wal (293)

The Black Night quickened his pace and drew his double headed battle ax from the sheath at his waist.   He moved in front of T’or and stood before the advancing soldiers.  The blade glowed a dull green as he raised it above his head and then slammed down the flat side on the street in front of him, the blade shattered into a hundred glowing fragments that shot off in every to either side cutting into the advancing soldiers flanking them.  Screams of pain and agony filled the silent air.  As the shards of glowing metal ripped through them, the fragments returned and once again on the street he held a double sided battle ax.  He returned it to its sheath and motioned for T’or to advance.

Having lost both of the advancing flanks, the soldiers hesitated in their forward march.  Dissention in the ranks began to lead to desertion.  Some of the soldiers broke from the ranks and darted off into the shadows.  With one stroke, one man had decimated their ranks.  The general began to feel the cold sweat of a lost cause.  The final decision was his to make.  His service to the old order meant he would have to call for a kamikaze run.  Some of his men would follow, some would not.  This was the moment that made soldiers into martyrs, but what was a martyr but a dead man entombed in gold.  He gave the command to stand down.  The goal of battle was not to die for your cause, but to make your opponent die for his.

T’or hefted his hammer upwards in triumph and called out the name Zater.  His voice billowed out into the city and echoed through the lost alleyways.  Spittle’s of blood flew from his mouth as the lust was once again upon him.  His hunger for vengeance would not be sated by the surrender of his army.

The Black Night flinched from the reverberations of his cry.  He could feel the sound waves dancing off the glass and steel of the city’s walls.  He could hear the frightened whispers of the people behind their closed doors, some crying for the loss of yet another kingdom, some plotting to profit from the fall of the old king.  The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the thick iron tinge of blood.  He breathed deeply with a feeling of lust filling his lungs.  His warrior’s soul wanted more.

The soldiers gave a hail of allegiance as T’or strode forward towards the palace.  Jinxell tossed her ball up in the air and caught it again as she skipped along behind him.  The Black Night unharnessed his two crimson blades and walked forward with the blade pointing out to either side anticipating an attack from the parameter.  None came to challenge him.

Jinxell side stepped an arrow that flew from behind the fortification surrounding the palace.  She ducked behind the burnt out wreckage of a siege engine for cover.  An array of aerial spikes flew from the torrents raining down upon them.  The attack was designed to drive them into dead end alley where they could then be easily surrounded from above as well as cut off from retreat.

T’or knew the strategy well.  He had been the one who taught them.  The Royal Night Guards would not be as easily intimidated as the foot soldiers.

“T’or, smash the window behind you!”  Jinxell called out.

T’or tapped it with the head of the hammer shattering it into a hundred tiny fragments.  The diamond ball in Jinxell’s hand began to glow as she uttered a passage from an ancient forgotten tongue.  The shards of glass began to dance on the ground and rise into the air.  With a motion of her arm, the jagged fragments flew towards the torrents answered by the screams of anguished cries.  A smaller contingent of arrows flew toward them in response.

The Black Night moved forward to stand behind T’or.

“Take out the wall and I will lead the advance.”  He whispered and crouched in preparation of bounding forward.

The head of T’or’s hammer began to emanate a bright blue light.  Clutching it in both hands he hoisted it over his head and flung the hammer towards the battlements.  With a deafening explosion the walls splintered under the force of the impact bringing down the western most torrents.

Black Night sprang from behind the rubble and sprinted across the field closing the distance with enviable speed.  He paused at the edge of the wall as the dust began to settle and with his foot, he flung the hammer backwards to the waiting hand of T’or.

Under the cover of confusion and dust, he made his way towards the eastern torrent and ran up the ruins of the battlement to finish off any survivors.  His crimson blades sung through the air making the mad music of the damned as they cleaved through stone and bone alike.  Occasionally a crescendo of the ringing of steel upon steel could be heard as some soul attempted to defend himself.

He relished the whispers of “devil” and “daemon” as he fell upon one victim after another, even dispatching the wounded leaving no survivor behind.  An attack of conscious could prove fatal on a battlefield.  In the act of war, the only rule was to survive.  A merciful gesture to a fallen foe could build into a vendetta he would have to defend himself from in the future.  It was better to do it this way, total war; death must be death, complete and final, with no illusions.

Black Night ducked down as he could feel and hear the wind singing as massive boulders flew through the air towards the gates of the palace.  The pummeling of the constant barrage reduced the barricaded door to splinters within seconds.  Satisfied with his blood lust, Black Night rose and made his way towards the new opening to the inner keep.  He once again made up the rear of their guard as T’or let loose a primal scream to announce his presence.

Members of the court and servants were seen fleeing in every direction trying to avoid confrontation.  The chaotic scramble of bodies did not impact T’or as he read each one of them looking for Zater.  He figured he might try to crawl away in the confusion, but if he wasn’t among the slaves, then he could only be hiding in one place; the stronghold.