NOW COMPLETED: The Last Battles of the Valkyrie

[Orcs Blade]

*Chews Fingernails*

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Spoiler Alert!

Chapter Seven: Confrontation
With a clash of metal on metal, dwarf and marro met. Ne-Gok-Sa’s concentration was broken as he fell back to deal with Morgrimm, his blade arm raised. Morgrimm gave him no chance to use it; he let loose on the marro with blow after blow, beating him back again and again. All Ne-Gok-Sa could do was block Morgrimm’s furious assault the best he could. Finally, Ne-Gok-Sa, reeling backwards under an especially heavy blow from the dwarf, dropped and rolled forwards, ramming into the Morgrimm’s legs and causing him to fall over. He brought his blade down on the dwarf’s back as he passed, but continued to roll forwards, rapidly approaching Brave Arrow and Tor-Kul-Na.
By this time, Brave Arrow had managed to turn the tables on Tor-Kul-Na. The two of them were now engaged in a kind of arm wrestling match, with Brave Arrow choking the life out of the marro he held before him.
Ne-Gok-Sa reached Brave Arrow just as Tor-Kul-Na fell to the ground, and aimed a blow at his head. Brave Arrow easily ducked the blow, but doubled up a moment later as the marro drove his armored arm into his stomach. Ne-Gok-Sa then finished up with a clout from his blade to the Indian’s head, and Brave Arrow fell next to Tor-Kul-Na, a great bleeding gash in his head. Ne-Gok-Sa placed one webbed foot on Brave Arrow’s back and raised his arm to administer the finishing blow, but Morgrimm, who had had trouble getting up due to the cumbrance of his weapons but had just arrived, swung his axe and felt it sink into Ne-Gok-Sa’s ribs.
The marro staggered backwards, hissing madly, and swung at Morgrimm. The dwarf, caught off guard from the sudden attack, had just time enough to lean backwards, and just barely avoided the blow. He then responded with his axe, and swung at Ne-Gok-Sa.
The warlord, however, caught the blow on his armored arm and flung it backwards, accompanied by a slice from his other arm, which was equally blocked.
By this time, Brave Arrow had risen weakly on one elbow, and was just groping for his tomahawk to throw at Ne-Gok-Sa, when Tor-Kul-Na, still barely alive, grabbed him and pulled him back to the earth. A furious struggle ensued, with the two combatants rolling over and over in the mud and swamp slime, each trying desperately to retain a grasp on the other’s throat, and each failing. Finally, Brave Arrow planted a knee in Tor-Kul-Na’s stomach, and, reaching for his dagger, which had slipped out and now lay on the ground beside him, plunged it into the hivelord’s head, right between the eyes. Tor-Kul-Na, despite the dagger protruding from his skull, pummeled Brave Arrow furiously before suddenly going rigid, and then collapsing on the ground, a red pool mingling with the swamp water beneath him.
At that moment, Ne-Gok-Sa and Morgrimm, still battling each other, came careening towards Brave Arrow. He grasped desperately for his knife, but it was too late: Ne-Gok-Sa, ducking under a blow from Morgrimm’s axe, spun around, and, seeing him, quickly and deftly slit his throat with his blade. Ne-Gok-Sa paid dearly for this, as he soon found out.
The warlord’s brief moment of distraction was all that Morgrimm needed. He brought his axe around in a powerful down stroke, and landed it so hard on the marro’s skull, that Ne-Gok-Sa fell instantly to the ground, as if struck dead by a falling boulder. He turned around, however, and managed to block Morgrimm’s return stroke. However, he was down, and Morgrimm took full advantage of it, beating aside his guard as if his weapons were made of tin. Then, withdrawing his sword from behind his back, Morgrimm plunged this into the marro’s chest. Ne-Gok-Sa struggled to get up, but could not, and Morgrimm ended the battle with a final, sickening thud as his axe head soared through the air and buried itself to the shaft in Ne-Gok-sa’s powerful mind, snuffing it out instantly.
The force of the blow threw Ne-Gok-Sa forward, and the mass of bones and dried skin sliced through a mass of strands of weed. Deprived of the resistance the weeds had provided, the rock above fell, with a final crash, onto the body of the warlord, and blocked him from the swamp.

Part Four draws near it's end...

In case anyone is wondering, we do not hear from Dan and company until Book three. We are almost up to Book two, which ought to be shorter than book 1. All of what you are reading about right now takes place between chapters five and six in part one of book three; there's a big gap in time there.

[Fi Skirata]

Yet another great chapter!

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Okay, my friends, now for the end of part four!

Spoiler Alert!

Chapter Eight: The End of the Battle of the Swamps
While these desperate encounters had been taking place, the battle had been going badly for the rest of Aquilla’s forces. A large troop of stingers had come up, and, engaged by the drudge, the Quasatch and spiders had been mercilessly slaughtered. An almost equal number of drudge had been slain as well, but more, constantly springing up from the swamp beneath them, had taken their place. The Moon Tribe had assisted all they could, but they too were shot down. The remainder of the Indian force had charged into the flank of the stingers, and for a brief moment it had looked as though victory may be within reach. But then the rest of the stingers turned, and the Indians were enveloped by balls of purple energy.
The only remains of Aquilla’s forces by now were a few lone spiders and about twenty Quasatch. The handful of spiders that remained had climbed trees, and was successfully entangling marro as they passed underneath them. Seeing this, a squad of stingers raised their guns, and began, with rather poor aim, to fire into the leafy trees, dropping the spiders one by one. A particularly active stinger, who had charged his gun to its maximum extent let loose with such a blast that not only was the spider knocked out of the tree, but the whole tree was almost knocked out of the ground. Thin lines of purple energy encased it as the stinger, overcome by his own gun, crumpled to the ground. Soon, the whole tree was burning furiously, and similar incidents in neighboring trees had yielded other fires as well. Soon, the spiders and Quasatch were all gone, but the damage was done. The waters of the swamp, filled with peat, spread the flames almost as quickly as dry grass, and soon the entire grove of trees, the clumps of bushes, and the surrounding swamp was going up in smoke and flames.
Morgrimm, battling the stingers to the last, was finally brought down, though a pile of about twenty foes lay about him, their mangled remains soon to be consumed by the fire.
The stingers, victorious, now turned to find themselves surrounded by flame, with no way out. Proceeding blindly back towards their hive, they walked straight through the fire, and collapsed, their minds eaten away by flames, a few yards further on. Now the whole scene rose up in a flurry of orange and red, the flames reaching towards the sky in great towering spires. The water roared with small tongues of flame, racing backwards and forwards until the whole area was covered. The flames found the bodies of the countless Quasatch and drudge, seemingly still caught in the struggles of death, and soon reduced them to a pile of blackened bones. They found the fallen stingers, many by the axe of Morgrimm, and burned them similarly until only the smell of burnt marro was left. They found Morgrimm himself, and enveloped him, leaving only his weapons untouched, although blackened. They found the stone under which the remains of Ne-Gok-Sa lay, but not being able to penetrate this barrier, moved on, leaving the warlord to rot in silence. And they also found the massive body of the greater marro, Tor-Kul-Na’s mount.
The small tongues of flame licked at the giant feet that had crushed so many a warrior under them, at the giant three fingered hands that had been the downfall of so many a warrior, and at the monstrous head that so many had come to fear. They also found a hand, lying still on the ground, and apparently lifeless; the hand of a kyrie.

Let me revise that, one more chapter to go. Also, I just noticed that I need to begin writing part five again!

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Spoiler Alert!

Chapter Nine: The Burning of the Swamps
Fænar stirred feebly as the heat of the flame awoke her. At first, she could not think where she was. Pressing her free hand against the blackness above her, she found that it gave slightly. She shoved with all her might, but could not move it; it was too heavy. Turning her head, she saw that her other hand was caught beneath the giant mass on top of her. This made a small space between the water and the thing on top of her, and she began to dig her way through the silt and slime of the swamp in an effort to get out. She soon emerged on the other side of the massive bulk of the greater marro and her eyes met a scene of wildly twisting flames and burning carcasses. All warriors had been consumed by the flames, and she was apparently the only survivor. As she tried to stand, she could feel painfully that her right leg was broken, along with two of her ribs. Her armor was driven in in several places, and only added to her injuries. Her wings, however, seemed to be undamaged, though cramped, and she now spread these and soared out over the scene of carnage. She flew higher and higher, her mind still fuzzy, and soon dimly noticed a giant shape on the horizon. Lightheaded from the height and sudden consciousness, she looked uncomprehendingly at the thing for some time, before a strange instinct, old as the war itself, forced her mind into recognizing it for what it was. Still not quite knowing what she was doing, but observing the field below her, she dove and seized a clump of burning weeds. She then flew forward, straight for the ominous shape that she now knew so well: the shape of the marro hive.
As she flew forward, another huge figure detached itself from the hive, and lurched towards her, its long neck waving uncertainly. Fænar, by now knowing what she was doing, tucked her wings close to her sides and dropped from the air like a bird of prey, speeding ever closer to the hive. Just as she came close enough, the giant head of Wo-Sa-Ga crashed into her, and she was flung to the water below, her mind dimly registering a few more cracked ribs.
She got shakily to one knee, and watched as the massive snake-like marro approached her, its fangs glittering evilly in the hazy sunlight. She had no weapon, and her left wing felt very much as though it was now broken. She knew she had no chance to escape this and live, so, deciding on her fate, she hurtled herself forward, straight at the Hivelord before her. Wo-Sa-Ga, taken by surprise by the unexpected move, stopped in the water, and Fænar, marveling at her own good luck, flew straight past her… and landed directly on the hive, her wing collapsing completely. Digging feverishly amongst the eggs that were now sprouting everywhere in the great bulk, she thrust most of the burning weeds in her hand into the hole she had created, just as Wo-Sa-Ga turned around to face her.
As the horrible visage of the Hivelord cam closer, its mouth wide open, she turned, grabbed one of the horns on Wo-Sa-Ga’s head, and dashed the remaining weeds in her face. The Hivelord roared a terrible roar, and thrashed about, causing Fænar’s arm to break. She soared through the air to land in the water below, just as the huge form of Wo-Sa-Ga came crashing down on top of her.
The hive burned in silence, small screams issuing from the unborn marro inside. The great carcass of Wo-Sa-Ga lay motionless, hiding Fænar from sight. A strange, deathly silence filled the place, empty except for the two large forms lying in the water. Slowly and silently, the horizon turned red as the flames from the battle approached, burning through the swamp with ease. Nothing moved. The hot sun shone down mercilessly on the burning waters, causing the wet earth to dry up in preparation for the flames. There was nothing, nothing at all, in all the great vast plain of the swamp, except the approaching fires, and the two figures of the hive and the Hivelord.
Soon, the flames, spreading through the peat like a wildfire, reached the burning hive and completed Fænar’s work. Wo-Sa-Ga, by now quite dead, was burned as well, but by an odd twist of fate, Fænar remained untouched, shielded by the very foe she had slain.
As the glancing rays of the setting sun shone red through the smoke, and painted everything in a crimson hue, a faint stirring beneath the Hivelord indicated life. A hand appeared, blackened and covered with mud, to push the Hivelord away, but it fell back after only a few attempts. No more movement occurred beneath the skeleton of the massive creature, and Fænar lay, motionless, in the swamp.

[Red Orktober]

WOW this is awesome. TGRF, you are amazing

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Ah, a new follower! Allow me a moment to get the next chapter up!

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Okay. Part five. Now I really DO need to start writing this again. I've been preoccupied with my Innistrad fiction.

Spoiler Alert!

Part Five: The Battle for Utgar’s Wellspring
Chapter One: Strange Signs
Shadows covered the land, cast by the many dips and rises in the broken rock. As the sun set, casting a lurid red haze over everything, orange flames became visible through fissures in the earth, where lava boiled incessantly. Smoke poured out of the ground and hung low, covering the barren expanse of rock with a thick red mist.
Placed away from the great rifts, and situated on a raised outcropping of rock, stood a small castle. It was surrounded by a moat of lava, and had four tall towers placed around it, but the castle itself was rather unextrodinary. Ballistae could be seen mounted on the walls and towers, and a small gatehouse was set at the bank of the moat, but no guards could be found. No lights shone in the castles dark windows, and the structure seemed to be completely devoid of life.
In fact, it was almost devoid of life. The only living creatures in it were about four hundred orcs. There were, however, at least a thousand zombies, shambling around the grounds, and more than five hundred picked vampires. None of these creatures found the sunlight too appealing, and so stayed inside while the sun set.
As the last red rays disappeared from the horizon, a figure appeared at the wall, unaccompanied, and scanned the barren ground, making sure not to miss anything. No life was to be seen amongst the barren rocks; not that much could survive there anyway that wasn’t allied to lord Utgar.
Cyprien turned from the wall, but, catching something out of the corner of his eye, turned back. Something was wrong. Something seemed oddly out of place. He looked out over the ground again. Nothing stirred. No movement met his red eyes. Then he noticed it. There was a smudge, very faint but still quite distinguishable from the rest of the sky, hanging low over the skyline. Cyprien would normally have spotted it quickly, but with all the smoke from the Volcarren about him, it had easily been missed.
This smoke, for the smudge was certainly smoke, however, did not come from the Volcarren; that was obvious. It was lighter, and higher up than that of the Wastelands.
Cyprien squinted at it. It was large; there was no mistake about that. And it appeared to be drifting south, away from the Volcarren. Making some quick calculations, Cyprien judged it to be almost directly over the Ticalla, and the marro army.
The cloud of smoke was large enough to stretch over the whole jungle, and Cyprien knew only one thing that that could mean.
The hives were to smart to set themselves on fire, Cyprien knew that. But that meant that someone else must have set fire to the Ticalla. Who? Aquilla had been wiped out, along with Jandar and Einar. Only Ullar remained, and all his forces were preoccupied, or soon would be, with Utgar. There was no one in the Ticalla except the marro… or was there?
Officially, there had been no survivors from the battle at Liesic, Einar’s capital. However, some rather important persons had been missed when Utgar’s minions came back to check the dead. Vervalsing, a great dragon, though still young, had been nowhere to be seen. Gormal, a dwarf, and Francois, a knight, had equally disappeared. The main problem, however, was a mere human, a Mariedian by the name of Dan. Despite long searching, the minions had found no trace of him. Afraid that his enemies would flock to Dan, Utgar had had the whole lot declared officially killed in action, but Cyprien knew the truth.
However, Dan and his friends would have had to cross the entire Volcarren to get to the Ticalla, and why would they pass up this castle, which guarded Utgar’s wellspring? And surely a dragon would have been spotted? No, Cyprien decided, it didn’t make any sense. Someone else had burned the Ticalla.
He turned back to the castle and found one of his captains standing by. “Fly to the Ticalla,” he said, “and report to me the situation there.”
“Very good,” said the captain stiffly, and without another word, he soared straight up into the air and flew towards the south.
Cyprien walked along the wall, troubled. If there was enough of an army to burn the Ticalla, surely they would be headed this way. He must prepare the defenses. He flew to the nearest watchtower in a single bound and began ordering the orcs to ready the ballistae. Any army coming this way would have a hard time getting across the walls that guarded Utgar’s wellspring.

EDIT: Also, just noticed, welcome to the site, Red Orktober!

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Okay. I have written a chapter, and since I have a three-week break coming up next week, I think I'll be good. I will also be reviewing the index and updating it a bit.
So, chapter two!

Spoiler Alert!

Chapter Two: The Survivors
“My lord Einar!” The kyrie sunk to the ground on one knee.
“What do you have to report, Sergeant?” asked the tall figure before him.
The kyrie rose to his feet, straitened, and said, “My lord, I have found it: Utgar’s wellspring! There is a small castle guarding it, but its defenses are minimal, and I did not see very many guards.”
“Very well, you may go.”
The kyrie flew away, kicking up some ash as he took off.
Einar smiled grimly. So Utgar had not left many to guard his wellspring? Well, eh would be in for a bit of a surprise then. His army would take the castle easily and be in possession of the wellspring before nightfall. Einar turned away, and instinctively clutched his left arm as an aching pain shot through it.
The fall he had taken over Liesic had left him battered and beaten. He had been knocked out by the fall, but had, by some miracle, avoided death. His arm had taken most of the impact. The bone was shattered, and his ribs had been cracked.
Fortunately, he still had had enough of the power of the wellspring left to somewhat cure himself before the minions had arrived. With the last of his magic, eh had devised an elaborate illusion, and the minions had returned to Utgar bearing the news of his unmistakable death.
His guards had all been killed. There was nothing he could have down to save them, even if he had had the power to do so. Most of his army had also been wiped out; he had lost well over nine thousand soldiers. However, an incredibly large amount of his forces had managed to slip away from Liesic in the confusion of the battle, and join him later. These had consisted mainly of about four hundred ninjas and samurai, most of them wounded. The soulborgs had not been merciful on them.
Einar had marched his small force north, up through Lindesfarme, passing through his towns and cities on the way. From these he had gleaned a small assortment of about two hundred Romans. His army was still small, but at least the Romans were in good health and ready to fight. A few days later, a large force of Imperium, the only one that the minions had not been able to wipe out, had joined him at the edge of Bleakwoode, bringing his forces to a total of about nine hundred.
Kaemon Awa and Marcus had also survived the battle. Marcus had sustained a bullet in his leg, but Kaemon had somehow fooled the soulborgs into believing he was dead and had escaped unharmed. Shiori had not been so lucky.
She had charged out with her ninjas to fight the soulborgs, and the soulborgs had ripped them apart. She had received about three bullets before she went down, to lie, bleeding, in the tall grass about Liesic. Kaemon had found her soon afterwards, and tended to her injuries. Fortunately for Shiori, her ninjas had been able to do something for her, and she was soon able to walk about again, though rather slowly.
The army had proceeded through Bleakwoode without incident, and had crossed Kinsland without so much as a sighting of another force. Einar knew they were too weak to confront Utgar directly, and there was nowhere that they could hide for long, for the minions and orcs were constantly scouting out the land. Instead, eh had decided to make for the Volcarren, where he hoped he would be able to find, and destroy, Utgar’s wellspring.
And now, at last, a stroke of luck had befallen them. They had found the wellspring in less than ten days, and it was poorly guarded. Einar could not have asked for more. He would, of course, destroy it if Utgar came, but if no word leaked out, he could also use it to summon his army again and speed to Ullar’s relief. Either way, Utgar would be in a tight spot.
Einar entered his tent. At least, that was what he called it. It was more of a stretch of canvas raised at an angle from the ground, and did nothing but shield him form the sun. He sat down on the ground, they had no chairs, and pulled one of the maps of the Volcarren towards him that he had managed to save from Liesic.
Given the reported position of the wellspring, they could be there in two hours’ time, if they started soon.
“Captain!”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Get the troops ready. We move in ten minutes.”

Comign Soon!
Part Innistrad, part another world, part my imagination, prepare to enter a world of dark creatures, epic struggles for survival, and desperate hopes! Being plotted now, look for it at the end of the Last Battles of the Valkyrie! Coming soon to a forum near you!

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Well, I got stuck on strange chapter design near the end of part five. Fortunately, I was able to redo the end. Unfortunately, the entirety of book two is planned out the same way. Fortunately, I will have plenty of time to fix it in the upcoming days. Unfortunately, it may take a while. Fortunately, I already have part five completed. So, on those many notes, on with the Last Battles!

Spoiler Alert!

Chapter Three: Attack
“Remember, Captain, no unnecessary sounds.”
“Yes sir.” The captain moved off, followed by a silent line of ninjas, samurai and Romans.
Einar had misjudged the timing. It was night by the time they had reached the castle, and the moon was out. Knowing Utgar, orcs were the most likely thing that he would leave at his wellspring at this time, so Einar had gone ahead with the attack, knowing that orcs prefer to march in the day and sleep at night as much as men do.
There were four tall towers, completely inaccessible from the ground, ranged around the small castle. The ninjas, divided into four groups, would attack each one of these towers simultaneously, and the samurai and Roman archers would provide support for them. There was a small gatehouse in front of the castle, and the Imperium, led by Einar himself, would storm this. The Imperium would rush in, and lower the gate, allowing the samurai swordsmen and the remaining Romans to rush in and secure the castle. If all went well, the wellspring would be theirs in two hours or less.
Einar turned around and faced the three hundred kyrie before him. “Kyrie,” he said in a quiet voice, though loud enough for them all to hear him, “We have suffered a great defeat. We have been driven from our own lands in disorder and confusion. Many of you are wounded. I will not deny this.”
Einar looked down at the ground, and then spoke again. “But while even one of us remains, we can fight. We can fight for the golden peace that Valhalla once had. Before us is Utgar’s wellspring, that foul pool of water through which he has summoned many a terror to plague our land. He believes us – all of us – dead. But Imperium never die. You live to ensure the peace and protection of this, our beloved Valhalla. Shall Utgar continue to summon great monstrosities to overrun our lands? Shall he continue to burn and pillage our villages with his armies from other worlds? Will we let this happen?
“No, we shall not. As long as there is half an ounce of strength left in our arms, we shall forever raise a sword between Utgar and Valhalla. As long as there is the will to fly in our wings, we shall keep his dragons at bay. And as long as there is a hint of resolve in an Imperium’s mind, that resolve shall remain firm and hard as steel forged for the sword destined to go through Utgar’s heart.
“Which of you here is willing to defend your homeland?” A rousing, but subdued because of the proximity of the castle, cheer rouse from the kyrie. “Then follow me,” said Einar, “and be honored to fight for what you believe.”
Then, unfurling his great feathered wings, Einar rose up into the sky, and was immediately followed by three hundred brown bodies, swords drawn, faces set.
The smoke from the fissures in the Volcarren masked the attack. Einar was only able to see the lines of ninjas because he knew where to look. Far below him, he saw the Romans and Tagawa Samurai lining up, preparing to enter the fortress through the gatehouse. Further along, he could see the four lines of ninjas begin to scale the towers. Just a few seconds delay, and they would soon burst over the side, and kill any orcs on guard there. At the same time, the Imperium would fall like a hail storm onto the gatehouse and raise the gate.
As these thoughts went through Einar’s mind, it happened. At the same moment, the four lines of ninjas leapt onto the towers. Fighting broke out immediately, and a hail of arrows streamed into the defenders from the ground, cleanly missing all of the ninjas.
Einar raised his hand, and then brought it down again sharply. As one, the Imperium behind him dove from the smoky sky, heading straight for the gatehouse below them. As they sped towards it, Einar counted the defenders. There weren’t very many he thought, but as he came closer, he saw that something was wrong. Not all of those were orcs… but it was too late.

Remember, if you feel driven to post a reply, feel free.
A.k.a Feel free, not driven, which could be interpreted to mean just do it anyway, regardless of how you feel.

[William099]

Thank goodness Einar brought Samurai... they will cut through zombies like a house afire with that Counterstrike...

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Aha! A new reader! Welcome, my friend. This calls for another chapter!

Spoiler Alert!

Chapter Four: Vampires
With a rush of wind and a beating of wings, Einar’s Imperium landed on the top of the gate house, swords drawn and ready. At the same time, about twenty vampires spun around, surprised, and drew their own blades.
The few orcs that were on the tower were dealt with quickly, but the vampires were more of a problem. They received many blows, but very few of these blows pierced their hearts. However, the Imperium fought so well that the vampires had no chance to exploit this advantage, as they could get hardly any blows in on the kyrie.
The battle soon developed into a melee. Neither side could inflict massive casualties on the other. The vampires were quick, experienced, and agile, but the sheer numbers of the kyrie kept them down.
The kyrie would have eventually prevailed had not more vampires flown up to resist them from the ground, swelling the creatures’ ranks to somewhere around a hundred. Still the Imperium fought on, and slowly, one by one, the vampires began to fall.
Meanwhile, the ninjas had encountered a similar problem. They, too, had easily dispatched the orcs, only to find themselves faced with about twice their numbers in vampires. As there were only fifty of them to a tower, their battle was not going so well, though the archers on the ground had provided some support.
As these battles were taking place, Einar was fighting his way through vampire after vampire. With the experience he had accumulated over the years, and his uncanny ability to remember training from many different times on many different worlds, coupled with his knowledge of magic, he was a match for any vampire.
He had just stepped over his thirteenth kill when a huge vampire sunk his teeth into an Imperium next to him, threw him to the ground, and came at him, blade drawn, and blood dripping from his mouth.
Einar pulled his sword out from his most recent kill and brought it up to meet this new foe, but the vampire was already upon him, slashing his sword downwards. Einar barely had enough time to repulse him with magic, and as it was, the spell only half caught him, spinning him around as if he had just been hit with a mallet. Einar then brought his sword down towards the vampire’s head, but the creature was too quick, and a clash of steel on steel added its din to that of the surrounding battle.
Einar kicked out instantly with his leg, intending to trip the vampire, but found this, too, blocked. He jabbed out with one hand, keeping the other on his sword, but the vampire ducked. Recognizing this as no ordinary vampire, Einar disengaged himself and took three steps back.
The vampire did likewise. It was this, more than anything else, which Einar marked, for it was the ancient practice of a secretive group of ninjas from Earth’s past to separate themselves from their opponent thus when they found one of equal strength.
Deciding that either the vampire had received some kind of training, or that the move had just been by pure chance, Einar nonetheless switched to a different tactic, adding it to his previous one. He then launched himself forward.
The vampire, surprised at the sudden attack, backed away. Einar had been expecting this, and, suddenly planting his feet, came up just short of running into the vampire. He then proceeded to assault his enemy with both arm and sword at once, blocking the vampire’s moves with his arm and striking with his sword.
If you have ever tried to fight with both arms at once and paid any attention at all to what you are doing, you will notice that while you use one, the other lies indifferently where you last left it.
Not so with Einar. Utilizing an ancient practice of forgotten times he swung at his opponent with both his arms, essentially doubling his fighting capability.
The vampire, though experienced, was no match for this relentless assault, and soon cowered under the attack, at last falling as Einar’s sword pierced his heart.
Meanwhile, Marcus Decimus Gallus was standing, listening closely to the battle above, in front of the gatehouse, waiting for the drawbridge to be lowered over the moat of lava. It was obvious that the Imperium had met a good deal of resistance, but what that resistance was, he had no idea…