Cold, misty breaths panted silently out of the guardsman’s mouth. His eyes strained against the black ahead of him, its thick fall coated everything in a nigh impenetrable darkness. Worse still, the blast of cold brough with it a soft pitter patter of rain underneath the forest canopy, making it hard to even hear anything moving about.

  He silently cursed his fortunes, and the gods along with them. The man shot a long glance back in the direction of Njord. The city’s lights, usually a beacon in the night, were as hard to see as a lightning bug flitting about in the mist.

  After what seemed an eternity, and with a quick look around, he began to crawl slowly out of the hastily dug pit he had been hiding in since twilight fell. The ground was damp, and he grunted in frustration as his ill-fitting leather jerkin restricted his arms from bending as he pleased.

  “Fuckin’ trash, fuckin’ frontlines, fuckin’ cold and wet.” The man muttered quietly to himself in a thick njordic accent, as he carefully crawled along. The steady drip, along with the rattling of the frozen wind through the brush, seemed to mask the sound of his movements. He stopped at the sound of every odd crack or snap of branches, and looked around wildly, straining his eyes into a night that made even nearby trees and bushes into deep and dark secrets.

  He sniffled, as the blasts of cold air caused his nose to drip with mucus. “See if I’ll die for this shit. Smash my door, rip me outta me home, and shove me in a hole. Fuckin’ trash, the lot o’ –” with a sharp grunt, he fell into another pit. One that had built up a layer of sticky liquid at the bottom.

  “Fuckin’ hells!” He cursed aloud to himself in surprise. Then he quickly spun around, looking frantically about. “Heh, well seems I ain’t first—”

  He froze, as his face dropped in horror at the smell hitting his nose, having finally having pierced its way through the mucus. It was followed simultaneously by a loud snapping noise, and some wet chunk of thing thumped into his face.

  The guard didn’t hesitate for a second. He didn’t need to think about it, by the smell alone he knew that this hole wasn’t abandoned. He knew that he hadn’t heard the sounds of branches breaking either. And most of all, he knew that if whatever killed the soldier that was here before didn’t see him earlier, it knew he was here now.

  He leapt out of the hole, shrieking at the top of his lungs. He ran as hard as he could, straight towards the dim lights of the city. He could hear the thing chasing him, rushing through the canopy of the trees, gaining on him.

  “DEMONS! DEMONS, HELP! SOMEONE H—AAAAAAAGH!” The man howled in pain, as something sharp pierced through his leg. The thing chittered in apparent ecstasy from the branches above him.

  As he fell to ground, writhing in pain, a light sprung forth just a few meters ahead, followed by a second and a third. He reached desperately towards it, clawing his way through the mud, the rough dirt and gravel stuffing its way through his nails.

  Any hope he had, though, drained from his face. The light of the flame was fierce enough to force its way through this supernatural night, and yet the look of horror and determination on the torch bearers’ face spoke volumes.

  Between them was a large pile of barrels, thick with a black, tar-like substance and powders. The guard felt his leg lift. Sniveling, he twisted to at least face his death, as his sword slipped from its sheath and clattered uselessly on the ground.

  A long, black spear-like leg had pierced through his own, sporting curved hooks pointing out in all directions. The torchlight reflected off its shiny, chitinous shell. Anything that was speared could only shred itself trying to escape.

  If it wasn’t for that leg, he wouldn’t have grasped the thing that was camouflaged amongst the branches, with its numerous legs scattered across the tree tops. He would only have seen the reflections from countless eyes looking back at him.

  He could hear the shout of the men behind him. It was something he expected. Nobody in the front was even expected to survive in the first place. They were nothing more than bait.

  “FOR THE ALLFATHER! TO VALHALLA, MEN! TO THE GLORY OF NJORD!” The soldier in charge shoved his torch into the barrels, as numerous legs shot out of the canopy. Their bloody shrieks only had a single moment to escape in the world, before they were all consumed in a furious blaze and a thunderous roar.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Diane grimaced and closed her eyes tightly, waiting for the throbbing in her head to pass. It barely lasted longer than a few seconds, and it was nothing more than an annoyance than anything. It only began after her adrenaline had finally worn off, and exhaustion took hold.

  They had made a quick stop at the guild on the way to meet up with Jotuun’s unit, where Thistle had loaded her up with a large crate before splitting off to finish his own work. The city had apparently made a lot of requests for him through the guild.

  Diane glanced around them again, with the militia gathered around a fire in the middle of the large road. A steady hum of chanting poured out from the temple behind them, the first in the line of Temple Row. The militia members were in a mess of ill-fitting gear. The city didn’t have enough armor for everyone, so many of the militia didn’t have even a basic leather jerkin. The same went for weapons… pitchforks, woodcutting axes, kitchen knives, and a couple odd swords marked with age and chipped with rust. There were a couple members as well who seemed much better equipped, with quality leather and fur armor.

  At least Jotuun’s unit was nicer than expected. She had expected to get yelled at when she arrived, but instead they were more curious about what she brought with her. Even now, they seemed fascinated with the box Diane had brought along. They pulled out various potions from it, and rolled them between their hands in the fire’s dancing light.

  Diane nestled in closer to Jotuun. She sat comfortably in his lap, as she stared with glassy eyes at the fire. A muffled yawn escaped her lips, as she listened to the sizzling of some kind of meat. One of the militia, an older woman named Frida, attended to the cooking. In her daze, Diane couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, though, or anyone else for that matter.

  No… I can’t sleep yet…

  Diane slapped herself, and tried to sit up straight, only for Clover to crawl up and nestle his face on her lap, trapping her in a comfortable, warm layer of fluff on both sides. The woman giggled, as did a few of the other militia, at her futile struggle.

  “You know, I had always heard so many nasty rumors about that girl. But to see ‘er like this, she’s just a sweety pie, ain’t she?” Frida smiled wide, as Jotuun nodded. He then reached over with a large paw and began stroking Clover’s head. In response, the feline began to purr. The deep yet gentle rumbling seemed to be the last straw, as Diane’s eyelids completely dropped closed.

  “Aye, in a sense I am glad we have ‘er. Wit an Ursine, a Sabre tooth, the little she devil herself and this box o’ goodies, I ‘ell bet ‘ere the best damn unit in the city! Ain’t that right, cuz?” One of the other men laughed, a middle-aged member of the group with a large, thick beard. He slapped the much younger blond man next to him on the back.

  He quieted down quickly at a glare from Jotuun, along with a loud *whumpf* from the Ursine’s paw that cracked the stones beneath it. “Diane no devil. Good girl.”

  “No devil, but our temper! I ‘member when she chased some fool outta yer tavern wieldin the tableware, an absolute riot that was!” The sole orc in the group chimed in, his deep laugh rumbled out boisterously. He then swished down a deep draught of something that smelled potently of alcohol.

  Another young militia man walked up towards their fire, grinning widely. “You know, I really loved the little fire shows that came with the food too. Ain’t no where else in the city that gets as wild as yalls place, I can tell ya for a fact!”

  “Ey, aint it your turn to watch the post? Whatchu coming ‘ere early for? God only knows what’ll might slip in here into tha middle o the city.” The bearded man laughed again.

  “Ahhh c’mon, its blasted cold. Y’all just having fun without me. What could possibly—” The young man reflexively ducked mid pout, as a distant roar echoed over the city. Clover bolted upright, followed immediately by Diane launching herself off of Jotuun.

  “THEY’RE HERE! THEY’RE HERE!” Diane shouted, drawing her rapier and staring with murderous intent towards the source of the explosion. She stumbled slightly, as if her legs temporarily gave out before catching herself.

  Diane shook her head, the momentary feeling gone and her gaze instead shifted to concern. The other militia members had leapt to their feet as well, and stared intently at the light in the distance.

  “God damn, how strong must it be burning for that light to get through this darkness?” The blond boy asked, before a second, then a third roar echoed over the city.

  “North Coast, North West, West…” Diane started counting, then a fourth roar came, and a fifth. Diane spun around, as did the other militia members. “South Coast, South, South West too!”

  “How?!? How can they come from all sides? How are there so many demons here?!” Frida yelled over the din in shock.

  Bells began to ring over the city, and a cacophony of deep booms reverberated from the harbor. Streaks of artillery flew over head in all directions, as signal flare after signal flare alighted from the walls. The chants from the temples deepened in fervor and intensity, as light began to radiate outward from the buildings. They expanded and grew, merging with light from the other temples. Their combined reach was enough to cover all the temples, and reached to the far side of the roads surrounding them.

  As the barrier passed over her, Diane shuddered, as if it stripped her of her last bit of calm. It was as if the darkness around her grew thicker, and her eyes lost the strength to break through it. Her body felt heavy, as if it had suddenly grown weaker, and worst of all, as she staggered backwards, unsure of which way to turn… she was afraid.