Brewer King 24 (Patreon)

The creek narrowed and the terrain grew rockier. San breathed in the cold air and looked up at the towering peaks to the north. They weren’t anywhere close to those peaks, but the land had noticeably become more inclined in the last two days since they left the Exonaris Komai.

Tall pines dominated sides of the steep valleys they were entering, the land changing and growing colder as they hiked ever northward. The thin trickle of the stream carved a crooked path through the valley, although judging by the steep banks, it was probably ten times wider in warmer weather.

“We should stop here,” Bostarion said.

“Why?” demanded the Mage Lieutenant.

“We’re gonna be reaching the nest before nightfall,” the ranger replied, peering at the noonday sun. It shone down upon them, the skies brilliantly clear, but the dull sun had little warmth to bestow upon them. “We already saw what’ll happen in a night battle.”

The Mage scowled but glanced northward again. “I don’t see any sign of a nest near here,” he said.

“That’s the way it is,” the ranger replied. “Trust me, we were here not five days back. We killed the new queen and that’s what caused the stampede upon the komai.”

“Fucking rangers,” Ilagio’s voice bit through the silence. “All those deaths are on your hands.”

“I’m the only ranger here,” Bostarion said. “The Baron bestowed the title on me for my twenty years of service to the Barony.”

“Sti-“

“Silence, Fomar,” the Mage said.

The Landed turned a beet red. “You dare-“

“This is a military endeavor,” the Mage snapped. “You know your place here.” The Mage looked around. “We will make camp, fortify it and in the morning we shall march upon the nest. I want fires, big ones. The foreigner will use his Power to keep the creatures at bay.”

There was a grumble, one part relief and the other part annoyance. Relief they weren’t about to fight the battos after their exhausting march and annoyance at having to do more work.

Elgava tossed San an axe and grinned. “I hear big fuckers chop real good,” she said.

“I believe it is more due to experience and know-how than size,” San said.

Genreve slapped San on the shoulder; he also carried an axe. “Come on, San. Elgava there is more a danger when carrying a blade than she is a help. Ask her to chop a tree and she might end up killing you instead.”

“You’ll see how well I end up using a blade come morning,” Elgava shouted back.

“Hey!” Ilagio snapped, walking up to them. “Shut up and get your country ass to work, commoner.”

“Aye, Landed,” Elgava snapped off a lazy salute and sauntered off.

Ilagio glared at San and Genvere and then headed off, shouting more orders and cursing soldiers.

“Reminds me of someone,” San said.

“Aye, a surly grazer with a stick up its ass,” Genvere said and laughed.

San was constantly impressed at the speed and efficiency the soldiers achieved when they were working. He had thought it amazing that he had felled half a dozen trees and stopped them bare in a few days, but the ten soldiers and San who were ordered to get wood could have built a log cabin in a day if they were determined.

The tall pines slammed to the earth, felled with precision and placed exactly in a spot that would make it easier to move into the camp. Even with his increased strength, San fell behind as the others stripped the trees, bucked the logs, and then finally split them for the campfires or use in their makeshift defenses.

“Ey, San!” Elgava shouted at San. He looked up, wiping away the sweat running down his face and panting from exertion. “Mage wants to see you.”

“Saved by the Mage,” San gasped.

“Ya owe me a sar, Gen!” Folagin cried; the thin scarred woman cackled in glee as San picked up his coat. “Big foreigner didn’t last. Ain’t got the staying power.”

“Hurry your ass up,” Elgava said. “I’m freezing my ass off here.”

“Duty calls,” San said to the soldiers, shrugging and following Elgava. The workers sent lighthearted jeers and curses after him.

The Mage and the leaders that remained were gathered beside the wagon, a hot fire burning before them as they listened to Bostarion’s report.

“How do, San,” Bostarion said, nodding to him.

“Foreinger,” the Mage offered.

Ilagio only sneered and turned away.

“You summoned me, Mage Lieutenant?” San asked.

“You have power, I need to know what you can do,” the Mage said. “You might be needed in the morrow, your strength and Power.”

San crouched before the fire, raising his hands. “I’m classed as a Brewer,” he said. Ilagio snorted and the Mage furrowed his brow. “I’m currently level 2 with the added strength, speed, and stamina that offers. I also have the ability to imbue a fire with either Fire in the Night, which repels mounters, and the Fearless Flame, which bolsters courage, I think.”

“You imbued Havatair’s enchanted flame with Fire in the Night, how?” the Mage asked. San looked at the young man, it had been days since the battle at the komai had been fought.  He had seen the Mage watching him on the march, his dark eyes peering at him from under his thick fur lined hood.

San shrugged. “I didn’t know I couldn’t do that,” he said.

“Woolly shit,” Ilagio snapped. “What kind of Mage are you? None of this Brewer shit.”

“I am a Brewer,” San said again. “It’s the class I was given when I first leveled up. I don’t know what else to say.”

“You made that drink,” the Mage said. “How?”

“Courage?” San asked. “Yellow gems.”

“Sweet Senta,” Ilagio whispered, fear creasing his face.

The Mage shifted uncomfortably as he looked at San. “You can’t use yellow gems,” he said. “They are forbidden. Only the Cults know how to use them. Where did you learn to use the gems?”

“I’d rather not divulge that,” San said.

The Mage frowned, working his jaw as if he were about to spit. “What land do you come from?” he demanded.

“America,” San said. “I’ve said it before.”

“You are something that cannot be,” the Mage said, still frowning. “You cannot be just a simple Brewer, not when you can use yellow gems to create what amounts to a potion and not when you use magecraft to produce effects that require years of training to achieve.”

“The lad did good. That drink of his got many who’d scream and piss themselves to pick up their swords and fight,” Bostarion said. He glanced over his shoulder toward the north. “It don’t matter what he is and how he gained that knowledge, what we should be focusing on is the battle to come. The battos, they know we’re here. They ain’t the most intelligent creatures, but they know how to defend their hive.”

“We have the mortar,” the Mage said. “And my Power.”

“Aye,” Bostarion said. “But the queen needs to be killed. That means going into the hive and slaying the bitch. We can’t do it with only twenty soldiers, especially when we only have one Leveled man and a single Mage.”

“We can do it,” the Mage said.

“Aye, we made it this far, if we turn back, those fuckers will breed up another little army to hit us again,” Ilagio said.

Bostarion only sighed, looking like a man who saw the future and it happened to be a dismal one.

“We’ll need your Power,” the Mage said to San. “The monsters fear it, we can use that to our advantage.” The Mage began sketching out the plan for tomorrow’s attack.

***

The mortar roared, a thunderous sound that echoed off the steep sides of the valley, sending up a thick cloud of smoke and shaking frozen snow off pine boughs. San unconsciously flinched, momentarily thinking that the bronze device had blown itself up.

He, unlike many others, stood a healthy distance from the artillerymen. The thought of all that blackpowder sitting in open wooden crates sent a shiver down his spine. One spark and the whole mission to destroy the battos would end with a lot of screaming and dying.

They had left the camp in the pre-dawn light, traveling northward again as the clouds thickened in the sky and the light that came through once dawn arrived was watery and weak. A cold wind blasted down the valley, the steep sides and narrow opening among the towering pines sharpened it until it cut through all their coats and gloves.

The trickle of the creek finally lead them to a massive waterfall that had frozen as it descended down a craggy cliff. San had stared at it, the first time he’d seen a sight like that. Thick icicles hung from the very top and stretched down to meet the rocky cliff floor.

Near the bottom of the waterfall was the batto caver entrance.

As San stared at the gaping cave next to the frozen waterfall, he figured the odds of the day ending with screaming and dying was very high. His hand unconsciously rested upon his sword hilt. It was odd, he thought, that his entire adult life the thought of owning a sword or using one had never crossed his mind. That was a dream of when he was a child. Yet now he had one and it was the first thing he went for when there was trouble. He had two blackpowder pistols, a crossbow, and four shots left in his revolver, but it was the enchanted sword that he automatically grabbed for.

It was a shame that he still hadn’t learned how to use it properly. Slashing and hitting was about the most he could do, his increased strength and speed covering for his lack of skill.

Dirt fountained before the cave entrance, forty feet too short. The artillery leader began screaming at the soldiers and they rushed to reload and adjust the weapon. San watched as blocks were set into the ground, wet swabs shoved down the short smoking barrel, and then sacks of blackpowder shoved in afterward.

San peered at the distant cave opening. The vague knowledge from high school physics tried to bubble up, but he couldn’t grab a hold of the thought. He knew there were ways to determine how far an object would travel, dependent on the force the object left, the angle they began from, and the downward force of gravity.

Another shot was fired, filling the valley with another thunderous roar of the mortar. San watched as the shell landed right before the mouth of the cave, more dirt and rock fountaining up.

“Got it set!” the artillerymen shouted, there was a brief cheer as they began in earnest to load the weapon. The Mage Lieutenant walked up to the pile of mortar shells, hollow bowling ball sized cast iron balls. They were explosive shells, San had discovered. The old bombs bursting in the air kind of explosive shells.

From what San had seen, they were filled with powder, a fuse used to plug it, and then the shell shoved fuse down into the mortar. The firing of the cannon itself ignited the fuse, allowing it to detonate the blackpowder within.

The Mage Lieutenant produced a sack of catalyst rock, the cloudy crystal seeming to glow in the mid-morning light. He held his hands over the crystals and they began to turn a midnight black color. San could almost feel the Power coming off the the Mage, like the heat from a fire, the wafting aroma from wort coming to a boil.

An artilleryman carefully took the converted stones from the Mage and a pair of them began loading them into several explosive shells.

“Ey, eyes forward,” Elgava said beside him.

San turned to the woman and she was posting toward the cave mouth. The other soldiers were moving into position behind their defenses, the woollys had already been taken away and the wagon was being used as the focal point of their defenses.

Mounds of dirt and rock had already been set up, creating a chest high wall before them, long sharp stakes that had been made the night before pointed out toward the entrance of the cave. Crossbows were the weapon of choice in the upcoming battle, with spears coming in a close second. San could see why swords were always considered a secondary weapon, he lacked a spear and that was an issue.

If there were more soldiers, San would have suggested that they create a pikewall backed up with crossbows. The long spears could have kept the battos from rushing them, allowing the crossbowmen to pick them off at close range.

If his memory was correct, the pikeman would rule the battlefield for centuries. Great blocks of pikemen could stop cavalry charges and if backed by rifles or crossbows, they would be able to hold their own. That of course would mean that artillery would have to become more accurate and more devastating.

San was lost in thought and didn’t see the Mage’s explosive shell be fired, instead he felt it. An explosion that nearly staggered him, followed by heat so intense that it felt like his lungs were on fire. San coughed and doubled over, trying to suck in cold air. A smell, like burned plastic filled the air.

“Sweet Senta!” Elgava coughed beside him. “That was fucking amazing!”

A thick wall of white smoke blew over them, causing more men to cough and gag at the smell. San knew that smell, it was the resin that the battos produced, he had burned every bit of it that had been excreted in the farmhouse.

The artillerymen were shouting and within moments another shell was fired. Thick white smoke still blinded them, but it appeared they had the cave mouth zeroed in now.

“They’ll be coming,” Bostarion’s voice shouted.

“Man the defenses,” Ilagio shouted. “Don’t let them get near the mortar or we’re all dead!”

San surged forward with the rest of the soldiers. The nerves fo the upcoming battle began to fade away, the welcomed calmness settled upon him. Crossbows were pulled and the soldiers clattered to the defenses, trying to peer through the white cloud of smoke.

The only thing San could see were the large bonfires that were still alight. Fire in the Night burning through the white smoke and protecting their flanks from the creatures. San hoped it would work, it wouldn’t take much to snuff out of the fires, if the battos were able to push through their fear of the flame.

There were piles of wood behind the defenses, ready to be ignited if they were about to be overrun. It was San’s job to use his Power when they were lit, to keep the monsters at bay. As a large portion of their defenses relied on San, the reasonable thing to do would have been to stay back with the artillery and the Mage. Yet it didn’t sit well with San. He was the only Leveled person and his strength and sword would be needed in the fight. Plus, he had become friends with some of the soldiers and leaving them to fight the battle wasn’t something he was willing to do. If he could fight. He would fight.

He took in a slow breath, grimacing at the burning plastic smell. He could hear the artillerymen shouting again, reloading the mortar, but over that, over the sounds of shifting armor, prayers, and the clinking of weapons; San could hear a different sound. A skittering noise that slowly began to grow. He could feel it through his boots, as a deep rumble began to shake the loose scree of the valley.

“Fuck, here they come,” Elgava whispered, her voice barely audible. “Sweet Senta, see me through the day. I don’t fear death, but my Ma will drag me back from Paradise if I do die here. She’s that big of a bitch.”

San had to snort at the prayer. Elgava gave him a weak grin.

“Prepare yourselves!” Ilagio’s voice rose through the smoke. San could see the man standing behind the line, a spear in one hand and his helmet tucked under one arm. “We are Imperials, our blood is saltier than the Inland Sea, we have conquered the known world, our ancestors look down upon us and await our victory! For Senta, for glory, for victory!”

“Senta! Senta!” the soldiers roared in a single voice, their collective scream burning away fear and dread. San felt his heart beginning to pound, not from fear, but from a anticipation. His hands were sweaty in his gloves as he gripped his crossbow.

There was a distant screech, long and drawn out. Like a challenge or a rallying cry. The skittering noise rose and with it the buzzing of flying battos.

The mortar roared again and the hot explosion filled the air. The screeches grew louder, this time in pain, not challenge.

“Faster!” someone screamed. “Load. Load. Load!”

The smoke swirled as the flying battos launched themselves into the air. San watched the dark shapes flit around the opening of the cave, waiting for the rest of their brethren to join them.

It wasn’t long before the entrance of the cave became clogged with scores of battos clamoring to exit. The defense line went silent as everyone stopped what they were doing. The only noise came from the mortar team as they hastily reloaded.

“It’s been nice knowing you,” Elgava said staring ahead.

“Well, I’m making it through this,” Genreve said. “I’ll tell your sister you owed me twenty sars when we get back.”

“Good luck squeezing a single sar out of that bitch,” Elgava remarked.

“If I don’t make it, tell my wife I was thinking about Rosimina to the end.”

“Who’s Rosimina?”

“Her sister,” Genreve laughed.

The two laughed as the battos dressed their lines. San smiled at the gallows humor of the two, his gaze fixed upon the creatures. They seemed to be more ordered this time; the night attack on the komai had been a mess, the creatures attacking as they trickled in. There was a batto queen somewhere in the mountain, was she able to control the battos through some kind of telepathy?

San shook his head.

“Here they come!” Ilagio shouted.

San looked watched as the black tide surged toward them. He raised his crossbow and took a slow breath.

***

The batto screamed as it swiped at San, he backed up, collided with a figure behind him and nearly tripped. The batto took the opportunity to heave itself over the barricade and lash out with its long tail. The barbed point snapped against San’s cuirass, but did no damage.

San batted away another slash with its long legs and drove his buckler into the battos eyestalks. The long fleshy apendage bent and gave sickening crunch of crushed cartilage or bone. The batto immediately screeched in pain and San drove his sword into the space between the eyestalks. The place Bostarion claimed the brain was.

The creature flopped to the ground noiselessly. Another batto was already climbing over its dead companion, but San was ready this time. He slashed at the monster, slicing off an eyestalk and creating a long bloody gash across it. The monster fell backward, screaming in pain.

Elgava was cursing, a batto clinging onto her shield and trying to stab at her. Her spear was gone and she was down to her shortsword. San stepped forward and cut through the monster’s limbs, causing it to lurch forward and into the blade that Elgava readied. She nodded a thanks and went back to fighting another creature that was taking the dead one’s place.

The buzzing of a flying batto caught San’s attention. He stabbed his sword into the body of a batto and pulled out the single unfired matchlock pistol he had. The bristle furred creature appeared, diving upon an unsuspecting soldier battling a beetle-like batto. San fired the pistol and was rewarded with a spray of red ichor; the flying batto tumbled out of the sky and into its brethren.

He shoved the pistol back into its loop on his pack and pulled his sword out of the batto. A beetle batto was crawling over the dead, its massive pincers snapping at him. The enchanted blade cleaved through the pincers and with a backhanded swing, opened the front of the creature. Green ichor gushed out, soaking the already muddy ground of blood, viscera, and bodies.

“Sweet Senta!” someone screamed.

San looked over the failing barricade and felt his heart seize at the sight. He had seen the massive battos before, the type that had battered a hole into the farmhouse, but the creature that emerged from the flaming cave entrance was something else all together. It was covered in the bristle black fur, but it had a dozen stout legs and three folding arms along its back. Those three arms ended in long bladed bone that gleamed sickly in the midday light.

The Mage appeared by San’s side, he arm cocked back, and he let fly a fist sized crystal toward the monster. The catalyst rock detonated with a boom that nearly pushed San back, but the distance it had traveled wasn’t all that great. It did ravaged a few packed battos, but not much else.

San didn’t think that the Mage had spent three years playing baseball at his father’s behest, so his throwing form was utter crap.

“Toss me a rock,” San said. The Mage glared at him, but then handed him a fist sized black rock.

San looked to the big monster that was trying to push its way toward the defenses. He lined his body up with the creature, pulled his arm back and then pulled his chest toward his extended left hand, snapping his wrist just like his coach had taught him all those years ago. The rock flashed across the heads of the battos and then smacked the massive creature right in the face. The rock detonated and the creature reared back, a chuck of its face gone and blackish ichor flowing from the massive wound.

“Holy shit,” San said and let out a bark of laughter.

“Hit it again!” the Mage cried, tossing San another rock.

San threw the second rock, sending the explosive toward the monster. He had always been middling in his pitches, as it wasn’t his strong suit. He could always hit the ball well, but throwing was something he had never excelled at. Yet as San threw the rock, he could feel where it would land, he could feel his body move into the right spots, all the old instructions that he hadn’t fully understood, finally making sense. The rock exploded with another massive roar and the monster’s legs collapsed from under it. The creature flopped over in the mud, crushing a few of the slower battos as it died.

The Mage threw more of the rocks at the battos beyond the defenses, slaughtering them as they tried to climb their dead. San felt bloody chunks splatter against him, running down his scratched and battered cuirass and sallet helmet.

Then the ground began rumbling.

“Earthquake,” San shouted, feeling the ground buckle under him.

The ground under the trickle of the stream suddenly collapsed in on itself. A massive dark hole appearing in the middle of the valley floor. San immediately knew that was not a good thing. He saw a massive claw dig into the dirt and a black bristle fur arm began pulling itself up.

“Sweet Senta!” the Mage cried, horror on his face.

“Get that mortar turned around!” San shouted. The Mage only gaped. “Get that gun turned around!”

San pounded toward the mortar. The artillerymen were staring at the hole, mouths hanging. They weren’t listening to him or anyone for that matter.

A buzzing caught San’s attention and he looked up to see a flying batto dropping like a falcon, aimed directly toward the artillerymen. A kamikaze batto.

“Look out!” San shouted, but the soldiers were still staring at the massive clawed hand.

The batto slammed into one of the artillerymen, practically exploding into a mess of red ichor and human blood. The man screamed, others screamed as rocks, limbs, and shrapnel slammed into them. The six surviving men staggered around, yelling and screaming in horror.

San reached the men and grabbed the first one, yanking him back to his feet. He stared at San, eyes wide and terrified. Blood from his compatriot leaked down from his pot helmet and soaked into his leather coat. His mouth open and closed like a fish.

“Get that gun turned around!” San shouted into his face. The man’s eyes focused on San and then glanced toward the second hand that had joined the first in the hole. A deep bass rumble was coming from the hole, along with clouds of steam and an intense putrid stink of death and rot.

The man began shouting, joining San in grabbing the other men and shaking sense into them. They saw the emerging form of the creature and began heaving the heavy bronze mortar. San lent his back, grabbing the mortar by its hot lip and yanking it with all the strength he had. The several hundred pound hunk of metal moved, turning to face the creature that was coming for them.

San could hear screaming, from the defenders as the battos made a final surge to break their lines. San looked up for a moment, cursing.

“Up. UP!” the artillery leader was yelling.

San turned to see that a creature of horror had pulled itself out of the hole. Where the battos were oblong in shape, this monstrosity was more humanoid. It towered nearly twenty feet tall and nearly as wide, a massive torso of leathery skin and twisting muscle. It’s head was conical in shape, hinging backward and from within it came long snake like tentacles with barbed hooks for pulling in prey.

“It’s a Guardian!” Bostarion shouted. “The Queen’s Guardian!”

The artillerymen were trying to adjust the angle of the mortar, fear numbing their hands and causing them to stumble in their work. San grabbed the lip of the mortar again and heaved, lifting it up so that the others could hammer home blocks.

“Good!” the leader yelled, as another man swabbed it out and another began shoving blackpowder into it. The Mage heaved over an explosive shell, sweat dripping down his face. San realized he was burning up his mana, reaching his limit.

San looked to the creature, it had pulled itself out of the hole and seemed to be taking in the battle. Eye stalks protruded from the side of its cone head, twisting and bending in every direction. As one they all turned to stare at the mortar.

“Ready!” the leader shouted.

San moved away from the front of the mortar and an idea struck him. He looked back at the beast and saw it turn toward them.

“Firing!” the leader shouted the warning to San. But San stood by the mortar, readying himself. “Three, two, one!”

“Fire in the Night!” San screamed, willing the power to flow into the fire that was being launched at the creature. He could feel the mana suddenly whip away from him, like an icy breeze, dragged along by the explosive shell. He staggered back, half deafened and shaken by the close explosion.

The world lit up with blue flame and the horrendous scream of an injured creature. San turned, hot fetid air blasting him. He stood his ground and when the smoke cleared saw that the explosive shell had struck true. Not only that, but the massive creature was wreathed in blue flames, it flailed and screamed, collapsing among the rushing battos. It’s massive hands slashed and smashed, killing everything that it could grasp in its agony.

The Power of the fire caused the battos to flee, but there was no place to flee, trapped between the flames and the soldiers. They were soon torn apart by the flailing monstrosity. San watched as it’s leathery skin flaked and seared, the blue flames running across its body as if it were made of kindling.

The surviving battos came to the decision that the humans were the lesser danger and charged their lines. San watched as a wave of black stabbing bodies rushed over the broken defenses and soon were among the surviving troops. San pulled his sword out and rushed back into the fray, kicking, slashing, and swatting with his sword.

The battos were frenzied, uncaring about their own lives and lashing out at everything with the same mad energy as the dying guardian. San kicked a batto away, slashed at another, drove his sword into a third. He punched one and then grabbed an eyestalk of another and pulled it to the ground, stabbing it with his sword.

Blood, ichor, and black body parts went flying. San didn’t realize he was yelling as he was drenched in ichor and slashing at anything with black fur coming at him. Then the world came roaring back to him. He slipped in the mud and caught himself on the body of a soldier.

Genreve’s unseeing eyes stared back at him, a broken batto leg embedded into his throat. San staggered back, gasping in horror. He tripped over another body, the thin scarred face of Folagin.

“San…” a voice whispered.

San turned to see Elgava. Her brigandine was ripped to shreds, the steel plates dented and lying around her. San rushed to her side, noting the deep gashes running along her chest and arms. A batto had torn open her armor and stabbed her repeatedly, the blood soaking her clothing showed she was dying.

“Fuck,” she coughed. “I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not,” San hissed. He shoved his hand into his armor, digging around until he pulled the plastic bag he carried. He opened it, nearly fumbling and dropping the precious gems. Five green gems and a red gem gleamed in his hands.

He hadn’t used them after the first attack. That had been selfishness on his part. He had already known he was going to fight the batto nest, a part of him had kept him from using the gems on the injured then. But now… now it was Elgava, who was the first to buy his booze, the one who helped deliver Endaha’s child, the one who had help him become friends with the other soldiers.

San opened Elgava’s mouth. She protested, trying to lift her arms to stop him, but she was weak. He dumped the gems into her mouth, forcing her mouth closed. She struggled, her eyes widening slightly in either horror or realization.

Elgava’s back arched and her body went rigid. San pulled his hand back and she let out a sharp hiss of breath. San stared down at her wounds and watched in amazement as they began stitching themselves back together. Black blood seemed to flow from the wounds, pulling out dirt and debris and infection.

She shuddered and shook, but within moments the ruined flesh had returned to unblemished skin.

“Senta. What did you do?” Elgava gasped, her eyes wide.

“Gems,” San said.

“Sweet Senta, my tits are freezing,” she said and looked down at her exposed front. San coughed and turned away, suddenly realizing he had been staring at her naked body. “You’re covered head to toe in blood and the sight of my tits makes you turn away in horror?” Elgava laughed and groaned. She sat up, pulling her tattered clothing close. “Hetvana’s cunt, I nearly died. I’m.. I’m Leveled.” She whispered the last. “Level one [Steadfast Knight]. I don’t know what that is…”

San got to his feet. He turned to look toward the cave, but his view was blocked. Before the their shattered defenses lay the massive creature, a burned and smoking husk was all that was left. The rest of the battos seemed to have either fled or died, their black bodies scattered everywhere. And eerie silence filled the valley, only the sounds of the wounded filled the air.

Elgava grabbed San’s extended hand and he pulled her to her feet. She was unsteady, but her eyes widen as she looked at the devastation around them.

“Fuck,” she said. San felt that summed it up.