Stop. Before they see...

That voice repeated itself. Over and over in his head, but it wasn't his. Tyr had nearly collapsed under the screaming in his mind. The nails were hotter than ever and he wanted them out, to release them and bury them in the flesh of another. But someone... Some thing had taken him away and was attempting to contain him. Like a pot under pressure his lid was clattering and threatening to fly off at any moment.

Stop. Before they see... Stop before they see! Beware the sea!

The alien presence couldn't stay for long. Tyr had no time to wonder at its nature, only knowing that it was no god. But something living and material. Something natural and not the enemy. Still, his attempts to contain the emotion threatening to overload him were in vain. Did he even want to contain it? If he let it loose, he'd kill the paladin, tear his barbed tongue from his lips and flay him. Probably Daito, too, but Tyr didn't care. The problem was the violence. They were only minutes from the city walls now. What if it extended across the space? It felt like it might. There was something so real about the sensation, as if he held the strings of a death in his hand and a pair of scissors with the other. All of the right to clip them and see it done.

It didn't belong to him though, coming from some other place. Not the voice in his head begging him to quiet his mind, but something greater and far older older. Something that was defined so vividly, so close to the 'truth'. Thoughtless, cold, uncaring. A yawning void that would reap anything it touched. There was a resistance, little chains and hooks piercing his flesh in an effort to contain him. Ten thousand hands held him down in the twilight, but they were so immaterial. He denied them, and they scattered.

Finally, the voice sighed in resignation. Releasing him. He stood once again in front of the paladin, feeling an incredible chill on him, something so real that the fire that was always with him fled from its presence. Mustache leveled his blade in an overhead defensive posture, shaking in body but full of cool purpose at the eye. Ready for whatever came. Tyr was not calm, but he tried to be still. He was offered a scarlet fruit by a pale hand, a woman of black tears and eyes swirling against a sea of nothing as if underwater. He knew his answer lay not in that fruit, that he shouldn't so much as look at it let alone bite from it, but take it he did. One of many such seeds that he'd felt in his life, only now able to recognize how many rules he'd broken.

Take it. She said. It's yours.

“Paladin. Do you love your goddess?” He walked softly, letting the warhammer slide smoothly from his grip to land in the well turned pile of dirt with a dull thud. His steps carried him far beyond what his movement would suggest. Betraying all the laws of physics as he slid through air. Mustache nodded once, absolute confidence in his gaze. He could feel the power possessing this man chewing away at the array until nothing was left, leaving him exhausted and barely capable of holding his blade aloft. His body sagged and his mind screamed for him to drop to the dirt and rest. But he remained steady. Never had he lowered himself before an enemy, and he never would.

“Indura.” Tyr looked into the sky toward the supposed locations of the heavens. “The goddess of truth, they call you. Justice, purity, all of that.” Mustache frowned, the boy was speaking to his goddess, not to him. What kind of madness would possess a man to bait a deity, even if she wasn't watching? “Will you not aid this lifelong follower of yours? Your gods are a lie, paladin. There are no gods here. Only me.” Tyr spat on the ground, still staring at the sky. And yet no wrath came, as Mustache would've expected. Something he'd believed his entire life, feeling a baleful chill settle over his body. “I'll ask you again, do you love your goddess?”

“With all my heart.” Mustache replied confidently. “Forever.”

“Then I'll send you to her.” Tyr's lips were a thin, white line. His hair tousled by a breeze that only he could feel, face stretched into an inhuman mask by the dim light of the handheld crystal lanterns. “You can tell her that I'm coming.”

He had no power left to spare. Tyr was a rapidly burning wick and his body could not handle all the abuse it had gone through. A seed had been given, but he knew not when the tree would grow. Another god, another worthless promise. He was left cold and emotionless, pulling a shard of the shattered auronite out of his dimensional ring and forcing it into the paladins mouth. Sagging visibly as he allowed his spira to command it to expand, leaving a teetering corpse with a silver block of metal as its head, covered in blood, gray matter, and bits of skull. A cracked egg.

Daito snorted at the ridiculous way in which the boy had spoken. Both men were collapsed. One near death, and the other far beyond it. To insult a god in full view of the men who served as their many eyes was an irresponsible thing. Daito doubted any of them had ever cared in any case. More paladins would come, from other churches, and he could not watch over the young man indefinitely, no matter his agreement. All to be done right now is to carry the limp body back to the city. Only after, of course, taking the time to loot the paladins of their valuables.

–

“Let's go, let's go!” Rorik's hand wheeled rapidly as the citizens of Riverwood were hastened into the confines of the church. Sanctified land surrounded all godly structures, and this one was no different. Their last line of defense, as the town was overrun and half of their menfolk either dead or dying under the tainted blades of the undead. His armor fit him poorly, but he wore it, making it easier for the others to identify him. It had rained for three days straight, and the river had flooded to the point of overwhelming their trenched defenses in front of the main gate. Washing away many of the undead, but they always came back, no longer afraid of the water.

At first, things had been manageable. Just skeletons and the odd zombie from one of the peasants living outside the confines of the wall. But undead were possessive of a unique ability to shape their environment. Their influence spread, and they evolved with it Skinless ghouls scaled the walls or clawed their way through barriers, howling and baying madly for the hot blood of the living. Banshees soared overhead, shrieking and cavorting beneath the red moon in search of anyone with no roof to protect them.

He'd never seen anything like it, not in all his years.

An outbreak. Even the grotesques of Hastur hadn't been this bad, though mages were rare in the region so the dozens of their ilk were nothing like the thousands of undead that surrounded them now. Even a dullahan. A higher undead had come at the head of the latest legion, carrying his helmeted head in his arms and silently commanding the lesser undead into a more organized attack. Even through the rain, they could smell the sickness and corruption. Something on the air that came from each and every one of them. Turning trees into blackened and dead things weeping scarlet sap from their once leafy boughs. Scourging the earth and leaving trails of nothing along their march, all at the behest of a greater undead.

“It's time for you to leave.” Rorik ensured that the last of those that remained were in the church. Some had opted to fight and die in their homes or steads, too prideful. A shame, they were long gone by now.

A horde of undead sat silent and twitching some five meters from the door of the holy house. They hated all that was sacred. Despite rabid lust for life, sanctified ground was not so easy to tread upon. But then again, with the dullahan at their head, even flowing water wasn't enough. Perhaps they had struck at the monasteries to the north and halted their attempts to bless the river. None could know, trapped here as they were, with Alex's communication amulets silent and lifeless. “You've no need to die here. Head north and warn the other towns and villages.”

“The legions will arrive at any moment.” Alex shook her head in refusal. There was no reason for them not to arrive. It had already been so long, surely they knew of what was occurring in the domain of the demesne? Or perhaps this was another one of the primus' plans, to leave them for dead. Alex refused to dance on his strings. “I will stand.” She growled, wishing it wasn't raining. Even if her own magic didn't harm her, the same could not be said of the others standing outside the church. Her mana reserves were so low, regardless, that she dare not evoke a spell. Lest she find herself run dry of the energy and unconscious on her feet. Or worse. And electrocuting everyone around her in the process.

“Mmm...” Rorik chuckled. He was a veteran, well used to the horrors of war. While this particular enemy was so cold and mindless – he was well aware of his duty. Like her, he'd stick to it. Perhaps the future wasn't so grim after all. With young men and women like these. Neither the legions nor the colleges would arrive, and he knew it. If they had a mind to send aid, they'd have arrived days ago. This was a lesson to them, one he could not understand – but would accept it. “It will be an honor to fight by yourself a bit longer, my lady.”

The time for talking was over.

That dullahan dismounted his black, half decayed horse. Everything about this horde was undead, including the mount he had rode in on, stalking lazily through the arrayed lesser undead to face them directly. Taking even steps through the field of sanctified ground. His body smoked and writhed as soon as it entered the yard of the church, but it was a small thing. No grand cathedral. One he was deep enough inside the invisible barrier, it warped and cracked. With enough force as to be audible even to the non-mages. Alex felt the mana flee the land as the arrays were eaten away by the corrupting nature of the undead. Leaving them alone and defenseless against the still, black knight, and the horde behind him.

“Here we go.” Rorik grunted, hoisting a lumbering axe. His weapon was long dull and twisted beyond use, requiring him to find another.

“Here we go.” Alex repeated with a sigh. To die here was not a part of her initial plan, but she'd grown fond of these men. All their bravery and absolute faith in silent gods and the empire alike. Their strong backs and honest way of speaking. How they treated her like one of their own now, rather than someone born to greatness.

Just before the horde of undead struck their lines before of defense, a quake rocked half their number off their feet. Cracking at the ground and throwing the undead back.

Riverwood was split into two, separated by a yawning, midnight chasm. Towered worms with flanks of segmented reddish chitin burst from the darkness, widening it yet further and thrashing madly in their bid to squeeze through. No friends, that much was apparent. Alex had never seen anything like these beasts. They were titanic, easily ten meters above ground and with presumably more length beneath, reminding her of the lindwurm.

They smashed the undead aside like gnats, crushing multiple buildings beneath their weight and turning the once neat square into a field of ruin. The dullahan hoisted an overly large, broken greatsword over his shoulder and strode forward, black energy wreathing his form, lazily disemboweling one of the worms, turning to another. The undead did not feel fear. It wasn't in their nature. Yet... It seemed these worms were only supporting actors in the thrilling events that would follow.

Clawed, scaly, fanged creatures erupted from the maws of the various beasts. Some dragged themselves free with a sickening squelch, pouring out of the near bisected worm. Neither Alex nor Rorik were sure which was more terrifying. These overly muscled reptilian things, standing six feet tall, with their long claws and wicked fangs, or the undead. One fought silently, and the other trumpeted their fury from distended jaws – tearing through the lines of the undead with great fury. She'd never seen the worms, and she'd never seen these creatures. They were wrath incarnate, some of them stood taller than their kin, and some far shorter. Each designed for a particular purpose, even possessing their own mages by the looks of it.

It was their appearance, the spiny, ridged backs. Heads framed with brightly colored quills and feathers, faces like the predatory raptid she'd seen courtesy of traveling Assyrian side-shows in her youth. Everything about them seemed made to kill.

But the dullahan was incredible in his power. Three swings and a score of the scaled reptiles lay dead or dying in the streets of Riverwood. Despite that, it didn't arrest their momentum. More and more of them began pouring out until... “Goblins!” Rorik shouted, a much more common enemy in the region, but these were different than any he'd ever seen. He was aware of kobolds, but not this variant of goblin.

“REEEEEE! STINKY BONE THING!”

They came in a flash, bizarre fleshy rodents with pale, hairless skin, long wicked spears of bone stabbing out from their mounted position. Bursting through the destroyed remnants of the gate and flanking the undead with none of the cowardice their race were known for. Larger than those Rorik was used to, with their green skin come blueish and slightly thicker at the limbs. Hooting and chirping to one another before falling on the undead in manic glee.

“What the hell is happening!?” Alex cried, edging away from the expanding fissure, her ebony hair soaked through along with what armor she could scavenge from the dead. Her eyes were lit with panic and confusion, unsure of which monster in particular to consider an enemy. The scaled humanoids and goblins were clearly fighting as allies. They would eye one another nervously before turning away and continuing to the fight, some slammed together back to back and remaining so. The scaly saurian creatures smashed through the legion, throwing their weight at the dullahan in an exhibition of suicidal madness, no matter how many of their fellows were smashed apart.

Some would be chopped at the waist, the taint warping their bodies, dragging themselves in a bid to continue slaying. Others would trumpet out and a smaller variant of their apparent kin would brain them before the 'change' could come. It was violent, chaotic, but effective. Clearly these things were aware of the undead. Some kind of ancestral enemy?

“We are here, long legs. Well... Not so long leg, now. Changed, see?” A... A lizard...? Whatever it was, it had marched fearlessly toward their line to present itself, nimbly hopping over the split earth. Rorik leveled his axe to strike at the creature, until the reptilian held its hands up in obvious surrender. It looked like a beastkin, but reptilian. There was a common thing among beastkin, in that they were all mammals. This was something different. “Kobold friends to friends of Tear. See? Not meaning harm, come to help. Late, and sorry for, bring friends from south we meet in a caves. Call me Luk, we are here to help.” The lizard... Smiled? Alex had never communicated with monsters before, unsure of how to handle the uncomfortable expression splitting the creatures scaly lips.

“Well... Uh...” Alex coughed. “Thanks...?”

“No need for thanking.” This 'Luk' slammed his fist into his chest in a bizarre approximate of a Harani military salute. “One tribe under chieftain. Me, you, wrinkled elder. All friend, like family! No more talking right now, need for fighting!”

Luk promptly turned, leveling a long barreled implement toward the dullahan, letting loose with a tremendous booming, deafening the shocked humans at his shoulder. A tongue of flame came loose from the cylinder, crumpling in the dullahan's breastplate. Not enough to kill it, but enough to force it to drop its weapon. Dozens of the reptilian creatures clammed their jaws onto its black armor, thrashing their necks about violently and tearing it into pieces. Still squirming, it wasn't dead, with the lizards seemingly content to simply chuck its remains into the crevasse.

Alex, craning her neck, could see hundreds of tiny torch lights waiting to catch these parts and others below. Those who carried them, whatever race they belonged to, all kept screaming the same thing. “Bless the sun!”