Sachihiro

The fighting continues for hours. Sometimes I'm distracted by the flashing of lights in the distance signalling the use of magics. A reminder that though I may be fighting hard such struggles are taking places all over the field of battle.

That this isn't even the main force where the mages and other Awakened have been concentrated.

We cannot flank the Sandies due to their magics and wards. They cannot flank us due to the diligence of our seers. Facing each other in open conflict seem to be the only way a victor will be determined.

I deflect a strike, push a shield hamming me in aside with my open palm and vault my nodachi over the shield to skewer my opponent. I take a breath and drink a mouthful of water before heading back into the fight.

I have no idea where Om ended up in this chaos of bodies but I still see a lot of familiar faces. Faces I grew up seeing around the village. We are all comrades now. We have each other's backs, we've struggled together and have formed an unbreakable bond.

Thirst is something common in the battlefield, especially with blood loss. Thus every single one of us has a water-skin on their person somewhere. We fight and fight and quench our thirsts and dawn turns to day. More than ten hours having been expanded in the fighting so far.

Our superior stamina starts to show as the day fully establishes itself. Our opponents exhausted and dying from simple mistakes they otherwise wouldn't have made. We make them pay for them in blood.

Our superior endurance and strength seemingly being revitalized with every opponent we fell. Encouraged by adrenaline and the sight of our opponents giving up finally. The extra dose of adrenaline after a marathon of combat giving us the extra energy.

But relatively quickly their superior numbers show their value. The quick-thinking general replacing his front lines with fresh soldiers that were reserved for this eventuality. Soldiers so fresh that they were probably still asleep at the start of the battle.

The transition isn't seamless though and we take our pound of flesh. We make them pay for replacing so many, killing the largest numbers of Sandie's at this time than any other time in the fighting. Killing both a large number of the retreating line and especially a large number of the fresh troops.

Every single one of the Sandersonians that has lasted this long can now be considered a veteran of war. Even as they retreat many are saved by their now honed battle instincts and reflexes after hours of battle. But the new arrivals are not so in the rhythm of the fighting to accomplish this yet, and we rip into them.

Their blood not yet hot enough to take on a Barbarian already in the stride of battle. It takes a few minutes for the new arrivals to find their feet on solid ground under our onslaught. We make them pay, and as with most things we make them pay in blood.

The screams of pain and horror and the smell of blood and shit permeate the air as we eviscerate them. Rivalling in the give of flesh under axe, blade, spear or hammer. Rivalling in the fight itself more than the slaughter. To test ourselves in such a way, to be truly at the panicle of being alive.

There is nothing as intoxicating as a good fight. A fight to the death where your opponent is worthy of the honour of taking your life. And you are honoured for the opportunity to take theirs. A fight you can let lose your inner animal on, unbridle the violence within yourself without fear of causing too much damage. That is the opportunity war provides for us, a happy occasion for the Barbarian Tribes of the Tundra.

A lot of the southerners are unnerved by the smiles, grins and outright laughter that comes from many of the tribesmen as they fight. The joy we seem to be taking in this slaughter must look unnatural to the Sandies.

I grin myself after using an experimental combination of moves to utterly eviserate and decapitate an opponent. A combination of battlefield experience, 4th, 7th and 32nd form. I take a moment to look around as space opens around me. I can't believe no one saw me perform that move, that was awesome.

The space quickly closes again as I'm being charged by a shield bash again. With the limited space available in the melee I haven't been able to kill as many opponents as I imagine everyone else has. Not with my polearm of a nodachi needing a bit more room to be devastating and not when most of my opponents can just camp behind their shields for the majority of our exchanges. A shield and spear user or shield and short sword user has the clear advantage in such a battle, one of attrition.

But because they underestimate a personal wielding a single longsword in the mist of such battle, I end up killing my first few new opponents quickly before the rest wise-up. The flow and tempo of the battle taking me to new areas of fighting constantly.

I jump forward and my foot connects with a shield. The shield bangs into the face of my opponent and I land with a downward strike on another closing in, connecting with a hum and a ring with his shoulder guard. Shocking an opponent who thought himself still too far for me to reach.

I cut deep into his armour but not all the way through. I deflect another strike as I land, crouch, twist and spin in a complete revolution. A strike passing over me as my zanpakutō connects with a shin guard. Also not cutting through but breaking the leg bone behind it.

I twist right as a blade scratches into my side, dodging most of the downward strike while simultaneously striking upwards. My blade is deflected by a shield but I keep it in constant motion, wielding it in my right hand with ease.

I lift a knee and my leg stops the shield bash that has gotten within my guard. My shin bone rattles and probably fractures as I stop the shield in its tracks. All my balance and power on my right leg still on the ground digging a furrow with the force of our struggle.

I deflect a throw dagger going for my head from the side. Alerted by the telltale glint of metal spinning in the sun. But this leaves me completely open to the opponent within my guard who goes straight for my ribs.

Her spear pierces into my side as I twist, almost losing my footing but managing to only allow it to pierce the flesh of my side and break the lowest rib. Saving myself from a pierced lung.

It wouldn't have killed me, not a chance. I am a Barbarian after all and with my zanpakutō in hand I have the Rage within me. But it has become a sort if competition amongst the fighters to determine who can fight longest without going into the berserker rage. Even as that thought goes through my mind my opponent suddenly retreats as a spear smashes into her shield hard.

I take the opening with a sweep of my left hand across my back and forward to the shoulder of an opponent that has just blocked my zanpakutō. I connect with my heavy spiritually bound sheath on his collar bone breaking it with an audible snap.

His shield drops like a stone and I detach the rest of the arm at the shoulder with a spinning arcing upward strike at the armpit. Before a spear stabs into his eye, the surprised look not leaving his face even in death. I have no idea how many opponents I was facing in all but four now face me and my spear wielding friend.

I give him a glance and I don't think I'm as surprised as I should be to see Freydìs' brother Asger standing next to me with shield and spear. I grunt and nod at him, he nods back and that's the only acknowledgement we need from each other.

I look at the grim faced men and woman standing before us. Ready for the next clash. All of them breathing hard and sweating, not enjoying their jobs at all. Worthy opponents one and all who refuse to retreat or fall without a fight even after watching their comrades fall to our superior skill, probably especially after seeing their combrades fall. I nod at them in acknowledgement. One spits at the side, the others nod back almost reluctantly.

I throw my water skin to the woman who is panting the hardest. Its caught by the one with the cleaved shoulder guard. He sniffs at the skin then takes a sip before passing it on. The fighting still intense around us but there is space, these lulls in the fighting naturally occuring on occasion and we all taking the time for a breath.

I look to Asger and we both face our opponents again and we engage. Each of us facing off against two southern warriors in a fight to the death, such fun! I grin happily even as exhausted as I am.