The Grim Legion

by Kindred Ult

  "Very good." He gagged as he threw the dirk to the ground and then vanished in a mist.

  Sophella collapsed to the ground, exhausted, and Niethel retrieved his dirk, which no longer had the green enchantment on it, before looking down to see the sword and shield wounds on his body.

  "Oh yea!" He yelled in exultation. "That was totally my victory, all the way!" He broke out into a ridiculous little dance after sheathing his weapons.

  "Hah!" Sophella laughed between long breaths. "you never would have been...able to do anything...without me."

  "Aw come on. First I put the beat down to like, thirty ghosts, then I killed those three super ghosts, and then I capped ol' Ghost himself with my dirk from like, twenty feet away. If that's not my victory, then I dunno' what is."

  "All of which you could not have done without me taking the brunt of the attacks and giving you that spell on your dirk." She was feeling better already, and went to examine where Ghost had been. "and I don't think he's dead."

  "Yea, how does it feel to be in my shoes for once," he quipped as he went back and pushed his Wolfsbane arrow through the first class before taking it from its back. "For once you took the pain and I was the one who saved you." He barely seemed to notice the bleeding hole in his side and the rough bruise along his chest in his elation.

  "Idiot." She shook her head, but that was to hide her smile. 'He really did good this time. I owe him my life, and that protective bit was rather sweet.'

  "Thank you, I owe you mine too." She jerked her head up to see Niethel smiling, and for the first time in many, many years, she blushed.

  Climax of Betrayal

  23

  Climax of Betrayal"Finally," Demenn heard Varus say from next to him as he cut the forearms off of an opponent who was attacking with an ax then cut open his chest. "This battle is beginning to look good."

  It had taken far longer than Demenn would have liked, but he had to agree. His unit and unit Eight had succeeded in reconnecting with all of the others save the First, which was still fighting on its own, the Third, which Julius had valiantly defended, and the Ninth and Tenth, which had regrettably been given to new captains to command and had been destroyed. As it was, the second, fourth, fifth, and sixth were with the seventh and eighth at about the middle of the battlefield. The six units had formed into one large circle, and were finally beginning to hold their own against the hordes of werewolves that still surrounded them. Each of the six remaining captains had taken over a section of the circle, and every now and again, Demenn was able to see them in their element. He saw Valdivai, with her kama-like weapons, dispose of enemies with speed and efficiency. She would block any attack, no matter how strong, with only one weapon, then stick the blade of the other into her opponent. Within seconds, she was whipping her weapons around with blinding speed, and leaving holes all over her opponent, until it fell to the ground. She could even take on three or four opponent with just as much ease, and did so often.

  Then there was Bilal, who used his large broadsword with the countless blades grafted into it to fight his opponents with immaculate skill. It was as if each weapon that attacked him, and from each angle that it did, called for a specific amount of spins, twists, and pulls before it was out of its owner's hands and on the ground. Whether axes, hammers, maces, swords, spears, or any other weapon imaginable, none was able to attack twice. Once the blades met, his opponents' weapons were immediately caught inside his web, where it was worked, cajoled, twisted, and finally pulled to the ground. And once they lost their weapons, his opponents only had seconds of life left on this earth.

  Diana, with her blade at the end of a whip, was no less impressive, and it was those who fought her that seemed more like victims than real warriors. She could slay several fighters from over fifteen feet away, and yet also be able to battle any that were close to her also. All that were foolish enough to block her whip soon felt it swing around their sword, and then felt her blade in their back. Any who threw themselves to the ground soon discovered her unique amount of control over her weapon as it arced up, then down, and gored them with the tip of the blade. In short, there was no escape from her.

  And, of course, Samael was the angel of death amongst the ranks of the werewolves. Sometimes he would fly from place to place and slay any he met, while other times he would simply stand in one place and kill all that came for him with his large bent metal pole with the spike in it. Most of the time, however, he was seeking out first class werewolves who were either placed in the main army to make their presence known or who had joined from the battle in the camp. He was drawn to them like a moth to flame, and whenever he found one his wings would buzz in elation, and he would cut a swathe of death until he found them. Their battles were always epic, but in the end, it was Samael who devoured his opponent.

  Still, even with all of those theatrical fighters, it was Ezekiel who caught Demenn's attention most when he saw him battle. He held his small metal stick in one hand, with his hand closed around it in a fist. He never met an opponent's attack, but always either flowed around them or blocked them at the arm before attacking back with his fist. Every time he struck, those taking his attacks were staggered like they had been hit with a crossbow, and when he had struck them three or four times, they crumpled to the floor like rag dolls. Sometimes, when he felt it necessary, he would shift the stick farther to one side, so that one pointed end stuck out inches past, and would stick it into a werewolf, causing it to fall with only one blow. His left hand, when not assisting his right in damaging an opponent, was usually casting some devastating spell at clumps of enemies.

  Still, even with these amazing fighters, and with the unity of the six units, Demenn knew that their chances of winning were slim. The skeletons were getting less and less numerous, with their conjurors either dying or giving their attention to fighting the first classes, and the demons were still stuck fighting the weredragon. The large circle he was in and the far smaller one that was the first unit, were the last remaining organized force the vampires had on this battlefield, and to top off all of his troubles, the vampire slayers and paladins were battling around them as well.

  Even as he thought this, however, the flow of demons still being spewed forth from the tear in the sky increased exponentially. It was almost as if some power knew it was needed now, and the amount of demons coming to their aid could barely fit through the hole in the sky. The weredragon tried with all of its strength to hold back the flood, but eventually it was completely covered with demons, who hacked at it with their crude weapons. With the weredragon out of the way, the demons were free to harry the werewolves as they saw fit. They would obviously not be able to win the war on their own, but they would be able to demoralize them and give the beleaguered vampires a much-needed respite.

  Sensing the shift, Demenn's unit, and also all of the others, began to expand their circle. They fought with renewed vigor, now that there was at least some end in sight, and slowly but surely, the circle began to grow, with the werewolves inching backwards. The demonic troops attack from the air, and also landed and fought in groups wherever they thought they were needed.

  For their part, the werewolves, confused by the attacks from the air, by the offensive of the vampires within them, and also by the vampire slayers and paladins, began to fall back, but only for a moment. Soon they were fighting just as fiercely as ever, and the vampires' advance ground to a halt. Very quickly, the battle became a stalemate, with neither side being able to force the other back, but still battling as savagely as ever. Many died on both sides, and their bodies were stepped upon and over as the battle line shifted back and forth ever so slightly.

  Across his section of the circle, Demenn was in his element. Any who met him in combat met a swift death, and he shot back and forth across his area like a wraith in the night. He never stayed in any one area for too long, but just long enough to make sure that his kill was complete, and then slipped off to find another skirmish. Many of the werewolves and vampire
s in the battle could have sworn that they had seen the reaper himself standing behind Demenn wherever he went.

  It was during one of those skirmishes that Demenn felt more than saw a shadow on his back. He leapt to the side, and landed with a roll, just in time to see Stragath, the general of the demons, crash down where he had been moments before. The demon rolled his head over and stared at Demenn.

  "What a shame, now I'm going to have to do this the hard way," he hissed and smiled, showing rows of fangs.

  Demenn was not very surprised. "Dimitrious?"

  Stragath pivoted his body to face him. "Yes, you are to be executed. You should have known that putting a cross on his forehead, however hilarious I may find it, would not go unpunished."

  Several vampires, having seen the attack on Demenn, ran to his side to help him, but Stragath snapped at them in a voice that brooked no disagreement. "I am carrying out orders from Dimitrious himself! Do you presume to challenge his will?"

  His words stopped them all in their tracks, and as one they gave Demenn apologetic looks and turned back to fighting furrier foes. Demenn could hardly blame them, and so he did not. At the moment, he took all thoughts from his mind save those of his opponent. Stragath still looked remarkably like an Other form vampire, save that he was red and possessed no wings. He stood at twelve feet or so, and the demonic spikes that littered his body glistened in the moonlight. Most of them were already red with blood.

  "Come then," Demenn held his spear in front of him. "It would be a shame to disappoint your master."

  Stragath chuckled. "Please, that worm of a vampire is nothing to my real master. My master is simply, for some reason beyond me, giving the worm some temporary control over me."

  "Hmm, well then, shall we?" Demenn found the information interesting, but decided to not dwell on it at the moment.

  Another chuckle. "Again, please. You have been fighting for hours, and I am fresh. You stand no chance."

  "Then this should be no problem for you."

  "Oh, it won't be." Stragath flexed his entire body as if he were struggling greatly. His toe and finger claws shot out to the length of knives, and he growled as more spikes grew from his tail and, with one final roar, one large one burst from his forehead. "Now, Demenn, I'll be bringing you back with me to my master's realm."

  Just then, however, a roar was heard from the side, and both Demenn and Stragath looked there to see a first class werewolf smash its way through its own ranks and then through that of the vampires until it stood before Demenn. Demenn did not recognize it until it spoke, and when it did his eyes widened in surprise.

  "Hello again, Demenn." It was the last handmaiden of the Queen's. The one that had almost been raped. Her name was Lupin. "I've been waiting to kill you, ever since that idiot Deathbreak let you live. You bastard."

  Demenn looked from one opponent to the other, and calculated just what it would take to kill both of them simultaneously, but before he could conclude that it was impossible, he saw a vampire break from the ranks of his own and run to stand next to him. He did not need to see his face to recognize him.

  "Do you not care that you are ignoring an edict from Dimitrious, Varus." He had to smile.

  Varus was panting slightly, and Demenn could tell that he was a ways away when he saw Stragath attack Demenn. "Who? Listen, I'm not doing this for you. I just wanna' get me a first class, and they've been really scarce for some reason. So, I'll kill the wolf, and you can get the demon. Okay?"

  "Thank you, friend." Demenn chuckled. "Careful, she is very angry at me, and probably at you too, now that she knows you're with me."

  "Who cares." Varus stalked towards Lupine with his weapons out.

  Then the demon shot forward, trying to take advantage of Demenn paying attention to Varus. Demenn ducked under his hand strike, the knife-like finger claws passing inches over his head, but then he saw the elbow blade heading straight at him and had to bend over backwards in order to get his head out of the way. He watched it pass him by, and then saw Stragath smile before shoving his knee spike up into Demenn's back. Demenn cried out in pain, jumped to the side, spinning body off of the spike, and fell to the ground. Luckily, the spike had missed his spine, and so had only pierced a kidney.

  He rolled to the side as Stragath's tail came smashing into where he had been, and when it came away, four furrows were left in the ground from the spikes. Snatching his spear from the ground, he settled back into his stance and checked the hole in his side. It was very large, and he could see and feel the blood gushing from it onto his clothing and the ground. Stragath saw the blood too, and grinned.

  He was charging Demenn again, and when he reached him he attacked with everything at his disposal. Every punch turned into an elbow slice, and when he shoved his bladed knees at Demenn, his spiked feet followed seconds after. After every five or so strikes, he would swing his tail around and slap or smash, depending on what was the most effective, with the bones on it, and several times he actually rammed is head down in an attempt at goring his opponent. When he spun, he would lead with his tail, whipping it around in a deadly circle, then follow with a slicing back-elbow strike, which turned into a hand slash. When that was over, he would twist his body around and thrust his horn forward with all of his might, then continue the spin with a knee stab and end by kicking the leg straight out and trying to disembowel his opponent with his toe claws. That was all in only one spin, which took seconds at most. Just fighting with his hand and feet blades alone, he would be an intensely dangerous opponent, but his body was literally covered with weapons, and he used them all to maximum effect.

  For his part, Demenn did his best to survive all of the numerous attacks that were sent his way. He had learned from the very first encounter to never be flat-footed, and this served him well as he desperately tried to survive the onslaught. He spun his spear back and forth with his hands in the middle and sometimes slapped attacks out of the way, but more often put all of his force behind them and used the connection his spear had with his opponent to move his own body out of the way of the attack.

  He would slap the straight punches and kicks just slightly to the side and let them pass by, and would use the middle of the staff to redirect the knees and elbows over or under him while moving his entire entire body accordingly against it. For the tail swipes, he would brace himself and take them outright with both hands on his spear, and for the headbutts he had no choice save to dodge back, under, or to the side. It was a strange experience, fighting Stragath, as it was almost like fighting one of those turning posts with the sticks in them, save that he had far more blades bristling from his body, and that he could spin, lunge, and attack with impunity. Of course, as a natural reaction to blocking with a bladed weapon, Stragath was bleeding in several areas, and once Demenn had almost slashed his neck when he headbutted, but those losses of blood were far from serious, and barely phased him.

  Demenn flowed around Stragath's attacks with the finesse of a dancer, and any spectators would have been amazed by his litheness, but every move he made agitated the hole in his side, and it slowed his movements more and more as the fight dragged on. He was still able to keep up with Stragath's bizarre fighting style for a while, as he weaved and wound his way around attacks and sometimes simply blocked them outright, but eventually he slowed down too much, and Stragath laughed when he saw an opening and stabbed Demenn through the torso in the exact same place he had impaled him before.

  Demenn grimaced in pain and faltered, which gave Stragath the perfect opportunity to pull back his head, hunch his body, and shove his horn right at Demenn's chest. In the moment he had to react or die, Demenn twisted his wrist, sending his spear into both hands, then rammed it into the crook above the horn where its base met the demon's forehead. He let his feet go limp, and allowed the immense strength of the attack to blow him back, into the air, and then land him of the ground in almost the exact same position he had been in, save that his chest had a small flood of red flowing down it whe
re the horn had stabbed into him despite all of his best efforts.

  Instead of attacking again, Stragath stood back for a moment and smiled once again.

  "Go on Demenn, I know that you can use your Other form. You're famous for it. Go into it, regenerate those holes, and fight me like the demon we both know you are. You'll die if you don't."

  The fact that Stragath knew about that was secondary to the screaming of Demenn's psyche for him to Turn. His body screamed at him in self defense. It knew that his stabbing would prove fatal unless he Turned. His mind screamed at him in outrage. It knew that he he could defeat the one who had done this to him if only he Turned. For a moment, his skin even began to turn red, and his stature raised, but then he shrunk back down, and changed back into the shape of a vampire as his will took control back. He took a breath, and stood straight.