by Kindred Ult
Halfway to the battlefield, both armies split in two, with half of each going to the main battle and half heading to the vampires' camp. Nasoren was right in the middle, and was about to head to the main fight, but Jacque grabbed her arm and kept her with him. The three of them went straight forward, and eventually they were inside the camp. At first, Nasoren saw only a few of the races they were battling, and most of those were dead, but as they got closer to the center of the camp, they became more and more numerous. When they finally burst into the large space at the center, she saw why E and the two men with her had gone here.
The scene before them was a swirling melee of vampires, vampire slayers, paladins, werewolves, skeletons, and demons. They fought with ferocity born of age-old hatred, and the knowledge that whichever side lost would not walk away from this battle. There was no honor in their fights, no duels between warriors, but rather simple carnage. A fighter would vanquish his foe to be impaled from behind by another, who would move on to another and be killed. None were safe, save for the Matriarch and Patriarch. They stood in the middle of the battle, and a large circle of space surrounded them. Whether it was conscious or unconscious, none dared enter that circle, and all fought around it.
Then, however, there was a loud roar, and the amount of first class werewolves in the area greatly increased before the King and Queen entered the clearing. They did not bother with any other fighters, and none were foolish enough to attack them, so they swiftly made their way to the center, where Safiria and Vladimir waited for them. They faced off for just a moment, Vladimir, with still no weapon visible, against the King, who drew a black two-handed axe from his belt; and Safiria, with her fabled silver sword, against the Queen, who held two strange-looking swords. For a moment, they stood motionless, but then as one they moved.
The King leapt forward and lifted his axe into the air with both of his hands. He was right above Vladimir, who did not move until the King brought his weapon down. The axe slammed down with such strength and speed that it seemed like it could cut through the earth itself. Just when it began to go down, however, Vladimir morphed into his Other form, sprouting four wings and numerous horns that curved about his head like an elaborate crown, and suddenly had two objects in his hands. He locked his hands together, and only when they stopped was it obvious that he had two four-pronged hand claws. The axe hit down onto the two hand claws with strength enough to make all feel it, even those only watching, and even though the bars of steel between the axe and Vladimir's hands stopped the blade from cleaving him in half, he was still hard pressed to keep the King from overcoming him. For a moment, they were locked together, but then Vladimir's arms began to slowly lower, and the King grinned.
Vladimir grinned back, and then he was not there. His two hand blades fell to the ground, and after them came the King's axe, which seemed to shake the earth when it hit it. The King looked around and barely saw Vladimir leaping all around. He used his four wings to great advantage, bouncing himself at speeds almost too great for even the king himself to perceive. Vladimir leapt low and slid under the King to grab his strange hand weapons again, and the battle between them began in earnest. The King fought with greater strength than any other before him had, and yet his technique was also to be marveled at. Vladimir fought with speed greater than any other before him had, and although his strength was inferior to the King's, it was not overwhelmingly so.
The battle between Safiria and the Queen was already in place, and the two of them danced together with even more finesse than their consorts had shown. The Queen had shown why her swords looked strange in the first moments when she had jabbed out with both of them and their blades went sailing at Safiria. Her two segmented whip swords had almost taken Safiria by surprise and ended her life there, but she had dodged down and charged forward. Now they battled very close to one another, with Safiria looking like a banner blowing in the wind, or a mountain stream. She never stayed in one position for too long, but constantly shifted into the next strike as if she had seen everything beforehand and knew what move she would be using hours from now. Every attack and defense she used with her single sword looked like it was completely spontaneous, and yet also like she had choreographed it beforehand.
The Queen, who was in her normal form to make full use of her speed, was able to keep up with Safiria and counter her disturbing style with her two whip swords. They wove around her, and she looked to be dancing more than fighting. Sometimes she closed her eyes and just let the swords spin about her in flowing spirals of death broken for moments by swift lines of stabbing motion.
Nasoren fought with all of the other normal warriors, but even she could tell that all of the other fighting was only half-serious. They were truly paying attention to the foursome in the middle of them, and any serious fighting was impossible when shown the face of such purely awe-inspiring power.
Then, one other figure entered the circle, and Nasoren gasped when she saw that E was there. His large, glowing sword, the Sword of Office, was in his hand, and all of the opponents behind him were disintegrating even before they died. He stared at the battle before him, and then stuck his sword into the air. It pulsed with a powerful light, then sprayed rays almost as powerful as those of the sun over the battle. For just a moment, the entire diorama was brightened until it looked to be day. Those beings of the night closest to him instantly evaporated into air, but the fierce light flowing from the sword momentarily blinded almost all of them, even the humans.
The light ended momentarily, and when it did E ran towards where Vladimir and the King, the only ones save the Queen and Safiria to not be blinded still fought. He swung himself into their fierce battle with abandon, and the already powerful display of a duel became a truly dazzling event of a three-fighter brawl. E fit perfectly into the mix, and he completely countered both of his opponents with his own style. He fought with such perfect technique that he looked like he had come straight out of a teaching manual. Every step, every attack, and every block was executed perfectly, and there was no flaw at all to be found within him. His sword glowed with just enough light to make it hard to watch for long periods of time, and he was almost as fast as Vladimir was.
Had the King and Vladimir chosen to battle E together at that moment, he would have been easily slain, but they did not have to worry only about him and his deadly sword, which had slain many before even cutting them. At every opportunity, they would attack one another, then attack E. The fight could have lasted for years, and Nasoren found that she was no longer fighting, but watching them. In fact, the beautiful battle more than likely could have kept her attention even if it had lasted until the ends of time, but at that moment her attention was stolen by two figures walking up to her, Triplecorpse, and Jacque.
The first was a huge, red werewolf, and she recognized it as Blood, the strongest of the generals in the King's army. The second was a small human. He was short even by human standards, and so next to that giant, he looked positively miniscule. They had a single purpose, and they walked up to the three of them with it in mind. Blood spoke first.
"Well, this is lucky for me. You're just the two I wanted to find." He laughed. "We were destined to fight. It was written in the stars, human warrior. Let us continue what we started earlier, only this time I brought along Rhave to make sure that your own friends do not interfere."
Triplecorpse brought his hammer in front of him and saluted. He walked up to meet the gigantic warrior, and while he did, the small man by Blood's side walked past him to form up with Nasoren and Jacque. He smiled at the condescending looks they gave him, and spoke. His voice sounded nasally, but there was an undercurrent of ferocity that immediately put Nasoren on edge.
"Apparently, neither of you have met a Lycanthrope before. Well, after tonight I'm sure you'll never forget us." His last words were a broken snarl, and he howled as his face broke into a snout. His body soon followed suit, but instead of staying standing, he went of all fours. His hands and feet became paws, and h
is tailbone protruded into a bushy tail. He had turned into a wolf, which would not have been so bad had he not been six feet from paw to shoulder, four feet from shoulder to shoulder, and fourteen feet from tail to snout.
"Oh, this will be fun." Jacque lied.
________________________________________________________________________
Demenn was worried. The plan had sounded perfect inside the pavilion, and at first he had actually believed that they would win the battle and he would live if only he kept to the plan. Now, however, it was obvious that the plan was no longer operative. The werewolves had somehow seen through the immediate battle before them, and had outflanked the vampires. Thanks to their counter offensive, the once-despairing werewolf army was now regaining its morale. Every necromancer slain made dozens, and sometimes hundreds, of skeletons fall lifeless to the ground, and from the looks of the skeletons, the werewolves were cutting necromancers down at a prodigious rate. With the threat of the skeletons lessening, and the attacks of the demons lessened considerably by that weredragon, the werewolves were turning inwards once again. They focused all of their strength on the ten units inside them, and the vampires were feeling the pressure.
Three werewolves with spears ran at Demenn, and they took turns consecutively stabbing at him. He stood his ground in the face of their advance, and moved his hands in swift cuts and swats to defeat each of their attacks by slapping the sides, top, and bottom of their shafts and stealing their momentum. When the one on Demenn's right took a chance and stabbed out with his spear in one hand, twisting his body and throwing out his arm for full extension, Demenn switched from defensive to offensive. He turned his body to the right and slammed the spear's shaft into the other two, stopping them from attacking as well, and then let go of his spear with one hand. His weapon snapped down like a sprung spring, and the blade sliced down the werewolf's face. Its eye was sliced in two, but it was still alive. Disregarding it, Demenn faked a lunge at the two left, but then ducked down when they stabbed reflexively. One recovered in time, but the other lagged, and so Demenn chose that one and shot himself from his crouched position into its gut. His spear stabbed through its intestines before he pulled it out, stabbed it through a lung, and then slit its throat.
He was inches away from its face as they fell together to the ground, and he saw the light leave its eyes. In those same eyes, however, he saw the last werewolf raising its spear to stab down into him. He quickly rolled off of the werewolf, and waited until he heard the wet thud of the spear entering the body before he got to his feet and ran towards the werewolf, who had stabbed his spear into the spine of the other, and just pulled the spear out when Demenn's own entered his body through the collarbone and exited just under the last rib. He knew that the last werewolf, its eye still hanging from one of its sockets, was going to attack him, and he also knew that he would not be able to pull his spear out in time. Still, he calmly put his foot on the shoulder of the werewolf and proceeded to slowly tear the spear from it. The werewolf snarled, but just before it was about to lunge it stiffened, then fell to its knees as Varus ended his slash to its spine. He stabbed into its back to finish it off just as Demenn pulled his spear out.
"Didn't have to save you." Varus smiled distantly.
"Of course, but you did anyway." Demenn wiped his spear on the cloth of the werewolf he had just killed.
Another of the thousands of werewolves charged Varus from behind, only to have its weapon bashed to the side as he spun around and struck it with his own. He followed by ramming his shield into its face and then pivoting back around and digging his sword into its flesh. Another swung at him with an axe, and he blocked it with his shield before kicking out its knees and stabbing it through the mouth.
After that, for just a moment, there were no werewolves particularly interested in Demenn, so he was allowed to give all of his attention to the problem at hand, and that was what they would to about the quickly deteriorating battle. Even as he thought, however, he felt the mental scream inside his mind that meant one of the ten units' circle had been breached. It meant that either werewolves had broken through the outer defenses, or that the vampires' numbers had been so depleted that there was a hole in the middle where the werewolves could finally jump inside and fight from the inside out. Regardless, once the circle of that position was broken, it was only a matter of time before all of the vampires in the unit were caught and slaughtered.
After a quick search through the links in their minds, Demenn discovered that it was one of the newest units that had broken, and that their leader had already been slain, which was why the circle had been breached in the first place. Most of the other units were functioning properly, but a few—also the newer ones—were struggling, and one other was already on the verge of collapsing. 'Something must be done.' As if to accentuate his point, the other unit broke apart, and when Demenn turned to look he saw its captain take flight in his Other form in an attempt to get away. Unfortunately, a dark shape flew from the ground and latched onto him. The werewolf stayed stuck to him, and as he struggled to gain altitude, another jumped from the ground onto him, then another, and another. Eventually, he sank back to the ground, and his screaming voice was silenced from the connection.
Only eight units were left now, and more and more they were struggling. Even Demenn's unit was having problems staying secure, and now he and Varus were battling fiercely with all of the others in order to keep it that way. The two of them fought in perfect unison, and all of the werewolves that met them fell within seconds. Still, they could not fight the war alone, and even as they killed the last two of a group of five, Demenn heard another scream as a third unit was broken. He was shocked when this came through, as it was Julius' unit that had been broken. Julius' voice still echoed in his mind, even though it was clear his unit was being torn apart, but it was obvious that he had only minutes at most before he was torn down by sheer numbers.
The fact that it was an established unit that had fallen, not a new one, shook Demenn more than he could understand, and it solidified his resolve to carry out the plan forming in his head. Using his magically-empowered voice, he shouted to his unit.
"Unit seven, position A, but fill it in. Point towards unit eight."
Slowly, the circle his unit was in formed into a lopsided triangle, with the inside filled with warriors. He and Varus were at the tip of the triangle, and they were pointed straight for Valdivai and her unit. "Fight towards unit eight!" Demenn yelled and began moving forward while fighting. He felt his unit moving behind him and eventually he was running forward, paying only minimal attention to those enemies that confronted him. They would charge him constantly, and he would bash them to the side with his spear and dash past them. Some he killed, others he maimed, and some he simply deflected their blows and ran past them, trusting another to finish them. Eventually, the warriors facing him lost their singularity and the flood of fur and steel seemed never ending before him. At some point, he knew not exactly when, his body simply took over. He gave it control, and it reacted to every danger instantly and lethally countering without him even having to think about it.
Just when he began to think that the army of werewolves really was never-ending, the warrior before him was not a werewolf, but a vampire, and Valdivai at that. The two of them exchanged glances as Demenn wrested control of his body back to his mind, and she nodded her consent to his plan. Control of her unit was given over to him at that moment.
"Unit eight, join unit seven and head towards unit one!" Just then, a voice flashed over the captains' mind link, it was the captain of the first unit 'No need for that, Demenn, focus on saving the other units before heading to mine.'
Demenn did not understand why, as the first unit was in the middle of the battle, occupying the lowest of the valley, and was taking the heaviest casualties, but Demenn had to obey.
"Fight to unit two!" his voice rang out. By then, the two units were completely merged, and they headed towards Samael and his unit, whi
ch was closest. This time, he had Valdivai at his one side as well as Varus, and they began moving even faster than before. At that moment, Julius' voice was finally silenced. He had been the last of his unit left alive, and he had fought to the death without abandoning his unit. Even with the news that a captain had died, Demenn still felt like this battle might actually be turning around. Still, only seven units were left now, and there was little time to try to save them all.
________________________________________________________________________
Niethel and Sophella were not feeling quite as optimistic as Demenn at the moment. Niethel's sharp eyesight had caught the first classes coming far before any others, and he swiftly pointed out the problems to all of the them before proceeding to sight and begin sending out arrows as fast as he could. Though he could see that his arrows were hitting their targets, only one or two of them stumbled, and none fell. Recognizing the futility in his actions, and in those of others who were trying to slow the charge with their own arrows or blasts of magic—or necromancy, he had stopped with at least ten arrows left in his quiver. When the Chiroptera began landing, and for the first time the charge was moderately stalled, Niethel had grabbed Sophella by the hand and ran back into the packs of tents that compromised their camp.
And now they were still running through the alleys between tents. Apparently, two first class werewolves had caught their scent from before, and were charging behind them. He could hear the werewolves laughing as they easily gained on their prey. The lane they were in ended in about fifty feet, and two split off from it, going left and right. When they reached it, Sophella grabbed his hand.
