“Apostates, witches, and heretics occasionally share a strange relationship with the church. While most are hunted down and annhilated to prevent the missue of magicks. Occasionally there are those who not only survive their encounters with the church, but also are permitted to live by the grace of the Stellar Conclave itself. These are ones who agree to have some form of Astralian oversight, including occasional visits from witch hunters, and have agreed to aid any local church activities as necessary. Beyond that, as long as they refrain from harming innocents, they are mostly left alone. ”


    - Jaeger Angela Foruant, Agent of the Argent Curia, “On Allied Witches, Wyches, Heretics, and Apostates”


    <hr><hr>


    Her ears almost popped as it appeared with a boom. Like a monster written about only in myths, told to children to not misbehave, a monstrous knight glowing dark blue with magefire and clad in armour dented with centuries of scars, simply stood there. It stared Mila down, the empty, hollowed eye sockets pointed directly at hers. Silently, it raised its fingers, and all hell broke loose.


    As it pointed at her, a wave of undead armed with cudgels and clubs surged forth from around it, charging with reckless abandon at the Potomian pikewall.


    “Brace!” Bellius roared his command, “To arms!”


    The Potomian trumpets rang out just as the undead slammed into the pikes, impaling themselves in short order. Yet, it wasn’t just a few dozen or even a hundred. There were hundreds of them and the sacrifice of even fifty, was nothing agains the tide. The trumpets bellowed once more and Potomia’s finest got to work. With little fanfare, the second row of pikes stepped ahead of the first, mingling between the pikes to hold up a new line whilst the first removed the corpses.


    The death knight let out a ferocious shriek and sent in more of the undead, the horde of skeletal creatures pouring towards the defensive formation. As the second wave smashed against the pikes, a third wave charged soon after, battering their bodies against the defenders. Cracks, snaps and pops echoed throughout the field as countless skeletal forms shattered under the blows.


    “Stand as one! For the tribes!” Brushkol let out a guttural roar.


    The two other orcish warriors joined his battlecry and swiped at the nearby foes, breaking multiple of the living dead with every blow. Mila was astonished at how effortlessly they dispatched their foes, wondering if between them, they had already eliminated a hundred of the undead. We might have a chance at this rate.


    Pressured, the phalanx switched formations, the second rank of pikes embedding their weapons like stakes before pulling out their spears and shields to act as infantry between the other ranks of pikes. With ruthless efficiency, that shattered yet another wave of the undead horde.


    “Hold the line! Reform! Close ranks!” Bellius ordered.


    The Potomians pulled together, the spearmen interlocking their shields to protect the pikes.


    The death knight let out another shriek and his body turned menacingly blue. It''s eyes of malice were gazing over the pikemen and Mila feared the worst.


    “Besdiore Omuille Heinaotus Helaotux!” Mila chanted her spell, drawing nearby mana around her before letting it out over the group. A score of undead vaporised under the radiant holy light that emanated from her position, their pained death rattles bringing up the morale of the defenders.


    “Farda Tors.” The death knight’s deep inhuman voice rumbled over the land.


    A blast of pure ice slammed up against the shield, the dark blue magefire washing over it and making her light shield crackle. Mila staggered back on her warg as the pressure on the shield rebounded onto her. She grit her teeth and bore the pain, straining herself to maintain the shield.


    The death knight roared in fury, disgusted that its spell failed to break her defence.


    “Fard-”


    A javelin penetrated the gap between its helmet and body, punching through its necromantic neck and letting out a gust of blue magefire that dissipated into the air. Mila glanced at Karzuld, finding the scout preparing another javelin.


    The death knight let out an ear piercing howl, a rusted iron mage blade materialising in his hands. With rage filled speed, he charged forward alongside the next wave. But his assault stopped when Karzuld’s other javelin smacked into him.


    “Syntorres!” The death knight screamed in anger, a magical wave of energy washing over the group and almost making Mila collapse. But she remained standing, as did the defensive formation.


    “Death to the cursed!” Brushkol roared.


    “Death to the cursed!” Marduk joined in.


    Marduk broke formation and battered the nearby undead out of his way, slamming his shield against the death knight’s sword. As they clashed, Brushkol ordered his warg to leap over the defenders, crushing a few of the skeletons. With reckless abandon, he pushed ahead and landed a heavy strike against the knight, knocking the creature clean off its feet.


    The creature clawed back to its feet, positively brimming with corrupted mana. It leapt at Brushkol, missing the orc but managing to hook its bony gauntlets upon his armor, pulling him clean off the warg and bringing him to the ground. Marduk rushed forward at once, pushing him away from Brushkol and creating space for him to recover.


    Annoyed, the death knight uttered another incantation, but this time Mila had no idea what he said. A blast of pure arcane energy launched everything outside of her shield onto the ground. The force itself shattered her light dome and sent her scraping against the ground as she lost balance. Bleeding from a few scrapes and scratches, she watched for a second as her blood dripped and stained the snow below, her ears still ringing from the shield’s collapse.


    “Protect the Inquisitor! Pick them off while they’re down!” Bellius ordered.


    A few of the spearmen took the chance to stab at the fallen undead outside the shields. All while the pikes maintained readiness, most staring down the advancing knight. Seeing its chance, it surged forward and ruthlessly decapitated two spearmen who barely had time to face it. Without a care in the world, it rammed itself into a pike, then grabbed it before snapping it in two. It then lunged forward and grabbed the shaken pikeman, plunging the mage blade into the poor man before cutting at his compatriots nearby.


    It cut down five more Potomian’s before it caught sight of Mila, the girl only half able to draw her blade when it started to carve a path towards her. Mila spun to meet the threat and pulled out her blade just in time. She tried to parry with her own sword only to be launched backwards the moment she made contact, her wobbling feet too unsteady to withstand the heavy blow. A few spearmen tried to help her, but it managed to dodge their blows and deftly avoided their attacks, even cutting one man from behind. Seeing the dying man scratch at his back, Mila realized that with every strike the knight delivered, it would tear open a wound filled with necromantic magics, rotting the body from within.


    “Sir! The undead!” One of the Potomians shouted.


    Chaos erupted once more as the undead began getting back to their feet, the Potomian line half broken as they focused on the death knight.


    “Vanguard, focus up! Ranks reform! Now!” Bellius tried to regain control of the situation.


    But it was no use, the creature’s terrifying presence had stolen most of their attention, only those able to muster their spirits could reform against the tide of undead once more. Furious, the creature finally turned once more to Mila, it''s dark hollow eyes staring right into her soul. Karzuld punched the creature in the face and staggered it, jumping backwards to avoid a wild swing from its blade.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    “Besidore Om-”


    “Inquisitor!” The Lochagos knocked her to the ground before she could chant, the monster’s blade striking at the air as split the Potomian in two. Holy shit. He''s just... the captain''s just...


    “For the warchief!” Brushkol roared, leading a now recovered Marduk on a counterattack.


    His ferocious roar momentarily caught the creature’s attention and Mila tried to crawl away.


    Brushkol’s axe met the creature’s blades and Marduk slammed against it with his shield. The two threw all their weight into the fight and pushed back the creature, the now unsteady death knight trying to recover when two Potomian pikes joined in, stabbing it in an attempt to pin it. Seeing his chance, Karzuld rushed over to help Mila to her feet, the girl trying desperately to think of a way to damage the creature when her eyes landed on his javelin.


    Just as the orc looked ready to help his comrades, she stopped him. Grabbing two of the javelins, she closed her eyes and drew upon her energy reserves, “Ignisahg.” She chanted, igniting the javelins.


    Meanwhile, the creature grew increasingly incensed. It tore the pikes out of Potomians grasp and used them to sweep Brushkol off his feet. Enraged, the orc quickly crawled to his feet and tried to grapple the creature, the death knight meeting his grapple with a dark glee within its eyes.


    “Syntorres!” It roared.


    Almost instantly, the magical wave washed over everyone once more. But this time, without the shield, most of the living found themselves in intense agony as the surge constricted their muscles and prevented them from moving. It was like metal chains that had warped around them, a debilitating condition to be in, leaving them to helplessly watch their fates vanish before them. That''s not fair, no one should be able to cast that fast.


    “Kar…zuld.” Mila muttered, holding back the pain.


    The orc tried to throw but couldn''t, his features also contorted in pain as the death knight’s concentration of the spell was supreme and held them under its control. If the undead could grin, Mila was sure it would be gloating. With almost a bounce to its step, it hacked the two pikemen to death. Unfeeling and unceasing, it then marched over Brushkol. Without ceremony or words, it plunged its blade directly through the orc’s skull, killing the warrior as only an honourless cur would.


    “Grah…Freings… Fletare.” Mila rasped and screamed in agony, her double practically tearing into itself as she drew upon what mana she could find to launch the firebolt.


    As she collapsed fully onto the snow, she and the death knight watched the bolt hopelessly sail past it, smacking into some distant tree. All around her, the undead that had recovered began slaughtering the helpless Potomians, the gurgles of the dying filling the air. Shi…shit…


    “Argghh!” Karzuld roared, the momentary distraction of the firebolt giving him just enough strength to throw one of his javelins.


    At first the creature almost didn’t react, perhaps certain of its victory. Then, when it did, it simply tried to shrug off the blow only for it to connect.


    An explosion of magefire and mana erupted from the creature, for the first time, it seemed to be in pain. Distracted, its hold over the living cracked. Taking this chance, everyone desperately tried to recover and Karzuld aimed his second shot. But he was too slow, the death knight lunged at him and Mila watched in horror as the orc died wordlessly, the monsterous blade piercing him directly through the eye. Before it even retracted the blade, Marduk let out a mournful wail and rushed up from behind, bashing his shield against the death knight as he futilely stabbed at it with a spear.


    The death knight turned and smashed at the shield with his blade. Sensing an opening, Mila scrambled up to grab the ignited javelin and plunged it in the knight’s neck. It seemed almost started for a moment, then, a blinding flash filled her world.


    <hr><hr>


    Death was… cold. She could see her own breath as her blood shot eyes gazed up at the clear sky above. Her limbs were in agony and her body felt entirely emptied. Wincing with every movement, she felt the cold snow underneath her fingers and pushed herself upright.


    Looking around, she found that death was a chaotic thing. A battlefield of utter carnage lay scattered around her, bodies lying every which way as monsters and men alike lay in indistinguishable piles. And the snow. The snow was coated a gentle red, almost like a decorative dye if not for all the corpses nearby. So the blood on the snow.... it was to be ours after all.


    A shadow approached her and couldn’t turn around, a guttural fright taking control of her body and keeping her in place.


    “In…tor… Inq….sitor! Something fuzzily shouted.


    A human face appeared in front of her, also heavily wounded but very much the opposite of dead. A Potomian.


    “Inquisitor!” The Potomian shouted at her, almost deafening her recovered hearing.


    “Ca…captain?” She stammered, her teeth unintentionally chattering.


    The Potomian shook his head, ah... so he did fall. “She’s alive!” He turned to someone out of sight, “Let’s get her out of here.”


    “Wh-who?”


    Her question went unanswered as she felt herself being moved, the world rolling all around her as her mind tried to keep up. Horror and sorrow welled up within her as she recognized the bodies on the ground. The captain had fell trying to save her, his butchered form still besides a few of his subordinates. Brushkol and Karzuld both lay where they had fallen, the orcs having died almost instantly to the knight as well. While it offered little joy, seeing the death knight’s corpse burning on a makeshift bonfire did soothe her panicked mind. It wouldn''t be coming back, at least.


    Catching another look at the fallen, she sucked in a breath. Fuck… that’s… How many people are still alive? She dared not to count, only that amongst the sea of collapsed undead, she believed almost all of the Potomians had also fallen. Closing her eyes, she let exhaustion take hold and tried to empty her mind. Goddess help us.


    <hr><hr>


    When she awoke from her slumber, the memories of what just happened replayed themselves. The stomach churning horror of what she faced still fresh in her mind. She opened her eyes to find herself in a bed of sorts, a few simple bandages wrapped around her arm.


    She was in a wooden house, the interior barely lit. Judging by the lack of sounds and other light, it was nighttime. Taking a better look at her surroundings, she found that she was in fact, within an infirmary of sorts. Alongside a few empty beds, she spotted two badly wounded men, their Potomian armor placed on the floor beside the bed.


    Summoning her remaining strength, she shook off the pain and stiffness and got out of bed, almost falling immediately as she tried to maintain her balance. Alarmed by the noise, a figure rushed over and she found an unfamiliar looking nurse looking back at her.


    “Young lady, please. You’re in no fit state to be walking.” The nurse pleaded.


    “I just… I just need to know what happened.” Mila grunted tersely.


    “You’ll hurt yourself, let me go fetch someone. Please, just sit back down.”


    Seeing the fear in the nurse’s eye, Mila swayed on her feet for a few seconds before sliding herself down to the bed, making a loud creak that made her wince. Looking relieved, the nurse hurried out of the room and quickly returned with two figures. Marduk stood before her with a few more bandages and wounds than she remembered, beside him, the weary and equally wounded Potomian she saw was there.


    “Situation…?” Mila asked weakly.


    The Potomian bit his lip and nodded at the two other beds with wounded in them, “Those two and us three? We’re all that’s left.” He stated grimely.


    As if he would say something different, Mila looked up at Marduk, who just sadly shook his head. Fuck.


    “Umm...” The Potomian looked away, “We''re currently in the military town of Etoile, the village we passed by had also fallen. As for our numbers, well there was one more, he was in a fitter state then the rest of us. But we already sent him with a message to Mare’s Berth about the situation. We need help and reinforcements.”


    Mila’s look of utter defeat must’ve been easy to read, what little scowling she could do vanished with the rest of her energy.


    “There''s not enough of us left.” The man admitted.


    Mila nodded, he was right. But it didn’t feel any better to hear.


    “I’m sorry.” She softly whispered.


    “It’s alright, Inquisitor. There was no way we could’ve known how powerful it was.”


    “I’m sorry.”


    The Potomian moved to speak once more but Marduk stopped him, the orc just laying a hand on the Potomian’s shoulder.


    “Let her contemplate as a warrior does. Then, afterwards, will we console her.” The orc declared.


    The Potomian seemed uncertain and looked to Mila, who just nodded.


    "Right. Before I forget, I am Pikeguard Chares, if you need me, mam. Errr, I guess I''m also the temporary Lochagos until we get some help. Not that it matters."


    Giving her a respectful half bow, the Potomian and the orc back out.


    Alone and relatively certain the two other wounded were asleep or unconscious, she curled up on the bed. I got everyone killed. I led them there, had them stay and fight.


    “I’m sorry.” She apologised to her orcish guards.


    “I’m sorry.” To the fallen.


    “I’m sorry.” To those she failed.


    “I’m sorry.” To those she will fail.


    “I’m sorry.” She whispered to herself.


    Then, she wept.