"Hah, hah"
His breath heaved.
Back on Earth, he wasn't the most active guy, he exercised now and every week but not enough to build serious muscle or, in this case more importantly, swing a weapon for a long time. Fenna's lightshow had restored his magics and given a second wind to his mental reserves, but the accumulated fatigue was not letting go. Another 'Source Infusion' was running through his body, transforming his blood into molten lava and granting strength to his frail muscles beyond what was natural for the Cleric class.
But even magic had its limits.
His knees were on the ground and he was hugging anchor for dear life, knowing it to be the only thing preventing him from faceplanting the ground.
In front of him was a corrupted Knight, silent and deadly as it raised its sword, ready to swing it and liberate his head from the rest of his body.
James glared at it with bloodshot eyes, even his thoughts were becoming sluggish thanks to the fatigue.
His eyes closed, not in acceptance of his fate, but as a means of preventing the blood from entering his eyes as the head of the enemy exploded in a show of gore as someone bisected them down the middle. He felt a pair of strong arms grabbing his armpits and dragging him to safety as another figure interposed themselves between the enemy and himself.
“Any ideas, captain?”
He recognized the voice, relaxing slightly as the voice of his friend reached his ears.
Ideas? Yeah, but it was not one that he liked, already too many of their cards had been used for little gain, he could guess the Bastard on the other side of the bridge was already gloating, sure of his victory. It burned him inside to acknowledge the guy might be onto something, but he would rather die swinging his anchor than giving the Marquis a free win.
'Marcus, I need Marcus, where is-' Some kind of instinct urged him to look for one of the mages assigned to him, the same one who had used the Flare on the earlier retreat. The memory of the mage's broken body slammed against him like a bag of bricks. One of the many casualties of the siege.
With reinvigorated spite his body rose to his feet, hateful feelings running through his chest.
He looked at his friends and answered him with a grimace "Just one but its not something you are going to like, but if it works we might have to buy Adam a few rounds"
With his enigmatic words delivered, he turned toward where he knew their mages with extra Flares were situated.
"THIS IS JAMES SIRUIS! ALL UNTIS RETREAT! MOVE ONTO THE NEXT PART OF THE PLAN!"
Johnatan was sure he would die today.
As a young member of the militia, he felt, well he felt left behind. He could see some youngster of the same age bracket launching fire from their hands or fighting things that would haunt his dreams were he to survive today.
In comparison, he was struggling against skeletons.
His legs shook as he cleaved through the enemy in front of him, a sad sack reanimated by magic that nonetheless presented a risk for the folk behind him, maybe he should feel some pride in his actions but compared to the Adventurers it rang hollow. Even among his peers, he hadn't ranked as useful enough to support one of the parties protecting the bridge, instead being delegated to the rear defense alongside the sick, old, and feeble. It burned half as much as the shame that arose within him the moment he noticed his own relief at the news.
"Help!"
A scream stole his attention.
The moment his eyes found the source of the scream his blood froze within his veins, he didn't remember the man on the ground, some small familiarity maybe, a face he might have seen on the barracks once or twice. But what he recognized was that in front of him was a skeleton.
No.
To call that skeleton would be wrong, it was tall, taller than a normal human was, and the bone structure was wrong, too many ribs, and twice as many on the arms and legs. Immediately he could tell that such a skeleton was beyond him.
So why.
Why were his legs carrying him towards such an enemy?
"Haaaa!"
As a scream left his mouth he flung himself towards the goliath, sword rising in a clumsy overhead strike.
He didn't hear the call for retreat.
Maybe it was the recent usage of the springs, maybe it was something that always laid dormant within him, whatever it was he didn't notice the glowing crystal on the back of his right hand either.
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