Chapter 7: The Siege of Endless Howls

A day had passed since our army halted before the gnoll fortress. Its jagged walls rose into the sky, crude yet imposing, a testament to their savage resilience. Behind those walls lay tens of thousands of gnolls, their guttural howls echoing across the scorched plains, a primal promise of the bloodshed to come.

Our own army mirrored their numbers, stretching out in an unbroken sea of armor, banners, and sharpened steel. Each soldier prepared for the slaughter ahead: some sharpening blades, others inspecting shields, and many praying silently to gods who had long since abandoned us.

I stood on a rise overlooking the encampment, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword. The anticipation of battle sent a shiver through me, but it was not fear. It was something darker, more primal. Yet amidst the gathering storm of violence, one thought burned in my mind:

Buck still lives.

The man's survival was a thorn in my soul, festering with each passing day. Stronger men had fallen, friends, comrades, warriors with skill and valor, yet Buck endured every skirmish, every bloody confrontation, his grin unbroken. He was unshakable, untouchable, and his existence mocked me. Why does he live while others perish?

"Captain," a voice snapped me from my thoughts. "The commander has summoned you to the tent."

The command tent was a storm of voices. The gathered officers argued vehemently, their words flying like arrows across the room.

"We strike at dawn with a full charge!" one shouted, slamming his fist on the table.

"That's madness," another countered. "A frontal assault will bleed us dry. We need a small infiltration force to open the gates from within."

"Enough!" The commander's voice cut through the noise. All eyes turned to him as he gestured to a guard carrying a wooden box.

The guard stepped forward, placing the container on the table and opening it to reveal a small mechanical device.

"This is how we breach their walls," the commander said, his tone grave.

The object was a marvel of craftsmanship, alien in its intricacy. Gears and metal plates intertwined seamlessly, its purpose clear yet ominous.

"This is dwarven technology," he explained. "A rare prize from the northern front. With it, we will obliterate their gate."

Skepticism rippled through the room. "And if it fails?" one officer asked.

"It won't," the commander said with finality. "We strike under the cover of darkness. The runners will carry this device to the gate. Once the breach is made, we charge. No hesitation. No mercy."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the camp fell silent. The gnolls' war cries echoed faintly in the distance, a reminder of their readiness.

Three runners were chosen for the suicidal task of delivering the device. They stood by the commander, their faces grim yet resolute.

When the signal came; a sharp whistle, the runners darted into the darkness, shadows slipping across the barren land.

The gnolls were not blind. Their howls of alarm rose as sharp eyes spotted the runners. From the walls, crude javelins rained down, each one hurled with savage precision.

The first runner fell instantly, a javelin piercing his chest. He collapsed with a gasp, clutching the device tightly as his comrades pulled it from his grasp and pressed on.

The second runner barely made it halfway before a javelin struck his thigh, sending him sprawling to the ground. With shaking hands, he tossed the device to the third runner before a second javelin ended his life.

The final runner sprinted toward the gate, his breath ragged and his heart pounding. As he reached the towering structure, a trapdoor above him swung open. A gnoll loomed above, snarling as it raised a massive stone.

The runner fumbled with the device, his hands trembling as the gnoll hurled the boulder. At the last second, he activated the mechanism.

The explosion was instantaneous. A deafening roar shattered the night as flames and shrapnel consumed the gate. The walls on either side crumbled, sending gnolls tumbling to their deaths in a symphony of crunching bones and guttural howls.

"Charge!" the commander bellowed, and our army surged forward.

Tens of thousands of men screamed their war cries, the sound rising like thunder over the plains. The gnolls countered with their own savage cries, pouring from the breach in an unending tide.

Javelins filled the air, streaking toward our ranks like deadly comets. Shields rose to meet them, but many found their marks, impaling soldiers and dragging them to the ground. Blood sprayed across the scorched earth as the two forces collided in a deafening crash of steel and flesh.

The battle was chaos. I swung my sword with relentless precision, each strike cleaving through gnoll flesh and bone. Around me, men and gnolls fell in droves, their blood soaking the ground.

A gnoll charged at me, its jagged spear aimed for my chest. I sidestepped and drove my blade through its throat, the impact jarring my arm. Another lunged from behind, its claws raking across my armor. I spun and slashed, my sword cutting deep into its side.

Their numbers were overwhelming, and their savagery unmatched. But we had discipline and steel on our side.

As the hours dragged on, the battle stretched across the plain. Fires raged along the walls, casting eerie shadows over the chaos. Our cavalry thundered through the gnoll ranks, trampling bodies beneath their hooves.

The gnolls' crude siege engines unleashed boulders and flaming debris, striking our lines with devastating force. Yet we pressed on, each step carving deeper into their defenses.

I searched the battlefield for Buck, my obsession driving me forward. Amidst the carnage, he fought with reckless abandon, his infuriating grin unbroken. How does he always survive?

With a roar, I plunged into the thick of the fighting, carving a path toward him. Each swing of my blade brought me closer, each kill fueling the dark fire within me.

By dawn, the gnoll fortress lay in ruins. The battlefield was a sea of bodies, the earth saturated with blood.

Inside the fortress, our soldiers showed no mercy. Gnoll warriors, elders, mothers, and pups, all fell beneath our blades. Their cries for mercy were drowned out by the roar of our victory.

I moved through the carnage like a specter, my sword an extension of my will. Each kill brought a dark satisfaction, the gnolls' screams a haunting symphony in my ears.

When the sun rose, the gnoll territory was ours. Tens of thousands lay dead, their bodies heaped in grotesque piles. Yet the cost of victory was steep. Thousands of our own men would never return home.

But there was no time to mourn. The counteroffensive continued, each step reclaiming land soaked in blood.

In this world of endless war, only the strong survived.