The mournful wail of death whistled through the air as Val and the rangers crested the last rise before the battlefield. What greeted them stole Val's breath, not from exertion, but from the sheer scale of carnage unfolding below.
Fourth Company's formation burned like a square of defiance amid a sea of writhing corpses. Torchlight gleamed off armor and blades, revealing of soldiers fighting for their lives. The dead pressed against their lines, a roiling mass of pale flesh, exposed bone, and rotting meat that seemed to stretch endlessly into the darkness beyond.
Val's throat tightened. There had to be a thousand of them.
"Tighten up," he called to his squad, voice steady despite the hammering of his heart.
Beside him, Captain Alfen raised his sword high, its polished blade catching the last crimson rays of sunset. "Rangers and militia of Clearwater, on my signal! We break their lines and reach our comrades!"
The air filled with anticipation of those about to engage in battle.
"Signal the Fourth," Alfen commanded a runner.
Val glanced sideways at Rhalla. The mage's face was drawn tight in focus. His hands glowed faintly with the verdant energy of life aether, readied but not yet released.
Horns sounded from the Fourth Company's position, acknowledging their arrival. A gap appeared in the undead line where concentrated archer fire had cleared a narrow corridor.
"Now!" Alfen's command cut through the night.
The rangers surged forward as one. Val took point for his squad, sword raised high, aether flowing freely through his limbs. The ground beneath their feet was already fouled with the black ichor of the undead, making each step treacherous. The stench of decay filled his nostrils, so thick it seemed to coat his tongue.
The first ghoul lunged at him from the darkness, all twisted limbs and gnashing teeth. Val's blade caught it mid-air, severing its head with a practiced stroke. He stepped over the twitching corpse without breaking stride, eyes fixed on the corridor of relative safety ahead.
"Keep moving!" he shouted as more undead registered their presence, breaking from the main assault to intercept them.
Twenty paces from the Fourth Company's lines, the corridor began to collapse as fresh ghouls scrambled toward them. Arrows whistled overhead, dropping the closest threats, but more kept coming.
A ghoul slipped past Val's guard, its claws raking across his leather armor. The reinforced material held, but the impact knocked him sideways. He regained his footing just in time to see Aric drive his blade through the creature's spine.
They were close enough now to see individual faces among the Fourth Company soldiers; exhausted, bloodied, but grimly determined. A gap opened in their formation, wide enough to admit the reinforcements.
"Through the gap!" Alfen ordered.
The rangers pushed forward with renewed urgency. Val's world narrowed to the rhythm of combat; step, strike, pivot, strike again. A dead arm reached for him; he severed it at the elbow. Rotting fingers clutched at his boot; he stomped down with bone-crushing force.
Then they were through, passing between the tight ranks of grateful soldiers who immediately closed formation behind them. The sudden shift from frenzied combat to relative safety left Val momentarily disoriented. Inside the defensive square, organized chaos reigned. Wounded soldiers lay in rows near the center, attended by harried healers. Officers shouted orders, reinforcing weak points in the line. Supply runners distributed arrows and water to the defenders.
"Squad leaders, secure your people," Alfen commanded. "I'll coordinate with Fourth Company command."
Val gathered his squad, quickly assessing them for injuries. Elara looked winded but unharmed. Aric sported a shallow cut across his forearm, already clotting thanks to Elara's healing influence. Lian had lost his helmet somewhere in the rush but was otherwise intact.
"Well done," Val told them, pride evident despite his terse delivery. "Catch your breath. This is just the beginning."
Captain Jeduh emerged from the crowd, his militia integrating with the defensive formation. The grizzled carpenter-turned-officer nodded grimly to Val as he passed, already deep in discussion with a Fourth Company lieutenant about positioning his people.
"We need to find the mage attachment," Rhalla said, scanning the interior of the square. "If they're still functional, we can turn this tide."
Val nodded, understanding immediately.
"This way," he said, instinct guiding him toward a concentration of aether he sensed near the center of the formation.
They pushed through the organized chaos, Val's senses leading them unerringly toward a cluster of robed figures huddled near the wounded. As they approached, the reason for the mages' proximity to the healers became apparent. Several of the mages themselves were among the injured, their robes stained with blood and worse.
A woman in the distinctive garb of a Fire Mage rose to meet them, her face drawn with exhaustion. One arm hung useless at her side, bound in a hasty sling.
"Master Rhalla," she greeted, recognition flickering in her eyes. "Your arrival is most timely."
"Captain Serena," Rhalla replied. "What happened?"
"Death magic unlike anything I've encountered," she answered grimly. "We were providing covering fire for the company's final approach when it hit us, a wave of necrotic energy that seemed to target mages specifically. Three dead before we could raise defenses. The rest of us..." She gestured to her wounded arm. "Compromised."
Val studied the gathered mages with growing concern. Of the twelve who should have accompanied Fourth Company, only seven remained, and most of those were clearly injured. Their aether cores would be similarly depleted, limiting their effectiveness in the ongoing battle.
Val exchanged a meaningful look with Rhalla. The decision crystallized in his mind. "Will it work again?" he asked quietly.
Rhalla responded slowly, his expression grave. "I can't give you any answers, Val. It's our best option out of this, though."
The mage studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll prepare the mages. They need to understand what's coming."
"Elara," Val called. "Can you do the same for the healers?"
She simply nodded and hurried off to gather the healers.
"Aric and Lian, stay with me." Val called out to the remaining two.
"Val!" Val turned to see Kaelen and Torren approaching with their squads. "We're with you."
Within minutes, a defensive ring had formed around the central area where the mages and healers gathered. Rhalla moved among the mages, speaking quickly but calmly, explaining what was about to happen. Val caught fragments of his instructions, warnings about increased aether flow, techniques for handling power surges, reminders to maintain control rather than simply channeling maximum output.
Val positioned himself at the center of the arrangement, conscious of the curious and sometimes skeptical looks from both mages and soldiers. Doubt flickered briefly through his mind, what if he couldn't replicate what had happened at the bridge? What if the nexus failed, or worse, damaged those connected to it?
He pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the immediate task. Rhalla returned to his side, having completed his preparations.
"They're ready," the mage reported.
Val nodded, then closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath to center himself. The sounds of battle seemed to recede slightly as he turned his awareness inward, connecting with his core as Rhalla had taught him.
His core pulsed with vibrant energy. Val could sense the intricate patterns within it, complex swirls and eddies of pure life aether waiting to be directed. A wellspring of energy seeking its release.
He reached for that sensation, the pushing feeling he'd experienced during the battle at the bridge. It came more easily this time, more familiar, as though his body remembered the pattern. Rather than fighting to create the effect, he simply allowed his core to express its natural state.
The nexus formed with startling speed, a web of aetheric connections radiating outward from his core. Val could sense each link forming; first to Rhalla, then to the gathered mages, then to Elara and her healers. The connections hummed with power, channels through which his core's abundant energy could flow freely.
Around him, he heard gasps of surprise and wonder as the effects manifested. He opened his eyes to see the mages staring at their hands in astonishment as aether manifestations appeared with unprecedented ease and power.
"Focus!" Rhalla commanded sharply. "Channel it purposefully!"
The mages snapped back to their training, directing the sudden influx of power with growing confidence. The fire mage captain, Serena, was first to recover, her uninjured arm sweeping upward to launch a sphere of brilliant flame high above the battlefield. It hung there, burning with unnatural brightness, illuminating the sea of undead surrounding their position.
Other mages followed her lead. Three more light sources joined the first, banishing shadows across the entire battlefield. An earth mage dropped to one knee, palms pressed against the ground, sending tremors through the soil that disrupted the undead's footing along the western flank. Two water mages combined their efforts to draw moisture from the air, forming a dense fog bank that obscured part of the northern approach, channeling the dead into a more manageable front.
Among the healers, the effects were equally dramatic. Wounds that would have taken days to heal began closing visibly, torn flesh knitting together before their eyes. Soldiers who had been on the verge of collapse rose with renewed strength, returning to their positions with fresh determination. Even severe injuries responded to treatment, broken bones stabilizing, internal bleeding slowing.
Val maintained his position, eyes half-closed in concentration as he felt the flow of aether through the network he'd created. Unlike the chaotic battle at the bridge, this controlled environment allowed him to perceive the nexus with much greater clarity. He could sense individual connections, each one a thread of power linking his core to another person.
What surprised him was the unexpected formation of links beyond the mages and healers. Threads of energy extended to Kaelen and Torren, to their squad members, and most noticeably, to Aric. The connection to his fellow ranger glowed particularly bright in Val's perception, pulsing with potential.
Curious, Val focused on that connection, gently pushing more energy through it. He saw Aric's head snap up, eyes widening in surprise. The young ranger turned to look at Val, a slow grin spreading across his face as he felt the surge of power.
"By the…," Aric breathed, staring at his hands as they began to emit a faint golden glow. He raised his sword, the blade catching the light of the mage created orbs overhead. "FOR THE OAKSPIRE!" he shouted, the battle cry carrying across the formation.
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Before Val could stop him, Aric charged toward the eastern line where the fighting was thickest. Val watched in astonishment as his fellow ranger hit the undead line like a tornado, his movements impossibly fast, his strikes carrying devastating force. Ghouls that should have overwhelmed him fell in droves, limbs and heads severed by blows of unnatural strength.
Not to be outdone, Kaelen barked a laugh and dismissed his squad to join the fighting. "Looks like the young pup's showing us up, Torren," he called. "Our people can handle the line. Let's make sure no dead thing gets near our source."
Torren nodded, sending his own squad forward while he and Kaelen took up defensive positions on either side of Val. The elder ranger's eyes gleamed with something like pride as he watched the effect spreading through the ranks.
Val could feel the battle shifting. The nexus continued to expand, touching more soldiers as they came into range. Not all responded as dramatically as Aric, most experienced only a slight enhancement to their natural abilities, a boost of strength or speed or endurance, but the cumulative effect was transforming the engagement.
The mages, growing more confident with the unprecedented power at their disposal, began coordinating their efforts for maximum impact. Fire rained down on concentrated groups of undead, targeted to avoid friendly forces. Earth rose in strategic locations, forming barriers that channeled the enemy into killing fields. Water and air mages combined their talents to create swirling vortices that tore through ghoul formations.
Healers moved among the wounded with newfound efficiency, stabilizing critical cases in moments rather than hours. Soldiers returned to the line with injuries that would normally have taken them out of the fight entirely, their wounds visibly healing even as they fought.
On the southern flank, a massive undead ogre, had been battering against the formation. It staggered backward as a concentrated blast of fire aether struck it square in the chest, its necrotic flesh blackening and peeling away. Soldiers surged forward, exploiting the opening to drive it further back.
For the first time since their arrival, Val allowed himself to hope. The tide was turning. The undead still outnumbered them significantly, but the quality of their defense had improved dramatically. If they could maintain this advantage for another hour, they might actually rout the enemy force.
Then everything changed.
A deep horn blast echoed across the battlefield, the sound so low it seemed to vibrate through the earth itself. The undead, which had been falling back under the combined assault, suddenly redoubled their efforts. Their attacks became more coordinated, more purposeful, as though directed by a single intelligence.
With the horn's fading echo came a sensation that slithered through Val's awareness like ice water, a profound wrongness that made his skin crawl and his stomach clench. Around him, he saw soldiers faltering mid swing, their expressions clouding with confusion and growing dread.
"What is that?" Elara whispered, her face pale as she looked up from her patient.
Val didn't answer immediately, his attention drawn to the nexus connections. The threads of power were still intact, still flowing with life aether, but something was interfering with them, a countering influence that seemed to dampen their effect.
"Death aether," Rhalla said grimly, his voice tight with concentration as he fought to maintain his working. "But on a scale I've never encountered."
Val rose to his feet, still maintaining the nexus but extending his senses outward, searching for the source of the disturbance. The orbs of light created by the mages still illuminated the battlefield, revealing the mass of undead pressing against their lines. Beyond them, in the darkness where the light began to fail, movement caught his eye.
A figure approached, massive and imposing, moving with deliberate slowness across the uneven ground. Unlike the shambling gait of the lesser undead, its movements possessed a terrible grace, each step precise and purposeful. The grass beneath its armored boots withered and blackened, death spreading outward like ripples on a pond.
As it drew closer, entering the edge of the illuminated area, details became clearer. Armor blacker than the night itself encased its towering form, baroque plates etched with runes that hurt the eye to look upon directly. A helm of similar design concealed its features, though points of malevolent light burned where eyes should be.
Death aether radiated from the figure in palpable waves, a miasma of corruption that caused soldiers to falter as it washed over them. Their weapons lowered fractionally, their stances grew less certain, their eyes clouded with an unnatural fatigue that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
"The Shadowbinder," Val heard someone whisper, the name passing through the ranks like a contagion of fear.
He had heard the stories, of course, tales told around ranger campfires of the dread lord who commanded the northern deadlands from his fortress of bone and shadow. But those had been just that: stories, bogeymen to frighten new recruits and explain the inexplicable.
Now the nightmare stood before them in terrible reality, and Val understood with certainty that they faced something beyond their experience or preparation.
The Shadowbinder raised one gauntleted hand in a gesture that might almost have been casual, were it not for the surge of death aether that accompanied it. A section of the Fourth Company's line collapsed as though the soldiers' strength had simply evaporated, men dropping to their knees or falling unconscious where they stood. Undead poured through the gap, only to be met by desperate defenders rushing to close the breach.
Val felt the nexus faltering as despair spread through the ranks. The connections remained, but the soldiers and mages on the other end were struggling against the overwhelming aura of fatigue and hopelessness emanating from the Shadowbinder.
"I can't maintain the working," a mage gasped, his face ashen as he fought against the corrupting influence. Others showed similar strain, their control slipping as the death aether interfered with their ability to channel effectively.
Val gritted his teeth, pushing more power through the nexus to counteract the effect. His core responded, life aether surging outward with renewed intensity. For a moment, the connections stabilized, the mages rallying as fresh energy flowed into them.
But the Shadowbinder seemed to sense the resistance. Its helm turned slowly, those burning points of light fixing directly on Val's position with unnerving precision. A sound emerged from within that black armor, not quite a laugh, but a sound of cold amusement that carried clearly despite the chaos of battle.
The death lord raised both arms now, a more deliberate gesture that sent a concentrated wave of necrotic energy directly toward the nexus. Val felt it coming like a physical blow, bracing himself as it struck the outer edges of his aetheric network.
The impact was staggering. Connections shattered as death aether corroded the channels Val had established. Mages cried out in pain as their workings collapsed, the backlash sending several to their knees.
Val stood firm at the center, drawing the worst of the assault into himself rather than letting it reach the others. His core flared in response, life aether meeting death in direct opposition. The two forces clashed within and around him, neither able to overcome the other completely.
Through the maelstrom of competing energies, Val locked eyes with the distant figure. The Shadowbinder's helm tilted slightly, as though in curiosity or perhaps recognition. Another wave of death aether pulsed outward, stronger than before, focused entirely on Val.
This time, the impact drove him to one knee. Val gasped as cold seared through his chest, death aether attempting to reach his core directly. He fought it with everything he had, channeling life energy to create a barrier between the corruption and his inner self.
"Val!" Elara's voice seemed to come from far away. He felt her hands on his shoulders, sensed her attempting to bolster him with her own healing aether. It helped, but only marginally, the Shadowbinder's power was simply too vast, too concentrated.
Across the battlefield, the death lord took a step forward, then another, his attention fixed solely on Val now. Undead parted before him like a tide, creating a clear path toward the defensive formation. Each step brought another pulse of necrotic energy, each one stronger than the last.
Val's vision began to gray at the edges. The nexus was collapsing, connections falling away as his concentration fractured under the relentless assault. He could feel his core straining, not from depletion but from the effort of repelling the foreign energy attempting to corrupt it.
"We need to fall back," Rhalla urged, his voice tight with concern. "You cannot win this confrontation, not here, not now."
Val knew the mage was right. They were unprepared for this level of opposition, had no strategy for countering a power of this magnitude. Yet retreat meant abandoning the Fourth Company to certain destruction, condemning hundreds of soldiers to death or worse.
"Fall back! To Clearwater!" Alfen's voice carried over the din.
Val struggled to his feet, core burning as he maintained what remained of the nexus. The Shadowbinder's relentless assault continued, each wave of death aether like ice in his veins. But he couldn't fall, not yet. Not while others needed time to retreat.
"Elara, go with the healers." His voice cracked with strain. When she hesitated, he grabbed her shoulder. "Please. I need to know you're safe."
"Val-"
"Go!" The word came out harsher than he intended, but it worked. Elara's face hardened with hurt and worry, but she turned to help organize the wounded's evacuation.
Kaelen appeared at his left, axe dripping with dark ichor. "How long can you hold?"
"Long enough." Val didn't know if it was true, but it had to be.
Aric and Torren materialized from the chaos, bringing their squads with them. They formed a defensive arc around Val and the retreating mages, weapons ready. The Shadowbinder's measured advance continued, each step withering the earth beneath its feet. Val redoubled his push toward the rangers, the glow around them intensified. He watched in real time as their speed and strength improved.
They moved as one unit, a fighting withdrawal. Two steps back, hold the line. Three steps back, cut down anything that broke through. The Shadowbinder's presence made every movement feel like wading through mud, every breath a struggle against the creeping cold of death aether.
But they held. Val's remaining connections to the rangers burned bright with desperate energy, lending them the strength to maintain their formation. Behind them, the Fourth Company and Clearwater militia executed their own retreat, protecting the wounded and the exhausted mages.
