In the middle of the battlefield, there was a cacophonous roar of steel, agonizing screams, and the heartbreaking sound of flesh being torn.
Goran's world was in complete silence.
A sharp pain ran through each of his muscles. The veins in his arms and face had swollen to the point where anyone could see the blood running through each of its ducts.
"It hurts."
His breathing was heavy and his eyes had lost focus. The only thing he saw in front of him was a world tinged with red, full of blurred figures that moved, waving their swords against him.
His body moved instinctively, parrying an enemy sword before cutting the man down with his own.
The Blade of Lament vibrated, filling his body with a subtle wave of satisfaction.
In that moment, he took the opportunity to turn.
There, his comrades—those with whom he had fought and survived while raiding the people of the valley for quite some time under his command—were retreating back under the safety of the wall.
Goran relaxed slightly upon seeing the back of the last of them pass the walls.
Then, a spear stabbed his chest. The steel resonated against his violet armor, sending him flying until he fell on his back against the ground.
"Argh!"
Small pieces of rock clung to the blood that coated his armor.
Opening his eyes in surprise, Goran—who still clung to his two swords—cut the shaft of the spear and then kicked the attacker's knee.
The attacker fell heavily over Goran's other sword, losing his life in a single instant.
Goran let his head fall against the gravel.
'How good it feels.'
In the chaos of the battle, this brief moment of rest felt like a last breath of air after being underwater for too long.
Taking advantage of the brief rest, he turned his head to the other side—the east side, where the villagers originating from the valley were located—only to see a group of survivors being ruthlessly massacred.
The head of the old man whom he had threatened for quite some time was lying several meters from him.
He exhaled deeply.
"You have done well, old man."
Goran lifted his arms, using all his remaining strength, and pushed aside the inert body on top of him.
"It is my turn to retreat."
He groaned with pain upon trying to get up, realizing that it felt as if he were lifting a mountain.
He propped the Blade of Lament against the ground and used it as support.
"Argh, only... a little more," he groaned in pain.
Then, a cold sensation ran across his forehead.
A sharp blade slid smoothly through his skin, leaving a thin wound in its wake and brushing aside the hair that fell over his eyes.
"That is right; only a little more and you will be dead."
In the following instant, the blade hissed in the air, and a cold sensation ran through his right arm.
"Arrgh!"
Goran returned to the ground. He writhed and turned, finding his sword still being held by his right hand, lying far from his body.
Goran froze for a few moments...
And then he exploded with a fierce force.
"Damn you!" he roared with all his strength.
He got up and, with the sword held firmly in his remaining hand, he cut the air around him.
Five figures took a step back. Their silver and gold armor were like mirrors that reflected his lamentable state.
'Aleskra Warriors.'
Goran released a downward cut, trying to strike the nearest warrior. However, he only cut the air.
The warrior vanished as if he were smoke and materialized again at his side with a smile on his face.
Without giving him time to react, a spear pierced the back of Goran's knees, passing just above his greaves; it pierced the metal and stuck into the ground.
He clenched his teeth, feeling the blood slip through the sides of his mouth, and lifted his leg with the spear still impaling him.
Clank!
A powerful hammer blow impacted against his back.
The body of Goran fell limp, like a doll over the gravel.
The warrior who had disappeared like mist appeared again on top of him.
He took him by the hair and stared at him. The smile on his face was sinister; his dark eyes shone with madness and satisfaction.
"I wonder why the Tree is so interested in you."
With his throat full of blood and his arm too tired to move, Goran maintained his gaze and spat in his face.
"Death to the Tree, you damn son of a bitch."
A grimace of rage formed on the warrior's face as he wiped his skin with the fabric of his vambrace. Then, he took out a dagger and slowly rested it against his throat, looking into Goran's eyes, waiting for a reaction.
Then, the air hissed and the warrior's head shook. His dark eyes opened wide. Everything stopped for an instant. In that time, Goran managed to see.
Seraphina's spear was stuck in the warrior's skull just before he fell to the ground. She appeared over him like a lightning bolt; the gravel rose and an electric storm formed around her just before she disappeared again.
By the time Goran realized it, the five warriors were already on the ground. Goran laughed. Two Seekers emerged from the shadows and bit into his armor to drag him away until they disappeared inside the wall.
The shadows swirled, forming a shell as hard as steel. Dozens of arrows and spears stuck into it. Moments later, the shell opened like the petals of a rose, revealing the demon inside.
Malphas raised his chin and, with a gentle gesture of his hands, made the petals spin at an incredible speed, returning the projectiles to their owners. In that brief moment, a Class A hero fell from the sky. His brilliant, burning steel sword cut the air until being stopped by Malphas's shadow-wrapped hand.
"Stop running, demon!"
Malphas's purple eyes flashed with intensity as the shadows swirled around him and launched like thorns toward the swordsman. A huge shield with the emblem of the Tree intervened, blocking the shadows just before releasing a wave of pure power in his direction.
By then, Malphas had already dissolved into the shadows to appear at another point on the field.
"Tsk. It's a damn cockroach."
Both warriors supported each other to look for him. Moments later, a group of soldiers took off through the air. The shadows moved like tentacles, taking their inert bodies and throwing them in various directions against the enemy army.
Huge piles of bodies formed around him. An arrow charged with mana sliced through the air to hit the face of the Architect of Shadows. He barely managed to lean back, but the projectile left a deep mark on his mask.
Malphas turned in his direction and caught a new arrow with his hand. He took a step to the left, to the right, then two more to the left.
Deflected, blocked, broke... but the attack never ceased; it only got worse.
"You're running out of space to escape, damn you!"
A spear stabbed the air. Before reaching its objective, black tentacles wrapped around its shaft, stopping its advance. Before Malphas could finish off the enemy, a new rain of arrows fell in its place, forcing him to disappear again.
"Argh!" The spear warrior groaned with frustration, then turned toward his ally. "Varan, look for him!"
"I'm doing it!" The archer looked in all directions until finding a new group of soldiers being swept away by the demon several meters from there.
Both groups came together and headed in that direction, finding a new massacre. The slippery demon himself was at its center. His claws closed around the neck of a terrified soldier, separating his head from his body.
"Wretch!"
The archer did not hesitate to fire a new wave of arrows.
The heroes of the sword, the spear, and the shield launched as one. They cut, stabbed, and covered each other, but nothing seemed to work.
Their enemy skillfully dodged each of their attacks. The demon was too slippery, too skilled and fast for their attacks to hit him. The archer, Varan, began to break into a cold sweat.
"Why doesn't he escape?"
This was the first time since the battle began that the demon did not flee from them. A cold sensation ran down his back. For the first time in the entire combat, Varan lowered his bow and scanned his surroundings.
"No—it can't be."
The ground under his feet was covered with fine threads of shadow that intermingled with the blood. Each of them formed a unique, geometric pattern that intermingled with others; each of them joined and surrounded a pile of bodies.
Varan's eyes opened wide. He raised his head and shouted with all his strength, "It's a trap! Fall back!"
Unfortunately, none of his companions managed to hear him. The demon, however, directed his purple eyes in his direction. Then, he disappeared.
"Appreciate my work, young man." A clear voice, full of absolute calm, resonated at his side at the same time that a hand hit his back.
Varan shuddered and turned sharply, finding nothing. Moments later, the cry of his companions made him return his sight to find a terrible scene.
Each of them clashed back to back while tens of thousands of threads stretched out, attracting severed bodies from all directions toward the center of the formation where the warriors were located.
The hero of the sword cut several of them, but the pieces simply separated and followed their course, dragging him with them. The hero of the spear tried to flee, but in the endless mass of bodies, his destiny was sealed.
Each and every one of them groaned and screamed in pain upon feeling their bodies being crushed. Under Varan's eyes, his companions were lost in a mass of flesh and pieces of steel. Bones cracked and skulls exploded, drowning out the screams of lament that still remained alive.
Little by little, a quadruped creature out of the deepest part of his nightmares formed from the bodies of his allies and his enemies. Over the wall, Malphas's shadows swirled, revealing his worn figure. His chest rose and fell while his purple eyes delighted in the massacre.