Chapter 43: The Beginning of the End

Chapter 43: The Beginning of the End

The Gravanhal fortress remained like the silent giant between worlds.

For one thousand years, it was the sword and shield of the eastern edge of humanity, protecting the sole breach through which the mountains weakened and the lands of the demons clawed at the civilized world. Constructed by the 12th Emperor of the ancient Eastern Empire, it never fell. Never breached. Never so much as seriously threatened.

Until today.

The initial sign of warning was the vibration under the stones.

Commander-General Drenhold, Marquess of Eastmarch, sensed it beforehand even before the horns blew. A low, awful vibration that shook the very ground, like the beat of some monstrous heart that began to pulse under the fortress.

He gripped the parapet tightly, his veteran instincts screaming at him. To his side, the younger, newly promoted Vice-Commander General Elira Vayne shifted uncomfortably.

"Something is wrong," she grumbled, pushing a strand of silver hair away from her sharp, frightened eyes. Her plate mail shone dully in the pale morning haze.

Kael nodded sternly. "Brace the first layer, now."

At once, the fortress horns sounded, and the soldiers hastened to take up the outer defenses. Gravanhal's garrisons, numbering 100,000 of the Kingdom of Zaharat and the Principality of Venaira, came to life.

Captain Holst, the second-in-command of Kael, rushed up the stairs two at a time.

"My lord, the scouts haven't come back!"

His face darkened. "Already dead, or captured."

Then —

A noise.

A horrible roar from the mists in front of the mountains. Not a beast-like howl of fury. It was deep, resonant, an awful laugh.

The mist cleared.

And they saw them.

The First Battalion of the new Demon Lord's army moved forward like an onslaught of death, like a tidal wave.

Leading the charge was a giant troll, at least three times the height of any man, decked in steel plate enchased in runes of rot and frost. His eye sockets glowed with unnatural blue flames.

General Krogar Bloodfang.

Behind him, an army of abominations: bone-breaking clubs carried by trolls, coal-eyed giant wolves, shrieking ghouls, demon-possessed knights, and abominations that bore no description.

Kael's gut churned.

"Archers!" he yelled. "Shoot at will! Hold the first wall!"

Thousands of arrows flew off the ramparts, darkening the skies.

The rain of death fell —

— and the demons laughed.

Arrows bit into flesh, but it was like pushing into stone. Troll infantry shrugged off the volleys, cutting into the first line of defenses at terrifying, brutish speed.

The first of the external walls trembled as enormous war beasts, abominations of muscle and bone, hurled themselves at it. Black iron siege towers, dragged along by shrieking hellhorses, moved up towards the walls.

"Catapults! Flame barrels!" thundered Kael.

It was too late, though.

General Krogar swung his maul, which weighed roughly the same as a ballista, and the gates shattered inward in a shower of splintered wood and metal.

Chaos ensued.

The defenders struggled courageously. Men screamed defiance while hurling themselves into the nightmare wave.

Vice-Commander Vayne personally led one squad, her blade glinting as she sliced through the charge of an attacking demon knight, cleanly cleaving the twisted head off at one swift stroke.

"Hold the line!" she bellowed. "For the Alliance!"

Soldiers rallied to her, but it was a desperate, hopeless defense.

Blood splashed into the air, spraying the rocks red. Dead men heaped up fast, the wounded shrieked as the monstrous hounds dragged them off. The initial wall came down inside one hour.

Kael cursed under his breath, retreating to the second tier.

"Vice-Commander!" he barked, grabbing Elira as she hobbled back, her arm streaming with a gash down it. "Sound the full withdrawal to the inner wall. Destroy the second gate if necessary!"

Her pale face contorted. "Marquess… we are leaving behind thousands still caught up in the courtyard outside…"

"You all will be killed, all of you, if we remain behind. Now, move!"

There was only the glimmer of tears, but she saluted and complied.

The second wall was encircled within hours.

Krogar Bloodfang loomed above the fallen like a death god, his thunderous laughter echoing through the area.

"Puny humans," he scoffed. "Your time has passed."

He raised his maul once again —

—and broke the second gate.

The second line of defense fell quicker than the first one. Within the narrow killing grounds, the sheer numbers and ferocity of the demons proved too much for the humans to handle.

Vice-Commander Elira, battered and heaving, carried up to the keep gates the handful of bruised knights. She lurched into the inner courtyard, where the last defense was being readied by Kael.

His face went pale. "The walls won't hold," he spoke to himself, his words almost under his breath.

From the keep's highest tower, the Alliance beacon blazed—a pillar of blue flame cleaving the heavens, visible along the whole eastern frontier.

A message to all nations:

The fortress at Gravanhal has fallen. The Demon Lord comes. Be prepared.

They took their final stand at the keep.

Men, squires, and women, and the veterans, all died under the fallen stones after fighting. Screams ripped apart the night.

In the throne hall, Kael Drenhold, his clothes smeared with the blood of others, kneeled at the sacred altar of the fortress, scribbling the last letter to his wife and children.

Forgive me. I won't be able to see you any more. But be aware that I struggled to the end, so that you can live in the world that recalls duty.

He placed the letter into his armor.

"Commander," the raspy voice of Elira came.

Kael stood up, took his sword, and approached the shattered doorway.

The monsters emerged outside.

Side by side, the two commanders launched their last charge.

Swords clashed, splattering blood, shrieks resonated amidst the fading night.

Each one, one after another, died.

They butchered the last defenders one by one.

And in the end —

Krogar Bloodfang entered the throne chamber, his gruesome maul smeared with the remains of his victims.

Kael, battered but not broken, glared at him, spitting blood.

"You can kill us, but you will never possess this world."

The troll general guffawed.

"We'll see."

And with the final blow, he killed Kael Drenhold, Marquess of Eastmarch.

The Gravanhal fortress, the strong bulwark of the Orient, pride of the thousand-year reign—

had disappeared.

The Eastern Alliance shuddered.

The march of the Demon Lord commenced.

And the world would be overwhelmed with a wave of darkness and blood.