The Grim Legion

by Kindred Ult

  "Got a plan?" He asked without very much hope.

  "Kind of, if you can hold them off for a while I might be able to get us out of this." She did not look at him. Her gaze was locked upwards.

  "Sure, great plan." He sighed in resignation. 'Well, if I'm going to die today, I guess there's worse ways to die.'

  'True.'

  Without waiting any longer, the werewolves lunged towards the two of them, and Niethel placed himself next to Sophella so that he could be in a position to protect her as well as he could. He was facing the closest ones, but he also made sure to be aware of where all of the others were.

  When he clashed with the first two, it was not like a duelist, but rather as if he were playing with them. One lunged in with its sword and the other slashed from the side with an ax, and Niethel deflected the blade with his dirk while blocking the ax upward with his sword tilted. The attacks passed to the sides, and Niethel slashed at the werewolves with his weapons. Both were cut, but neither very seriously. Before he could pursue them, he was forced to stick his sword past Sophella and deflect another sword aimed for her. He stepped around her and worked his blades furiously to defend both of them and still attack occasionally, but in seconds he had to shift to her back and block those attacking from that direction. In moments, he was fully aware of how impossible what he was doing would have been yesterday, and he was never more glad for Demenn giving him one of the hearts. With his new strength, he was still able to barely block their attacks and even cut them a bit. It was still amazingly hard, and he had to devote all of his attention and strength just to keep turning around her and blocking everything headed towards them.

  As he blocked the attacks headed towards them, he even began to think that he would be able to win this. A werewolf fell to the ground, overcome by slightly more serious wounds than those around it had, and Niethel was further encouraged, but then he saw a sword point that was heading past his blades. He was busy blocking two other fighters' attacks, and had even managed to get one in the gut, but he had focused too much on attacking, and he watched in horror as the werewolf's sword shot toward Sophella. Without thinking, Niethel shoved himself in the way of the strike. The sword sliced into his stomach, and he could feel it burst from his other side, but he had done his job well. The sword lost momentum before it hit Sophella, so she was safe.

  Niethel grunted and crossed his dirk and sword, slicing them past each other and cutting off the werewolf's head. The headless body fell to the ground and its hand that still gripped the sword pulled it down with it and out of Niethel's flesh. The sword cut a larger hole, but Niethel fought past the pain as he shifted around Sophella and blocked a mace that was headed for. In the process, another sword cut into his sword arm, but he was not aware of it anymore. He wrapped his sword through the mace's chain and pulled it towards him, skewing its owner with his dirk before moving on once again. In the battle that followed an ax grazed his chest, a sword sunk into his arm as he jabbed it in front of Sophella, a knife embedded itself into his leg, and another sword slashed across his lower back as he sacrificed his defense to both block Sophella and stab another werewolf.

  He felt every hit on him, but he found that he cared less and less with every hit. He was letting go of his mind, letting his instincts take over more and more every time he was forced to place himself in the line of a sword or every time he shoved one of his weapons into another body. He still spun around her, even though he was limping and every movement caused pain to course through his body. He knew that he would collapse eventually; somewhere inside him he knew that he would not be able to keep this up for very long at all, but he ignored that voice and supplemented it with one thought.

  'I have to protect her. I have to protect her. I have to protect her.'

  His movements quickened as he felt more resolve enter his bleeding body. He started snarling back at the bodies that still surrounded them, staring yelling at them, cursing at them. He was barely even aware of what was coming out of his mouth, only that he was blocking and attacking, always blocking and attacking as more and more of his body was lacerated and cut open.

  Even with his newfound determination, though, the inevitable still happened. He saw a hammer swinging down towards her, and in his haste he forgot the knife in his leg. He tried to protect her, to block the hammer with both of his weapons on the shaft of it and catching it inside his hilts, but his leg refused to move. In the end, all he was capable of doing was placing himself in the way of the strike, and as it did he knew he was finished. The hammer smashed into his upturned face, and he felt his it breaking as his vision turned white. He did not feel himself falling, or hitting the ground, but when he did begin seeing again, he was lying there, watching the werewolves still left swarm towards Sophella. He tried to stand up, to throw himself into the fray once more, but his body had left his mind. It felt like he was watching something else happen; like a dream. He knew that this was no dream, however, and he railed and cursed himself, trying to get himself to move.

  'Damn it, move. Move! She's going to die! You've got to move!'

  Despite all of his exhortations, he could only watch as the werewolves closed in on Sophella, who was still, amazingly, moving her arms and fingers in complicated gestures. In the seconds before they pounced on her, he felt time slow and saw her arms jerk swiftly as she finished the spell she had been working on. She looked down at Niethel, and for once she smiled. It was, as he had imagined, the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, and it illuminated the night for him.

  "Thank you." She said quietly as the werewolves closed in on her. They led with their weapons because they were tired of fighting and just wanting to finish the battle. Their weapons were inches away from her when she grabbed a stone on her necklace and intoned one word. Their weapons immediately bounced off of something hard as blue mist flowed around her for a few seconds. The spell quickly ended, and the werewolves had only been staggered back, but, as the first one was about to charge back in, it felt a hand on its shoulder. It turned around in time to see another werewolf standing there; one of its dead comrades. The werewolf had no time to contemplate what was wrong before the other dug its claws into the werewolf's pelt and pulled it close. The werewolf moaned in fear, but it was too close to the other to stab it. In another moment, the dead werewolf had begun feasting upon its prize.

  The rest of the werewolves were having similar problems. All around, their dead comrades were rising from the ground and attacking them. Niethel still could not move, but his vision was rather clear, and he saw with amazement that the sides were almost even at the beginning of the fight. He wondered if he had really killed almost half of them.

  Only one werewolf died before the surprise wore off, but two more died as they realized that stabbing with swords meant nothing to their dead enemies. In moments, those that had died were back on their feet, and now it was eleven to six. The remaining werewolves saw their position and went feral before attacking. They gave all of their strength to cleaving strikes that took large chunks out of their opponents, and tried to attack as many times as they could. Eventually, though, they found that their position was hopeless, and they began to try to run. Had they done this in the beginning of the fight, they might have escaped, but they were too close now, and eventually all of the were born to the ground and ripped apart.

  Niethel smiled at the sight of their victory, or at least he tried to smile. As his adrenaline wore off, he felt all of his wounds as he had never before. He had cuts and stabs all over his body, and even he wondered how he was not dead or unconscious. As if on cue, his vision spotted and the world around him literally began to grow darker. He sighed and resigned himself to his death.

  'At least, she's okay.'

  "Shut the hell up." Niethel felt blood pour down his throat, and he swallowed reflexively so as not to gag on it. More blood came, a steady stream of it, and Niethel drank all of it. He felt his smaller cuts starts to scab over first, and then they closed up while his stabs a
nd large cuts began to do the same. When he opened his eyes, he could feel his face actually put itself back into its original position. Even his nose slowly worked back until it was how it should be.

  Niethel stared at Sophella, and then he smiled. "Thanks."

  She smiled back, but it was not that same smile, this was her usual smile, her sarcastic one. "Thanks," she mocked him "Is that all you say to someone who just saved your life? I should have just—" Her word trailed off as her eyes closed and she fainted. He was just able to sit up and grab her, rolling her over and looking at her. Her mouth was bloody, so he assumed that she had drunk some blood, but she was still unconscious. He figured that it was from all of the magic she had been casting tonight. He stared down at her face, and noticed that she was even more beautiful in her sleep.

  Shaking those thoughts from his head, Niethel stood with her in his arms. He looked around and was puzzled to see that all of the werewolf corpses were gone, but that small fact escaped his serious thoughts as he tried to remember which way she had said the safe house was. Eventually he was forced to backtrack a bit before coming back, and when he got back into the place the battle had taken place, the amount of blood on the ground astonished him. While wondering how much of that was his, he retraced their steps and finally decided that it was southwest of their position. He shifted Sophella to his back, made sure he had all of their gear, and began running towards it. He just hoped he could make it there before dawn.

  ………………………………………………………………………………………………

  Varus felt himself being dragged along the forest floor. He was in a state of half-consciousness, but at that moment he wanted to ignore the slight pain in his back, hands, and head and drift back into sleep. He had almost accomplished his goal when whoever was dragging him by his feet walked over a particularly sharp rock. Jarred into full awareness, Varus found that the first thing he noticed was that both his hands were shackled. The next thing he noticed was that the moon was barely past where it had been before he had been knocked out along with the rest of them.

  'The rest of them.' Varus just then wondered where Demenn, Leon, and Raphael had gone. He was being dragged by his heels, so his head had been facing upward when he had woken, but now he forced himself to look to both sides of him. To his right Raphael and Leon were both being pulled along the forest floor in roughly similar fashions. Both of them were still soundly asleep, and the bruises on their faces gave small hints as to how they achieved that state. When Varus turned his head to the left, he saw that Demenn had shackles around both his hands and feet, was being carried by his hands and feet, and was fully awake. Their eyes locked, and Demenn smiled.

  "I guess we really got beaten this time."

  A werewolf walking next to Demenn kicked him in the ribs and snarled. "No talking bloodsucker."

  Demenn turned his head around to regard the werewolf. As the two of them locked stares, Demenn slowly spoke. "Darkness."

  A deep blackness quickly settled over Varus, and for a moment he thought that he had been killed, but then he heard the werewolves grunt in surprise, and the clanking of shackles as Demenn jerked his feet and pulled them from the hands of one of the werewolves holding him. In the next second, Varus heard more shifting chains and then the gurgle of the werewolf who had been holding Demenn's hands and he could only guess at what was happening. After the werewolf stopped choking and fell to the ground, Varus heard nothing. He waited and strained his ears, but no sound came to him. Then two hands rested on his shoulder and Demenn's voice hissed in his ear.

  "I have time only to free you Varus, you must escape and tell the vampires what we have found. I have faith in you." Demenn's voice was strained and he was trying to keep from panting and alerting the other werewolves to their presence.

  Varus nodded his understanding.

  "Very well then, run with all of your might Varus, and I hope that you will one day be able to forgive me for what I did." Varus could almost hear pain in Demenn's voice, but it was gone before he could really identify it. He heard Demenn moving swiftly but quietly, and then he heard him speak once again. "Fire."

  A burning feeling enveloped Varus's hands. It flared briefly, and then he felt his hand shackles melting onto his hands. Almost as soon as the spell was cast, however, the darkness lifted and all of the werewolves turned to see Demenn lunge at the werewolf holding onto Varus and wrap the chains around his hands around it. The werewolf dropped Varus's feet and grabbed onto Demenn's back, trying to throw him off. More werewolves ran towards them, but before they could reach them Varus burst into flight towards the vampire castle.

  The werewolves wanted to chase Varus, but the first one had proven unsuccessful at flinging Demenn from it and had fallen to its knees. Spit frothed in its mouth and it tried to rasp out a howl for help. Demenn twisted his chains savagely, and the howl was choked off. After giving one last, slow swing behind it, the werewolf fell to the ground, whether dead or merely unconscious, Demenn had neither the time nor the incentive to find out. The other werewolves chose him as their target rather than Varus, probably finding him the easier kill than the one who would run like a rabbit.

  They all ran at Demenn, while he stood straight, feeling a fool with both his hands and feet bound together. When the first one reached him it swung out with its claws, but despite his handicap, Demenn was far from helpless. He whipped the chain between his arms taught and caught the blow on it. The chain bent and absorbed the impact and Demenn swiftly spun his arms around in two circles, wrapping the chain around its wrist and trapping it. The werewolf jerked its arm back reflexively, and Demenn let it, using the strength of its arm to pull his feet into the air with it. Flexing his arms and pulling, Demenn whipped his feet around, looped the chain between them around the werewolf's neck, and swiftly hooked one leg back, tightening his hold and beginning to choke the beast.

  The werewolf kept its arm straight, keeping Demenn suspended in air with its pure strength, and tried to claw at him with its other arm, but Demenn kept his body taught, using his straight posture to give strength to his hold, and the werewolf simply could not attack him. Eventually the werewolf lost balance and fell. As it did Demenn pulled to the side with his arms and pushed down with his feet, guiding the werewolf to the ground until its snout was in the dirt and he stood over it. His feet were on both sides of its neck and his hands pulled its arm out of its socket.

  Not waiting for this one to pass out, Demenn swiftly jerked his feet and snapped its neck. Unfortunately, he had not thought past this point, and he was irrevocably connected to the werewolf now, with no free movement. A clawed hand rested on his shoulder and pulled him back, taking the head of the other werewolf with him. While the forced decapitation had solved Demenn's movement problem, he now had a different one as he stared at the dozen werewolves that now surrounded him.

  Looking around him, he could see the death in their eyes. An unexplained smile crept across his face. "He will get away."

  The werewolf who had first grabbed him smiled as well. The origin for its smile was not obscure, though, and it laughed and bared its fangs. "Maybe, but I bet you aren't going to be so lucky vamp."

  A sharp pain burst in Demenn's back and he almost blacked out. He lurched forward and had to kick his feet up to avoid falling onto his face. His feet landed on the ground and he was starting to fight back the black that was creeping along the edges of his vision when the speaker twisted back and planted its fist into his stomach. A hiss escaped his lips as all of his breath left him, and Demenn fell to his knees. A rough hand grabbed onto his hair and pulled his head back. The fact that the smile was still on his face must have infuriated whoever was holding by the hair, because in another moment its elbow entered his vision for a split second before it rammed down into his nose, splintering it and making him see white everywhere.

  Demenn lost all control of his body, and almost lost consciousness. He would have fallen to the ground had the werewol
f not been holding him upright by his hair still. From behind the haze that flowed over his mind and senses, Demenn barely noticed that the blows had stopped and that one of the werewolves were speaking. A few seconds later its word slowly became comprehensible to him.

  "—That we were supposed to take him to the King, and that he was not to be harmed."

  A werewolf very close to Demenn, more than likely the one who was holding him up, laughed harshly at the first speaker. "Well Deathbreak's not here is he, and I'm sure the King won't mind if we kill him. There's two more, and we can just claim he was trying to escape, which he was."

  No more responses came from the dissenter. Demenn was getting his sight back, and could start to feel his limbs by now, but he regretted this, because it meant that he was going to have to feel what was about to be bestowed upon him. The fact that he knew it was coming did nothing to stem the pain. One werewolf broke from the circle and ran at him, when it reached him it cocked back its leg and kicked him in the chest. If Demenn had had any breath at this point, he would have lost it again. As it was, the blow caught him on his sternum and he flinched as he felt his chest crack and several ribs break. With the pain in his chest, he barely noticed the ripping in his head when his hairs broke from his skin as the strength of the kick sent him backwards; right into the arms of another werewolf.