The silence that followed was deafening. Even the Narkals seemed to pause for a fleeting moment.
Then, ultimately, the tide resumed. The beasts moved forward, stepping over Morikawa's body, over the mound of corpses protecting their general, over the slain monsters, and pressed on toward the demi-human army.
From his position in the chaos, Ashen watched Morikawa's corpse disappear beneath the advancing tide, and his throat tightened.
He'd known from history that the Pride army was wiped out here. But what he didn't know was that knowing and seeing were completely different things.
Rowan Vance. Morikawa Shun. Millions of soldiers who'd fought for two days without rest.
All gone.
'What now?' He unconsciously asked.
The death of the general and his deputy left the surviving soldiers aimless, but not for long.
"Fall back!"
With the Riven Formation dissolving, the executioner and escort tactic had become obsolete, so the corps commanders didn't take long to reach the decision that their only viable option was to group back, no matter how futile it was.
The cavalry moved swiftly; every corps had the same idea, so communication wasn't even needed. Their destination was obvious: the demi-human main army.
They had way more numbers, after all, even if their morale had hit rock bottom.
The remnant of the Pride army might have come off as callous due to their indifference to their general and Morikawa's death, but that was merely the outward appearance.
Inwardly, though, while grief ate at them, they knew the best way to pay homage to the departed hero was to execute his last order.
"As long as we stand, we kill!"
The chant started from one corps, rough and ragged, more snarl than words.
"As long as we stand, we kill!"
Another corps picked it up, voices joining in unison as they carved through Narkals blocking their path.
"As long as we stand, we kill!"
Instead of fleeing, they looked more like they were charging. They advanced, spears thrusting, swords swinging, each kill a prayer for the dead, each death another offering to join their general.
Ashen drove his spear through a Narkal's throat, withdrew, swept the blade low to hamstring another, then thrust upward into a third's exposed belly. The movements flowed together without pause, each strike setting up the next.
The chant thundered around him, and he found his own voice joining.
"As long as we stand, we kill!"
At this point, they were far beyond hope or courage. Whatever pushed them forward deserved a single name: spite. It was spite given voice, grief forced into purpose.
The Narkals ahead were dispersed, scattered by their own deforestation work. The cleared forest left gaps in their formation, paths the cavalry exploited without mercy. They punched through the gaps, leaving corpses in their wake.
⛧
⛧
⛧
When they finally reached the demi-human army, Ashen's heart sank.
He only saw about half. Maybe less. What had been more than a million-strong force was now a broken, bleeding remnant. Most of the casualties had come after the forest fell.
But a brief look around at the gathered humans told him they weren't doing much better. Four hundred thousand had become barely two hundred thousand.
"Soldier Ash Harth!" A corps commander rode up beside him, face grim. "You seem to be acquainted with the queen since you came with her. I'll leave requesting permission to merge forces in your hands."
Ashen couldn't hope for anything more. He spurred his horse forward, weaving through the remnants of both armies.
He found Alice on an elevated platform, surrounded by guards, her hands moving in constant patterns as colored missiles shot into the sky. Those were the commands, coordinations, and desperate attempts to hold the fragmenting line.
She looked exhausted but magnificently alive. And that's all Ashen had hoped for.
Relief hit him so hard he almost fell from his horse.
The moment Alice's eyes found him, she moved, leaping from the platform and crashing into him before he could dismount, arms wrapping around his neck, face buried in his shoulder.
"You're alive, you're alive..." Her voice came in broken sobs, and her body quivered against him.
The guards tensed, hands on weapons, but relaxed when they recognized him.
"Not for much longer if you keep this up," Ashen managed, voice strained. "Can't breathe."
She loosened her grip fractionally but didn't let go.
Ashen's tone shifted, became serious. "The Pride army remnant requests permission to merge with your forces."
"Granted." She didn't hesitate. Then, softer, "Stay with me. Guard my position."
"No."
She pulled back to look at him, eyes red.
"Even killing one more Narkal increases our chance of survival," Ashen said. "I won't stay idle when our lives are on the line."
It was a white lie. They both knew it. One more spear in this chaos wouldn't change the math. But Alice understood what he really meant: how they died mattered. Doing their absolute best before falling meant something.
She let him go.
⛧
The integration of the human soldiers barely changed anything.
Humans and demi-humans alike were still dying… steadily, constantly, inevitably.
Ashen fought.
His spear became an extension of his body. He used the cross-blades to catch enemy weapons, twist them aside, then drive the main point home. When a Narkal lunged, he'd deflect with the horizontal blade, use the opening to sweep low and sever tendons, and finish with an upward thrust through the ribcage.
The weapon's design allowed him to attack from unexpected angles. A straight thrust that became a hooking pull with the cross-blade, dragging a Narkal off-balance into his follow-up strike. A defensive block that transitioned into an offensive bind, trapping the enemy's weapon and opening its guard.
Every movement was optimal. It was the kind of technique that came from muscle memory drilled so deeply that it bypassed conscious thought.
His spear drank deep, and still the Narkals came.
Time became meaningless.
Thrust. Withdraw. Sweep. Stab. Repeat.
How long had he been fighting? Hours? Days? He didn't know. The sun had risen and set, or maybe that was just blood in his eyes.
Vital Drift was the only thing keeping him going now, stitching his body back together faster than it broke down. A claw opened his shoulder, but now it had healed enough for the bleeding to stop. A blade cut across his thigh—that wound too closed eventually.
His brain started shutting down non-essential functions. Smell vanished first—a mercy, given the reek of death. Then taste. Touch faded to just enough to feel his weapon, nothing else. His vision narrowed, peripheral awareness collapsing until all he saw was what was directly ahead.
Anything that didn't help him thrust one more time, kill one more beast, was discarded.
He changed corps without noticing, merged with new battalions as everyone around him kept dying. The only indicator was the fewer humans, and the demi-humans filling their gaps.
But soon even those demi-humans started disappearing one by one.
And this time, there was no one to replace them.
⛧
⛧
⛧
Ashen only snapped back to his senses when metal circles spun past his face, decapitating three Narkals in a single pass.
He lifted his head.
A dozen more circles hovered in the air, vibrating with lethal intensity, repelling lives with more momentum and speed than any conventional weapon could manage. They moved in coordinated patterns, creating a perimeter of death around a small cluster of survivors.
Looking around, he found fewer than a hundred still alive. Barely a dozen were human.
Alice stood at the center, tails shining bright golden, face locked in fierce concentration. Judging by her look, the weird devices were hers, and she was the one commanding them.
But something was weird. Something didn't make sense…
When Ashen's foggy mind cleared enough to think of anything beyond thrusting his spear, he finally figured it out.
'Why are we still alive?'
With their numbers, if each Narkal spit on them once, they'd probably drown in spit. So how were they still standing with this pitiful force?
Ashen lifted his head and looked at the horizon.
CRUNCH—CRIKK—
The Narkals attacking them were only a small fraction.
GRRK—SLREEK—KRUNCH!!
The vast majority had their mangy heads lowered, feeding on corpses.
CRANCH—CRACK!!
Whether it was human, demi-human, or even their fellow Narkals, they ate everything. Flesh, organs, bones, brains. Even when their mouths filled to the brim, they still gorged themselves with more, like it was their last meal, like hunger was their worst enemy.
The sight of millions of Narkals eating their comrades was so nauseating, so revolting, that Ashen was sure it would keep haunting him.
While the majority ignored them—allowing them to survive a while longer—Ashen didn't know how long that would last. Probably until they finished their meal.
By then, they'd be dessert.
The sun rose, its gentle rays shining on his blood-soaked face, contrasting wildly with the gruesome scene.
'Is this the end...?'
The thought didn't even last half a second.
'No. I have to survive. Alice needs to survive! I can't fall here.'
'I'll kill them all!! I'm not falling here!'
Anger flooded in before despair could settle. Ashen took two steps forward, ready to rejoin the fray with rage fueling his being.
Then he stopped.
"...What?"
Because he heard a voice he was sure was never supposed to exist here.
[Recovery complete.]
[Reestablishing connection with the human race...]