The Grim Legion

by Kindred Ult

  There was silence as Vladimir kicked E over and ripped his claw back out from his chest. With glee he raised it over his head and pointed it at the leader of the vampire slayers, who lay at the verge of death.

  "Now you die, vampire slay—"

  His words were quite literally cut short by a silver knife plunging into his throat. He was more startled than hurt, but he quickly looked around to see who had thrown it. A gasp drew his attention back to the mortally wounded E, or at least, to where he had been. No there was nothing. A shadow came at him from the side, and he spun and slashed through it, but nothing was there. Then another flashed from the opposite direction, and just as fast he was turning towards it, but nothing was there. Then, with no warning, the Sword of Office burst from his chest, and he screamed in pain as his flesh began to burn away from the holy blade. E stood behind him, with both of his hands on the handle of the sword.

  At first, his scream was high, but then it turned bestial, and he turned around and flung E away with one huge, furry, fist. In front of all watching, fur began spreading from his body, four wings, and tail. He grew a snout, and his muscles and skeleton grew until he was fifteen feet tall with muscles like tree trunks. His eyes burned red, and his canine teeth grew out longer than all of the others in his feral mouth. His ear elongated, and his claws grew out long. All of this happened in a moment, but even as he towered over all those around him, even the King, he collapsed onto the ground with the Sword of Office still glowing in his chest.

  A woman's scream rent the air, but as all heads turned from towards it, it was obvious that it did not come from Saphira's lips. The Werewolf Queen ran to Vladimir, rolled him over, and cradled his head in her hands.

  "Aaron, Aaron, please come back Aaron. You can't die, Aaron. I-I love you." She sobbed as tears ran down her face.

  He smiled weakly and stared back up at her. "I've waited decades to hear you say it like that, Victoria. I think it was...worth it for that. I love you..." His words trailed off, and eyes slowly closed.

  Then, from somewhere in the crowd, came the single word that broke whatever spell had been cast by Vladimir's—or Aaron's—death. "Werepyre."

  The Queen, Victoria, shot her head around in the direction of the speaker, and her eyes were alive with hatred. She practically screamed her words. "That's right. Werepyres! Lueke will slay you all!" With this, she finally did scream, and her body went under the same morphing that Aaron's had gone under. She looked like a twisted perversion of both races' first class appearances.

  A vampire warrior charged her, but when he swung his sword broke in two, and in another moment she had him by the torso.

  "Lueke will destroy you all!" His body was crushed, and she flung it aside before charging her once-husband with more speed than even he knew she possessed. He could do nothing but stand and stare, as the love of his life charged towards him intent on taking his life. Just as she was about to reach him, though, a first class werewolf stepped in between them and locked arms with her.

  "Deathbreak!" the king gasped.

  Even as strong as Brand was, though, the werepyre was stronger still, and she began to press him back, at least until a minotaur slammed into her back, and then another and another and another. Eventually, she stumbled, and Brand used that moment to turn, grab her, and fling her over his back onto the ground. She landed with a crash, and no sooner did she hit than vampires, werewolves, skeletons, vampire slayers, and paladins of every sort were at her limbs. They piled upon her, and struggle as she might, they had her pinned. Still, she shoved and cursed, at least until she saw Saphira walking towards her with the Sword of Office in her hands, then she fought with the strength of a monster and screamed.

  She thrashed about, swung her tail back and forth, and even tried to use her wings to dislodge those who were on her, but it was all in vain. She screamed in agony when Saphira plunged the sword through her heart, and then she was silent. Victoria died just like her lover.

  Saphira dropped the Sword of Office, and looked down to see that her hands had been burned by its handle. She turned to look at the King, who had recovered enough presence of mind to nod his silent agreement. The leader of the paladins was also there, and he nodded as well. A truce was made once again.

  Saphira turned to her personal guard. "Find the Chiroptera, and have them send a message to our people fighting everywhere. Tell them that a truce has been called, and also a retreat. Have our people begin immediately pulling back to the campsite we had the day before."

  As he flew off, the King turned to Brand. "Deathbreak. Tell the same to the werewolves. We will go with the vampires."

  "Yes, sire." Brand ran off as well, and just like that, the battle was over.

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  Demenn had awoken soon after the impact, but he could still feel his blood leaving him, and he lacked the strength to get up, let alone defeat an enemy to satiate himself. As he lay there, in a puddle of his life, he resisted the urge to think back over his life, as he had no reason to look over it now. He knew what he had done, and all of it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The last thing he needed before he died was to revisit every failure of his. Better by far was to just lie there and wait for the darkness to overtake him.

  Nevertheless, and despite every effort he made to not think, he could not stop the thought from creeping into his mind. 'I wonder if Lucifer will get me if I die. Is there any hope left for me? Is there any way to escape him?"

  He would have kept thinking, but just then a face came up next to him. It hovered over him, and when his tired eyes focused on it, he saw that it was a young vampire male with a pretty face. His face went away for a moment, and then a heart was shoved in front of him. A knife was slashed along the bottom of the heart, and blood flowed down from it onto Demenn's face. Much of it spilled over him, but enough went down his throat and was swallowed that he felt his enhanced body begin to heal itself. It was a weak heart, and he was sorely wounded, so it took awhile, but eventually he felt enough strength return that he was able to stand.

  The battle stilled raged around him, but for some reason there were no werewolves close to him. This puzzled him at first, but then he realized that an impromptu ring had been formed around him by the vampires in his unit so as to protect him. He turned to the vampire who had saved him and addressed him..

  "What is your name, and how is the battle going?"

  "My name is Daniel, fifth class, I'm from unit two. The battle is going well, but we're still at something of a stalemate."

  In the back of his mind, Demenn realized that the heart the warrior had fed him had been a fourth class heart. This warrior, who was not even from his unit, had risked his life, fought a superior opponent, and had given up his chance at advancement to save Demenn. "Thank you."

  Daniel smiled. "Ah, don't thank me. I like my unit captain and everything, but even Samael couldn't have saved us at the rate we were dying. You saved my life before I saved yours. I should be thanking you."

  Demenn looked around again and, now that his senses were clearing, he noticed that there was something different in the battle. It was hard to describe, but he knew that it was important.

  "Has something happened?"

  Daniel shrugged. "We don't know. We heard some really loud roars from our camp, but besides that nothing's happened."

  Demenn was puzzled by the shift, but he was still dedicated to fighting this battle to the bitter end, so he gathered his weapons, which had either been taken from Stragath's body or had been gathered by his men, and was about to charge back into the battle when suddenly N'colto landed down in front of him. He swiftly turned and addressed him.

  "Demenn, the werepyres are alive and will be attacking momentarily. The werewolves, vampires, paladins, necromancers, and vampire slayers have formed a truce and will be retreating to our old campsite from several nights ago. It is up to you to organize the remaining vampires and get them retreating."
>
  Demenn took one long moment to process everything he had just heard, but when he finally understood he looked around swiftly and spoke with his magically loud voice.

  "A truce has been called, we will begin retreating immediately after the werewolves stop attacking us." After he had spoken this he turned back to N'colto and spoke to him in his normal voice. "Could you please survey the battlefield and tell me once the werewolves begin to retreat?"

  "I will do that for you, Demenn, but first, there is something I must tell you about the leader of the werepyres, Lueke." N'colto bent close and whispered into Demenn's ear, and then he was back into the air.

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  Lueke, from his position at the top of the mountain, had been gleefully drinking in everything that he had seen up until the vampire slayers and paladins had burst onto the scene. Still, his enjoyment was only slightly dimmed, and seeing them die as well as all of the other races he hated made him even happier. The blood of ancients was being spilled freely with that of new cubs, and Lueke loved to see it flow. He had reached a peak when E had finally been defeated, and by Aaron no less, but right after that, everything had gone wrong. Not only had Aaron died, and then cowardly tried to turn into his true form to save himself, but then Victoria had changed back in fury and had been killed as well.

  On top of losing two very good fighters, the four armies had undoubtedly formed an alliance and had just now started retreating. Their fear had overcome their blood lust, and even the werewolves were not trying to kill the others spread around them. Still, they could not escape in time. He turned to the one hundred and fifty werepyres, the largest army of them ever seen, and yelled.

  "My children, the time to strike is now! Slay them all! Flay their flesh and drink their blood! Devour every one of them!"

  The roar that issued in response to his words could be heard by all for miles around, and they added additional urgency to Brand's and N'colto's urgings to leave.

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  When Demenn heard the bellow from the werepyre, he had been trying to get the vampires into something resembling some sort of an orderly retreat. When the sounds of it flowed over him, however, shivers went up and down him. From the look on Varus's face, he could tell that he felt the same. They both knew that noise sounded exactly like death.

  "Alright, never mind getting in ranks. Run, just run for your lives!" Demenn yelled out urgently.

  By the time he commanded so, the werewolves were already implementing his ideas as best they knew. In their instinctual way, they could tell that the beast making its presence known was stronger, and that it was hunting them. They ran like rabbits from a hound, and all of the more human races among them ran just as hard. Fear was in their eyes, a primal kind of fear. Vampires, humans, necromancers, and werewolves ran back into the relative safety of the forest, while the Chiroptera took flight and vanished into the lightening night sky.

  Only the demons stayed in the clearing, but Demenn paid no attention to that fact, supposing that they had no fear of death. He thought very little of them at all, in fact, as preserving his own life was most important to him.

  The tail end of the mixed groups had almost made it into the forest when the first figures appeared in the sky off of the northern horizon. They were monstrous shadows against the sky, with their huge wings carrying them through the air like angels of death. In moments, the sky was littered with them, and Demenn began to lose hope of outrunning them. Even as he thought that, though, a gigantic green shield sprung up in the air in front of the werepyres. It stretched farther than the eye could see in every direction, and when the first werepyres reached it they crashed into it like birds on a window.

  "Ghost." Demenn heard Niethel say as they ran.

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  "Will you stay with me, Scar?" Ghost was panting from the effort of holding up his gigantic shield and preserving it from breaking as the werepyres bashed themselves against it.

  "Of course, my brother," Scar sharpened his sword and looked up at the hordes that lay only fifty feet away or so. "We fought these beasts before, so it's befitting that we should die by their hands this night. However, it is not right that you three should be here. All of you are young, and should cherish life." He turned to address the three standing behind him.

  "Shove it, wolfie." Triplecorpse's wounds had been almost completely healed by Nasoren, and he swung his hammer experimentally. Grinning with satisfaction, he hefted it up in two hands and stood ready.

  "You must forgive my insulting friend, but I do agree that is is completely correct. E is alive, and with Nasoren, so our duty to them is completely exonerated in that regard, but there is one debt far greater that we still have yet to reimburse. Our blood-debt to Lidian, who saved us both at one time. There can only be one way to repay such a debt, and that is by the offering of our lives. The only way to repay being saved is by giving one's life. Blood for blood, and death for death." Jacques never looked up, but was methodically covering all of his knives in holy water while he sat in the bloody grass.

  "I am far older than you are, young pup, and I stay for my people." N'colto studied the werepyres, as if looking for one in particular. "If they do not escape this battle, then my entire race is lost. I cannot allow that."

  "Well, far be it from me to deny you your death wishes," Scar smirked.

  "Almost...broken," Ghost gasped.

  "Very well, I resign myself to this ignoble and unknown death. However, Triplecorpse, there is one thing that I must know before I die. One thing has puzzled me all of these years, and if I die without knowing the answer, it will be tragedy. I know that Triplecorpse Hammerblow is not your real name, so what is?"

  Triplecorpse took a long time in responding, but when he did he looked his friend directly in the eyes. "Mathew. My real name is Mathew Eugene Scott."

  Jacques tried to stifle a burst of laughter, so all that came out was a grunt as he doubled over and came up smiling. "Well, I can honestly say that I never would have guessed."

  "Tell anyone and I'll kill you. And that goes for all of you three as well."

  "Oh, I do not think that the deprivation of the commodity we call life is high on my list of things to avoid at the moment. In fact, if I am correct, then it will be coming momentarily.

  "Can't...hold...any...longer" Ghost gasped, and then finally the shield burst apart. Immediately after it did, the werepyres, frustrated from having to attack an inanimate object for so long, swarmed down at the five small figures on the ground below them.

  "Eugene, really?"

  "Shut up."

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  Lueke hovered above the dome his warriors had formed around the five, and he was able to see every detail of their final fight. The wizard was the most deadly of them all, and had sent line after line of magic that criss-crossed their way across the air and sheared limbs, wings, heads, and even bodies in two whenever they hit a werepyre, which they did often. Obviously, his spells were specifically geared towards werepyres. Many werepyres fell from the sky and hit the ground, where they rolled in agony before being slain by one of the other defenders.

  Many times a werepyre would swoop down from his flying to attack the white werewolf, but whenever he did, the gray one would leap into the air and intercept him. This one obviously knew just how to kill a werepyre, because even though any of them could obliterate him in one hit, they never hit him, and he killed at least two in this fashion. The others that came down he simply delayed long enough for the white one to shoot at them.

  The two of them together had killed about fifteen before, finally, the gray one was caught between two werepyres. He had leapt at one but, while he was struggling with it, another came from behind and tore him in two. Once he was dead, the white one was able to kill o
ne more with a straight line of death before another flew down and smashed him into the ground. All of his wards broke at once, and his body was reduced to putty in moments.

  Once those two were dead, the werepyres began flying down en masse, and then the only thing keeping them back were the daggers being flung by one of the humans. It seemed like he would never run out of them, and each was thrown with perfect precision to hit either a vital or maiming point. Several died from his knives covered in holy water, but most were only driven back. Again, they would have swarmed him easily, save for the large human next to him. Once, when one had gotten behind the small one, the large one had grabbed it by the neck with one hand, slammed it to the ground, and had smashed it in the head countless times with his large hammer until it stopped struggling.

  Lueke was amazed by the large one's strength, which was almost equal to the werepyres, but still inferior. Eventually, he became too preoccupied with fending off those who attacked him, and one werepyre got past him to charge the little one. He threw one dagger, which landed in the werepyre's eye but did not stop him, and then drew his sword. He severely underestimated the speed of a werepyre, however, as the act of drawing was all he was able to do before its sword sliced his head from his body and it clamped its jaws over his open neck, drinking in all of his blood as it spewed from him.