I am Pestilence. Shadow and rot. The discarded King of a race of ghosts, the harbinger of the death of my people. My soul is something dark and damp, softened by time, molded through, and rotten to the core. Pestilence has no will, it merely kills the things nearest to itself – indiscriminate evil. And recently, since my brush with Alexandria, I fear I've begun to lose my mind.

Today… I kneel, as always, before the carved relief of the Goddess Seriah. Bent in penitence and prayer, begging the forgiveness of my patron deity. Or at least that is what any who pass by my slouched form will surmise …hopefully. And if I'm allowed to hope, I further hope there will be no passerby, this particular shrine is on the outermost edge of the city so that shouldn't be too much to ask. In truth, my thoughts turn to Seriah hardly at all – much more preoccupied with recent events and my probable forthcoming execution. I rather dislike the idea of being executed, though it may well throw a wrench into whatever scheme Alexandria has dreamed up which would almost make it worth enduring…

The Celestial Host has tolerated my presence in their midst for longer than I ever expected, like an open wound left to fester. The doctrine by which they live their lives does not lend itself to the forgiveness or rehabilitation of demons. I have been somewhat protected by my defection – all those years ago – somewhat by my obscurity – only the highest of the Chorus know of my …demonic roots – but mostly my safety has been guaranteed by my status as a final ace in the hole to be deployed against the Demon Goddess. And now I have lost that status, the Chorus watched as I failed to claim the life of my most hated foe, my weakness broadcast to the world.

Aurora was …surprisingly merciful. She did not order me captured or confined – merely reassured me, the moment was not lost, we could yet fell the Goddess. But she knows me – better than most – knows of my old hatred, knew the Demon King Alaina De'Gwyine before she ever met the “Blademaster”. She might come to regret the forbearance she has shown to the Pestilence by her side, the rot within her Chorus…

Hal'Trinneth has been in a state of constant chaos ever since its ill-fated contest against the Demon Goddess. Though some of the less faithful – or perhaps just the smarter – Celestials have begun to question that moniker. Not as many as I would have expected – truth be told – but I suppose most of my winged 'brethren' were insulated by several degrees of separation from the Jester Queen herself.

The first few hours were desperate, frenzied, as even as the city was liberated from the roots of the great tree – an army of Unbound was born, sprung up seemingly from nowhere. We later determined that the Unbound Cores kept upon the flying city had been purposefully attacked by the questing tendrils of the tree, unsealed and reinvigorated. But with the might of nearly the entire High Chorus – battered and bruised though they were – the monsters were brought to heel fairly quickly.

The twenty hours or so following that were even more frenzied – as the Runesmiths toiled to repair the great city. Celestial mages of great power and skill worked in a constant rotation, carefully recarving the ancient glyphs and then – with the utmost care – feeding them with holy energy, slowly bringing the damaged sections of the city back into step. And even with the whole of the High Chorus lending their expertise, the efforts very nearly failed. There was one particularly heart-stopping moment in which a repaired glyph was incorrectly hewn into the stone – and the whole formation became dangerously unbalanced, causing Hal'Trinneth to physically lean.

Even today the repairs are ongoing – much to the chagrin of nearly all of the High Chorus. The reasons for their irritation are varied, some would rather not show such obvious weakness to the humans below, some are aware of the pressing need for the city and its inhabitants to be elsewhere – a dozen different places really – to be of any use against The Encroachment, but mostly they just want to be free of the Demon Goddess. The proximity makes them nervous, fearful she will change her mind and send them all to meet their Goddess. The ones who fought her that day are convinced she has that power.

But a certain, loud, contingent of late-comers are not so convinced. In particular, the Fifth Plume, a man who was absent from our bout with the Idiot Queen for reasons not entirely clear – seeing as his Verse of the Chorus is stationed not overly distant from this place… The Seventh and Ninth Plumes both traveled farther. Regardless of his absence, the Fifth Plume has been quite aggressive since his arrival, the head of a faction that seems dangerously close to open revolt against the First Plume – Aurora. Not that they would ever dare. Her position within the Chorus is rock solid – if only because her fellows all fear irrevocably tipping the scales and plunging the Celestial race into civil war. Open revolt is the one thing they all know they simply cannot afford, and after Trine, civil war doesn't seem impossible to any of them.

So, since they cannot strike in any tangible sense, they fall back on their empty words. They call her cowardly, insinuate she faltered at a crucial moment and caused the failure of the grand magic they worked in concert to conjure, loudly proclaim their suspicions that she is, in fact, consorting with the Demon Goddess – all manner of ridiculous nonsense in short. The yowling of beaten cowards, all eager to point fingers and avoid blame. They are a rot, much as I am.

If this were Lumineux and I was in Aurora's shoes I would see the whole worthless pack of them executed. Or maybe just collared – considering their worth in the face of The Encroachment… As I've been recently made painfully aware, there are in fact collars to be used for just that type of disobedient…

With effort, I push that train of thought away. Regaining a semblance of tranquility. Until I hear a thump – as if a human-sized something landed on the ground behind me.

“Alaina.” Aurora's voice sounds behind me, it's usual steadfastness somehow weighed down. A heavy tone.

For a moment I hold my pose, imagining that if I just ignore her whilst projecting the proper image – the perfect maiden distracted by prayer – she will leave me to my peace. Rot does not need light shone upon it, does not need the attentions of its peers.

“Get up. I know you're not… Just get up.” She finishes with a slightly exasperated sigh.

Giving up, I smoothly stand and turn to face her. “What business does the First Plume have with one such as I?” I ask – my voice tightly controlled, as I say a silent prayer she won't notice the buzzing of the insects that bore and roam through my dying soul.

Our eyes meet and she tilts her head oddly, looking skeptical. Does she know? I wonder…

“You are a difficult woman to find Blademaster.” She says finally, her voice cool and neutral.

“I've found few on Hal'Trinneth to be overly appreciative of my presence, so I don't make any effort to broadcast it. Apologies if that has caused the First Plume any difficulties.” I reply quietly.

“…Aurora.” She replies with obvious displeasure.

In response I just send her an uncertain, questioning, look.

“Just call me Aurora. We've known each other for the better half of a millennium, so spare me your false courtesy Blademaster.” She says with a sigh.

“Alright, Aurora.” I reply, not seeing any point in defying her wishes. “Did you need something?”

She draws in a great breath and holds it for a moment, before sighing heavily. “…Come with me.”

So she says, before turning to lead me away. I hesitate only a moment, unsure what to do, unsure what is happening. If she is planning to lead me to my execution maybe I should just attack her now? …But then would definitely fail the task Alexandria assigned me. So it's probably physically impossible for me to even attempt.

…Gods damn her…

Lip curling in anger, the Whispering Heart forgotten and the rot of Pestilence forgotten as well, I follow the First Plume. We walk in silence for some time along the edge of Hal'Trinneth. We pass a handful of Cloudcutters, magical constructs of stone that look like little more than clumps of dirt held aloft by magic, lazily drifting through the air in orbit around the great city. Proper Cloudcutters were more impressive vessels, sleek sailing ships that floated through the clouds, but very few – if any – remain in the fleet, the Runesmiths simply do not possess the skill to enchant a ship to fly through the sky in the manner their ancestors did. Aurora eyes one of those flying clumps of dirt, her face carefully blank – but a palpable aura of despair hangs about her. Eventually, we come to a stop, as far from the city center as is possible, and wordlessly, she turns to look out over the human city far below. It might be harder on her than most on Hal'Trinneth since she has lived through this slow decline, since she can remember the Chorus at the height of it's power… and remember watching it rot away.

“This morning The Most Exalted spoke – he reaffirmed the Demon Goddess as the enemy of the Chorus and the source of the Unbound. And the higher ranking members of the priesthood all report similar divine revelations.” Aurora speaks flatly, not looking at me. She pauses as if to gather her thoughts, before continuing. “…Blademaster, did you know? The things the Demon Goddess told us? The things she has been sharing with the humans?” She asks, still not turning.

“A difficult question to answer Aurora – I have never had any use for the words of the 'Demon Goddess', so I can only confess my ignorance of whatever it is she said.” I reply evenly. Somewhat reassured – Alexandria is her current topic of conversation but Aurora doesn't seem to suspect. Though it's amazing… amazing she cannot smell the damp…

Aurora whirls, her face twisted in anger, and closes the half step or so of distance between us in an instant. Her gauntleted hand closes around my bicep and I'm forced to shove down an almost irresistible impulse for violent retaliation, a cool ooze of anger and fear bubbling up like sludge within me. I close my eyes briefly and immerse myself in the Whispering Heart until that feeling of revulsion subsides – though the other, more fundamental revulsion stays with me, as it has since I spoke to the Idiot Queen. No time to muse on that though, I reopen my eyes to find Aurora staring at me, her face twisted into a grimace – maybe she can smell it after all? She holds my arm a moment longer and then suddenly releases it – drawing her hand away quickly as if burned – her whole body tensing as if to fight or flee.

“…That.” She finally snarls through gritted teeth. “That… ingrained sensation of… hatred, revulsion… Did you know of it, Blademaster?” She asks haltingly. Of course I know of it, I've lived among the Chorus for centuries – how could I not know… I think but do not say. Inside my head, they chitter their agreement.

“You, the First Plume of the Celestial Chorus, wish to ask me, Blademaster and Former Demon King, if I am aware that Celestials dislike demons?” I ask, not hiding my incredulity. The hot spike of hatred dulled but not gone, like hot tar clinging to my ribs.

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Seems to consider her next words carefully.

“Obviously I've known there to be animosity between our races…” Her voice trails off and she shakes her head as if to clear it. “Before this week, when you were recalled from The Frontline, it had been hundreds of years since I last saw a demon.” She says, her voice flat. “On seeing you though, I was overwhelmed with negativity, old grudges – hundreds of years old – rose to the forefront of my mind, it was all I could do not to attack.”

“I am… grateful for your restraint.” I say, containing the dull amusement rising in my breast – the irony is palpable, maybe only to me. Is this conversation leading up to her declaring her intent to execute me personally? My fingers brush the hilt of the sword on my waist, reassured by its touch.

“I'm not looking for your gratitude!” Aurora snorts something like a laugh. “I'm trying to… illustrate. This hatred I'm feeling is completely without reason – I've not been so much as inconvenienced by a demon in literal centuries, and yet for some reason… There is clearly some factor at play here, some uncontrollable bias.”

…I'm not clear what she's trying to communicate, or why she is trying to communicate it to me. The sludge in my heart sloshes around as I debate internally… maybe another question is appropriate here?

“There is no particular issue, is there Aurora? The demons are all but wiped out, even if you do possess some subconscious bias – does it matter?” I ask. Ignoring the creeping and crawling sensation that seems to be rising from inside my throat.

“It matters.” She replies immediately. “Because I'm not the only one with that bias – Alexandria said it, and I've seen it! I've lived my entire life among the Chorus, how could I not see it? And today I'm worried, what if that bias is tainting all of our perceptions? What if…” She looks around, almost nervously, confirming we are alone. “What if the Most Exalted is wrong? His judgment clouded?”

Why would I care? Does mold care for the words of the Sun? Why are you even talking to me, Aurora? I don't say that. Instead…

“That doesn't seem likely.”

“Doesn't it?!” She cries. “Alexandria has an alternate explanation for the Unbound – an explanation she shared with Duke Clearwater. And after that the Duke dispatched messengers by the dozens, informing everyone and anyone of the words of the Demon Goddess – intercepting one and finding out what Alexandria has been saying was child's play…” She trails off again.

“So what Aurora? Demons lie. Surely you haven't forgotten that much. And the 'Demon Goddess' is ancient – she would have no trouble spinning a tale to fool a human, someone whose entire life will be shorter than one of her afternoon naps…” I say.

“But!” Aurora interprets. “But she spoke to us, did she not? At that time, she seemed so certain, so right…”

I sigh, a murky sinking feeling enveloping me, as my mind turns to the Idiot Queen. “I do not think you…” Pausing, I grasp for the right words – something that won't insult the First Plume. “...fully appreciate what it means to live as long as the Demon Goddess has Aurora. The sheer weight of her presence is incomparable to any lord or monarch you have previously encountered – but it's just… showmanship. She is incapable of speaking in any other way – other than with absolute conviction, certainty. It does not mean…” I let my voice trail off, taking a deep and steadying breath... and then almost coughing, choking, on something that is surely not there.

“…” Aurora is silent, considering. Her eyes wandering about the clouds around us, the city below. Until, at last, they sharpen – that old glint returns – she shakes off that cloud of despair, sheds it like a coat she no longer wished to wear.

“You're right of course. She is no more than a liar, a deceiver.” Aurora looks down at Shadfer far below her eyes narrowing. “Destroyer, Corrupter, Unmaker… I insult my station by being swayed by the words of one such as that, even for a moment.” She speaks as if convincing herself. “Thank you, Blademaster, I know our history is… well, I know I can trust your eyes to be clear on this matter at least.”

Through Herculean force of will my placid mask is maintained – the urge to vomit my anger suppressed, just barely. How did it come to be, that the whole world was run by such fools as Alexandria and Aurora? Who could possibly have clear eyes when looking to the Idiot Queen? Certainly neither of the two of us! In fact, you can probably disqualify every soul atop Hal'Trinneth! But in all the world, is there any more biased than I? Perhaps this farce of a conversation is all intended to throw me off my stride to such a degree that the calm of the Whispering Heart is unreachable? Is it execution after all?

My imagination supplies me with the rising buzz of the insects in my soul, reacting to my sudden anger. So real I can almost hear them. At the nape of my neck, I can feel something, like the fluttering of tiny wings...

Ahhhhh… Oh. She's noticed something, I've delayed too long in my reply…

“Still, Aurora, such doubts are unlike you – does the rest of the High Chorus share your fears?” I ask randomly, carefully reaffirming that my blank mask is firmly in place with each word, speaking over the terrible rustling that only I can hear.

She snorts. “No. Or should I say, of course not? None of them were present to hear the words of the Demon Goddess at that time, to them it is little more than unreliable hearsay, the mad ravings of the Demon Goddess. They are nearly unanimous in their desire to press the attack.”

“They wish to press the attack?” I ask, surprised. Of the eighteen Plumes of the High Chorus, most were present in the recent skirmish – so most should have a clear understanding of the realities of the wall that is the Idiot Queen. If even my blade could not reach her… I push that dark thought away, fingers brushing against the reassuring hilt of my sword. A six-legged insect slips from my palm, tiny wings buzzing audibly as it flies away.

“Yes.” Aurora confirms, noticing nothing. “The presiding sentiment among my… colleagues is that were the full might of the High Chorus mustered and fed power by all five of the Hal cities…” She trails off there.

“That's…” I try to find the word.

“Mad? Yes. Perhaps they are not wrong though, the Hal Runes were created to be used in conjunction – the way our ancestors designed the cities left room enough in the Rune Formations for any and all of the cities to be joined into a single Formation. As if they foresaw the need for such power…”

“What of the cities on the Frontline? They are unofficial fixtures at this point – keystones that prop up the human defense… Does the Chorus intend to leave the humans to their fate as we move to strike down the Demon Goddess?” I ask, curious, at the sudden scent of opportunity in the air, nearly enough to obscure the other – fouler – scents.

“Of course that is not our intent.” Aurora replies strongly, before slightly averting her gaze. “But the Frontline cannot hold forever… it is only a matter of time until the situation… changes.”

My next question dies in my mouth as the shock of that statement washes over me. To think even Aurora had such a pragmatic side to her? But isn't this a worthless and fatalistic kind of pragmatism? Is it ok for the leader of the Chorus to take that sort of attitude? But, as a demon myself, I can hardly pretend to care if the whole lot of them get slaughtered off when the Line breaks – so long as we first fell the Idiot Queen, nothing else matters. I feel a slight sting in my temple at that treasonous thought, so I amend so long as the Idiot Queen dies, and I complete my mission, nothing else matters and the pain subsides. I almost snort contemptuously at how easy to sidestep her magical compulsion is – before despairing at how thoroughly ensnared I am by that same incompetent compulsion. Aurora seems to be noticing some of my brief internal struggle so I ask another question.

“But Aurora, there are – or were – more than five Hal Rune Cities, some of them have been destroyed or made otherwise irrecoverable… and even if five is sufficient, the Chorus does not actually command five – unless Trine was reclaimed while I slept?”

“No. The High Chorus hopes Trine might rejoin the fold, now that the Demon Goddess has made herself known.”

“Naive…” The word slips from my lips unbidden, and I quickly school myself back into expressionlessness. Behind my lips I can taste something foul, so I open my mouth and continue. “Apologies Aurora, I don't know what came over me – ignore that last.”

She shakes her head, looking at me with a wry smile. “No, you're right. It's a naive way of thinking. Hopeful. But they are Celestials – our brothers and sisters – and now that the Demon Goddess stalks the lands of Suprema, they should remember their obligations. Cease this foolish rebellion…”

Her eyes are distant, the hope she speaks of visible in her eyes. It's kind of disgusting, in a way, how the Celestials all hold the Idiot Queen up as some terrible harbinger of misery and suffering – but at the same time pin all of their hope onto her back. They hope she will roar into the story of their lives like some evil dragon in a fairy tale, thrash about and make a ruckus before ultimately being put down by the goodly Celestial Chorus – somehow resolving all of their problems in one fell swoop, just like their Goddess has promised. A many-legged something chitters its agreement in my ear. In my ear.

…At least I have no illusions about why I yearn for the death of the Idiot Queen. The angry buzz at the base of my skull agrees with me.

“…But it will be some time before that happens. We must await an opportunity. And until then we have an obligation to our allies below – even if they are currently not acting as we would hope, we can only show our sincerity through our actions. With luck, we can reclaim the hearts of our human friends before they are too twisted and tainted by the lies of demons. Thus, in accordance with that aim, I – First Plume of the Celestial Chorus – order you, Blademaster, to return with the human Hero party to The Frontline, to a place called Kline's Reach. Our information indicates the situation there has become quite dire in our brief absence, so to ensure the Frontline is not breached – the Chorus has chosen to dispatch you, one of our finest warriors.”

“…ah?” A stupid noise escapes me, caught off guard by her sudden formality. Distracted by a wispy thread that swings before my eyes, something small and black at the end.

She sends me a chilly glare and of that moment of nearly human weakness she just showed me, there is no trace. Only the First Plume stares back at me.

“Was something unclear, Blademaster?” She asks. But still, she sees nothing.

“…n-no. Traveling with Ironside, is it? It will be interesting to see the Hero in action. But is that alright, Aurora? I was under the impression that… after my failure… the High Chorus…” I trail off with uncharacteristic uncertainty. This is a bit too much like asking to be killed to be sensible I realize belatedly.

“Tch.” Aurora merely sneers in response. “They would have to take my head before I allowed them to take yours. I am well aware of what kind of creature you are Blademaster, but against the Demon Goddess I could ask for no finer ally. And in the coming days we will need your strength, whether those stubborn old fools realize it or not.”

I'm left momentarily speechless. I was unaware that Aurora regarded me with any sort of trust. Precious few of my Celestial allies have ever treated me as anything but a blight… but after a seconds thought the reason why is readily apparent. I send her a small smile declaring my agreement without words, idly wondering if there are termites in that smile, and draw my blade in a single practiced motion. I hold it aloft, the flat of the blade between the First Plume and I.

“Indeed, you're right Aurora.” I agree with her, watching the pretty blonde woman with fluffy white wings – only slightly marred by the tiny, almost invisible, specks of black nestled in her feathers – reflected in the blade. “Regarding killing the Demon Goddess, I doubt there are any alive in all the world who have worked harder or longer than I. It will be my hand that takes her head, that is my promise. The promise I've sworn a thousand times – she will die. Whatever it takes.” The blonde woman – the Blademaster – in the blade speaks the words, the lies, her eyes filled with something murky and unidentifiable.

Aurora's hand claps my shoulder and I turn to face her in surprise. But she only shows me the cool and dignified face of the First Plume of the High Chorus as our eyes meet.

“Well said Blademaster. Remember, we are not running away. This is merely a lull in the battle – as we regroup and regather our forces. The fight is not lost. And when the time comes for us to retake the field, the Chorus will be counting on you. In the meantime though, gather your things, the humans of Kline's Reach need you. You have two hours.” With those words the First Plume spreads her majestic white wings and allows the magical winds of Hal'Trinneth carry her away.

I follow her slightly over dramatic exit with my eyes, until she's disappeared, leaving me alone in this deserted corner of the great city. I've been dispatched, which means the secondary objective Alexandria gave me is probably impossible, but since the primary objective it to maintain my position among the Celestials of the Chorus at any cost – I suppose it can't be helped. With an equally practiced motion my sword disappears back into the sheath at my hip, my eyes still on the spot where Aurora disappeared, before flicking down – seeing the body of the tiny six-legged insect, a dangerous looking barb clearly visible in the remains, crushed against one of my pauldrons when she clasped my shoulder.

I spit, expelling something, something I take care not to look at. Maybe I'm not going crazy after all.

Still, two hours? Pestilence whispers in my heart. If I move quickly, that might be enough time… Closing my eyes I try to envision it. I don't like to admit it but it feels good, a strange euphoria floods me as I consider the steps I would need to take to accomplish one of Alexandria's “secondary objectives” – the seductive power of the Demon God? I wonder idly even as a plan is rapidly taking shape in my mind. After a minute of thought, an icy smile forms on my lips and I set off once more – toward the city proper – my fingers beating an impatient tune against the worn leather hilt of my blade…

And I can hear it, all around me, within me, a chorus all my own, buzzing its enthusiastic agreement.

I hate Alexandria. One day I will kill her. But I also bear no particular love for the Chorus – the opposite, if anything – so maybe I can afford to indulge the whims of my master… as that thought crosses my mind another, larger, wave of pleasure rolls over me and all but carries me away…

****

As my blade cleaves forward for the hundredth… thousandth?… ten-thousandth?… time I reflect that Kline's Reach is a dirty place. Still wet and muddy from the spring runoff, the dirt roads that lead to the fort are nearly impassable, and the people stationed within – people who live there for months or years at a time – can't help but to trek the mud and the damp with them wherever they go. Because of that, Kline's Reach is a dirty place. Positioned in a valley at the base of the Kartod Mountain Range, it is a sturdy and ancient fort – that has stood since The Encroachment began and never once been breached. Of course, it's position at the very back of the Frontline probably has something to do with that – but it is constructed competently enough, from where it is nestled snugly at the base of the mountain it commands the entire valley.

Saying that it is at the very back of the Frontline is somewhat misleading because the Line is a staggered and uneven thing. For instance Fort Biven is some fifty-odd miles to the south and west on the other side of the mountains – technically a deeper point in the Line – but calling Kline's Reach the final line of defense isn't wrong either, because once an invader passes it by they have an unobstructed path into the heartlands of the Imperium – an open road to the city of Ryndle and her scattered villages. Even if other Forts stand on other places along the Line, if this one falls, it will matter not.

And until recently, no one had the faintest inkling that Kline's Reach was in danger, nestled as it is behind the mountain range that acts as the Frontline's largest natural barrier. If you were to follow the roads laid by the Imperium, you would need to pass through three forts after leaving Kline's Reach before you reached the unchecked Northlands. Or put another way, three forts stood between Kline's Reach and any danger. That is how it should have been. Small comfort that is… I think as Gorfane rips through yet another eight-legged foe.

Why am I fighting giant Unbound spiders, here in Kline's Reach? I wonder, even as Gorfane whips forward and neatly bisects one more spider the size of a dog that has just scaled the Reach's northern rampart. Peripherally I'm aware that Mattis is surrounded – nearly a dozen of the dog-sized spiders and two about the size of a horse – but I have my own opponents to deal with and cannot move to help him.

The fighting has been intense, since the moment the Cloudcutter deposited the five of us here, as wave after wave of the Unbound have descended from atop the frigid mountaintop to attack. At first, I wondered if the other forts had fallen, or were these Unbound infiltrators? I wondered how any living creature could survive the perpetual blizzard atop the Kartod mountains to stage an attack like this. I wondered how many attackers there could be since they were staging from such a dangerous location – surely only certain exceptional individuals could make the trek?

And now, nearly thirty hours later, I wonder nothing at all. My head is completely empty, as Gorfane weaves and dances before me. Each swing ends the life – or unlife? – of one of the Unbound. Every cut is graceful and precise as I dance atop this rampart – my sword sings. My heart is still and quiet, making nary a Whisper, there is no joy, there is only the rhythm. The dance of the blade. The cut and dodge, stab and twist, press forward and slash – slash – slash. Stepping into my latest foe a limb – detached from its owner – rolls nearly under my feet, with a deft motion I step around it, blade sliding up and through my insectile opponent almost as an afterthought before I jump backward nearly two dozen feet.

The worn stone of the rampart is littered with the corpses of my foes. Drenched in the foul ichors that ooze from their lifeless bodies. Hazardous conditions for swordplay, in short.

[[Vortex Slash]]

I send out my personal brand of martial magic, and a rain of bug limbs and carcasses is blown away, the rising wind scraping the length of the rampart clean of… debris. And already I can see more of the things clambering over the stone wall. I take a quick glance around me, observing my surroundings with an impassive eye, after about ten seconds of that I'm satisfied, confident. My breath smooth and even, I move forward to meet the new challengers. Despite that being probably the hundredth time I've had to clear the littered remains of their corpses the bugs push forward unheeding, that's fine though – it just means I keep killing until they're all dead.

Right now there is no danger. With the Hero party distributed on the other ramparts, there is no need to fear. We can't push out from the fort yet, with the current status quo all we can do is beat the unending tide of spiders back one at a time, but it is only a matter of time before something changes. They cannot press us with these numbers forever. By the time that thought completes in my mind I've already hewn through a dozen new opponents, my holy sword undulled as it slides effortlessly through the shiny carapace surrounding their bodies. As always the Unbound are nothing before me.

*Boom*

The whole rampart shakes, as a huge and glossy black thing appears over the edge – smashing down into another Unbound and crushing it into paste. The newcomer is a massive leg that terminates in a cluster of chitinous barbs and hooks, for a moment it settles into the stone, and then it flexes – propelling the huge body of a Knight Class onto the rampart – eight purple eyes glare down at me murderously.

Casually, I reverse my grip on Gorfane, slipping the blade back into its sheath. Then, with exaggerated slowness, I set my stance – my face a mask as I stare down the huge Unbound. There is an instant of stillness, my keen eyes aware of – but not following – the spray of green ichor kicked up by the smashing arrival of the Knight Class, but for that, the world is still. And then, as always, the calm is broken, as power fills the eight limbs of the Knight Class and it launches itself forward – my enhanced dynamic vision spots dozens of stands of silk spooling out around it, nearly invisible in the night sky, like a grasping hand ready to slam shut – but I don't break my stance, only slightly lowering my center of gravity and tightening my hand on the worn hide grip of my sword.

After all, it doesn't matter how big its body might be, all it takes is a single nick from my blade. The monster will be torn apart from the inside… destroyed by

[[Pestilence]]

My body surges forward, an unstoppable sickness, undeniably fatal – death wreathing the edge of my blade. The two of us pass each other, my body nimbly slipping under its huge frame – leaving a thin line on its belly as I pass through – rolling a half dozen across the hard stone on the other side, before deftly regaining my feet. An agreeable buzz resounds in my ears.

My blade sinks back into its sheath and I don't spare a backward glance for the trembling hulk of soon to be dead flesh behind me, my attention entirely consumed by a sudden realization. My eyes followed those silken strands, falling down over the fort like snow, up and up along the mountainside – and what was revealed to me was a web. Massive in scope, built along the side of the mountain in clear defiance of common sense. And. I see them. Dozens… hundreds?… of Unbound, clinging to the rock face above us, ominously glowing purple eyes cutting through the shroud of night.

The dirty gray strands that hold them aloft, to be visible from this distance, how many time must those threads have been layered and relayered? At this distance, how big are those Unbound? I can see their horrible chitinous legs, blurs of motion, as the crawl along the mountainside – and a chilly feeling settles in the pit of my stomach, the Whispering Heart thoroughly disrupted, as I compare the spiders above me to the monster I just fought – surely it's impossible? They can't all be Knight Class?

My sword flashes out, another Unbound split in twain in the midst of its attempt to attack me in my moment of distraction, but before my attention can be fully returned to the foes in front of me… I see it.

Further up, an Unbound even larger than those that are scuttling on the mountainside, it's body huge and bloated, covered in odd warts and protrusions, scabby gray armor of webbing – no, not armor… eggs – some sort of monster queen, poised high above Kline's Reach. Around me, from everywhere and nowhere, the buzzing continues – defiantly.