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Bloodsworn Bk. 2 Ch. 3
🕑 Added 2025-01-25 00:37:58 +0000 UTC3.
The palace was solemn, a heavy weight draped across it as slowly a set of pipes wailed a death dirge. The death of the capital, of their world, the fall of an Empire. It stretched out, haunting the halls, the courtyards, and even in the throne room where generations of Emperors had sat.
Erak straightened, the dark of the dawn brightening as the sun began its ascent. His armor gleamed, polished and hammered free of dents, and he had the oversized dragonbone sword on his shoulder as he stood at ease as the remnants of the band played.
Hundreds clustered behind him, holding their makeshift weapons, nervous sweat dripping down their faces as they stared at the damaged gates. Teams were standing by, ready to throw them open at a moment's notice. Behind the rank and file soldiers were the civilians, with a thin row of soldiers on the outside of the long column. Near the rear of the snaking column would be Victoria and Sammus, the two of them agreeing to form the rearguard.
When Erak had found her and asked if it was appropriate to lead the charge with Aloria, Victoria had laughed for a few minutes while in the privacy of her rooms.
“Erak, there is no other place for you than crushing my foes beneath your boots. Cut us a path open and the rest of my guard will keep me safe,” Victoria had said, still wheezing at his question. Now Erak stood and waited for the princess to arrive as the pipes continued to wail.
A drum beat once, deep and solemn and powerful enough to reverberate through his bones. Then again and again, faster and faster as more lighter drums took place. The pipes wail changed to something more frantic, desperate, filled with energy. Essence drifted around, currents of it flowing over the column before beginning to sink into the people.
“A boosting effect,” Pomp whispered from his other shoulder. Erak could feel the energy of it, the desire to move and march. A clash of cymbals and the music changed again, wrathful as horns blew and the cymbals rang out.
This was a song of vengeance, of men mortally wounded who still struck back. It was wrath and ruin, anger and despair, all wrapped into a powerful harmony that sank into Erak’s bones.
Clop, clop, clop, clop steel shod horseshoes were nearly lost in the rising symphony, but Erak turned to see Aloria riding an inky black horse. It was a massive beast in gleaming barding, covered from shoulders to flanks in thick steel. Aloria rode upright, her armor matte black, with a ten foot lance rising straight up and into the sky.
Imperial Warlord lvl. 19
It spoke to who she was and how she viewed herself. She was not a princess who played the games at court. She was a killer, a warrior forged in hellfire and quenched in blood. Power and death in equal measure radiated off of her as she drew her horse to a standstill next to Erak. The music rose to a culmination, images floating in Erak’s mind of a man bleeding, guts spilling out, but victory in his eyes and he plunged a blade into a nameless foe’s chest.
“I am eager to see if you live up to your reputation,” Aloria said, her voice pitched so just the two of them could hear. Erak just nodded slowly.
“Let it begin then. OPEN THE GATES!” Her last words were a roar and the teams at the gates pulled back the heavy bars holding the gates closed. A crack issued out instantly, wood blowing apart as the gates were thrown open and a monster came stumbling in.
Nine feet of green-gray skin, thick pustules oozing black slime down its bare reptilian chest. Its wide head had wide bloodshot yellow eyes, wide nose snuffling as it breathed in the scents of the palace. An impromptu battering ram, a chunk of marble, was clutched in its scarred hands, but it dropped it as it looked around.
Corrupted Ogre lvl. 12
A monster that has been filled with the corruption of Hellflame, its stronger, more durable, but its already lackluster intelligence has degraded even further.
“CHARGE!” Aloria screamed, her voice echoing inside of her helmet as she raked her spurs across the flanks of her warmount. The horse lunged forward, strides quickly increasing her speed as Essence pulled around her in a black-red pulsing aura that filled the tip of the lance. A crazed laugh drifted from the princess as the lance struck the monstrosity in the chest.
The ogre’s chest disintegrated, blown apart in the charge as Aloria’s power erupted in a cone, blowing back the screaming Hellspawn that had come racing in after the ogre.
Her horse ran rampant over them, sharp hooves tearing flesh and crushing bone, but Erak was right behind her. His long legs ate the distance, as he hurdled the dead ogre even as it crashed to the ground, and then he was amongst the unarmored demons.
The dragonbone blade drank black blood deeply, each swing sending corpses in multiple directions as Erak traced a parallel path to Aloria. The princess had lost her spear in a small flesh golem and now danced around the construct with a curved sword whistling in the air, slashing apart the creature with every blow.
Erak protected her flank, carving a zone around them with every swing of his sword as he killed with reckless abandon. Blows scraped at his newly cleaned armor, demons snarled inches from his face, but Erak stood resolute. With sword and shield he forced his way deeper, past the gates and into the burned out streets and ruins of the estates that dotted the hill.
The demons were trash, low-level lesser spawn that were more inclined to flee than face him. There were a few commanders near the back of the horde, down the hill, who’s flaming whips cracked the air over the spawn’s heads and urged them forward.
Erak found his targets and began to surge forward, unstoppable in his pursuit of the rotund demons. More spawn leapt at him, clutching at his limbs, his shoulders, shield, and even the blade of the sword itself. They were frantic in their attempts to slow him, to let their commanders slip away from Erak’s wrath.
The last traces of the music still burned inside of him, urging him on further and further, not caring as claws dug at him, trying to rip his helm free or slide into the space under his chin. He had to kill them.
His aura billowed out, filling the killing field as the Imperial soldiers followed behind him. Erak laughed as the demons fled him, cloaked in their blood with burnt dragonbone extended forward, shield raised high. Aloria came charging beside him, sword glaring in the early morning light as she spurred her forces on. Erak was caught up in the moment, his aura mingling with some skill she was using as he charged down the hill.
The commanders flailed about with their whips, but the rout had begun and Erak slaughtered as he raced downhill. The closest of the commanders sneered at him, but the fear filling its eyes was undeniable and Erak cleaved it in twain, all the while laughing. Behind him, distant and barely audible, the band continued a frenzied drumroll that matched his heartbeat.
