CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE STORM
For the following week, Mercius spent nearly all of his time honing his skills wielding the Arka with Griffin. Nephilia had gone from the Rau'halla, with stern advice to waste no time. The remainder of the Hammer and the Blade spent their days training in the clearing, or otherwise tending to gear and weapons. Not for the first time, the Rau'halla was alive and ringing with the sound of blades being sharpened and men and women straining during battle exercises.
When the son of Asgoroth was not further advancing his mental and spiritual prowess, he was with Keira. The entire week was filled with love-making sessions that lasted well into the night, and sometimes left them entirely sleepless. When they were not naked and entangled with each other, they were walking through the forest, hand in hand, either talking of anything and everything, or simply enjoying each other’s company in sweet, comfortable silence.
Mercius felt a happiness invading him during that week that he would look back on for the rest of his days. But, as is always the case when two people finally find love, their time was short. Before either of them knew it, the day dawned that they would depart from the Numerai and the Rau'halla.
The Hammer and the Blade departed the forest and the lovely creatures that dwelt there with little fanfare. Their hosts had, for the most part, been hidden from them, obviously preferring quiet and solitude over the company of men and women. Volgestadt was there to bid them farewell, as well as the other, the female, that had escorted the marshals to their beds on their first night. Mercius had learned that they were partners: what mortals would call soul-mates, but having a depth that humans could never match.
The Rau'halla was quiet, as usual, and the soldiers that made their way out of the forest were subdued and depressed. There was a general sense of dismay and sorrow pervading the company as they tread their way slowly through the fragrant trees, back to reality. They had all taken solace in the blissful calm of the Rau'halla, and found comfort in the mere presence of a company of beings that were not enemies in an otherwise terror-filled and forsaken world.
At long last, Mercius and his marshals stood at the edge of the Rau'halla, looking up at Volgestadt and his lovely bride. There were tears in the eyes of Sophia and Keira. Mercius felt his own tears rising, and forced them back. He was indeed sad to be moving on, but he had learnt much, and he felt the coming confrontation beckoning him like the tolling of a bell. He was eager to meet his destiny head on. He felt that he had tarried here far too long, though he had no idea from where this notion was coming.
There were warm embraces and soft words spoken all around, as each of the marshals made their farewells to the two stunning Numerai. Finally, Mercius and Volgestadt looked at each other for a long time, staring deep into each other’s eyes, as if one could find all answers and hope in the other. Volgestadt reached out and placed his elegant hands on Mercius' shoulders and said, simply, “Farewell, Arkarum. Go with the light in your soul, and you shall be victorious.”
Mercius responded: “Farewell, Volgestadt. We have been well met, and, fate willing, we will meet again.” With that, before his eyes could mist over and betray him, he turned and joined the rest of his company.
They walked as swiftly as they were able, still wishing to linger in this peaceful place, leading their horses back into the wastes of the world.
Like a rotting slap in the face, reality hit them as they exited the forest. The stench was so strong that a large handful of the troops were vomiting. Mercius himself was only just able to keep himself together. The horses were wild-eyed and frenzied, and all of those who were not physically unmanned by the smell were trying to calm the whinnying beasts. Mercius looked about him and his heart sank. He tried to tell himself that this was what he had known of the world, but it all seemed so much more disgusting and heinous than it ever had in the past: the air smelt unbearably foul; the dirt beneath his feet was dry and cracked and black, and seemed to wish to drag him to his knees; the sparse vegetation was so distorted and twisted and ugly that it seemed as if they must be some form of demon or another; the light wind that swept the barren plane seemed to be attempting to tear the flesh of his face from his skull.
Mercius looked around and saw the agitation that he felt mirrored on the faces of his companions. They had grown far too used to the sublime comfort of the Rau'halla, and this sudden snap back into the real, horrible world was a blow to them all. Mercius could see many tear-stained faces amongst the troops, and a large handful had simply fallen to the ground, too horrified and devastated to even stand.
Mercius hawked and spat noisily in his disgust and frustration with the place, then quickly jumped astride his gorgeous black stallion, Fury, and rode to a low knoll where all could see him.
Casting his voice over the assembled company he said, “Rise, you of Griffin’s Hammer! Rise, you of the Merconium Blade! We have rested and had merry times, but our course is ever onward. Every moment that we sit and bathe in our own misery, the enemy wins and becomes stronger. The forest that we have just left is an example of what we fight for. We fight for our freedom and our lives. We fight for our right to live among trees and grass. We fight for all of the beautiful things that should exist in this world; all the things that have been burnt and scoured from the earth. This is our kingdom, and we fight to reclaim it from the evil that has stolen it from us! Rise, and let us ride to battle!”
While he knew that his sermon had somewhat broken the spell of the blasted desert, there was very little enthusiasm evident in the troops. Slowly and listlessly they rose and filed into their marching formations. It was the best that could be hoped for, considering the circumstances, but Mercius was disheartened. He worried that the spirits of his troops would not recover before they had to do battle with Mor'denaa and her demon horde. But he forced himself to harbor a slight hope, instilled in him by the Rau'halla and the Numerai.
As Mercius had suspected, the short trek through the blackened desert was arduous and slow. While it should have taken only two days at the outside, Mercius was lenient in his march, and it took the Hammer and the Blade nearly a week to reach the outskirts of Mor'denaa’s compound.
As he and his marshals surveyed the place from a hilltop about mile distant, concealed by twisted shrubs and stunted mock-trees, Mercius' heart dropped even further: the place was enormous, and teeming with demons of all shapes and sizes. A dark cloud that permanently hung over the place made their observation of it difficult, so that only Mercius, with his keen eyes, could see with any clarity what the compound looked like.
It was fully a mile square, with walls of nearly unimaginable height enclosing it on all sides. Through the black haze that perpetually shrouded the place, Mercius could make out shrieking demons flying in watchful circles; any hope they might have had of sneaking up on the compound was therefore shattered. In the clearing created by the towering walls, there were towers placed at regular intervals that stretched above the walls themselves, and ended in some indiscernible place in the blackness above. These, Mercius surmised, were further lookout stations, although their effectiveness was questionable due to the gloom that surrounded their tops. Also inside the walls was a maze of low buildings that were incredibly long. They looked to Mercius like an apt place to house the compound’s prisoners; demons never slept, and would have no need or desire for such things as lodgings or rooms. And there, right in the very center of the compound, was Mor'denaa’s palace, if it could be called such. It was as tall as the towers that surrounded it, but much broader, with spires of what could only be human bone jutting off from it at crazy and hectic angles. The entire thing looked like a terrible mouth of teeth and bone, with no semblance of order. There, Mercius knew in his heart, the last stand of Mor'denaa would be made, if it could even come to that.
Mercius glanced at his friends, hunkering on the hilltop beside him. They all felt him looking, and turned their heads to hi
m. He motioned them back down the hill, and without a word they mounted up and rode back to the camp of the Hammer and the Blade, some two miles behind them.
As they walked through the camp to Mercius' tent, he tried to keep the dismay and worry from his face, and felt that he succeeded. Once in the tent, the mood of his marshals was palpable in its fear. They looked to Mercius for guidance, and he was terrified of what he had brought them to, for his mind’s eye saw only certain death for any that attempted to breach the compound.
Apparently his emotions showed somewhat on his face, for Griffin said, “Fear not, Mercius. This is what we have trained for. This is what we have traveled for. We, every last one of us, including the troops, will destroy this evil place, or give our lives trying. And do it happily.”
Mercius, hearing a heat in his voice which he had not intended, replied, “That is what I fear, Griffin! That all of the men and women who have chosen to follow me will die in vain. I cannot see a way to win this.”
Jax said, gruffly, “If you wish to whine and complain, I’ll leave you to it. But didn’t Volgestadt give you some insight as to how to accomplish our victory?”
Mercius, stunned by the reprimand, nonetheless had a light spark in his deep green eyes. While looking down on the compound, Mercius had seen exactly the weak spots in the wall that Volgestadt had told him about, but, in his depression, had failed to register them in his mind.
“There were several points in the wall which he mentioned, and I saw. Forgive me, all of you, for acting the defeatist. Jax, I hadn’t even thought of them until you mentioned the Numerai, but now I can see how we might at least enter the place. After that, however, I have no plan.”
Jax and Eliah, the oldest amongst those assembled, shared a knowing glance before Jax said, in his usual short, gruff manner, “What happens when the fighting starts is not to worry about now. That will come later, and the plans will change a thousand times once the first blood is drawn.”
That being said, Mercius, Griffin, and their marshals spent the remainder of the day, and well into the night, planning their offensive.
When Mercius finally was able to rest for the night, with his love, Keira, snuggled warmly beside him, sleep wouldn’t come to him. He was filled with the scent of the woman in his arms, and was absently comforted by her deep, steady breathing. But all he could see behind his eyelids when he closed them was blood and death. He was filled with doubt and apprehension. Their plan was the best that they could hope for, although simple, but he was still filled with a gut-churning fear that all of his followers would be destroyed or worse.
Finally, he rose three hours before the meager dawn would attempt to lighten the sky, and roamed the camp that sprawled in a shallow valley. Much to his surprise, the majority of his troops were suffering from the same restlessness as he. They milled around the camp, or tended to armor or weapons. There was an air of fear about them, but underneath it Mercius could sense absolute certainty and conviction. It seemed that Griffin was right: these men and women knew that death would be searching for them that day, but they intended to face it without hesitation or reserve.
Mercius, by now knowing all of the troops by name, talked with each of the sleepless people. They were strong, every one, and would show no sign of the fear that Mercius could smell on them. “We’ll send ‘em back to the Hell they came from, General,” and, “Those demon fuckers won’t even know what hit ‘em,” were some of the things the troops said to him, with wolfish grins on their faces.
At long last, after a night that Mercius had thought would never end, he stood at one end of the camp, watching as the sun crested the hills with its usual grey feebleness. Gazing over the troops, he stuffed his fear and apprehension deep within himself, burying it under the hardened steel that had been ingrained in him since birth.
Mercius smelled Keira approach from behind him as he gazed in the direction of Mor'denaa’s compound, hidden by the miles that separated him from it. She approached silently, and he was astounded at how light on her feet she was: How had he never noticed that before? She put an arm around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his own arm around her and kissed the top of her head firmly, as if he could convey all of his love through the force of his lips. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew that she smiled sweetly at the gesture, feeling the same love for him that he felt for her.
Being with her brought back his fear of defeat, but it also reinforced his resolve: he was not only fighting for the freedom of mankind, but also for the most important thing that mankind had to offer: love.
In a whisper, he said, “I fear that today will end badly. I cannot shake this fear. Only bury it. Whatever happens today, my princess, know that I love you, and always will.”
She looked up at him then and pressed her fingers to his lips, bidding him be silent. Slowly, gently, she slid her fingers along his face to the back of his head and drew his lips to hers. They kissed for an eternity; for the briefest flash of a second. When she finally pulled away from him she clasped his hand and put it to her breast. Whispering, she said, “I have no fear in my heart, my love. It doesn’t matter to me how things go today. I have known love with you that will last me an eternity. My wishes and dreams have been fulfilled through you. All I ask is this, fight today with the love I have for you. If you do that, you cannot fail, even in death.”
Mercius was barely able to hold back the tears that threatened, so sweet was her face, her eyes; so sincere was her voice; so true her words.
After gazing deeply into one another’s eyes for several moments as only enrapt lovers can do, they turned as one and surveyed the camp together.
It was beginning to show signs of their imminent departure, and was bustling like a hive of busy bees. Griffin walked slowly up the knoll to them and stood to Mercius' other side, silent and watching.
One by one, his marshals came to him, and after less than half an hour, all of them stood silently overlooking the formed ranks of the Hammer and the Blade. The air was so still and silent that it seemed time itself had stopped, holding its breath.
Griffin elbowed Mercius in the ribs softly and, under his voice, he said, “You have to say something to them.”
Mercius shook his head and smiled. “No, my friend. Not this time. Mor'denaa was your captor and tormentor. This time it must be you. Give them your sadness and your hate. They will love you for it.”
Griffin looked surprised, but covered it quickly and it was replaced by a look of grave understanding. Taking a step forward, Griffin spoke loudly enough for all to hear:
“Men and women of the Hammer and the Blade, my friends, my brothers and sisters in arms, there is a demon that needs to be slain today!” After a heavy pause, Griffin continued, “She calls herself Mor'denaa, and is one of the most vile creatures ever to plague this tormented planet. She wields fear as a weapon, and breeds hate like livestock. One of her favorite past times is to capture an innocent child and slowly cut them to pieces, starting with the fingers and toes. But she lets them live, hacked and mutilated beyond recognition, until she has tired of their pain. She wears the skin of infant girls as her clothing, and the members of castrated infant boys as her jewelry. Today will be her reckoning! Today, we will sever her head and place it on a pike as a warning to all who would follow her path. The warning is clear and absolute. The warning that we will send to all Hell-spawn today is this: Our planet is not a prison! Our planet is not a sowing ground for slaves! Our planet is ours, and today we will begin to reclaim what is ours!”
Griffin threw his hands in the air as he said this. The troops burst madly into applause, yelling at the tops of their lungs and banging weapons and shields together. It was so cacophonously loud that Mercius had a fear that they would be heard and demons would fly upon them like a swarm of locusts. But he pushed his fear aside, and smiled wolfishly. Fuck it, he thought, we’ve come this far and will
almost certainly die by the end of the day. Bring it on!
With a speed and order that still stunned Mercius, the troops set out at last to do battle with evil.
The two mile march to Mor'denaa’s compound was uneventful, except that the troops split up halfway through: Griffin took a quarter of the troops on a wide arc around the complex to attack from the opposite end as Mercius, while Darius and Peter each took a quarter to attack from the north and south. These were the weak points in the wall, and they would fall on the compound from four sides simultaneously.
Mercius approached the compound with firm conviction. His company walked silently behind him, and he could feel their readiness like a blanket on his back. When he was a quarter of a mile from the impossibly high walls, the first of the ever-circling flying demons spotted the battle formations, and let out an ear-shattering shriek. It lit the air around them with hate and drove instant fear into their hearts. Mercius knew that it was now or never. He thrust Illuricht skyward and let the Arka fill him until it poured from his hand, into the blade, and out from the tip, slashing a blood-red lightning bolt into the sky. This was the signal that all of the marshals awaited, and with a roar that trembled the earth, the charge was begun.
Almost at once, long before they even reached the walls, flying demons were swooping down upon them. Mercius shouted orders for the archers, but they had anticipated this and knew their duties. The broad-headed arrows took many of the demons in flight, spinning them this way and that, or felling them entirely from the blackened sky. Some of the winged Hell-spawn got through the lethal volley, however, and the first human blood was spilled mere seconds after the charge had begun, spraying the air in mist as the poor man was snatched up and torn apart, his bowels falling wetly amidst the running soldiers.
They reached the towering wall a moment later, and Mercius, although he knew that they could breach the cracked surface within seconds using the picks and shovels they had brought, he was feeling the red battle fury descend upon him, and the Arka was still flowing in his veins. He unleashed its power, and the crack in the wall before him first widened, then blew explosively inward. Without faltering a step, Mercius' portion of the Hammer and the Blade ran through the gap in the towering wall with a triumphant cry.
No one knew what to expect once on the inside of the compound, but what they saw brought them up short and surpassed even their most horrid imaginings. Instead of demons lined up to face them, there were humans. All were naked and bloody, with fear showing brightly in the whites of their eyes. They were lined up shoulder to shoulder, a hundred yards inside the wall. Mercius raised his hand for a halt, so as not to trample them. Instantly, they were drenched in silence as Mercius quickly looked around him and took in every part of the surroundings, trying to spot some sort of trap. What he saw were hundreds upon hundreds of demons crouched and somewhat hidden behind the line of humans that stared at them, aghast.
Mercius' heart sank: he knew what this was, and he had no way to stop it.
As one, the demons rose, showing themselves over the shoulders of their prisoners. Mor'denaa had chosen demons that were taller than humans, but not as tall as some of the giants that he had seen. They stood three feet above their tallest prisoner, giving the men and women in the line an even more daunted, helpless look by comparison. Before they could carry out the atrocious deed that Mercius knew was coming, he thrust out his free hand and sent an invisible force against the demon that was closest to him. In a spray of blood, the thing exploded from the chest up. But, to Mercius' horror, the human prisoner that it had stood behind was also affected by this power. She was a dirty and wretchedly skinny, but Mercius saw the youth and beauty that had once lingered there. Her brown eyes held no spark, but they pleaded with him nonetheless. But alas, as the demon behind her was splattered and destroyed, the top half of the woman’s face was annihilated. She stood there for a brief moment, her quivering lips and jaw coated with a fine spray of blood and brain and bone. There was nothing left of her above the mouth.
Mercius screamed. It was a sound he had never let forth, and had not even known he could. It was more demon than human, but he didn’t care. His anguish was nearly overcoming him. This terrible scream issued forth from him in a long, shattering moment, during which the remaining demons before him cowered back slightly. When he was finished, he scanned the line, hoping that he had inadvertently created some sort of advantage which they might grasp to free the prisoners. But, before he could even come to the conclusion that he would have no such luck, the demons answered his cry with one of their own.
It was terrifying in its power; all of them shrieked or roared or howled simultaneously; created a chorus of hate and defiance that chilled the blood of all who heard it. As they screamed in unison, they murdered. Each demon chose a different way of killing the prisoner that stood before them, but each was effective. There, a man having his head crushed between two giant, clawed hands. And there, a man whose heart was ripped from his body, through his spine. There, a woman having her head chewed off in three chomps from a thing with ferociously large, incongruous jaws.
Without hesitation or thinking, Mercius howled and rushed at the demons, into the blood that was turning the ground to mush and pooling already. As he splashed in the gore of viscera and brain and shit, he felt his troops at his back, charging with him. If they had needed any reminder why they were on this particular mission, the enemy had inadvertently given it to them.
The troop rushed into the awaiting demons before they had even finished relishing in their wanton slaughter, and so were given a second’s advantage. They slashed and hacked and shot with ferocity and skill, and the demons were pushed back. But, after that first surprise was past, the enemy brought forth their evil with furious intensity, and Mercius could hear his friends dying all around him. He fed on their screams of agony, and moved ever faster through the blood-muck that was now up to his ankles. Demon after demon rushed at him, and demon after demon fell under his black blade. He severed heads and torsos with clean strokes, then moved on to find the next target for his wrath. The Arka was forgotten in his blood lust. Instead, he wielded Illuricht with speed and grace. It was fluid to watch, he would later hear, like liquid death. He never paused between strokes, and didn’t encounter any demon that could withstand his fury or his skill. Even if they parried one of his strokes, he inevitably turned on his heel and severed them in two.
It seemed to last for hours, this relentless killing, but it was only moments. Finally, he looked up and saw that the closest demon was still yards away. He was thus afforded an opportunity to look around him and take in the position of his troops: they were in chaos. Nearly a third of them had fallen, and lay bleeding or dead on the sodden earth. The others were quickly becoming overrun: the strength and the evil fury of the demonic enemy was simply too much for them to stand for long. It was an uneven battle to begin with, but the hate and malice that drove the demons pushed it over the edge.
Mercius, in his despair, thinking that all was already lost, reached within himself and grasped the terrible power of the Arka at last. He spotted three men fighting with their last strength against nine demons, several yards away. He had to act quickly, for he could see that the three soldiers were failing, and were very near collapse. With a cry of sheer hate, he leveled his blade at the attackers and charged, letting the Arka flow into him, through him, from him. It lit the blade of his sword, suffusing it with bright veins of blood, as if it were a living thing. Indeed, it seemed to be alive in his grip. Red and orange bolts of fire leapt from the tip of the blade, splattering three of the demons even as they lifted their ugly weapons for killing strokes; there was nothing left of them but black and red mist. Mercius, now in the middle of the remaining six demons, cast his blade through the face of the closest. Even as its head exploded, he thrust his free hand toward the next closest demon, and a hole appeared though its middle, the invi
sible force tearing clean through it and casting it to the mud. Not quickly enough, Mercius turned and saw the next demon, this one finally aware of his presence and the danger that he represented, lash out at him. It caught him with a heavy spiked hammer just under his left armpit with an explosive pain that knocked him off his feet. Even as he fell, though, he sent Illuricht in a concise arch towards the tusks of the things face. He was a good foot short of the target, but the power within himself flowed from the tip of the blade and severed the head in two, tusks and all, the top half sliding from its perch to thwack into the mud.
Mercius, stunned and in agonizing pain, tried to rise, but was kicked by a hoofed demon in the very spot that he had just been struck with the ghastly hammer. Bright flashes of color danced before his eyes as the pain threatened to cast him into unconsciousness. When his vision cleared, he could see the hoofed Hell-spawn standing over him. Grinning with rows of razor-blade teeth, its eyes beady and swollen and blood-filled. It brought up an enormous club over its head, made of bone and spiked with glass that dripped blood. Mercius knew that he was unable to move out of the way, and this would surely be his end. Just as he had come to grips with the fact, however, the feathers of an arrow sprouted from the things knobby throat. It coughed like a beast, and had confusion written plainly on its face. It was not dead, however, and intended to finish with Mercius. But, before it could begin its death stroke, the point of a sword slammed out from its eye, the eyeball itself, partially intact, landing on Mercius' shoulder. The tip of the blade that protruded from the things cycloptic, rotting face, twisted and shattered most of the things upper jaw, then it slammed upward, through the top of its head, leaving a two-inch wide gash in the center of its face, from the top teeth up. It finally admitted that it was dead, and fell.
Mercius relaxed and found that once he did, the pain in his side started to fade.
A hand was extended to him and he took it. Looking around, he saw one of the three soldiers he had rescued rapidly firing his bow into the horde of demons that came in their direction. The other, the one who had split the hoofed demon’s face and had then helped him to his feet, was another of the trio.
Mercius, over the screaming and howling of the dead and dying and killing, said, “Where is the other? There were three of you that were in trouble?”
The man, whose name Mercius remembered was Varius, said nothing. Instead, he pointed to a pile of bones and flesh that barely resembled a human corpse. Mercius didn’t need an explanation; he had obviously been partially devoured by a hungry demon. Mercius only hoped that it was after he had died.
Mercius nodded grimly to Varius, then said, “Come. We have much farther to go today, before we can rest.”
Varius, much to Mercius' surprise, grinned wolfishly and ran toward the man wielding the bow.
As Mercius ran after him, he realized that the remainder of the troops that he had breached the wall with was converging on the same spot. Mercius barked an order: “Any of you who are archers and still carry a bow, line up here. Kill what you can, and give us time to breath and think our strategy through.”
They complied quickly, and Mercius' savior was joined by a dozen more skilled bowmen. Mercius performed a quick head count, and found that there were a little less than fifty men still standing with him, plus the archers.
“Alright, men,” he said, “this is what we do. We form up in a line three deep, and fight our way to the center of this forsaken place. There, if fate is on our side, our comrades will converge. If any one gets separated, fight your way to the base of the stairs that lead to the palace. Whoever is still alive will join you there. Are we clear?”
They gave a bark of ascent and conviction, then lined up as Mercius had bade them. When he was satisfied that they were as well formed as they could be, he shouted for the archers to fall back into the line, making a fourth behind the rest.
With singular conviction and determination, they marched into the demons that stood slavering and waiting. Mercius, again hot with blood-fury, slashed his way through the ranks, severing heads when he could, limbs when he could not, leaving those to be killed by the warriors behind him. This time, however, he knew that he had to fight with his head, or he would lose the remainder of his troop. With no reserve, he brought forth the Arka as he fought, and unleashed it with doubled intensity. Illuricht sang in his hands, a keening wail that he wasn’t sure was real or false; coming from the blade itself, or from him. It bathed in the blood and drank the gore. From its tip flashed blood-lightning that devastated any demon in its path.
Catapulting himself off of a fallen demon, Mercius hurtled through the air towards his next victim. He came down atop the hulking thing that stood nearly fifteen feet tall. His blade took it in the arm, just where the wrist would be on a person. This thing had only a gnarled, blackened tree trunk for an arm, tipped with claws. Illuricht severed the claws cleanly, but the beast didn’t even slow. It wielded no weapon; instead, it simply crushed its enemies beneath its massive feet that were similar to a bird’s, but enormous and heavy, and tore at them with its taloned tree-trunk arms. When Mercius landed before the thing, it was already in the act of swinging its remaining talons at his head. Without thought, Mercius shoved his hand towards one of the massive legs that was inches from his face. With the contact against the leathery, boiling skin, Mercius unleashed the Arka, and the demon’s leg was entirely obliterated. The slicing swing that would have beheaded Mercius, instead raked down his side, the opposite one as the hammer wound, thank the powers that be! He gritted his teeth against the pain, but was in too much of a battle rage to pay it much attention. With all of his might and strength, he jumped, using the Arka as a platform and propulsion. To his amazement, and all who looked on, he flew into the air, and was ten feet above the thing's head before his ascent lost momentum and he fell back toward the earth. Letting the Arka flow into Illuricht, he smote the giant beast with all his might, right on the top of its misshapen head. Expecting the blade to stop in the skull, or come sliding out of the front of the thing's face, Mercius was again surprised. Illuricht sliced cleanly through head, torso, and groin, like a hot knife through butter. When Mercius was planted firmly on his feet again, he paused for just a moment to admire his kill: the giant demon was severed completely in two, minus an arm and a claw, both halves twitching and trembling in a muddy pool of black blood.
Mercius, feeling invincible, moved on to the next target with a terrible cry of wrath, only to find that he could see no more demons near him. They had reached the stair of Mor'denaa’s palace, and all of his men were gathered behind him. They all grinned wolfishly at him, some of them walking up to the hulking demon that he had severed and spitting on it.
Mercius looked around and saw that the demons on all sides had been defeated. There was Darius, to his left, pulling his axe free of a demon’s head, and sauntering toward him. Peter, on his right, kneeling to place a final dagger thrust in the eye of the only moving enemy near him. And Griffin, in front of him, fifty yards away, looking quickly skyward and nonchalantly casting up his hand. Mercius followed the gesture with his eyes, and saw one of the few remaining flyers explode in long streamers of blood and yellow-green ribbons of gore.
They controlled the compound. Mercius knew, however, that the true battle, had yet to begin.