“Loose!” boomed Lady Katheryn. A wave of loud claps broke across the air as dozens of crossbow bolts lanced over the heads of the infantrymen. Their target: a lumbering ogre that set itself upon the town of Kristantin.

The beast, as it adeptly navigated the rough terrain of the forest floor, vented smoke and infernal embers from its ever-gaping mouth. The four legs that propped the creature upright seemed almost too small for the burly stature of its body. The limbs flexed and curled upon the roots and stones, never failing to secure purchase as it approached the clusters of Tritan soldiers. The thing’s age was obvious at this distance. Its chitin was scuffed and had been struck with The Rot; swathes of brown rash that ate away at the creature’s hide.

The majority of the bolts scraped across the ogre’s carapace, pinged off harmlessly, or missed. A very select few managed to impact its protective shell to varying degrees of effectiveness, while others had lodged themselves within gaps in its natural armour. Still though, it did not make a single cry as it continued on its path, ignorant of the attacks.

Katheryn howled, “Infantry, forward!”

Alric and his wing of footmen began to move in unison, sweeping toward their left flank with slow and deliberate movements. He kept his visor raised, seeing as he wouldn't be worrying about arrows or enemy weapons this day. The increased visibility was a must against this surprisingly agile beast.

He turned over his shoulder and watched as the crossbowmen behind him switched ranks. Those that had released their first shots rotated to the rear in order to begin the process of redrawing their weapons with the help of a windlass; a rope pulley system that was required to wrench the incredibly heavy bowstring into place.

Alric turned back to face the ogre in time to see the second volley of missiles find their mark. Much like the first wave of projectiles, it only served to garner the ogre’s attention.

As Alric’s contingent was flowing toward the beast’s right flank, the unit led by Sir Lamar de Montefon was creeping on its left. The ogre was fixated on the crossbowmen who paced themselves generously behind the infantry, hopefully granting the footmen the distraction they needed.

The ogre continued knocking over the thick trees, growing larger and larger in Alric’s vision. His fingers wrapped tightly around the shaft of his halberd. He no longer felt the stinging of the wound on his side...and it seemed he was in dire need of this newfound freedom.

The group of mounted crossbowmen, led by Katheryn herself, encircled the beast with their unmatched mobility. Most of the horses managed to remain focused, but one in particular was so frightened that it wrestled with its rider.

So far, the ogre paid no mind to the two groups of infantry that shuffled closer and closer to it; the crossbowmen formed far out of its range in front of the castle walls were still its central focus. The more steps Alric took, the more he was required to crane his head upward to look upon the beast.

“Hold!” Katheryn barked to her mounted men as they now found positions behind the ogre as it approached the castle walls.

As Alric and Lamar’s respective forces wrapped around the ogre’s side, it began to move right past them.

“Loose!”

The mounted crossbowmen discharged their bolts. The ogre’s rear was certainly not as well armoured as its front. Far fewer of the missiles were deflected, instead driving themselves into the exposed tendons on its legs.

Without any sound at all, the ogre simply stopped in its path toward Kristantin.

Alric screamed a battle cry at the top of his lungs, signalling the charge. Soon, a dense weave of voices enveloped his, declaring their bravery as the body of soldiers paced urgently forward.

The ogre was slowly turning about to face the newfound threat of mounted crossbows on its back, leaving it open to attack as it performed the awkward motion.

Alric was close enough now to see the individual flakes of its hide peeling off due to The Rot. Overwhelming now was the heat radiating from the ogre’s gullet. It distorted the air, causing it to shimmer and vibrate as it did in searing deserts. Alric raised his halberd for a running thrust as he came in-range of the stiff muscles of the ogre’s legs.

As it punctured the cables of muscle, his weapon’s shaft rumbled with the dark machinations of the ogre’s inner workings. The thumping of its fiery heart, the clicking of its massive joints, and perhaps the buzzing fury of its twisted empty soul. Thanks to the length of his weapon, Alric was several feet away from the dangerous footfalls of the beast. He pulled the halberd free and repeated his attack.

The men at Alric’s side joined him in jabbing and slashing the creature with their polearms. The blows that managed to strike true saw droplets of golden blood sprinkle forth like blessed rain. Adding this liquid to the tightly-knit nature of his wing, Alric could not see much. He knew only from the volume of screams and pressure on his sides that Lamar’s unit had just joined the charge.

Despite the storm of blades, the ogre showed no signs of slowing and simply continued in its slow maneuver. Alric then saw a problem. As leisurely as it turned, it would still overtake the large group of infantry and isolate some of its soldiers.

However, the time for action had long passed. A handful of unlucky souls found themselves in front of the behemoth. The ogre’s mandibles snapped outward and clamped onto a footman, one claw squeezing his helmet and the other shattering his collarbone. The man screeched. His helmet was slowly constricted by the ogre’s grip; the steel crinkled and narrowed as did the head within.

Alric and a handful of other men broke formation and hurried to aid those at risk. Here, in front of the beast, the heat became unbearable. With one of the two mandibles extended before him, Alric lifted his halberd upward and brought it down on the outstretched limb. As the others also discovered, these narrow arms were not so easily dispatched. The appendages were much more robust than they first seemed, absorbing the incoming strikes as if they were made of hardened steel.

Surely, the soldier rose into the air and was stuffed into the ogre’s maw. Bones snapped as the poor man was forced awkwardly into the belly of the beast. Alric froze. Yes, he had seen it happen before, but from a few hundred metres away. This time, he was mere feet removed. The ogre’s teeth spun so quickly that they appeared still. As the soldier was crammed inside, the oscillating fangs made mince of the man, his armour, his clothing, and his bones. His blood turned to steam before the searing furnace of the ogre’s innards. Alric could smell the stench of burning fabric, molten steel, and cooked matter.

Cries of horror began to seep through the wood.

Those before the titanic ogre’s face were paralysed by the most intense of fears. The ogre’s mandibles struck like jagged bolts of lightning, latching onto its next two victims in less than a second.

As these two doomed men struggled and screamed for help, those remaining struck out at the invincible creature. Steel chipped away at the already degrading shell of the ogre. Alric sent another overhead strike at one of the beast’s four knees.

When the head of his halberd impacted the massive knee cap, it unexpectedly tore through. The axehead hooked onto the carapace, moving not when Alric attempted to pull it free. He readjusted his grip, then poured every ounce of strength he possessed into one final attempt.

The halberd’s shaft now acted as a lever, wrenching the chitinous plate with the force Alric applied to it. With a startling ‘snap’, Alric almost toppled over. He managed to retain his grip on his weapon, but stumbled to his side when it suddenly broke free.

As he looked back to the ogre, he saw that the crusted shell protecting the beast’s knee had been pried free. The shield-sized piece of carapace ploughed into a group of soldiers who were winded by the object but otherwise unharmed. The Rot was an ailment that embrittled whatever and whoever contracted it; Alric believed it was the only reason he managed to loosen the ogre’s natural armour on his own.

Plainly visible was the ogre’s circular knee joint, plastered with The Rot much like its now-absent armour.

“Footmen, fall back!” called Katheryn.

Those previously seized by the creature had disappeared into its gullet while Alric was focused on his own attacks. He and the remaining infantry eagerly backed away as the crossbowmen stationed on the castle battlements commenced their first volley. The ogre’s attention had once again fallen upon those who had most recently struck it. It ignored the sea of footmen.

Alric didn’t understand the order to withdraw. The monstrosity is wounded, he thought. To let slip such an opportunity is most unwise.

The soldiers had separated into two groups and pulled into the cover of the wood, allowing the ogre the pass between them. Alric and those crowded around him were washed with fatigue. Alric tried to steady his breathing, but it seemed that he was in need of a few moments to catch his breath. He heard cries of fear and defeat among the footmen. Cries that he thought were pathetic yet justified.

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the brush behind Alric’s unit. The knight glanced over his shoulder with dread. An ambush! The Lacron…?!

What he beheld was not the colourful heraldry of Lacron nobility, but something else entirely. At first, Alric had sworn that the forest itself had come alive. Shapes of green and brown began to melt away from the backdrop of the wood. These amorphous blobs, as they drifted out of the shadow and into the sunlight, revealed themselves to have humanoid silhouettes.

The interlopers wore hooded robes strapped with leaves, twigs, and pieces of carved stone. Their visages were slathered with paint that coloured their faces a pale pink. Such an unnatural skin shell colour made Alric think that they were spirits of the wood.

Some of Alric’s men became aware of the strangers. “What tha fuck are ya doin’? Get ta safety!”

Of more interest to Alric than their clothing was what they held in their hands. The mere sight almost petrified him. All five strangers wielded arcane staves, dangerous instruments of black magic.

The strangers raised their staves, pointing the tips at the approaching ogre. Three of the weapons were identical to those Alric had come across in the past, including the one used by the heretic witch in the F’aldyn catacombs. The other two were clearly different; their shafts were wider, almost resembling a small cannon. Clear was the increased weight when the interlopers carrying them dropped a knee and braced themselves.

Alric’s stomach twisted inside him. His group of soldiers stood between this group of savage witches and their target. Anyone caught in the crossfire was in danger of death.

“Disperse!” Alric roared. He charged into the side of a man to his left, shoving him and those behind him out of the witches’ line of fire. “Disperse, fools!” he repeated.

With shrill pops, the three light staves each drew a bright, blue line onto the unstoppable creature. Upon impact, the lines blossomed into red puffs that spewed shards of ogre shell. Then, the two larger artefacts buzzed into life. Unlike their smaller counterparts, these two shook the ground with almost as much ferocity as the ogre’s own stomps. Dwarfing these pulses of force were the explosions caused when the arcane projectiles slammed into their target.

The holy knight sent his gaze to the beast. It was a miracle that no Tritans were killed in that foolhardy strike, but there was more he saw that rattled his mind. The upper face of the ogre’s torso had been punctured, caved inward. Alric could barely process what he had just seen. Black magic could so easily rupture this behemoth’s impenetrable skin?

A furious bleating emanated from the ogre as it once again reassessed its surroundings.

Alric looked to the interlopers. They stood at the ready, their staves affixed to their common foe. One of them locked eyes with Alric. He said nothing, but the knight could feel his intent. He was no enemy this day.

“What do we do, milord?” asked a footman.

The Knight Thestor turned on his heels. “Slay the beast!”

Alric had to shelve the thought that five witches were present on the battlefield. He wanted nothing more than to put these men on trial for the practice of dark magic but alas, they all had more pressing matters to attend to.

The unholy animal began to howl in light of its new injuries. Its behaviour became frenzied. Once again, it displayed that its mind was much too simple to process more than one source of aggression at any given time. It dismissed the crossbowmen and instead turned to investigate the interlopers.

The forest witches were left behind by the Tritans as they pressed their advantage. As the first row of infantry broke upon the ogre, it no longer had any interest in feeding. Its legs rose into the air then battered the earth with immeasurable rage. Those caught beneath its hooves were crushed under the weight of an entire castle wall. Alric’s prior experience with ogres did not see them flail desperately about like this...perhaps it was the touch of magic that startled it so.

All the while, more magical projectiles arced through the air and slammed into the pained creature.

The wailing of the trampled was almost drowned out by the high-pitched trill of the ogre as it thrashed. The ground violently convulsed, dwarfing the previous tremors caused by the simple steps of the behemoth. Soldiers fell onto their faces, laying exposed and vulnerable.

The ogre simply stepped forward. With that simple motion, another dozen footmen were pounded into paste. Perhaps plate armour would’ve saved them from a single stomp, but seeing the way the ogre rapidly hammered away with its feet, it would have been an advantage short-lived.

Alric kept his distance from the creature, as did some of the other men who had more sense. Meanwhile, the terrified ogre continued tearing the infantry charge into shreds.

Lightning struck once more as the witches unleashed another storm of eldritch energy. They all struck with pinpoint accuracy unlike the crossbow bolts that preceded them. The ogre’s damaged knee was enveloped by a wash of fire, and suddenly its footing began to buckle.

Once the smoke cleared, Alric watched the mangled limb collapse underneath the ogre’s weight. The leg snapped apart and the creature’s gigantic frame rammed into the forest floor, no doubt crushing at least a few more Tritan footmen. The ogre’s whining became deafening. Its legs flurried back and forth, bludgeoning anyone foolish enough to remain nearby.

To anyone close enough to listen, Alric screamed this at the top of his lungs, “With me! Around!”

Alric charged with a group of twenty footmen, flanking the flailing ogre and approaching its more vulnerable upper-body. It’s mandibles were spasming back and forth, unable to reach anything from its topled position.

Clouds of dirt kicked up by the ogre’s convulsions masked much of the battlefield. Only barely could Alric make out its body as he and his unit approached.

The damage caused by the arcane blasts was, quite frankly, startling to the Knight Thestor. He’d seen what they could do to other men, but never a dark beast. Holes had been gouged in the creature’s carapace, revealing its grinded-up innards as they flashed with hellish energy. No orders needed to be given; the infantry instantly began digging their polearms into these breaches. Alric repeatedly forced the spear-tip of his halberd into the ogre’s body.

The more the infantrymen stuck the dying monster with their polearms, the more its body seemed to fail beneath it. First, its legs twitched pathetically before they ultimately ceased to function. What was once a fierce screeching that emanated from the beast had dimmed into a dull whine. The heat that burned like hellfire mere minutes earlier had cooled. The ogre’s mouth, typically flushed a red-orange, no longer glowed at all.

Cries of victory erupted throughout the Tritan forces. Alric however, as he stood panting in exhaustion, he had his eyes pinned on the forest witches. They stood unmoving at the edge of the trees like sentinel statues. Several of their staves no longer glowed at their bases. They smoked as if they had been cooked from within.

Before Alric could question the sorcerers, Katheryn approached on her mount. He anxiously lowered his visor.

“Hear me, Mnem’non druids. Thy service has been duly noted and shall be repaid in kind,” Katheryn said confidently.

Alric had no knowledge of such a people. Were they local wildfolk, living in solitude within the wood?

One of the interlopers stepped forth. “Save your gratitude, barbarian. The land runs black with the blood you spill in the name of avarice. It has emboldened the night creatures, tainted the natural order of things.”

Alric shook his head in confusion. He could stand there no longer. He trudged forward, halberd in-hand. "Speak not of dredging the kingdoms with death while instruments of dark magic rest in thy hands.”

The strange hermit shook her head. “What do you know of magic, Godslave? Magic is simply magic. Not evil, not pure, but neutral; like the steel you hold so tightly. The intent of its use determines its nature."

Katheryn narrowed her eyes. “If the war troubles thee so, play a part in ending it. For long enough hath we lived apart. We are, all of us, Tritans. ‘Tis time for us to band together.”

Before Katheryn even completed her sentence, the druids began to drift backward into the shadow of the forest. The speaker was the last one to vanish. “Destroy yourselves. It matters not to us.”

“Why...the Hell did they even help us...?” muttered Lamar.

Alric turned to see the Lacron knight seated on the dirt, back against a tree stump. He clutched his legs, very evidently deflated as if they had been crushed under some incredible weight. Katheryn urgently dismounted, advanced toward her comrade and knelt by his side.

Very clear was the impression of the ogre’s hoof upon the knight’s hosen. Every bone appeared to be reduced to gravel within. At this point, Alric peered about the rest of the battlefield. Lamar was more fortunate than most. Much of the dead had been pounded to paste. Several bodies were jutting out of the ogre’s mouth, partially devoured and perhaps impossible to identify due to the fact that they were essentially disembodied legs.

It was now time to tend to the dying and the dead...an effort that Alric found much more difficult than the battles that preceded.