Eros

Champions of Corpses - 83

Something was wrong.

Kaido and the elves made their way through the woods in a spread formation. They killed every scout on the way. He did, mostly. He could pick the sound of their footfalls in the snow, spot them in their covers, and sprint like no elf could manage in the fresh fall. His blade found them all faster than they could scream.

His team was pleased with him after his unexpected success down the slope, and even more so when he tracked the first couple of scouts. Then one of the scouts almost escaped them. Kaido outran him, and split his torso from shoulder to gut in a one-handed swing. Suspicious eyes and a space of caution hadn't left him since.

He was no stranger to gore, but the sight of his own brutality made him pause. Shattered ribs and sliced insides showed where his back was cleaved apart. Blood claimed red territory in the white snow, expanding by the second.

Killing the scout was necessary, but he remembered the wrath in him when he struck, the compelling desire to hurt and destroy. He felt it still. His own pain wanting out, to be inflicted on others.

Even the taste of blood didn't help. It was just a temporary relief, and he only found himself angrier and thirstier when it was gone. Not that it stopped him from getting more.

When there was nobody to kill, memories flooded him, overlapping one another, vivid as the present. These were of Siera, and Rake, and William, and squad eleven - the everlasting fuel to his old furnace of rage. They did not belong in the blood trance.

The physical effect of the blood trance was addicting, but it wasn't what made him an addict. Under its influence, with unbreakable focus on the moment, free of the past's haunting, he was his true self.

No. As much as he hated the truth, he could deny it no longer.

The blood trance was an illusion, and this was truly him, who he made himself. A pitiful man who dedicated his life to protect those who loved, and only succeeded in killing. A delusioned avenger that still hopes vengeance would make up for what he lost, knowing it never would. A champion of corpses.

And if his only respite was hurting others, he will hurt like no one else can. He will kill the soldiers of his own homeland, and he won't stop until he dies, or they all do. He didn't come all this way with Alora to another failure.

The woods started to thin towards the battlefield, stench of burnt flesh and temptation of fresh-spilled blood thick in the air. From a distance, the Veramorain backline came into view.

Kaido smiled as he saw the fire bursting before the catapults, tamed into a missile by whirling winds. Ever since Julian sacrificed his squad to save risk for their magi, they had become his favorite kill.

The woods got out the way, the Mageguards stood in their stead. One of the scouts must've got away, because they were ready for them. Eyes shadowed in golden helmets, tower-shields raised in an impregnable formation, and spears held high, gleaming in the sunlight.

They faced a field of snow between them, score for score. Kaido started forward, blood dripping from his swords, a wolfish grin twisting his lips.

-

Alora returned the burning roots before her back into the wall. Flames danced on the floor and barricade, in the spots where the black oil splashed. An oaken roar rumbled over the battlecries. She looked down on the tree the Archferal raised, previously the Veramorian's battering-ram, wreaking chaos before the gates. Fire engulfed it, burning bark to crisp.

The soldiers surrounded it a distance of safety, retreating whenever he swung on them. Missiles of fire and wind shot across the battlefield, blasting the tree before it could swing again. Another roar rumbled as flames overtook the green flare of its eyes. It crumpled and fell, tons of burning woods crashing against the ground, spraying embers.

Calls for axes sounded as the soldiers rushed for the gate. Broad-backed and heavy-weaponed, the Veramorian axemen made a semicircle at the thick wood doors, and their comrades bunched around them, raising a dome of shields over their heads. Thuds of their chopping echoed all the way up to the top. By the sound of it, they were keeping a relentless pace.

Alora reached out with her hands, fingers luring vines out of the bark of the wall with fluent motions.

"Barrage!" - "Barrage!" - "Rise defenses!"

Elves shouted along the wall, and Alora looked up to see barrel-projectiles arcing towards him, fiery missiles shooting after.

She released the vines, moved away from the barricade, crouched and put her palms to the wood woven in the stone. Her fingers tensed as she pumped her power through it. Roots burst from the walltop, tightening together as they bent over their heads. The other Ferals couldn't muster as many as she, and the archers had to cluster under shelter.

Alora braced her roots against the impact of the barrels. Fire ate at them faster than she could replenish the wood, but died out when the roots retreated into the wall. She gritted her teeth in frustration.

All they could do was defend themselves. It was only a matter of time until the Veramorians broke through. Loss meant their kindred will die out. And that Raul will live on.

Alora sprinted to the barricade, gripped it with both hands, swung herself up, and jumped into the air. She thrust forth hand, landing atop the root it urged out of the wall, stretching through the air. Her other hand moved right after, a second root lunging below, farther. She ran along its path, high overhead of the Veramorian army.

Arrows thunked in the underside of the wood, some missing wide, and others shooting just past her sides. Stretching the root, and bending it against gravity, drained on Alora's powers. But more came, rising to the challenge of her madness.

The root could take her across the army, but to the woods around it. An arrowhead found home in her hip bone, tearing her flesh as she ran. Alora ripped it out, not slowing for the pain. She bent the root towards the end, tensed it. On her last step, she made it whip up, and leapt off with its momentum.

Falling towards certain death within the woods, the power ceased to play catch. It gushed within her, her body taken by immense heat, her mind taken only by one thought.

Raul must die.

-

Kaido swung both swords in an upwards cross, deflecting the spears thrust in his way to the sides. He hefted his boot, and kicked into a tower shield. The impact threw the Mageguard behind it off his feet, and Kaido burst into their formation.

He spun, rising his left sword to parry a spear from one Mageguard, and swinging his right into the helm of another. The blade cleaved through plate and skull, tossing the man to the snow in a blitz of steel, blood and brain.

The elves arrived with their long-bladed spears, and both formations shattered against one another. That's how it is in battles. You could train a lifetime at strategy and technique, but most of the time, it comes down to a bloody chaos.

Kaido wove between spears and tower-shields, his swords flowing in whirls and arcs, striking thrusts aside and cutting down men. They were a fine challenge, the Mageguard, laying some cuts on him as he slaughtered them. But they weren't enough.

Not when the fire of the Magi kept calling.

Kaido dashed towards it, one last Mageguard standing in his way. He ducked beneath a wide cut of the spear, and rammed his sword into the man's stomach, snapping chainmail and plunging in flesh. The Mageguard crumpled, and as Kaido pulled his sword out, he brought the other one on the back of his neck.

His head severed from his body, dropping to the snow first. The Mageguard split into squads, clashing with the other Skytalon parties that came from the woods. They surrounded the Magi and the catapults, letting nobody through.

Kaido sped up, his footfalls throwing back snow.

Let's see them stop him.