As their spire crumbled to ash, the cultists lurking nearby began to scatter. The flame filled them with fear, and their confusion was evident in their panic. Some fled, running further south towards the direction of Meshira.

Yet there was a sudden change in the enemy’s ranks, a sudden command of clarity that made them all stop and gather back together. The crowd rallied together behind the burning embers of their spire, their distant forms preparing to charge. From the ruins of the building, a small cloud of skal’va that had managed to survive slowly buzzed into the air, swirling around the group of cultists. They glanced at their burning temple with rage, letting out a hoarse cry before charging towards the exhausted legion.

“To arms! Form ranks!” Mors called out hurriedly, the tired soldiers hastily reaching out for their familiar equipment. Their brothers were still newly dead, their corpses not yet cold, yet still came another battle. Many of the legionaries struggled to even raise their shields, and even Joy felt the fatigue of the previous night course through his veins.

“Archers, nock!” came the command, and Joy heard the faint clatter behind him of arrows on wood. He let out a low rumble of a roar, one that was echoed by the handful of demons still living, digging his hind claws into the dirt.

“Draw!” The skal’va were buzzing loud now, their swarm letting out an eerie screech as they prepared to dive. The cultists beneath them were raging, having surrendered entirely to the shadow inside of them. Their bodies were warped and nearly tearing open, entire limbs now sheathed in black. Contorted veins stretched over flapping remnants of skin, the pulsing cords half as thick as a forearm.

“Fire!” The air was filled with a dull whistle as a hundred arrows leapt from their bows, and Joy let out a hoarse howl, launching himself forward with the same momentum. Behind him, the other demons swiftly followed, tongues of flame darting out of their maws as they huffed in anticipation.

The volley fell harmlessly through the cloud of skal’va utterly incapable of harming their minute bodies. Joy only had a few seconds to watch as the arrows struck the cultists, most missing into the dirt, but a few burying themselves into masses of writhing shadow. Then, before he knew it, the tide broke and surged upwards upon him, and he leapt forwards to meet it.

He crashed into a massive cultist, the man’s body nearly doubled in size by skal. The black mist numbed Joy’s chest where the cultist had scraped him, and a twisted arm was drawn back for another blow. Joy hurriedly rolled to the side, drawing on some tired remains of mahji to flow out of his claws. With a low hiss, he slashed upwards along the man’s arm, watching with satisfaction as the limb caught aflame with the stench of char and smoke. Then, he whirled around to find a new opponent, leaving the man to writhe in agony.

The other demons were bearing the brunt of the cultists, the forces evenly matched in spite of their low number. The larger problem was the cloud of skal’va now bearing down on the legion, battering through the shieldwall and wearing away the nearly broken soldiers. Joy watched as a stray bolt of lightning blasted down from the sky, crashing down through the swarm only to fizzle out harmlessly on the ground. Kha teetered dangerously after casting the spell, coughing up a mouthful of blood before collapsing to the ground, having overdrawn himself.

Damnation, Joy swore before suddenly turning on instinct just it time to catch a savage swipe across the chest. He staggered back, the wound weeping black mist and the skin around it sloughing off in chunks. The cultist smiled at him with bloodshot eyes, his tattered robes twisted and torn between bulging muscles. Inwardly, Joy cursed himself for being distracted in a fight before reaching down once more for mahji.

It was with a sinking feeling that he found nothing there, the pool empty.

Joy rolled to the side to avoid another blow, his hind legs finding purchase in the dirt enough to launch him forwards into the cultist’s legs. He sank his teeth into the cold muscle, tasting iron and ice before tearing out the flesh and recoiling backwards. Black blood spilled out of the wound, shadowy worms working hurriedly to reknit the flesh as the man struggled to stand. Joy immediately looked around, finding a nearby demon belching fire as it wrestled with two cultists of its own.

Not even hearing the growl that escaped his own mouth, Joy barreled into one of them, his horns finding gratifying contact with muscle and meat. He narrowly felt the scorching heat of flame over his own neck, heard the dying screams of the other man, and tore his victim off his horns with savage swipes. Joy stepped back from the convulsing fool just in time for the demon to spew forth flame and fury, rendering the man and skal within to ash.

“My thanks.” the broad-shouldered demon replied, scraping a bit of torn flesh off of its oversized forearms. Wisps of smoke curled upwards from the edges of its mouth, its yellow eyes dilated as it breathed hard from bloodlust. Joy opened his mouth to say something, only to be caught off guard as the demon shoved him to the side.

Joy felt the heat of another torrent of flame over his shoulder, turning to watch as the demon roasted another cultist. Yet the dying man let out a scream, swiping upwards with blackened claws and tearing a gash through the demon’s throat before collapsing in a ball of orange.

Joy gave another roar of grief, reaching down through the flame and tearing off the man’s twitching arm. Spying another cultist greedily tearing into a demon’s corpse, he bounded forward in a sprint. The man barely had time to look up in surprise before Joy was upon him, prying open the man’s mouth with jaw and claws. There was a brutal snap as the tendons tore, a wet ripping of muscle, and Joy shoved the still-burning limb into the wound. The cultist gave a gurgling scream before the flame caught, spreading rapidly over his body.

Joy stepped back, his heart pounding before whirling around—only to find the battlefield eerily silent. With a start, he spied only three other demons still standing, one of them missing an arm as he burnt the wound shut. None of the cultists remained, two figures fleeing into the distance only for a bat-like demon to scorch them with flame. The third demon was a familiar figure, his body covered with plates of bone, his arms tipped with wicked blades.

They were all the remained of his people. They had won.

Tiredly, he turned back to glance at the legion, uncertain of what he wished to see. Perhaps, he hoped feverishly, they had vanquished the skal’va. It was a wild dream, one that he clung desperately to.

He turned to find the shieldwall utterly broken.

The ranks were a chaotic mess, holes showing like arrow wounds in an arm. The ground was littered with the armor of the dead, eaten hollow by the skal’va. The remaining few legionaries struggled to stand, their blades slashing forward gouts of flame that met mostly air. The skal’va danced back, attacking in paced swarms that wore the men down little by little. Joy watched as the cloud descended on the right-most arm of the wall, the small group of men still standing there desperately raising their shields before slashing out.

Yet the strength of the legion lay in their numbers, in their cohesion. Those ten men broke as easily as one, the skal’va descending on them like locusts. In four heartbeats, their breastplates clattered to the ground, their runeblades spinning to bury themselves in the dirt.

Once more, the cloud of skal’va pulled back, seeing the legion utterly broken. Some thirty men raised tired shields, and Joy saw motion in the back ranks as roughly ten of the surviving archers dropped their bows. He saw Mors wave his arm, saw Kha standing nearby. Joy saw the man’s mouth move, saw the demon meet his gaze. And then the men drew their swords, half-shattered things scavenged from the ground. The hilts glowed with green marai, crackling madly and trailing fire.

Kha told him, Joy realized. The runes on the swords were potent, but unstable. If overdrawn or shattered, they would detonate into flame. They had not told the men, afraid that they would not fight with bombs in their hands. Perhaps in the heat of combat, amidst the fire and frenzy, the men might not have noticed. But now, as the skal’va descended one last time, it would be the only thing that might stop them.

The swarm struck them, storming through columns of fire only to find glowing runes waiting for them. There was a fateful heartbeat as nothing happened, as the first rune finally shattered outwards with a keening wail, and then the man holding the blade disappeared in a flash of white-green light.

With that first detonation, the others ignited as well. The ground itself rumbled as the chain reaction of blossoming flame rippled through the ranks. Joy had to look away, his vision briefly blinded as the runes ruptured.

When the dust finally cleared, he saw the resulting carnage. The entire ranks had been devastated, the men and skal alike consumed in the blaze. Shields were twisted and melted by the intensity of the blast, dirt and corpses strewn madly through the lands.

Not even a hundred paces away, the handful of surviving soldiers looked on with horror.