—— ? ——

  “Kurda! Help me to the top!” Jorik yelled as he sprinted toward the Thurgen.

  Kurda had his hands on a massive crowbar and was grunting and straining against the wall. Faster residents got to and through the outer wall first. The stonemason had slid to a stop and then glowed with energy.

  Jorik had been watching the hillside, his eyes trained on the slow-moving army. He wasn’t sure what the hulking creatures in the distance were waiting for, but he had been relieved they were being cautious.

  Kurda, in the meantime, had been trying to manipulate the stone of the outer wall to seal the breach.

  But that was proving to be difficult.

  That damned traitor had coated the entire opening in metal. Metal that was resisting all attempts to manipulate.

  Jorik’s normally stony face twisted in rage as he crossed the distance between him and Kurda.

  The giant mason turned to see the head guard charging towards him. His face was confused at first, but then realisation flashed over his face.

  The Thurgen bent to a knee and locked his hands together, ready to receive Jorik’s charge.

  Jorik moved faster, the massive crossbow bouncing on his back as he crossed the final steps.

  His right foot raised high and stepped down on the Thurgen’s waiting palms. Jorik pressed his foot down hard. Kurda grunted, his legs and arms bulging as he stood and lifted in one motion.

  Jorik launched into the air, the guard twisting his hips as he did so. He cleared the top of the wall and skidded to a stop.

  Whirling around, he palmed a clasp on his chest, allowing the crossbow to swing with his momentum. The massive weapon slapped into his waiting hand as he bent his neck and pulled the strap off.

  Jork dropped to a kneeling position and gazed down the sights.

  In the distance, snow exploded into the air as a horde of creatures barreled down on the fleeing Varnholters.

  “Move your asses, everyone! We have company!” Jorik bellowed out as he sighted the lead creature.

  Jorik snarled as he saw a smaller figure weaving through the oncoming horde.

  “Let's see if my bolts can’t find themselves a little traitor.”

  He let loose the first bolt.

  —— ? ——

  Brian limped forward, the bruising on his chest making it difficult for him to breathe. He was near the back of the line, having waved off the many people who had tried to help him.

  No one could disturb his work. He needed to walk on his own two feet.

  His hands were mangled, multiple fingers broken. They screamed in pain, but Brian ignored them.

  Energy sparked out from the object grasped in his broken fingers.

  “Shit.” Brian blinked his eyes behind his glasses. His mind raced as he directed mana through his channels and reinforced the stabilising cage around his friend. A quiet scream of pain echoed out from the construct.

  “I’ve got you, Zerathis. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” Brian said through clenched teeth. He flexed a broken finger, and white flashes of pain filled his vision. The pain was excruciating. However, he needed that finger to shift and stabilise the cage further.

  He wasn’t sure how he was going to fix Zerathis. For now, he just focused on containment. The arcing sparks of energy from the construct bounced off the improvised barrier Brian had constructed. It was crude, and some still escaped, but with each passing second, Brian wove thread after thread of magical energy into it.

  He just needed to keep doing this. The sparks emanating from the construct would bounce and then be reabsorbed into it. As long as he contained it, he was sure Zerathis would make it.

  “We need to go faster, Brian,” Dravlen’s incessant voice cut in again. “No, not just faster. We need to run. Now!”

  “I can’t, Dravlen! I have to focus!” Brian snapped.

  “Lad, you’re about to be focusing on the afterlife if you don’t move your ass now!” Dravlen appeared in front of him, “Look, you fool!” He pointed a shining blade behind Brian.

  Brian glanced over his shoulder. His heart fell into his stomach as he saw the horde hot on their heels.

  Several of the faster members of the horde had pulled ahead and were close enough that Brian could see their dull, amber eyes.

  “Fuck.” Brian hissed, his eyes snapping back to his precious cargo. He was going too slow.

  His eyes clenched shut as he flexed and adjusted his broken fingers.

  “GAHHH!” The pain was nauseating. His legs wobbled beneath him as he took a deep breath through his nose.

  “What are you doing, you damned fool!” Dravlen barked.

  Brian ignored him. He visualised his mana flowing down his arm. Brian imagined it moving like a river, unstoppable and gushing.

  Suddenly, his arms burned as magical energy poured through them. Brian’s eyes snapped open as he watched it gush into his temporary barrier. The walls became solid, edges sharp.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Without hesitating, Brian started to sprint, his eyes locked on the barrier surrounding Zerathis.

  The pounding of his steps rattled the magical energy construct, and his eyes raced to every new hole. As soon as he finished patching it, another would form. Magic sparked around him, crackling over his body as he was fully focused on two things.

  Keeping the barrier intact.

  And running for his life.

  “GO go go!” Dravlen yelled from behind him. “Don’t stop!”

  —— ? ——

  Dravlen whirled after yelling, his feet blurring beneath him as his run slowed. The damned inventor was finally moving, but the first of the creatures had almost arrived.

  He spun both blades as he readied to take the first charge.

  *ffffffffff…THUNK*

  The creature grunted as a silver bolt whistled by, slamming into its thigh.

  *Thunk Thunk Thunk*

  Three more blossomed from its body. It stumbled, then slammed into the snow, twitching.

  Dravlen picked up his backwards pace as he nodded. Jorik was a damned good shot.

  Two more had broken ahead of the back and bore down on him.

  The left is easier for Jorik to hit.

  Dravlen dashed to the right, his blades slashing out. The creature swiped, he backstepped, and his wrists twitched as he dragged the blades across its arm.

  Blood spouted from the two gashes his blades left in their wake.

  “Skin’s damned tough.” He muttered as he stepped back, avoiding the creature's follow-up.

  *Thunk*

  The creature to his left screamed as a bolt appeared in its eyes.

  Dravlen grinned. He was going to buy that man a beer later.

  He sprang to the side as another fist reached for him, then cursed as the glint of metal caught his eyes at the last moment.

  Stupid!

  He reflexively dropped his left arm, trying to get as many of his bracers into the path of the weapon.

  The upward swing of the axe head caught him mid-forearm. Dravlen relaxed his muscles in that instant, letting the momentum of the blow carry him up into the air and to the side.

  He tucked his body in as he fell back to the snow, rolling out of reach of the following downward blow.

  Dravlen’s muscles bulged as he slammed his hands into the ground and flipped back to his feet.

  *Ffffffff* *THUNK!*

  His head recoiled as pain pulsed from his ear. Hot blood poured onto his shoulder as he retreated.

  No beer for Jorik.

  Dravlens eyes bounced between the approaching enemies and Brian.

  That had given the man enough distance.

  The Yoreboon spun on his heel and practically vanished as he sprinted after the inventor.

  “Still.” He muttered, blood still dripping down the side of his face. “Another great shot.”

  —— ? ——

  Emrick slid to stop, thunking against the metal of the gap as he turned back to see how close those monstrous beings were.

  The last two from Varnholt were racing back, but the horde was gaining on them. Jorik’s crossbow twanged above, the contraption spewing glinting death in rapid fire.

  Emrick quickly measured the distances, his mind racing. Four creatures would get to Brian and Dravlen before they reached the gap.

  He spun and saw that stone-headed fool slamming a pickaxe into the metal. Sweat dripped off the Thurgen as he frantically tested spot after spot, trying to find a weak point where he could peel back his obstacle.

  They needed to buy more time.

  Emrick glanced toward Varnholt.

  Hundreds of people still ran.

  He looked back out past their wall.

  Emrick came to a decision. He slung his heavy pack off his back and unceremoniously dumped its contents onto the floor.

  Dozens and dozens of spools, tools, and bolts of cloth poured out.

  He cringed at the mess.

  No time to be orderly with this.

  “Kurda!” He practically screamed. His thin voice cut through the air like a knife.

  “Wut?” The giant paused mid-swing. “...Emrick?”

  “Stop whatever moronic plan you’re trying to do,” Emrick said, his words coming out like gunfire. “I want you to make circles. Eyelets from everywhere you can. Make as many as you can. Now Kurda!”

  “I need ter’ seal the gap to help people escape!” Kurda protested.

  “I know that! We don’t have the time. Kurda, listen to me. Eyelets. Hooks, anything that can withstand my threads. Make as many as you can, right now. Dump every ounce of your skills into it.” Emrick gestured behind him towards the oncoming horde and two councillors. “Then go grab that glassy-eyed idiot and bring him to town! He needs to get the barrier going! Now Kurda! Now!”

  Kurda had swung again as he listened. The big man stopped, then frowned.

  “What are yer’ going to do then?”

  “Give us time,” Emrick said quickly. “Go, Kurda.”

  The Thurgen paused for a moment more. Then he exploded with green brown light as his feet thundered and carried him down the gap. The holes he had made when trying to pry the metal sprouted stone. The material poured out like mud, then turned as hard as granite.

  In moments, dozens and dozens of circles of stone dotted the opening.

  Kurda got to the end, then bent over. He hurled. Awful chunks splattered onto the stone. The Thurgen’s core muscles bulged, and Emrick watched in disgusted amazement as the man's vomiting cut off mid-stream. Kurda righted himself, then his throat moved.

  Did he just… Emrick shivered. Nope. Nope. He shut those thoughts from his mind.

  “Maybe they will slip on dat’” was all Kurda said before he dashed towards Brian and Dravlen.

  Emrick's focus went back to his supplies.

  The tailor's hands danced over his spools as he spun them, unravelling their contents.

  Metallic threads danced into the air, their ends snaking out and seeking the stone eyelets.

  Emrick breathed. His eyes looked out toward the horde.

  Fear gripped him. The chill shook him from his head to his well-crafted boots.

  This was insane.

  What was he doing?

  He was a tailor!

  “Briannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!”

  Emrick’s eyes shifted to the sweat-drenched stone mason.

  He sneered at himself.

  If that walking hunk of muscle could fearlessly charge towards the damned horde, then what was his excuse?

  Emrick breathed, closing his eyes. The wind whistled through his threads. That sound is what he would focus on.

  The sound of thread, the sound of his craft.

  That was all that mattered.

  His eyes opened, then rapidly moved as he traced every inch of the metal fibre.

  The wove through eyelets, slid along the walls, spun through cracks.

  It was time to craft a piece unlike any other.

  One doused in death.

  —— ? ——

  Varrax sat on his throne, the dark fires of his realm casting threatening shadows that highlighted the glint in his eyes.

  Magical constructs spun in rings around him. They were unlit, their dark surfaces cloudy as they waited to connect.

  His gauntleted fingers drummed against the obsidian slate armrest.

  Varrax was tired of waiting. This day had taken centuries of planning, and yet all he could do now was wait.

  It infuriated him. How dare the system block his sight?

  But his time of waiting would end soon.

  Soon, he would be allowed to grant a boon to a member of each battlefield.

  Varrax scoffed.

  As if he would grant his precious divinity to the worthless mortals that fought in his name.

  The speed of the rings of constructs waxed and waned with the Martial God’s frustration.

  There may be exceptions, though.

  Worthy pawns that were worth the investment.

  Only time would tell. But the thing Varrax desired wasn’t the opportunity to grant boons.

  No, it was the ability to observe. He would watch. He would measure his forces. See the actions of the mortals that swore fealty to him.

  Those who underperformed would be punished. The ones that performed? Well, their limits would be raised.

  A construct in the ring shuddered, its surface cracking.

  Varrax frowned.

  How had an army been defeated so quickly?

  The god’s hand extended, fingers outstretched. The cracked construct leapt to his grip.

  Glowing divine eyes examined it in detail.

  The portal for this construct came from a doomed realm that had dozens of invasion points.

  One out of over thirty was of no consequence. But the speed at which they had been defeated concerned him. Had another god already moved against him?

  Varrax doubted it. His appearance at the divine meeting should have made even the most ambitious pause.

  Then how had the army at this… Rockfall Fortress failed so spectacularly.

  “Incompetent whelps.” Varrax spat. “There are always those who surprise me. Pathetic lives that surpass even the most worthless of mortals in their uselessness."

  His hand flexed, and the construct exploded into dust.

  So be it.

  There would always be failures. Varrax would remember the name Rockfall Fortress. He would make the mortals of that place pay for violating his divine plan.

  His eyes turned back to the spinning rings of constructs.

  Soon.

  The time was coming.

  Everything would fall under his gaze.

  —— ? ——

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