“My time in Aachen feels as if I’m living in an endless loop, a month-long cycle of training and exploration, punctuated by the horrific Nights. Maybe it’s a punishment, Karma for the things I’ve done, the things I failed to do.”

Diary of Wilhelm Brookmoor

Chapter 86

With barely enough time to think about the consequences of his actions, Wil released ‘feather fall’. The weight returned to their bodies as the wind rushed pass his face as he fell.

He wrapped the mana shield close around his body, hoping that it would lessen the impact from landing in the sticky green web. Wil needn’t have bothered, the shield collapsed as soon as it touched the webbing, not being able to withstand the force of his landing.

In moments, he was engulfed by the green web. Completely entangled, his momentum carried him towards the ground, stretching the magical webbing with him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe as the spell slowed the party’s fall.

‘Web’ was never designed to slow six large humans that were dropping for over a hundred feet in the air. With a series of loud snaps, the strings of webbing stretched between the buildings began to snap, before their support completely gave way.

Wil and the others fell heavily onto the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. The shock of the landing forced him to stop channeling the mana into the ‘web’ spell, freeing them.

Groaning on the ground as the webs dissolved around him, Wil was thankful that the spell had slowed their fall, leaving him out of breath but uninjured.

The same could not be said about the plummeting infected. Not even a second after Wil and the others landed, the infected slammed into the ground next to them. Not having anything to slow their fall, the earth shook from the force of their crash.

Wil looked up sharply as the loud impacts rang out and knocked clouds of dust up from the wooden walkway. One of the infected, off course from the others, hit a nearby lodging building, breaking through the roof with a loud crash, as bits of wood rained down around them.

It was only by a miracle that the falling infected hadn’t landed near enough to them to pose a risk, as blood splashed out widely from their mangled bodies.

Slowly standing, Wil tried to catch his breath as he looked over his companions. Garman, unsurprisingly, was back on his feet, dragging an unconscious Martin upright. The cleric had a bloody cut on his forehead, evidently his landing hadn’t been as gentle as the others.

Erinn and Gunther appeared fine and were starting to stand as well. Gunther looked a little shaky, but he was standing steady with Erinn’s helping hand on his arm.

The momentary peace was interrupted as more screams rang out into the night air, from the ravaged infected near them. Whipping his head around, Wil watched as the mangled and pulped bodies of the infested slowly healed. Their damaged flesh knit together rapidly.

Their eyes, lifeless after their fall, were opened and staring in their frenzied madness at the group. With its mouth wide open, one of the diseased was howling, a black froth on its lips, as it slowly began to crawl toward them. Its limbs were broken and mutilated from the fall, sticking out at unnatural angles.

Oblivious to the pain, it was dragging itself forward with its broken arms, fingers digging into the dirty wooden walkways, as it forced its body to move towards them.

Garman shoved Martin over to Wil, who barely grabbed a hold of the young cleric before he could tumble onto the ground.

The large man unslung his axe from where he had it strapped to his waist, tossing his metal shield aside. Grabbing a hold of the weapon in both hands, Garman lifted it high into the air, before slamming it down on the creature’s head, burying the blade deep into its skull and pinning it onto the ground.

Careful of the blood, Garman’s placed his boot against its back, heaving the axe upwards and freeing it. Grabbing a cloth from his pocket, he wiped the axe head as he walked back to the others.

“Gods damned things, try coming back without a brain.” The large warrior chuckled, throwing the soiled cloth away and resting the axe on his shoulder as he rejoined the party.

“Garman!” Wil said, pointing behind him.

The large man spun around, only to see the infected, still lying on the ground, as the bone and skin of its shattered skull slowly regenerated.

They watched, horrified, as it came back to some semblance of life, a scream again erupting from its throat, soon joined by others that were slowly standing from where they had landed.

“Run, gods damn it!” Garman said, shoving Wil around as they took flight down the wooden walkway. Gunther grabbed Martin from Wil’s arms, easily lifting the smaller cleric over his shoulder as he ran.

The shambling steps of the rapidly healing infected following behind them. The party gained distance from their pursuers, running down the street, desperate to escape.

All around the garrison, they could hear screams and howls, the sound of fighting and massive eruptions of magic as the Infected made their way down from the wall, the living retreating into the streets of the temporary city.

With Garman leading the way, Wil was following him down an alleyway when Martin awoke, screaming in terror and flailing his limbs.

“I’m falling! Primaris save me! I’m…not falling?” He said, taking in his surroundings. Gunther let the cleric off his shoulder, allowing the young man a moment to look around, before Garman roughly pushed him forward.

“No, you’re not bloody falling. You already fell. Keep up, moron.” He said, before hefting his axe and taking off at a run again. With a grin, Gunther patted the confused cleric on the shoulder, before the group set off down the alley. Not wanting to be left behind, Martin raced to keep up.

“Where are we going!?” Martin asked. The scholarly cleric was nearly breathless already from the intense running. Unlike other Ranked, most Clerics couldn’t naturally use their divine mana to enhance their physical attributes. Healing came naturally to the cleric, fighting didn’t.

Martin regretted not training with the Paladins when he had the chance, he thought as he wheezed along behind the party.

Unlike Clerics, Paladins excelled at using their divine mana to empower themselves. While not skilled healers, Paladins were the front line, holy warriors of the Twins.

“Horses!” Wil answered simply, already figuring out where Garman was leading them. The stables were in the northern section of the garrison, and despite the twists and turns, the large warrior was leading them unerringly towards them.

“But…shouldn’t we help?” The cleric asked, as the group left the alley and found themselves on the main street again.

Before Wil could reply, a black blur leapt downwards towards them from a nearby roof top. In the dim light, Wil could only make out a vaguely humanoid shape, but the crazed howling it was making identified it easily enough.

Before it could reach them, an arrow flew towards it, striking it in an eye. The shaft buried itself deeply in its socket, as the infected fell to the ground heavily. Off balance, it rolled several times before coming to a stop, where it flailed wildly on the ground in an attempt to remove the arrow.

All around them, the streets were in chaos. Groups of legion soldiers, guild mages and auxiliaries were fighting against a horse of infected. Their twisted body blending in with the Night, as fires raged all over the garrison.

If this street was any indication of the overall battle, the living was quickly losing. The affected outnumbered the defenders, and every causality added to the infected horde.

“We are, we need to leave. Now!” Garman said. Pointing down the street. In the distance, Wil could spot the stables, still intact. Hopefully the horses were still there, waiting for them.

“Best thing we can do is escape this place, before we’re all infected. The garrisons already lost.” Wil said, seeing the look of reluctance on Martin’s face.

Between them and the stables were hundreds of infected creatures, scratching and clawing at the defenders, spewing black bile as they fought.

“Gods above, we’ll need a miracle to get through all that.” Gunther said, eyeing the enemies they would need to avoid or push through.

“Martin, I wouldn’t suppose Primaris owes you one? A little divine assistance would go a long way right now.” Erinn said, joking to the cleric. Despite the humor, her face was grim as she settled her quiver on her hip for better reach.

“They’re only Rank 1’s, we just need to stay together. Looks like the garrison Rank-less have already been corrupted. Follow me, I’ll clear the way.” Garman said.

Flabbergasted, Martin didn’t have a chance to respond before Garman was running forward, his axe already swinging at the first infected to get near him.

The man was using every ounce of his Rank 5 Mana to enhance his strength. Each blow would launch his foes away from him, clearing a path for the others, the axe screaming as it cleaved the air, sending gusts of dust and debris flying in all directions.

He never slowed, not even when confronted with a half dozen of the deformed monstrosities. He ripped through them, an unstoppable force of violence.

Following behind him closely, Gunther held his large shield in both hands, his two-handed sword still on his back.

Like Garman, Gunther was pushing his body to its limits, pushing mana into his muscles as he ran into his enemies, his shield knocking into them with enough strength that one unfortunate infected, caught with the full force of the heavy metal shield, slammed into a wooden building, knocking straight through a wooden wall, before causing half the building to collapse on top of it.

Erinn’s bow never stopped firing. So quickly did she knock, pull back and fire, that the twang of the string was nearly continuous. Always aiming for the enemy’s eyes with unnerving accuracy, she left a trail of blind infected, writhing on the ground as they struggled to remove the barbed arrows.

But it was Wil that Martin couldn’t take his eyes from. Gunther and Garman were ferocious in a fight, using their strength to break through their enemies. Wil, however, was merciless and precise. Although his sword never stopped, each attack was perfectly placed for the most effect.

The man was a butcher, cutting through the infected like they were nothing. His sword whistled as he swung it, glowing blue in the night. With one swing, Martin saw Wil remove the head from one infected, before throwing out his hand and unleashing a wave of fire at another.

He then disappeared in a white mist, and reappeared next the Gunther, slicing a third infected in half that had almost tackled the larger warrior. The bifurcated infected crashed onto the ground, as Wil dashed forward to assist Garman.

Martin was stunned. He had seen his companions fight in the past. He had spent months with them exploring the underground, fighting goblins and orcs. Enough time that he thought he understood what this battle would be like.

But he had never seen anything like it before. The violence displayed here was too much for him to handle. The infected were like wildly beasts, throwing themselves endlessly against them. But Wil and the others stood against it, not only stopping the horde but forcing it back! And they made it seem almost…effortless.

It was as if they were created by the Twins to fight this enemy. To be here for this battle.

While his companions fought, Martin prayed to Primaris. He prayed that this would end, that they would prevail. But mostly, he prayed for his own soul. After this Night, he knew that he would never be the same again, could never view the world in the same light as before.