Blood of the Forgotten Gods

Hollow Blood

Vale shouted orders, his voice sharp and commanding. "Hold the line! Don't let them through!"

The squad fought fiercely, but the bandits were relentless, their numbers growing with every passing second. Dan could feel the strain in his muscles, the burn of fatigue setting in. Every swing of his sword felt heavier, every block slower.

Gareth was beside him, his face pale but determined. "We can't hold them off for long," he muttered, his voice tight with strain. "We need Corvin."

Vale slashed through another bandit, his eyes flicking toward the western edge of the hollow. "Corvin will be moving in soon! We just need to hold this position until he reaches us!"

Dan nodded, but his body screamed for rest. Every strike he made felt like dragging a blade through stone, his arms heavy from the relentless effort of the fight. His breathing came in sharp, ragged bursts, the rain mixing with the sweat and blood that clung to his skin.

Around him, the world was chaos—mud, rain, and blood mixing together into a hellish battlefield. The bandits pressed forward, their faces twisted with rage, but the squad held its ground, forming a tight line as they fought to keep the enemy at bay.

Dan blocked another wild swing, his sword clashing against a rusted axe. The force of the impact sent a jolt up his arm, and for a moment, he thought his grip might slip. The bandit lunged again, his eyes filled with bloodlust, but Dan sidestepped and countered, his blade slicing across the man's chest. The bandit let out a gurgled cry as he collapsed into the mud, blood pouring from the deep wound.

The smell of death was thick in the air now, the coppery scent mingling with the stench of wet earth and sweat. Dan's stomach churned, but there was no time for hesitation. Another attacker loomed before him, but this time the man's movements were slower, more desperate—one of the few survivors from the initial wave. Dan didn't hesitate; his blade struck true, slicing through the bandit's throat with a sickening squelch. Blood sprayed across his chest, warm and slick, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow.

Is this what war feels like? Dan thought, standing over the lifeless body of the man he had just killed. His hand trembled on the hilt of his sword. This is real. These are people. And I'm... I'm killing them.

His heart pounded in his chest, and the weight of what he'd done began to settle in, creeping through him like a cold, merciless hand. The rush of adrenaline, the terror of combat—it had masked the horror of it all. Now, with bodies littering the ground and blood soaking into the earth, reality crashed down on him. These weren't just enemies—they were men. And he had ended their lives.

For a brief, flickering moment, the world went silent. The screams, the clash of steel, the roar of the storm—they all seemed to fade into the background as Dan stared down at the faces of the fallen. The horror of it struck him like a fist to the gut. What kind of man was he becoming?

But there was no time to reflect. A shout from Vale snapped him back to the present.

"Dan! Hold the line!" Vale bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Dan blinked, the weight of the moment slipping away as his training kicked back in. He tightened his grip on his sword, his body moving instinctively as another bandit charged toward him. This one was larger, his face twisted with fury as he swung a heavy mace toward Dan's head.

Dan ducked, the mace whistling past his ear, close enough that he felt the air shift. He swung upward, his sword catching the bandit under the arm. The man grunted, staggering back as blood spilled from the wound, but he wasn't done yet. With a roar, the bandit swung again, and Dan barely had time to block, his blade meeting the mace with a loud clang.

The force of the blow sent Dan stumbling, his boots slipping in the mud. He fell to one knee, his heart racing as the bandit loomed over him, ready to deliver a killing blow. But just as the mace began to descend, a flash of steel sliced through the air.

Gareth's sword drove deep into the bandit's side, and the man crumpled with a howl of agony. Blood sprayed from the wound, mixing with the rain as the bandit collapsed in a heap at Dan's feet. Gareth stood over him, panting, his eyes wide with fear and adrenaline.

"You good?" Gareth asked, his voice breathless, barely audible over the storm.

Dan nodded, his throat dry. "Thanks."

"No problem," Gareth muttered, wiping the rain from his brow as he helped Dan to his feet.

There was no time to dwell on the near miss. The bandits were still coming, though their numbers were thinning. Dan looked around, seeing the strain on the faces of his comrades. Tomas was still fighting, blood dripping from a gash on his arm but his expression hard and determined. Vale moved through the chaos like a force of nature, his sword flashing with deadly precision as he cut down bandit after bandit.

But the tide of battle was shifting. The bandits had grown desperate, their attacks wild and reckless, while the squad remained disciplined, their formation holding firm. As more bandits fell, the rest began to falter. Some hesitated, glancing toward the tree line as if considering escape.

"Push them back!" Vale roared. "We've got them!"

With renewed determination, the squad surged forward, driving the bandits toward the ridge. Dan felt his strength returning as the tide of the battle turned in their favor. He swung his sword with purpose, cutting through the last of the attackers, the sting of exhaustion dulled by the rush of victory.

But even as the final bandit fell, something lingered in the air—a sense of unease that refused to lift. Dan stood among the bodies, the rain washing the blood from his sword, and felt the weight of everything that had happened settle on him again. The reality of killing, the raw brutality of it—it left a mark that the rain couldn't wash away.

As the battle subsided, Vale wiped the blood from his blade, his eyes scanning the ridge. "Form up!" he ordered, his voice gruff but steady. "We're not done here yet."

Dan and the others regrouped, their bodies aching from the fight. Gareth leaned on his sword, catching his breath, while Tomas winced as he pressed a hand to the wound on his arm. They were alive, but the battle had taken its toll.

Vale's eyes narrowed as he looked to the west, where Corvin's squad was supposed to be moving in. "We need to regroup with Captain Corvin," he said, wiping the rain from his brow. "They should have hit the western flank by now."

Dan felt a knot of anxiety twist in his stomach. Corvin's squad hadn't shown up during the battle, and there was no sign of them now. The silence from that side of the hollow was unsettling.

"Corvin's men are likely dealing with their own fight," Vale muttered, as if reading Dan's thoughts. "We head west, now."

The squad moved quickly, pushing through the mud and rain, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as they pressed toward the western edge of the hollow. Dan's legs burned with every step, his muscles screaming for rest, but he pushed on. Corvin's squad could be in trouble, and they had to move fast.

The world around them seemed darker now, the fog thicker, the rain heavier. As they approached the ridge, Dan's heart pounded in his chest. The eerie silence was back, more oppressive than ever, and with every step, the sense that something was wrong grew stronger.

Then, through the mist, they saw it—the remnants of a battle. Bodies lay strewn across the muddy ground, blood staining the earth. Bandits. But there were militants among them too, their armor battered, their faces twisted in death.

"Corvin..." Vale's voice was low, a mix of anger and concern. "Fan out. Find the captain. And stay sharp."

Dan felt a chill crawl up his spine as they moved among the dead. The battlefield was eerily quiet, the only sound the soft patter of rain on steel. Where was Corvin? Where were the rest of his men?

He and Gareth exchanged uneasy glances as they stepped over the bodies of fallen comrades, their hearts heavy with dread. Something had gone terribly wrong here.

And whatever it was, they were about to find out.