‘While surrounded on many sides and fatigued, and wounds sore us annoy, these hoards of men are nothing before the victor of Krieg. All who stand before, he shall destroy; for we have a cause that’s just and equal, our adversaries is not right; for our summons of the Creator shall put one thousand and more all to flight. They beat war drums, sing of words of piety, and praise our Lord; yet actions veiled that singularly serve are committed, hidden in shadows of impropriety, all abhorred by our Lord.’ - An excerpt from a poem written by a member of the clergy and a Scholar of Theurgy, before their return to the convent; propagated in pamphlets, January 1263.

———

Chains of fire fell limp from the hilt of the battle axe. A colossal hand, suited in metal gauntlets, grasped at it, slowly tugging it back towards himself. He whipped the chain downwards, and it pummelled the earth violently. It detonated an explosion of dried dust into the air. A man leaped to the side as the whip snaked down just beside him.

Cythraul had barely reacted in time, his face lit crimson by the hue of the chain of fire. His opponent had reinforced and enhanced themselves with Malevolency, which put him at a significant disadvantage.

He was now fighting a superhuman, while he remained at mortal power. His own strength and senses were not yet enhanced due to the rules he subscribed himself to at the beginning of the duel.

The blade of a battle axe passed over his nose horizontally, left to right, gently grazing the skin. Cythraul had managed to take a step backwards, just enough to survive. He felt a brutish force pummel into his chest, kicking him backwards. Cythraul flew away, his armour crumpled inwards into his torso, shattered, and his body skidded along the floor. The fire whipped down, perfectly timed to lacerate him in half.

Cythraul vaulted backwards at an angle, pushing upwards with his arms, and away diagonally behind him to the right. The flames whipped past his body, and repeatedly followed him in his escape. He mixed slides with vaults and jumps to avoid what he could, but the fire still licked his body repeatedly.

His hands were red raw. His face blackened. What was left of his shattered breast and backplate had melted. That had been painful, melting his chest before he could unbuckle it. Despite this, nearly enough time had passed before he could channel, and fight back with Malevolency.

Elfin wisps of cadmium energy were drawn out of his wounds, and it floated towards the chieftain’s shoulder, entering the gash. Cythraul inspected his Wick and found that his reserves hadn’t diminished as much as he thought it might.

His candles within each branch of the golden candelabra had melted slightly. The flames twitched from an invisible wind. Once he killed this Berserker, he’d replenish his reserves to what it was before his fight at the encampment. He smirked, looking forward to it.

He had used his mortal agility to manoeuvre himself closer and closer to the Berserker. They were within distance for close combat, the whip of fire that had entangled itself around the chieftain’s hand was partially dispelled. It shrunk so it would be usable at this distance, instead of disadvantaged by its long range.

Cythraul thrust forwards, aiming for the neck. The Berserker struck twice, the first to knock the blade away, the second hammered the sabre down to the right, opening Cythraul’s body up. He followed up with a sickening strike that descended vertically, aiming to tear Cythraul’s clavicles.

The crescent blade glinted cruelly in the flare’s light. Cythraul threw hesitation to the wind, sliding his right foot forwards so that his head was just beneath the axe. He punched his free hand upwards, aiming at the arm that wielded the weapon, ignoring the whip made of fire.

The strength was herculean. It was as if the battle axe were a juggernaut, its path would not be impeded. Cythraul couldn’t stop it, and it rested in the space just before his head. However, he offset the angle enough that it would pass by his body without cutting him.

The chieftain grunted, and fire exploded through his Channeler’s weapon, covering the arm was that Cythraul was blocking. The flames burst, searing the skin of Cythraul’s arm until it was blistering. He screamed a cry of pain, but repressed it, flicking his blade upwards. It travelled diagonally from right to left.

It cut into the Berserker’s side; fresh blood oozed out. He tried to stab it in further, wanting to destroy his internal organs, but only the tip penetrated the body. The defensive spells of the chieftain stopped it before it could do any more damage than cutting an inch deep.

“Augmentation!” Cythraul shouted. He channelled Malevolent energy through his body, and he felt the familiar burst of superhuman strength and speed. His muscles twitched, and he jumped backwards, separating himself and his blade from the Berserker.

He avoided the path of the axe that cleaved down upon the empty air of where he once stood. His arm shook from the pain of the burn, it still sizzled, releasing the stench of burnt flesh. However, the time period had ended. He was finally allowed to use Malevolency.

———

A hand was thrust down once more, and the archers released their strained bows. The tension in the strings released, and the arrows were catapulted into the sky. The volley bombarded down at a man and two women who were crossing the moat by horseback.

Cadmium red energy flickered around their body like electricity. They formed incorporeal red webs that stuck onto the submerged Berserkers, their bodies punctured by arrows. These three riders were siphoning the Malevolent energy from their dead brigaders, treating them like batteries that charged and sourced power.

A female Berserker that wore a mask with an elongated smile, the only of its kind on the battlefield, barked out a chant. A wave of red energy exploded before her, forming an invisible net that stopped the arrows in their tracks. They slowly turned around. With a wave of her own sabre, the arrows gained speed. She thrust her blade forwards, and the arrows ignited.

The Viscounts, Barons, and Knights pushed the bowmen out of their way, and channelled into their weapons. Some used formless fire, while others cast stronger spells. The flames converged, roiling, and writhing in the space above then. The fire danced wildly as the strands were weaved into the shape of an orb of molten lava.

The calm surface of the sphere broke, with waves crashing out. A supernatural force was tugging at it, attempting to mould the orb anew. It was stretched, initially creating a panel which turned into a bulwark shield that protected the space before the parapets. It was a wall of magma, something denser than fire. Something that could absorb the arrows, not letting the penetrate through.

“No!” Rupert shouted from the outpost, knowing the outcome of their mistake. His attention had been drawn by those three Berserkers. They were the clan leaders. The Praeteritum Earls. He turned his head towards a messenger to his left.

“Marquis Tasai, Earl Druan, and Earl Methiant are to get off the walls and onto the battlefield this instant. They are to fight the clan leaders. They must lure them away from the walls and from the army.” Rupert ordered.

His frustration was riding high, and he raised his hands to his mouth. He furiously bit down on his nails to ease his frustration. Though, he quickly stopped. He was trying to break the bad habit. It gave too much away to observant peers.

He watched as the flaming arrows took a wild dive just before the wall of magma. The tipped arrows penetrated the stone crownwork wall, and the shaft and feathers which protruded out was enough of a signal for the Berserker. She waved her curved sabre and the stored Malevolency inside detonated.

Cracks wrecked through the crownwork walls, and it gave way with a sonorous cry. The once fractures turned into boulders that fell away carrying soldiers away with them. What was stark was the fragility of soldier and officer alike, both unable to prevent their fate as they were crushed beneath the weight of the debris.

The force disturbed the spell, yet the molten liquid did not disappear. It rippled from the force of the explosion that detonated beneath it. As some of the officers that controlled the spell fell away with the wall, the rest lost control of it.

The force that kept the moulded magma in place dispersed into nothingness, and the unrestrained flames cascaded on top of the soldiers. They were bathed in molten fire, and they were trapped in an unforgiving crucible. The only survivors were those that stood near the few remaining officers who held their weapons out horizontally, channelling defensive spells narrowly in time.

Rupert cursed as watched the aftermath of the attack, his eyes trained on the cadmium energy that floated out from the ruined boulders and debris. There was nothing he could do to protect them from their fate.

Rupert’s messengers rode on horseback and scattered along the different walkways. His eyes could no longer keep up with them as the disappeared into the depths of the Bastion. As he waited, he turned his attention to the broader battlefield once more.

A Praeteritum Knight charged over a ditch, then slid down under the protection of the ribbed earth. As he came to a stop, he lay his head and ear to the ground. Shallow reverberations rippled through the earth, and he feel and hear them rhythm.

With spear in hand, he channelled his energy into it, creating formless flames that coated the shaft and blade, as well as his arm. He stabbed down into the earth, feeling the resistance fade as it fell into open space. He clenched his hand, a sign of exertion, as he blew fire into the tunnels below.

Inside, it was like a dragon’s breath, incinerating the unsuspecting Cymorthian miners. They were unable to defend themselves, their Malevolency was neutered. Their skeletons fell to the earth, charred black. Only the officer survived. She had positioned herself behind the miners. It was the only safe position to be in within the tunnels, and the miners always made first contact with the Praeteritum tunnels.

She stumbled backwards, shocked at the suddenness of the assault. She turned and ran away, tripping on the protruding rocks and stalagmites left behind by the miners. She would return to the walls and wait for more soldiers to be reassigned to her before she continued fighting again.

Rupert saw similar cases such as these throughout the battlefield. The tide was turning against his army for now. The flow that had given them their initial success had been lost, though he wasn’t sure what had caused it. Not yet, though he had an idea.

The messengers appeared once more, and he saw them reach their recipients. The Marquis and Earls nodded in acknowledgment of his command. They acted immediately, jumping off the walls.

As their feet were about touch the water, to plummet through into the icy depths, an array was activated immediately. The water exploded upwards, splashing the three ranked officers. Beneath their feet were floating blocks of stone and mud, very similar to the ones on which Rupert and Cythraul rode in on.

They charged towards the three Berserkers, eventually coalescing to form a v-formation with Marquis Tasai at the leading position and the two Earls flanking him. The Berserkers noticed them but chose to ignore their pursuit. They were closing in on the walls.

The second female Berserker chanted a spell on her horse, raising her recurved composite bow and drawing it back. At first, there was no arrow strained in position, however, embers slowly flickered sparks, forming the shape of an arrow. She pulled back further, and it grew. Like a ballista bolt made of hellfire, she released the string, and let it fly at the wall.

The Marquis and Earls were unable to stop her, and the bolt smashed against the crownwork wall. It penetrated through the stone defences, and then detonated. Liquid fire billowed into the sky, temporarily contesting the flare's position as a second sun.

It dealt the final blow to the major exterior bastion defence. It ruptured into blocks of stone debris, cement, and boulders. After a short delay, the few surviving soldiers and officers tumbled down with the wall. They crumpled crudely onto the pile of rugged stone debris, their bodies landing in awkward contortions. An influx of rock crushed them as it fell on top of them, trapping the corpses in a tomb made of the stone walls.

A fountain of intangible energy surged out from the walls, bleeding into the sky a deep scarlet red, before being dragged towards the nearby Berserkers. Cheers erupted from the Praeteritum encampment, their morale sky high. Their clan leaders had managed to destroy the first segment of the Cymorthian fortress. Inversely, the House Honnen levied army were deflated, part of their morale lost.

‘Not all is lost, though, this is as low as the battle can be. From here the battle can only improve. All the Berserker’s leaders are engaged in combat. Their Marquis is fighting Cythraul, their Earls engaged with our Marquis and Earls. Their remaining Knights will be swept away.’ Rupert analysed to himself.

His eyes were trained on the brutal melee that had opened between Praetertium’s and Cymorth’s highest ranked officers. Their weapons drew sparks, and the Malevolency created embers. It was a duel of fire.

Rupert was distracted from their combat from movement to the battle’s right. He turned his head and cursed out loud.

“Those bastards! They deserve death!” He bellowed from the outpost. He rotated his body, about to run to stop the officers that stood atop a separated ravelin. However, a hand was placed in front of his body, which he nearly tripped over. He looked down and saw it to be Hanabl Cadarn.

“Just wait. They will get their comeuppance.” She whispered, malice in her eyes.

He looked down upon her, confused, then trained his eyes upon that section of the battlefield. Soldiers, his soldiers, were running across floating stone blocks towards the brawl between Marquis and Earls. They had not been commanded to leave their walls.

From above, on the ravelin, the scab officers waved their hands and shouted commands to their soldiers. It was a blatant act of insubordination, a heinous crime that needed to be paid with by blood. They selfishly risked the lives of a battalion; all lives save their own. Out of 480 that composed a battalion, 384 charged, while the 96 officers watched.