Tyrant of the Ruined Sun - Chapter 224
Chapter 224: The Taste of War 1
I motion to take hold of one of the beast’s reigns, before I then heard the most apprehensive, yet resolute of voices calling out to me “Brother…”
They did not say more, but neither was it necessary, as I understood perfectly what is currently in both in their minds.
“Are you certain?” I ask and they immediately nod, but I ask again, my tone more grave and demanding, allowing no humour or nonchalance to pass between us now “I do not go to a place where half-hearted resolves survive, are you sure you ready to finally bloody your knuckles my brothers? To strip life from form? To murder and kill?”
“…Yes, brother.” They do not immediately answer, but when they do their voices are firm and steadfast, fully showing me that their will was not born not of childish ignorance but of utter understanding if what it is they are about to do, and accepting it wholeheartedly, without a trace of hesitation in their emerald green eyes.
I no longer question them, as I merely nod and call for two additional chimeras to come to my side, as the rest of my guards saddle up, and together we join the others in the sky.
I give no speeches or complicated commands, but simply lead them over the crashing waves of muscle and steal below, my temples throbbing with the cacophony of war, as I [peer down from above, assessing the situation one last time.
I am not disappointed.
The Murathicus lines are akin to loose sand upon a storm-swept beach, scattering before the merciless tide that is my men, a result in no small part a consequence of my most treasured commanders.
Orhan is a maestro of bombardment, a conductor of drums, whistles and screeching strings as his sonatas leave silence in their merciless wake, striking their horrified audiences precisely where it is they most feel at ease, rendering what’s left of their fragile hearts in the upturned earth quivering in unspoken awe and dread.
Horus on the other hand is a spectral menace, a wraith of war, an echo of death that glides through the battlefield on invisible wings, his grace that of the ethereal, as he ruthlessly delivers the next denizen of my ancestor’s glorious kingdom directly to it’s gates at the tip of his Iridescent Ideal; invisibly carving a bloody path intermittent with flashing silver.
Meanwhile my dear friend Hasdrubal is a beast unleashed. His lightning like black aura dancing around him in electric revelry, as he rushes through them like a wolf amongst a flock of sheep; his victims looking as mangled as though they did not fall to a swordmen’s blade, but to a beast’s hungering maw, his serrated sabres tearing rather than slicing flesh, as hundreds collapsed onto the bloody earth, before even realizing they’d been killed a few seconds ago, their throats shredded and their torsos flayed open. Even his handsome, roguish smile that made many a noble and commoner woman alike swoon in the capital, has now taken on a different light, beginning to mimic that of the many snarling beast heads decorating his increasingly bloodstained armour.
And finally Archon and his Demonborn are a battering ram. They do not slice, they cleave. They do not push, they pulverize. They do not fight, they rage and howl. They do not fall, not when their hands are severed and their stomachs are pierced, not when their ribs are broken and their armour bent, not when their eyes are gouged and their skulls split open. They do not even try to shield their bodies from their strikes, but they welcome it instead, for it gives them more opportunity to claim your life.
Their is no elegance to their butchery, no honour, only cruel, unfeeling violence.
Yet there is a cunning design to their savagery, for none could sow chaos and terror like they, none that could petrify their enemies like they, and certainly none that could advance as fast and as deep as they are doing right now. And there is none as skilled in this than Archon, with his spiked gauntlets now the same colour as his mask, slicked with so much gore and viscera that the blood simply rolls off them now.
For a moment, I think to command my detached force to swoop down and rain fire and poison upon the unsuspecting Murathicus men, especially those further in the back, for they, under the desperate cains of their officers, finally began to show a semblance of a more unified formation.
‘They would prove some trouble to my exhausted troops, especially after cutting through all those in the front.’ I think, but I then quickly shook this thought from my mind. ‘My lieutenants and friends are not men who need me to babysit them, they will deal with it, besides, my soldiers need to know how to fight, even if exhausted. I will not permit them to grow accustomed to such luxury as an easy victory.’
If any, especially my soldiers, had known my thoughts then, they would undoubtedly scream, demanding what I meant by this battle being a luxury, when they were facing so many skilled warriors, many times their numbers, even if they were disorganized.
Clutching my chimera’s reigns tighter, as I prodded it’s sides with my heels, I urged to beet it’s wings faster towards the mountain, to focus on the task at hand, wanting to complete it before my soldiers broke the enemy’s morale.
For a fleeing soldiers are easiest to read, they would run to the nearest place to offer them shelter, and if this remains unconquered by the end of the day, it will be swarming with hundreds of thousands of men by tomorrow mourning, and there is little more annoying and costly than a mountain hold’s siege that is well armed.
‘Even if I sic Hamilcar at them, it would take me a full day to completely cleanse the city of it’s guardians. A day I could use to…’ My thoughts were instantly interrupted as one of my knights yelled out behind me.
“Ballistae to the right!”
“Up!” I roar in command, as a volley of arrows the size of spear zip through the air at us.
My men are quick to head my command and ascend, but the bolts are already airborne, and their aim true.
They might have claimed of few our brood, had I and Abraham not been present.
We charge at the loosed bolts, our auras flared, his golden glaive and my skeletal white halberd unleashing two sweeping slashes that obliterates their attack, and continues it’s charge towards their walls.
It takes twenty of theirs to stop our attack from reaching their walls. We do not linger, but take flight back up to where our forces retreated beyond their weapons reach.
“We thought they only had archers and magicians upon the wall! They hid their siege weapons in their towers!” Nizam called out in slight fright.
“Those cunning little…” Cyrus didn’t continue his words, his eyes seething.
“They’ve learned to be wary of us.” I hear a Chimera Knight close to me say out loud to his comrade beside him.
“Well, they aren’t that stupid to continue to be caught off guard by us!” His comrade responded with what was undoubtedly a wide grin.
“They expected us to target the city.” Abraham coldly commented.
“Matters not.” I responded, fixing my draconian obsidian helmet upon my head. “We can not effectively attack with their aerial defences still active. My guard and I will disable them, follow us only when we’re done.” I said nothing more, as I casually allowed myself to slip from the saddle, making full use of the brief window before they rearm their ballistae.
I heard a few sounds of exclamation, but they were then quickly drowned out by the coming wind as I plummeted through the sky, Abraham a split second behind me, and my Palace Guard a second after him, looking like a hundred shimmering flecks of golden tears falling like meteors upon the earth.
We will be upon the wall within seconds, but our foes are not without skill and intelligence, as they unleash upon us a hail of aura unfused arrows and magic spells so thick it almost completely blocks our view of the bastion we are meant to assault.
Abraham is quick to brush aside their paltry efforts with a wave of gold, clearing the path for us to land hard on the alabaster walls with the sound of cracked of stone beneath our armoured boots.
I unleash my full divine might just as a second hail of projectiles are hurled at me once more. I dodge most, while Fallen Nemesis takes care of those I could not, before I then wantonly began to swing her in every direction. I slaughter ten before Abraham crashes next to me, and begins his own massacre, clearing the path for the others to safely arrive.
Within the blink of an eye two hundred of theirs had been culled from the walls, and a storm of gold is unleashed upon the defences they had thought to be easily able to hold.