bright red with malevolence. Belthas stared back in terror, unable to move as the creature prepared to strike. He prepared to close his eyes and accept his fate.
“BELTHAS! NO!” Charles screamed, noticing his friend's imminent doom.
The belu raised its spiked club, poised to smash it into the old man. As Belthas braced himself for his impending fate, a flash of purple lightning thundered nearby, eviscerating the monstrous beast and several surrounding abyssal creatures into dust. Belthas looked around and saw that Alyssa, the agent of the Royal Reconnaissance Corps, had arrived in the nick of time. The men and women of the different races gained newfound courage and let out new cries of war after Alyssa came to fight side by side with them.
“How do you like the taste of Eisenhammer steel?” A nearby dwarf exclaimed as he smashed the weight of his hammer into an enemy’s face.
“Death to the horde! Glory to Sazakag!” Roared a beastman with the features of a tiger.
Another dwarf began to cry, “We will bathe in their blood! My beard itches for war! These hellspawn will be crushed by my very foot! We will dance in the melody of their screams! Look at how they fall to even the swing of the scrawniest of humans! Victory is-”
“Oh would you PLEASE shut your hairy trap already?” Belthas interrupted, highly irritated.
The carnage raged for hours until the numbers on both sides began to thin, and the tide of battle slowly shifted in favor of the defenders with the combined magical firepower of both Alyssa and the elven grand mage Silvaris.
The fog was thick, and the ground trembled. The thundering stomps and footsteps of the beasts of the abyss faded as they retreated back to the wasteland, shaking the already perturbed soldiers holding the ramparts. Belthas, atop the colossal Warden’s Gate, descended to the ground on the other side with a deeply frantic and concerned face.
“Where are you, Charles?!” he yelled.
His comrade, who had stood with him against numerous invasions from the horde, had vanished from his side. The defending force had just repelled the overwhelming assault, leaving the structure and ground soaked in blood and guts. Belthas, blade in hand, sliced through the carcasses of demonic creatures, careful not to defile the bodies of fallen comrades that had fallen over the edge, searching for Charles.
“Get down here, you fools. Charles is missing!” he shouted at his brothers-in-arms, who were heavily panting and fatigued from the hellish siege.
Most barely heard or paid attention to Belthas, as they were either wounded or busy tending to the injured. Despite his weariness, Belthas walked firmly past the broken, grotesque siege engines made of bones, skulls, and other unknown substances, determined to uncover his missing friend. As he continued, a surge of adrenaline coursed through him upon recognizing Charles’s sword lying on the ground. He immediately picked it up and held the sword in his hand, but it was the only trace of Charles left behind. His friend was gone. He did not see how it happened, which monstrosity among the invading swarm took him, or which direction it went.
“I told you, Devereux, you should have stayed with your wife. You should have set your eyes on your child.”
As his hope of finding Charles waned and the adrenaline ebbed away, exhaustion overtook him, causing him to collapse on the ground among the battlefield littered with body parts, used ammunition, and blood.