Ink drips onto the coarse paper, and the metal blade of the pen weaves it into words, symbols, and images. The book's pages turn, and in her mind's eye, she reads from it, unable to tear her eyes away...

Alison's eyes opened again, her breathing somewhat calmer, the pain in her stomach lessening. Glancing down at her right hand, the Source crystal glowed, a dark purple radiating softly from the mystical stone. Something had changed, and she felt different than just moments before. Her body was lighter, her arms, stronger, and most importantly of all, the vision again returned to that book.

As if the very instructions of that new incantation were inscribed onto her very being, Alison could feel the voice stronger now than ever before.

It was time to end this.

---

Captian Hrond stalked through the warehouse, cursing. The air was thick with Source, practically smothering everything around him. It sickened him and the relish of finally getting this kill was made all the stronger. The thick Source, however, failed to hide his prey as it had in the alley. His Luna state allowed him to cut through the mirage of scents and zero in on her. He could hear her heavy breath, and smell the life blood draining from the wound his claws had created. Yes, there was no escape now.

He rounded on the pile of wood and saw his prey. The desperate woman had activated her cloak, and to an untrained pup, she'd probably slip by, but not to Hrond. The cloak shimmered slightly, hunched in the corner. Blood pooled just below it, and its camouflage continued to flicker as heavy breathing came from underneath. He grinned and stalked forward, claws bared.

"It was a good chase, prey. It has been many moons since my blood has been raised so high. But your life ends here now. No more tricks, no more traps. You've lost to the overwhelming might of the Luna Clan, of Captain Hrond." Hrond boasted as he came up behind the hunched figure. He grabbed the shoulder and yanked back, ready to take the woman's head, when shock, then anger filled his mind.

Before him was a tattered cloak, blood, and the sound of heavy breathing, but nobody! His ears flicked and whirled as he heard the rushing of footsteps, but again, nothing!

"Gah-!"

---

"Well, it seems I've been volunteered. I just came with a friend to check out the place, and now I'm here." Alison said with a shrug. She let her hands then rest on her hips as she continued. "Miss Shields tells me you with our Guild and have been cooking up some new gadgets that might be useful to us. So what kind of developments are we talking about here?"

Titus looked up again from his work, the thin man nodding. "I have been granted access to several resources otherwise outside the guild's... means... but even still, we have little time to capitalize on it." he gestured firstly to a large box sitting on a wooden table, surrounded by what seemed to be pipes capped with cloth and fuses sticking out the back. "We've always struggled with the more armored types in our line of work, I have developed solutions with what little we have and even less time. This is a launcher of sorts. Bolts encased in firepepper pulp mixed in lamp oil with striking-steel shavings. We can make a few of these, use them carefully, and set entire cavalry regiments to flames..." he finished.

"And that? The piece you're currently working on?" Alison said, gesturing to his work table. Titus gave a small smile and nodded to her.

"Well, Miss Walker, the Guildmaster authorized this for you. Keeping in our problem, I have developed a... novel solution," he said, stepping back to let her take a closer look...

---

Alison watched as the Captain was distracted by her new ability. She lept down from atop the woodpile and landed behind him. At that moment, she saw it. Something instinctual clicked and it was as if the Source itself guided her swing as she slammed her left fist into the center of the captain's back. As she did so, the cloth unraveled around her arm, revealing a strange machine. With a loud and heavy "whump", a charge was detonated and a steel stake shot forward. It pieced through the wolfman's plate, then his flesh, before causing a dent in the front plate from the sheer impact.

The wolfman let out a gurgled cry as, with a click and then a hiss, Alison retracted the steel stake. The wolfman fell to his knees, staring down at the large dent in his armor. His eyes widened as he saw the blood dripping from his mouth. Alison stepped back, pulled another charge from her belt, and loaded it into the gauntlet. The cartridge locked into place as she stepped around the kneeling wolfman to face him. The wolfman began to chuckle before coughing.

"You think this is over? We are already in the city, as I die, the Luna Clan is still hun-" Another bang sounded as a stake shot through the wolfman's temple and out the other end.

Alison stumbled back a few steps and slid down the side of the warehouse wall, staring at the wolfman's corpse for a moment then looking down at the piledriver on her arm, dripping with blood and brainmatter. Shaking her head, she rose and began slowly making her way back towards the larger fight at the walls.

It wasn't over.

---

"NOW OLAF! GET BACK!" Pete roared as he lept behind the cart. An explosion, followed by several more, ripped through the previously quiet camp. Night became day as the incendiary explosives detonated on the food stores, weapon depots, and even tent rows of the invading army. Debris flew everywhere and Pete yelped as a burning turnip landed on his shoulder. Olaf quickly batted out the flame as Pete cursed profusely.

"Ya'd think this undead army wouldn't need so much damn food." Olaf grumbled.

"Yous think so... ows the slaves. We got em on the run?" Pete said, brushing the last of the burnt vegetable off him. Olaf nodded. "We got most of em out. Guards got wise. Took casualties, but you'd be amazed watching what recently freed, armed, and cornered slaves can do to an undead soldier. Seen wild dogs with less tenacity. Anyway, once they overwhelmed the rest of the garrison, they scattered. Only a few stayed to help and fight." Olaf said shaking his head. Pete shivered, but his face smiled into a cruel grin.

"They likes us. Backed into a corner, nufin we can do but tear em limb from limb. Shame they didn't wanna taste some more, but glad we ave a few." he said. Before he could say anymore, a scout came running up, breathless.

"Sirs! They noticed finally. We got half the damn general's guard and Death Riders coming for us! Just heard their horns blow." he finished. Pete nodded and turned to the rest of the gathering raiders.

"Right then! Steady lads, wez got ourselves some big game tonight! Barkley, take your squad and get up in the trees on the south side. Lasil, the mines been set? Good. Get your men into whatever tents weren't burned and wait. Olaf, take the sharpshooters to the East side and wait for em death riders tu land. Givem a good ole welcome. As for the rest of yous lot. H'ope you wazn't plannin on survin, cause when them mines go, we go in on the guards. Whoever gets that posh gen's ed gets a free drinks fo life in the afterlife on me! Lets go!" Pete finished, pointing his long, bloody dagger into the sky. The raiders cheered before dashing off to their positions.

Mines were set, Titus's Wonderous Box of Flames (trademark pending) was set up, and the ambush was laid. Now all that was left was the trap to be sprung.

The recovery was as miraculous as always, magic was truly a wonder, an injury that could take years if not a lifetime to recover (maybe unsalvageable) was gone in a few minutes, it helped that the Lesser Restore was concentrated in a single limb, yes it wasn't going to restore any of the other wound he could see in her body but at least she was back in fighting order again even if he would rather have her resting and safe.

"If you are going to fight again then be careful, your arm is going to be fine but the healing was focused on your arm so don't expect a sudden recovery" He didn't have another Restore so the next injury would have to be addressed with increased healing. A whorty trade to get Mac back into shape "As for the retreat is going well, I am afraid we may be playing straight into Saladin's hands but there is not much else we can do at the moment" It irked him to say it aloud but if there was someone he could trust with the reality of the situation was the person in front of him.

"You should be going too, no?"

He gave her a shake of the head.

"Maybe but there is still work to be done"

He wasn't being dramatic either, the enemies were overwhelming, and retreating all support while leaving the defenders would lead some squads to be overrun. Any dent in their defense could and was already being exploited, to show their injured side without a trap prepared would end in a bloodbath.

"I can wait no longer. Adieu, mon amie."

"Good Luck!"

It felt like too little but for the moment that was the best he could do.

Once Mac was out of his field of vision his attention focused back on the walls, the fighting was gruesome and every second his worry for his party members grew, he was still conscious enough to make decisions with a detached head but he feared the longer the battle went the more his affection would cloud his judgment, already he had disregarded everything to heal Mac, leaving other mages to be picked off by enemy forces.

The situation was dire.

Despite whatever was happening at the enemy camp they were still getting slowly overrun, every one of their fighters was worth five of theirs but for each one Valheim had the enemy had ten. The walls were slowly becoming traps, kllboxes were being turned around and used against the defenders.

There was only one true option, for now, it would be costly but it would allow their forces to regroup and it could be what they needed to turn the tide of battle.

"Marcus, send the flare, I am ordering a full retreat to the Bazar"

His fellow mage complied, using one of the spells carved into his soul to send a Red Flare high in the sky where it exploded into a red explosion with a distinctive sound. A distraction for the enemy and a signal to their allies at the same time. It was time to abandon the walls.

But he still had a card he could play.

"I beseech thee, Mother Iris, thou who are radiant and wise, ruler of the skies and bearer of the sun, Guide us with thy luminous light's gentle sway so that in thy name victory may be attained!"

Again the faith surrounding him gathered but where Undaya's pressure created waves Iris's light was dazzling and warm, light a ray of sunlight peeking through a tree's shadow.

Even without being able to see it, he knew that the weapon of every member of his party was alight with Holy Fire.

The Dark Riders: Hailing from the Dark Elven lands across the sea, these cavalry forces are multi-purpose units that are lightly armoured and, even in large groups, can outrun the fastest horsemen. They can be deployed as scouts, can move ahead of the main army and look to blitz war machines, make precise flanking attacks or act within the main forces as shock troops, usually bolstering the smaller-numbered Lizard Cavalry.



The two wedges moved across the plains like the wind. In spite of being the furthest away, the Dark Riders arrived at Saladin’s camp first. One wedge skirted around the camp perimeter while the other rode straight in, an attempt to make visual contact, fight or retreat if necessary.

Of the 150 strong wedges that rode straight in, their captain rode with horn held in hand, ready to blow once eyes were put on the enemy. They rushed through the burning tents but there was no sign of anyone. Until they heard the thieves shout…



Saladin watched closely as he and the Fell Knights rode to catch up to the Dark Riders. Men of Rudiger, tough heavy infantry who were closely related to Sibliconian blood and just as nomadic, lagged behind.

The General was not picked as one of the Witch Queen’s 5 Antiquinites for nothing. He was of rare intelligence and shrewd with age. His mind ran through possible scenarios and he felt strongly that this could not be a full-sized army, but he did have a few guesses as to the reality of the situation. But he didn't have time to make an action because a 2nd explosion went off in the camp ahead, this one more powerful than the last.



He pulled his mount to halt and looked with shock and anger at the size of the explosion and cloud. He did not need to see to know that he had just lost an entire wedge of Dark Riders.

“It’s a trap,” he rasped. With quickness and decisiveness, he took out the crystal sphere he'd enchanted with his magical relay and gave out orders to what Dark Riders he had left. He sent a runner to the Beastmasters. And another to the Orc Shaman. Then he dismounted, retrieved his staff and spellbook from the saddle of his horse, then turned to the camp…



Olaf and Pete had successfully executed their boss’ plan. Not only had they delayed the assault, but they had also taken out almost a third of Saladin’s cavalry forces. But now they were in trouble. Their choice to wait stick around after drawing attention was valiant, but it would be their undoing.

They would quickly find themselves surrounded, enclosed by a circle of well-spaced, fast-moving horsemen who sped around the perimeter of the camp in a Cantabrian Circle of constant movement. In less than two minutes, the wedge would have spread out enough to form the circle, leaving nowhere to run without making contact in fairly open terrain.

Upon receiving their orders, the Beastmaster would whisper words to the Crebain, creatures of close relation to crows, who were then released from their cages and flew up into a flock and headed toward the destroyed camp to search out the enemy saboteurs.

20 Orc Shaman would mount hogs and ride to the camp.

Saladin had several high level spells prepped in his book and his staff was charged with Source. Within a short space of time, he was able to solo-cast a summon that would have ordinarily taken a small troop of expert wizards to bring about. Grey storm clouds formed out of nowhere in the sky above, then bolts of jagged lightning began striking down on the camp, creating small explosions with each hit and chaining off to anything close with conductivity. It was not over until 25 bolts had stuck.

Saladin closed his book and turned about to mount his horse again. “Kruger. Stay and wait for the Men of Rudiger. Wait for the direction of the enemy and move to cut them off.” He got a reply from Kruger, a lieutenant in the Fell Knights, and then added with express importance…

“I want at least one of them alive.”





The gap of pressure on the walls was a small one and James Sirius was sharp to take advantage of it, because it disappeared quickly. And even still, it would be a close call because the walls on the former Right Wing were completely flooded with enemies who had been coming down the stairs in numbers and piling up in the streets.

Orcs, goblins, men, elves and dwarves, thirsty for destruction, started setting fire to buildings and pouring through the streets. The temporary checkpoints defending the 2nd half of the Tactical Retreat started to get hit with attacks. At first it was manageable.

But then the Bone Legions awoke. Thousands of them. Armored to varying degrees. They moved to the North Gate, the ladders and the siege towers.



Without the immediate reinforcement of the Bone Legion and the Dark Riders, the 50 strong Lizard Cavalry unit was in some trouble. The initial charge was devastating, and the tanky nature of the mounts and their ability to bite back, plus the heavy armoured riders atop them, made them an amazing unit. But numbers were numbers, and their's were few.

Now, isolated and immobile, not to mention fighting a unit led by the strongest Paladin in the city, there weren’t many left. They had taken out twice their number but were so few by the time that the Bone Legion were coming in, that The Bats and The Dire Stags would have a chance to retreat with minimal casualties if they were quick.

As for all other blocks, they would likely be best finding their way through the mazy small streets of the North-East Quarter, as the main roads were becoming increasingly hostile. Between enemy forces and the defensive blockades, many of the quickest routes to the center of the city were blocked off.

Vice Commander Jeremiah was grateful that the order for full retreat had been given finally. He did not realise it was the result of a streak of insubordinate initiative from one of the Heros from Another World. He had taken 200 men from the Bazaar and gone to fortify one of the main checkpoints that would best protect the 2nd Half of the Tactical Retreat. And now he had his hands full.

The fighting was tense but just about manageable. 200 men was just enough to beat back the outnumbering invaders on Desalines Lane, a key carriage-way that would protect Beam Street North. When flames began to rise all over the Quadrant and he got reports that the checkpoints closest to the walls had fallen, he knew things were about to get rough.

But he did not realise just how rough, until a group of pyromancers appeared on the rooftops right above their chokepoint. His eyes widened as he saw the fireballs grow in their hands. And then they pointed down on their position.......



The Bone Legion was like a sea. An unstoppable tsunami that would swallow up anything it swept over. With the poise of the city's best defences broken, nothing could stop them in the North East Quarter. Even the best checkpoints could stand for no longer than a couple of minutes, because there were enough of the invaders that they could just take a side street, go around and flank the checkpoint from several sides.

The last defence before Citadel Mountain was the Bazaar and all defenders now were making a speedy beeline for that defensive island.

Big Bridge: In the north, connecting the North-West and North-East Quarters had been destroyed before the battle had begun. This was an attempt to funnel the enemy to The Bazaar. Of course, not all of Saladin’s forces would be opposed to swimming across the river and shortcutting to Citadel Mountain. There were enough reserve forces on the Mountain to deal with some. But the Bone Legion had come in numbers larger than anyone could possibly imagine. And if one were to look at some of the armour and decor of the skeletons, they would realize why.

Many skeleton warriors were garbed in the sigils of Eredge, Dantuin, the merchant city of Jhosiria and Juda… Osca and Perth. Many of these that had come to exterminate Valhiem were once friends, possibly family. Citizens and soldiers of fellow cities in The Empire of the Free Peoples. Killed and bid to rise again as slaves for the war machine of The Witch Queen.

And several thousand crossed the river, their armour heavy enough that they could simply walk along the riverbed and climb out of the other side. The rest of the Bone Legion would reinforce the numberless horde of Saladin’s other forces, as they descended on the Bazaar.



Anyone who had not made it to the island defensive-point in time, would without doubt be killed.

Adam examined the necklace. It contained the sap of a tree from BlacksReach. This, he knew intuitively. The galactic vision that appeared when looking closer? This, he had no idea about. Why was this like that? Why did the jewelry appear at all? And why did this remind him of the orb?

Too many questions, none of which were probably relevant to what really mattered right now; the defense of Valheim. These would have to be questions for later, he decided, as he slowly walked towards the bazaar. Turns out, fighting a metal monster made movement tough afterward, on account of the pain. And speaking of questions, more popped into his mind, mostly about the creature he just killed. Again, these were mainly irrelevant for now, though one was quite important. Were there more? In Mytheria, undoubtedly, but in Valheim specifically was the Druid's concern. Thankfully, he knew how to deal with them now. That knowledge came at a cost, one which he was glad to have paid since it had saved his - and the city's - life.

Approaching the bazaar, Adam saw a Cleric finishing up work on a soldier of some sort. After the latter left, the red-eyed man approached the healer.

“Please heal me. It's very important that I'm able to fight again, thank you.”

The caster - a middle-aged tiefling woman - looked at the man in his strange clothes and shook her head. “No. I don't have the energy to waste on stupid kids, I have to help actual warriors.”

Adam wanted to speak up, but someone else had walked up and beat him to the punch with two words.

“Do it.”

This was Michael Fern, who stared down the Cleric with an intensity that surprised the Druid. This was someone who knew what price he’d paid, Adam remembered. Of course, how could he forget?

“...fine. Let's get this over with.”

Michael nodded, gave the younger man a smile and friendly pat on the shoulder, then left to resume his own work. The fisherman then sat down, letting the healer begin casting while looking around for any members of Second Chance who might be nearby. Like always, he hoped they were all okay.

As soon as the bright light roared across the skies, the red light symbolised all units to retreat further back into the city. Time to retreat.

“Bats, time to retreat to the Bazaar”. Barracker bellowed across the battlefield towards his group. “Keep close to each other and remain in unison with the Dire Stags upon retreat.”

In the chaos of battle, Barracker had fought his way into the midst of the enemy, while The Bats were pushed back, creating a twenty metre gap between captain and his fellow comrades. Once the pressure relieved enough, creating breathing room to think without being attacked by the enemy, Barracker started his retreat. With little magic in the tank, his magic barriers depleted of use and just one stoneskin remaining, he would have to use it wisely.

As The Bats disengaged and retreated away, Warren stepped up and put himself forward to help The Bats depart from battle safely, while Barracker let himself stick around to stop the last of the lizard cavalry. Barracker fought on, this was until a hoard of orc, goblins, humans and elves got into the fray and started fighting. The number was too great so Barracker was forced to retreat and hoped this was enough time given for The Bats.

I hope I have brought them enough time.

To stay behind and protect his comrades so they can retreat… This was something Barracker was always willing to do. Even if it would lead to his downfall he would have considered it an honour to be that sacrifice. Protection is what it meant to be a Paladin and sacrifice is what it meant to be to serve Hades. Even that fateful day on the Plains, when he met that damned soul Viktor and was forcibly turned into a vampire, if he had to do it all over again, he would have stayed behind to let his comrades retreat every single time.

Viktor Battousi was in his mind's eye smiling with that playful menacing grin, causing Barracker great anger as the Paladin fought to stop himself from being surrounded and cleanly break away from the increasing number of enemies. His claymore crowned with the holy flames of James’ blessing, sweeped left and right as he tried to clear a path through all of the enemies which now included the endless sea of skeletons. No matter which way he turned, for every enemy he took down, two more popped up to take their place.

Barracker slowly ran out of options but saw a life line, he bolted towards the window of the building, diving through, using his tower shield as protection from the smashing glass. The flood of enemies gave chase and began trying to crawl through the window and smash down the door. Barracker quickly ran over to the door. The bar on the door snapped in half as the orc soldiers battered it down from the outside. There was no time for anything else except to replace the broken bar with his tower shield.

Barracker then ran up the stairs and climbed out of a window to gain access to the roof. He then proceeded to skip from rooftop to the next roof, his eyes flicking from where he would be jumping next, to the swarm of chaos down below, engulfing the streets.

Warren had made his retreat to the Bazaar with as few casualties as possible, due to their speediness, the help of the Dire Stags and the initial protection of their backs by their captain Barracker. Once the Bazaar was in view, Warren sent The Bats the last one hundred metres alone and joined the nearby checkpoint to help keep the way clear for the rest of the defenders.

Sometime later after a few blocks had passed the checkpoint, Warren saw Barracker running towards them with several arrows sticking out of him.

“Captain!”

My anger is my armour! My hate is my weapon!

Zell allowed the Orc Heavy to overextend. Block. Combined with slight sidestep. The orc stumbled past as Zell brought his sword around to deliver a violent hamstring. The orc fell, Zell stepped down on his back and finished him. He could feel the rage building - the pain going away. Good.

No.

Before he re-engaged, he realised that half of the thoughts in his head were not his own and growled with frustration as he pulled himself back.

Attack!

No. Defend.

Kill!

No. Protect.

He had to shake the haze of dissonance from his head. He could not continue with this kind of confusion. A tribesman rushed him. Two parries and a counterstrike. Simple work. What was harder was keeping the fury at bay.

Zell looked over to where Fenna was. The older woman might just be the only person in this world whose mere presence could make him behave himself. And now, he saw MacKensie was with her too. Like the cool breeze that came with Undaya's blessing, Zell was awash with a calm that cancelled out his anger. His priorities immediately came back to him. He was a frontliner. His job was to protect. This was better. But such sobriety also came with the physical pain of his injuries. And fear that all of his friends may not survive this ordeal. Maybe not a single one of them.

A look over his shoulder made him aware that the enemy were in the city streets. A glance at where the Right Wing had formerly been, showed why. Teeming - packed with the enemy. They were pushing against the Centre. Charging down the stairs and into the streets with no resistance. Zell could do nothing more than jump back into the thick of things, on the wall, and hope for the best. Had he been in control of the garrison, he would urgently pull back the remainder of the forces - to hell with a steady, tactical retreat. If they did not move soon, there might be no way back to the second line of defense. But he was not in control. He just had to do his job. And hope for the best.

Hope. Fear. Analysis. It would be so much easier to let the hate flow and just... be.

Fuck you, Baphomet. In his mind, the Englishman and the Oblivion Prince stared eachother down stubbornly. Fuck you.

Fortunately the order for retreat came. A couple minutes early, thank fuck. But strange that the order did not come in the form of Commander Thorn's booming voice. It came from a flare on the front. Someone had made an executive decision. Vice Commander Jeremiah, probably. Whoever it was, Zell blessed them.

And speaking of blessings...

The Black Sword lit up with holy fire. Baphomet was pissed. James had done Second Chance a solid.

"Lions! Protect the stairs!"

The Lions switched to defensive fighting and covered the nearby steps, with open ranks to allow other blocks to pass through and get down from the wall as smoothly as possible. Another Lion was killed. And then another. With each block that disengaged, the fighting became more and more difficult. On top of that, the fear that replaced his anger added to the weight of mental pressure - The struggle to keep Baphomet at bay. Zell had to keep his head here. He could ill afford to give in to his rage when a precise retreat would be required. When consideration of what was best for those around him, was needed.

He spared a glance over at the Falcons and Rabbits, to see their progress. He would not leave without seeing that Fenna and MacKensie had safely disengaged. And once they were on their way into the street:

"Lion! Retreat!"

...

He arrived at the next crossroads and looked all ways before making a quick decision. "This way!"

The narrow backstreets were a maze, but the main roads were fraught with danger and there was no time to get caught up in a skirmish. The Bazaar was a fair distance away. Perhaps half the length of the city away. But it felt even longer, there in the backstreets. After the first ambush by a roaming group of orcs and goblins, paranoia added to the fatigue. They had dealt with the group pretty quickly, it was only a small squad, but now every corner felt like a danger-point for them to be ambushed. The heat of a city on fire radiated. The noise of the shouting and fighting rushed through the streets and alleys like the wind.

Several blocks of soldiers converged on a wider street that appeared clear. The Lions followed with the crowd, Zell barking orders to keep together. Then came another ambush. And this one was deadly.

The explosion ahead hair-dryer’d Zell's face. Windows smashed with the force. Fireballs had come down from the rooftops and laid waste to everyone unfortunate enough to be under the pyromancers on the rooftops. Chaos erupted.

"Left turn!" Zell thundered, pointing his sword at the alleyway that ran south . "Quickly!"

Another fireball came down, the explosion even closer. Soldiers bumped into eachother as they pushed and shoved to get away. Zell stood firm and urgently gestured to the alleyway, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Lions! Gooooo!"

And then he saw a pyromancer appear above them - on the roof of a small building - and the red mage was looking right at them. GO! Zell thoughts raced. SAVE YOURSELF! But his thoughts were not his. WHAT ARE YOU DOING! The Pyromancer began doing the hand motions to cast a fireball. TURN AROUND! Zell's feet moved automatically. YOU FOOL! The fireball manifested and began to grow in size. YOU FOOOOOOL!

Mere moments before launch - fireball hovering above the pyromancers raised right hand - Zell appeared on the roof, right beside the mage.

[[Teleportation.]] His last one left.

"Arrrgh!" the Pyromancer cried out as the Black Sword cut straight through his forearm.

Zell managed to snatch, out of the air, the severed hand at the wrist, fireball still hovering above the palm. Then he pointed hand'n'fireball like a gun, point blank at the Pyromancer. The force of the explosion smashed more windows and did damage to the nearby brickwork, but the soldiers below were saved.

Both the pyromancer and the swordsman were blown off the roof. Zell went flying across the street and hit a house before gravity took his ragdolled body and he hit the ground.

He looked dead. The second in command of the Lions took charge and got their block out of there. There was no time for gratitude or sentiment. They could be thankful once they were safe at the Bazaar.

The fight seemed to go well for a moment. Her spear lit up with Holy Fire and the soldiers cheered, but more enemies poured in. Even though she was side by side with MacKensie and their soldiers were inspired by their fearless captains, it wasn't enough. The skeletons came. Thousands of them. The signal for retreat was given.
They had practiced this.

"To the Bazaar!" Fenna ordered. "Falcons, fly back! Kill anything on your path but do not stop! Sil! Guide us."
The falcon spread her wings and took to the sky. The soldiers followed her. Fenna locked eyes with MacKensie. "I'll race you there. Stay safe."

There were three routes they could take from the wall to the Bazaar. The first was blocked, Fenna could tell because Sil went into a different direction. The enemy lay in an ambush and were about to jump on them when Sil let out her Loud Screech to distract any non-undead creature and the Falcons were able to deal with them with minimal casualties. Fenna looked at the fallen with a flash of sadness in her eyes when she passed them. If they were alive she'd stop and help, but there was nothing she could do.

Explosions and screams of pain sounded through the city as fireballs rained down on people. The stench of burning meat and clothes filled the air. One explosion was closeby. Sil took a sharp right turn, the road ahead wasn't safe. The soldiers followed her. An explosion knocked the falcon out of the sky.
Fenna's heart stopped for a moment. Without thinking she planted the spear on the ground and used it to launch herself up so she could reach Sil. She landed next to the falcon and gently picked her up. The falcon was dazed and there were scorch marks on her feathers, but there weren't any major injuries.
"Go!" she ordered the soldier around her. "Fly to the Bazaar."

With both Sil and her spear in her arms, Fenna was limited to running, but there was no way she would leave Sil behind. Two soldiers stayed close, matching their speed to Fenna's so they could defend her if needed.

They entered the street the Lions had just before left. Fenna saw a familiar face lying on the ground. Zell. She beelined to him and the two soldiers followed.
"We have to go ma'am."
"One moment." Fenna urged. She pushed her fingers on his throat to feel for a pulse. That was there, but Zell was out cold. "Come on Zell get your lazy ass up we have to go!"
"I'll take him on my back," one of the soldiers offered. "Please go ma'am."
Fenna put down her spear and the falcon for a moment and helped the second soldier to pull Zell from the ground and onto the back of the first soldier. Then she quickly picked up Sil and her spear and continued to run down the street with one soldier next to her and the second jogging along behind them.

Her approach was swift, ferocious and just outside of their field of vision. The group of vandals, two-score of corrupted tribesmen, busy setting fire to the buildings on Tonberry Lane, had no idea that their end was nigh.

MacKensie came running along the brickwork of the terraced housing toward them, a dozen silent steps at least, before she leapt off the wall and swooped in. The first of the tribesmen reacted in audible alarm as two of their number went down to headshots from enchanted bolts. Their eyes followed the flight path of the holy fire tracer rounds, up, just in time to see the blue blur land on the shoulders of one of their comrades, sink dagger into skull, then spring into a side flip over them, another bolt coated in white flame snuffing out the life a fourth tribesman.

"The enemy!" the first of their shouts came, but MacKensie was already landing and sprinting away from the bulk of the group.

She zigged and zagged through the remainder, injuring one and killing two more as she avoided their rushed swipes of sword and slow swings of axe. The rest of the group gave chase, a few thrown weapons too, though none reached the Ranger. MacKensie took a sharp turn onto an adjacent road.

From the point of view of the tribesmen, they were thirsty for violence and thirsty for revenge, as they caught up to the junction and flew around the corner, only to come to a shocking, staggering halt, one by one, as they were confronted by a small mass of bows nocked with arrows. The tribesmen behind either collided with those who had come to such a sudden halt in front or managed to stutter-stop themselves, until there were enough of them that MacKensie gave the order.

"Now!"

A single-second drumroll of bowstring-twangs sounded off. Once forty-strong - now less than half. The Rabbits dealt with the rest of them quickly and effectively.

Back at the walls; once into the mazey small streets of the northeastern quadrant of Valhiem, the Rabbits had gone away from the crowd. Their path had taken them a little closer to the eastern wall, in a bid to not clog up the narrow streets that were more directly en route to the Bazaar. This, combined with a capable and extremely mobile scout in MacKensie Trydant, had turned out to be a quicker and easier run to the city centre. Their only engagement with the enemy was easily dealt with. It delayed them little more than a few minutes. The empty streets they found had enabled them to sprint long sections and they arrived at the Bazaar in good time.

"Adam." MacKensie's sharp eyes spotted the Druid being patched up and passed through the busy Bazaar to go and greet him, trading a few nods and quick clasps of hands with people she knew from the Military Centre, happy to see them alive. "Adam," she echoed, this time within earshot, giving the american a smile as she approached. She made sure not to get in the way of the Cleric's work and went around to pat Adam on the shoulder. "You have no idea how good it is to see you well," she told him, a heartfelt smile before looking over his injuries to make sure that he was indeed alright. Then she scanned for their other comrades. "Has anyone else arrived yet?"

She was particularly worried about James - who did not lack courage with his anchor but still, was not exactly a combat class adventurer - and Alison, who the frenchwoman hadn't seen all battle. Her job was to go unseen, being a Rogue, but it would be nice to see that she was okay. She would hear Adam out, assure him that she was okay and ready to continue fighting, then thank the Cleric for their work. "I will see if I can find the others," she said to Adam before leaving his side.

After a brief search around the Bazaar, she came upon a band of soldiers forming up to go reinforce a nearby checkpoint and was sufficiently distracted. "I will come," she told the Captain, who was happy to have another adventurer lend their strength to the makeshift unit. They left the Bazaar by the bridge and took the road dead-east, maybe two hundred metres to where the defensive barricades and small scaffolds were manned by a meagre regiment of spears, swords and bows.

It was there that she recognised the influx of soldiers known as the Lions. Zell's block. But Zell was not with them. MacKensie's heart sank as she rushed to them. "Where is your Captain? Where is Zell?"

She saw it all in her imagination as one of the Lions described the events of Zell's death. So brave. So willing to be the first in the face of danger. MacKensie's eyes welled up instantly, her bottom lip shaking like a leaf. "It cannot be..." There was no way he could be dead. He'd been through worse and survived. No. Surely this was nothing by comparison, surely he could get up from anything! "Where?" was her snappy demand. They could not rightly say. Frustration, denial, hope, sorrow.. "Wh-" She hesitated, her features pained by a confusion of emotions as she tried to think of a good question. But her only recourse was accusation. "Why did you leave him?!"

They tried to explain, but she was not listening. They tried to console her but she swatted the hand that came near her. Then she turned her back on them. "Cowards!" Anger stayed her tears. But it was wrong to project that anger onto them. Of course, they were right to go on without him, but at this moment, she would not admit it to herself. All of her brainpower focused hard on denial. He is not dead. She had to believe.

A short, agonizing time later, just as she was about to go running out aimlessly, back into the northeast quadrant, in some vein attempt to rescue the englishman, she saw them. First Fenna, then, "Zell!"

She jumped over the spiked barricades and ran to him. Awake or not, she did as she commonly did... she reprimanded him. "You stupid idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot."

So distracted by Zell she was, that she did not even realise, until they all got back to the Bazaar, that Sil was hurt. "Oh my... Sil..." she put a hand on Fenna's arm. "Will she be okay?"

His breath was becoming quick, erratic.

It wasn't because of the running either.

'A response to the flames' half his mind surmised, not surprising considering his trauma but disappointing nonetheless, especially considering that he was going to see a whole lot more fire before the siege was over. He ran and ran, trying to reach the next point as quick as possible. To be frank, he hated it, running like this without knowing where his friends were or what their status was. But he had to trust in them, in their capacity to accomplish the jobs they were assigned, just like they trusted him to do his job.

So he ran, amidst the flames that looked oh so eerily familiar.

"Aghh!"

The sound reached his mind and without a second thought, his anchor was sailing through the air, cleaving in twine an enemy poised to strike down one of the mages running beside him. One thing he had found once he became an Adventurer was that, as a rule, most Caster classes were not great at physical combat, oh technique was something they could get and experience, but sheer power was reserved for the Martial classes, self-enhanced magic seemed a very rare niche among Casters, or at least from what he had observed.

There were notable exceptions of course, classes that focused on it or had it as an option but for pure Casters any kind of damage booster was rarely if ever towards their bodies rather than on their magics, even Clerics were better at making other stronger rather than buffing themselves. All in all, it meant he was serving as a bodyguard during their mad dash towards the Bazaar, the militia members fanned and surrounded them in an attempt to safekeeping them, mage support was already scarce as it was and both sides knew it.

He was beyond tired, the only reason he could keep swinging the anchor around was thanks to having cast Source Infusion and Zell lections helping him pace himself, minimizing movement and trying to squeeze as much strength as possible from the spell. For all he liked to pretend the truth was that he wasn't a Martial class, he lacked the sheer stamina that allowed the others to fight for hours. A common weakness amongst Casters that meant they were falling behind, by his estimation they were some of the last groups of defenders.

Could be worse, to be honest.

"Look out!"

"Aah"

A sharp pain on the arm made him drop the chain of his anchor while a big push saw him lose his balance, next thing he knew he was rolling on the dirt, taking a few seconds to gather his wits before a pair of weak arms helped him to his feet.

Marcus's familiar face looked at him, evaluating his condition before urging him forward.

He didn't question it, instead picking his anchor's chain and continuing running, there was some pain each time he moved his arm and he could glimpse what looked like a bloodied knife in Marcus' hand.

Finally he caught a glimpse of the Bazaar, like an isle beckoning castaway.

It also meant he saw the state of his party.

Bruised, battered.

Hurt

The moment he saw them all other thoughts fled his mind, Zell was unconscious and looked like a big bruise, Kass had several arrows performing his body and Adam appeared like he fought a blender.

Poor Sil was scorched all over.

He took a step in their direction-

And was immediately stopped by someone holding his good arm.

He whirled around, ready to pounce on whatever was holding him but the calm visage of Ghunter stopped him in his tracks. He didn't know the other Cleric before today but even with their limited interactions, he knew the other man as calm and collected, with his rationality shining above it all.

"You ordered the retreat and Vice Commander Jeremiah is missing"

James could feel his chest rise and fall in an agitated rhythm, what he was implying...

"And the Commander?"

A shake of the head was his only response, danmit, danmit. Whatever expression he was doing it was enough to prop Ghunter to speak once more.

"We can heal your friends, go"

He felt anger fill his veins as he looked at the taller man who only looked back at him with a serene expression. He was the first one to look away. His teeth hurt with how much he was gritting them, casting a last look at his mangled party he swung his now free arm and holsted his anchor in his back, moving towards the command center.

"Captains and vice Captains, gather your units and go to your assigned positions! The night is over yet!"

It was strange.

He had grown accustomed to having some division in his mind for so long that having a complete agreement was jarring.

Still, at least he could say he was sure of one thing.

James Sirius hated General Saladin with All his heart.

"Brothers and sisters! We stand here!" Olaf's voice rang out over the battle as he fired a heavy bolt into an Orc Shaman. The rider flew off his mount as the hog charged through the forest below. He racked the bowstring back and loaded another arrow. Explosions and chaos echoed around him as the small forces of their party were surrounded. The ambush in the tents had only partially succeeded, being flushed out by the waves of magic being thrown at them. It was becoming clear to him that it was all becoming too much for the raid.

A woman next to him vaporized to ash as a lighting bolt zipped down from the sky and struck their position.

They were going to die.

Olaf gritted his teeth as he fired again, taking the mount out from under its rider and crushing it beneath its fat weight. He began loading another bolt when another magical explosion threw him from the tree, blowing it to splinters. Wood and debris dug into flesh as he was sent flying across the tree line and onto the ground. He roared with an anger and rage he never thought he had, practically ripping the axe from his belt and tearing off his camouflaged cloak as he staggered. A Dark Rider attempted to ride him down, but he dug into the air with surprising agility and slammed his heavy weight into the rider, smacking him off his cursed mount. Upon the ground, he quickly set upon him with the axe, dispaching the rider with a furious bloodlust.

Looking up from his quarry, his head immediately snapped back as a mace caught him from another rider. An Orc Shaman followed up from behind and, leaping off his hog, staff held high to finish him.

Olaf stared up into the canopy, vision blurry and hearing all but lost. His consciousness fading, he gripped the firepepper charge in his bag as the enemies swarmed about him.

"I'm... sorry... Kerensa... I couldn't... save you... from your... dream..." was all Olaf could say.

A series of flashes lit up the forest.

---

Pete could feel the hair stand up on his neck as the creeping reality of the situation made its presence known. Around him, the thieves and freed slaves fought desperately but were getting cut down by magic and the undead alike. He parried the incoming stab of a Beastman's stab, quickly jabbing his punch dagger up under the armpit before finishing him off with a slash to the throat.

It seemed their distraction was working too well, and with such an overwhelming response, they had no time to escape. He heard the pounding of hooves. Was it more Death Riders?

No, far worse, the heavy armored and personal guard of the enemy general himself. Fell Knights road into the whirlwind, cutting down survivors and holdouts, trampling over the last stands of many.

Yet, as his comrads fell left and right around him, Pete spied one last desperate opportunity. He saw the general not far behind him, trotting him, observing the slaughter with cool, uncaring eyes.

It was him. It was time.

And for the first time in Pete's life, he muttered a prayer.

"Oh Iris, may you protect thy children. Ares give me your strength. Iskara bless me with fortune. Diavian, free me from my fear..."

He dropped down and began to move quickly, weaving through the battle like a wraith as he looped around to get behind the formation.

"And Hades... make my pitiful fuckin life worth something." He finished as he ducked between burning tents and under carts before finally getting past the Fell Knights' formation. As the troops swept through, he saw the chance.

A clear line to the general.

Gripping his blade, he ran from his hiding place, running fast and low as he charged towards the man on horseback observing the battle.

"And by the gods, let my blade strike true!" his mind roared as he leaped up.

@xenon

---

Her chest felt like it was on fire. Alison leaped from roof to roof as she tried to make her way through the city. Gripping her last flare, she stopped and fired it into the air before scanning the horizon.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit, come on, come on you fucks..." she muttered nervously. She glanced down at the wound in her stomach and pulled her other hand away from it. It hurt, but the pain seemed to have faded into the background. In fact, despite it all, it felt as though her body had gotten lighter after defeating the captain. A strange euphoria had swept her, and her source crystal still gave off a deep, dark purple glow. But there was no time to make any sense of it.

A flare shot up not but two hundred yards ahead of her. A relieved sigh came from her as she began making her way over to it.

The small square below her was littered with butchered corpses. Piles of wolfman corpses and scattered thieves filled the place. At the center, on the ledge of a small fountain, sat a blood-covered Kerensa and a few surviving thieves. Alison jumped down and made her way over to them.

They had taken more casualties than she'd hoped.

Kerensa rose from her seat with a weary smile. "Alison, it's good to see you're still alive. Even better to see that your blessing has grown ever stronger. I take it the hunt went well then?" she said, her voice hinting at her exhaustion. Alison nodded.

"This it? Any wounded?" She asked, hoping to get a different answer than what she already knew.

"Yes... They were far too many. A whole other company. We were able to lead them here, where our final ambush finished them off. We did as you instructed. Continued to lead them ever deeper, fired from rooftops. But they were fierce and many. We hid our wounded in one of the safe houses a few blocks back." Kerensa responded sadly. As Kerensa finished, an explosion lit up the horizon. Alison smiled; it was the first good news of the night.

"Seems Olaf and Pete are giving them hell. Come on, let's see if we can link up with the others and offer whatever support we have left." Alison said. Without a single word of protest, the others rose to their feet and began to organize again.

---

"Come on! Move, move, move!" Alison yelled as they bounded over the rooftops. There were so many of them! Thousands of undead poured across the streets like an unstoppable flood. Some had even haphazardly scaled onto the roofs or poured out of the windows. She'd never seen anything like this in her life, and she knew their window of opportunity to escape was rapidly closing.

As they leaped across one gap, one of the surviving thieves gave a yell as a skeletal hand grabbed his ankle and yanked him down. She had no time to consider the dying screams of the man as Alison continued to bound across the tile roofs alongside Kerensa. They leapt down onto the street and made a mad dash down the main road towards the island. They crossed the main bridge and collapsed inside the island fortress, breath heaving and gasping as they finally made it to safety.

She looked over her squad. Four. That was it. Not including Pete and Olaf, there were only four left, including Kerensa, that had made it through the fighting. She shook her head and looked around to get her bearings before grabbing a soldier.

"You, where is the commander of the defense?" Alison said, mustering up the most authoritative tone she could. The soldier glanced her up and down but was quickly cowed by her expression.

"The command center is that way, but what-" She ignored him, jerking her head to Kerensa to follow before heading over to where the soldier had pointed.

Entering, she found it was about as chaotic as she expected. Orders were being barked, and runners were dashing in and out. She spied James and felt slight relief to see the young guy had made it. She approached him with a wave.

"Hey there, glad to see you made it. We can catch up later, but right now, I gotta find whoever's still commanding this defense. Need to report in and figure out what our next move is. I will say we bagged the bastard that was hunting you guys," Alison said with a tired grin.

@Teyao

There was a reason why Alison trusted Pete. Loyalty was one thing, but to carry out the American woman’s plan also required competence. And here he showed just that. Skill, experience and guile was the reason why his stealth was enough to close the distance on Saladin. But unfortunately, the world of Mytheria was incredibly favourable to one other factor:

Power.

As Pete leapt up, taking Saladin and his bodyguard completely by surprise, the mere proximity to Saladin’s enchantments saw rust spread across the Thief’s blade in real-time. As he landed his blow, the powerful counter magic of a percussion blast flashed through Pete’s body and sent him flying. The fell knights all drew their swords and Saladin looked over his shoulder in shock to see the last part of Pete’s flight before he landed in the dirt, barely conscious.

“Pah… ants,” Saladin spat. His ego was bruised by the fact that this rogue could even get near him. “Seize him.”

He had tarried long enough, but at least he had a prisoner as he’d hoped.



At the Command Position on Citadel Mountain, all were scrambling to organize the reserve forces in preparation to fire down on the Bone Legion that had come across the river to make a direct line on Citadel Mountain. There were just so many of them.

Commander Thorn had a crucial decision to make. Pull all defenders back to the mountain now. Or defend the Bazaar. There were pros and cons to each, but in the end, he had to allow the garrison time to make use of every layer of fortification, even if it meant risking those at the Bazaar having no route to get up the Citadel. He had to risk it all. To turtle up so quickly on the mountain was simply asking for a slow but certain death.

He shouted down to the defenders to hold the Bazaar, his magically enhanced voice booming throughout the city. Then he turned to get a report on the status of his reserves on the mountain.

“We are in position, sir. But we will not be enough to hold them back. There are too many of them.”

Commander Thorn stepped forward. “I did not ask for your opinion, Yarol.” Curse the Quinity: His men were starting to break. Insubordination from a sheer lack of morale. He uncharacteristically decided to be gentle on the officer, not softening his tone, but not escalating either. “We need only slow them down for as long as possible. We are not out of options yet.”

Yarol nodded. “Sir.” He got another order and then rushed off to carry it out.

Then Thorn turned to others and tried to keep desperation out of his voice as he said, “I need an update on Clarissa Shields. Now.”



The Bazaar was well fortified. All along the river were spikes and barricades where men could prevent the enemy from getting onto the island. The Bazaar itself had a open-air roof of sorts and that roof, plus the supports were all inscribed with runes that would enhance any defensive barriers that the defenders might cast to protect from ranged attacks.

Saladin’s army would attack from the northeast quadrant. The Bone Legion who were armoured enough to be able to walk along the riverbed would march into the water and try to bypass the underwater spikes and climb up onto The Bazaar side. Mages and marksmen would stand and fire across at the defenders. And the main quality troops who were furthest up front would try to assault the bridge and break through the chokepoint.

Vice Commander Jeremiah was dead, leaving the chain of command broken, but James Sirius, leader of Second Chance, had stepped into the gap to hold the chain together. Whether he meant to or not, his courageous initiative had caused the garrison at the Bazaar to look to him for leadership.

The only thing for certain was that: The Silver Arrow. Evermere. And Second Chance. These three parties would stand in front, at the bridge and prepare to shield the garrison from the worst of the onslaught.

Second Chance stood in the middle. The Silver Arrow to their left. And Evermere to their right.

The three individual party formations covered the width of the bridge. The rest of the garrison backed them up, with melee soldiers protecting the shores from the skeletons who coming from underwater, marksmen ready to empty their supply of arrows and mages, clerics organized for defence, support and counterattack.





The coming of dawn saw birds chirping and, insects humming and little animals scurrying about to start their day. They had no idea the the city a short ways east of here was fighting to protect this habitats beauty and very existence.

If Valhiem did not prevail, all of this will be gone forever.

Elation, then dismay. The former regarding MacKensie being mostly okay and his brief interaction with her, the latter at seeing the much-worse state of most of his other teammates. Zell, especially, was not in good shape. Adam knew he couldn't fix this himself, but he did know how it could get done.

When the tiefling woman was finished healing, the Druid thanked her, then asked her to heal his friends, starting with the Fighter. The woman wanted to object, but the Druid saw the look on her face and asked “do I need to get Michael?”

“Well, at least that one has a sword and armor,” she muttered as she left and headed towards the “party idiot” of the team. The American really couldn't care less if this lady resented him if it saved his friend's lives. He would help them however he could, even if it was only indirectly.

And speaking of that, he had another idea on how he could do so, and more directly at that. It wasn't one he liked though, because of who he needed to ask for help. Needed wasn't really accurate, but it would make the task go by more quickly and preserve his energy, and that would certainly be helpful.

“Xavier!” Adam yelled, “get over here please!”

-----

Over where Silver Arrow was, a certain gnome heard his name rolled his eyes and made a disgusted face. “Pffft, of course Second Rate needs my help. Like it'll happen.”

Vaella shook her head. “Go help him,” she said with more than a little resentment. Then, she whispered something in his ear that made his expression change to horror faster than the flip of a light switch. “Fine,” he responded, indignantly scurrying over to the American.

“What was that about?” Wulrick asked.

With a satisfied smirk on her face, the elf answered his question. “Oh, not much, I just threatened to tell you about how he skipped work at Golden Tree Park.”

-----

“Okay red-eyes, what do you want?”

“Can it. Valheim is more important than your grudge. We need to cast. What I need you to do is…”

After a short less-than-pleasant exchange, the two began their work, using their magic near the bridge to complete Adam's plan.

Swimming in blackness. Everything in slow motion. Even his disjointed thoughts.

^{"Come on Zell get your lazy ass up we have to go!"} the familiar voice sounded so far away and he couldn't respond.

All he could do was try to swim towards it......................

..............Zell's unconscious self moaned. Soft and brief. The soldier of the Falcons who had Zell on his back could not hear the swordsman over the din of battle........................

...............There was no sense of direction in the blackness. Zell didn't know which way was up. But he tried to swim anyway. His current form was a figment of his mind - a construct of his warrior will. Somehow he sensed this. Somehow he knew that his physical self was knocked out cold. But if he could just swim towards the direction of the familiar voice from before, he might be able to awaken through pure force of will.

"Why do you resist?" Baphomet's guttural, scraping voice was not at all far away. It was loud and all around him. "I have here the power you need to save your friends and yet you spurn it."

Baphomet was a lot of things, but 'wrong' was never usually one of them. Here was no different. It was so tempting. If what he'd felt already was just a taste of the Oblivion Plane's power, then to give himself wholly to this contract with Baphomet would almost assure Valhiem's victory. Zell would be invincible. But the price was high.

"Of course the price is high," Baphomet responded, reading Zell innermost thoughts. Gone were the days when Zell could hide things from the devil. Long gone. "But what does it really matter? You are already dead. This is your afterlife. Whatever heaven you think your family will go to, you will not be there to greet them. And you owe the Quinity nothing. Why would it be so bad to give up your soul for immortality? An everlasting life of battle. Of adventure. Of pleasure. Of fame."

What the hell even was a soul, anyway? He didn't even believe in the value of that hippie shit. What did it matter? It didn't. His life was over with. That busdriver had ended him. All of this? It was just some crazy-stupid video-game shit that wasn't even real. Hell, it might be all just the posthumous imagination of a dead Under-grad. All of these people, these 'friends,' were probably hallucinations. His dream girl, just a dream.

"But, real or not, it doesn't mean that you cannot have them," Baphomet continued. "You can have it all. And it will feel real, whatever 'real' means, to you. Or you can throw it all aw-"

^"Zell!"

Zell instantly ignored the devil in favour of another distant but familiar voice. And this one evoked such strong emotion that he didn't need to guess the direction. He could see the light in the blackness. And he swam for it.

As for the Oblivion Prince: Baphomet's disappointment was apparent, but it was clear that he and Zell were coming to an understanding and were close to sealing the deal. He had seen the state of the battle through Zell's eyes and he could see that it was obviously unwinnable. The situation would soon become desperate and Zell would have no other options. Baphomet would have his champion and vessel..................

............Zell stirred and the soldier carrying him noticed. The Englishman opened his eyes, dizzy as hell, and got off the man's back gingerly but in time for MacKensie to crash into him with a fierce hug.

"You stupid idiot." He almost fell over but she kept him up and he chuckled, hugging her back just as strongly. "You stupid, stupid idiot."

"You're a sight for sore eyes, doll. And no mistake." As they halfway let eachother go, he smiled at her. "Am I glad to see you."

He wanted so badly to kiss her, but seeing as that would be incredibly inappropriate for a myriad of reasons, (not least of which was that they were in streets that were about to be filled to the brim with skellies,) he managed to refrain. She helped him the rest of the way, through the checkpoint and down the last stretch of street to the Bazaar. They traded a few snippets of knowledge of the happenings this morning and Zell's battered head also managed to put together the puzzle that Fenna had been the one to rescue him.

"Fenna, pal, you are a walking miracle," he said as they came over the bridge and into the Bazaar. "I owe you one." His grin soon turned to a frown as he and MacKensie's attention turned to their other friend who was in Fenna's arms. "Shit," Zell cursed. Sil was hurt.

When they inquired on Sil's well-being and got the news that the falcon was hurt but would be okay with some healing, they were relieved. Zell parted ways with them to go get some medical attention of his own and thankfully, Fenna's soldier stayed with him because as soon as his adrenaline wore off, he fainted. The soldier managed to catch him and stop the swordsman from whacking his head on the ground for the sixtieth time, then picked him up and carried him to the medical station where he was awoken again.

"Fuck. I didn't faint in front of the girls, did I?"

Typical Zell Brooks.

A tiefling Cleric came to him, in a noticeable bad mood. Zell guessed that she was just feeling the fatigue of overwork. Michael Fern's elven hearing had been keeping a close observation of the Cleric's conduct and overheard Adam direct her to Zell. He went over and introduced himself. "Michael Fern."

"Zell Brooks. Second Chance," Zell returned, reaching out to shake the man's hand.

"Any friend of Adam is a friend of mine," Michael said. "You have a top o' the range Druid on your back line. And with a big heart too."

Zell grinned as, speak of the devil, he saw the American (strangely, with that fucking dickhead, Xavier.) "Yeah. He's one in a million, that guy."

Michael smiled and left to attend to other things. At that point, Barracker showed up. Zell nodded jovially at his fellow muscle-head and brother-in-arms, saying to the Cleric. "Do me a favour and sort out this pincushion next, will ye? He's got more arrows in him than a map with directions. Ha!"

His mood was improving during this lull in the battle. In spite of the desperate situation, just seeing that his friends were okay was buoying up his spirits to no end. All he wanted, in this moment, was to see Alison and of course, his best friend, James. Everything would be right in the world once he caught a glimpse of that permanent scowl and Mexican accent.

He groaned as his broken bones were being reset and cured. He would go and see those last two party members as soon as he could move. For now, at least he could enjoy a laugh with Kass.

Warren and Barracker sat off to the side in a secluded area. Inside the narrow part between shops, Barracker got a full report of the status of The Bats. Warren sat, his back against a concrete wall that was fence high. “Fuck, thinking about the causalties in that ambush gets my muscles twitching. It was stupid of me to get caught there. The rush to get to the Bazaar was a bit of a strain on the brain. The Dire Stags leader took a hefty hit to his groin. Fuck me if I know if he’s alive or not, I got some of our guys to carry him further inside the Bazaar where everyone was being treated. I think you could do with the break Captain.”

Warren was chomping down on something, Barracker thought it might have been his pouch of chewing tobacco he regularly chewed in his spare time of relaxing, he only remembered this because of their time spent in their younger days as apprentices under Odis Visigni. Something seemed off, but was it a good time to pry, he wasn’t sure and maybe that came out in his tone. “Warren I mean not to pry, but what is on your mind, friend. You seemed lost in thought.”

Warren was about to speak, “Well I… Don’t mind me, just a duty of an older brother.”

Barracker nodded in understanding. Krillen was always looking out for him when they were younger. He had not thought about his own brother in such a long while, but was reminded today. Not a brother in blood, as they were both orphans, but a brother nonetheless. Where are you Krillen and what have you been up to?

Barracker bent to a knee in front of Warren, a hand to his shoulder. “Do not worry friend, on my honour, we will both see our brothers again.”

Barracker was met a light quip, “Ha, two-thousand to one odds of Valhiem surviving… …We should’ve placed a bet seeing as we’d have been cashing in.” Warren was infected with confidence after his captain’s assurance. “Valhiem will be standing tall in the light of Iris for a long time to come.” Then he changed the subject. “Fuck me, Captain will you go get those arrows out of you. For Quinities sake.”

Barracker smiled then nodded, and bid him a farewell. He wondered what he would find walking into the group gathering of healing the injured, how many of his party would have taken an injury and how fatal it would have been. How many would be there to greet in person. It was a bit unnerving though entering where the injured had been stationed, the air was thick with the stench of blood, it was quite overwhelming to the vampire. Barracker felt fatigued, thirsty and welcomed some rest and some catch up with his friends too. He had hoped that his friends had not gone through alot on this siege but felt it had to have been rough for them. Valhiem truly owed them their respect and if we all get through this, our lives.

First member Barracker saw of Second Chance was Zell. He walked over to his friend, and was met with "Do me a favour and sort out this pincushion next, will ye? He's got more arrows in him than a map with directions. Ha!"

Barracker grinned looking at all the arrows sticking out of him, “one would get lost following this map.” He clasped forearms gently with his brother in arms. “Looking worse for wear friend. How was your side of the retreat? Looks like we did as much damage as we possibly could manage on the front line.” As he spoke about the battle and what happened to the lions, arrows one by one were being taken out of his back and shield arm. So much blood in the air. His fingers raised to gently touch his temples.

Once he had been healed he thanked the tiefling Cleric for sorting him and his friend out. He found what Zell knew about the rest of the party members of Second Chance and went off to find them. Second face he saw was Adam, at the bridge and in talks with that blasted gnome. He was going to go over, but realised they were busy casting and thought it would be best not to disturb them. He did wonder what could have been happening but felt the Druid was exceptionally capable of handling the task. Then he saw MacKensie and Fenna at another medical area. He didn’t see Sil until he got closer. His face brightened up when he saw the two but grew immediately concerned when Sil came into view.

“How is she?” Barracker spoke with great concern. Sil was Second Chance as much as any of them were and Barracker had grown greatly fond of the Falcon. Come on girl, you can shake this off, I know you can, he thought as he looked upon the bird. Barracker gently patted Fenna’s shoulder in a show of support.

As soon as the vampire saw MacKensie, his eyes went to the bloody rips and cuts in her clothes that marked her wounds.

She is covered in blood…

...Blood.

He realised now why he was so thirsty. It had all come on so suddenly, the overflowing urge, and now his brain clicked why these flashes of intense hunger were coming and going. Although it had only been yesterday that he had taken a vial, he needed another now and the sooner, the better. He was so ashamed that he had looked at MacKensie this way, reminded once again that he was a monster deep down. He went to his pouch and then realised he was standing around everyone. So he excused himself and rushed off, finding his way down an alleyway and away from everyone. Out of sight he reached into his pouch and retrieved a dark vial of Lamb's blood. As he drank the vial clean, Barracker immediately grabbed his wrist, his eyes went blood-shot and he could feel his veins bulging. A familiar and painful reaction that happened every time. A futile effort to refuse to enjoy the blood, but it went down like a treat and not because of the sugar and spices that seasoned the blood.

This worried Barracker a lot, how the thirst could just sneak up on him so quickly. It must have been the state of feeling fatigue, bloodloss and on top of that, he guessed it must also have been because of the stench of blood filling the air. Can I really carry on like this? Or will I put everyone in danger?