Chapter 33: The Last Bastion

  The southern gate of Vellmont was a warzone. Fire and steel clashed beneath a storm of arcane destruction as Captain Anya Blackstark and her squad held the line against an unrelenting tide of horrors. The midday sky was alight with spells as the enemy pressed harder, their numbers seeming endless.

  Anya’s Direwolf mech struck like a vengeful wraith, its twin plasma sabers cutting through the grotesque husks of the Iron Revenants. These abominations—undead ogres encased in power armor—moved with a terrifying combination of brute strength and calculated precision. She danced between their blows, her mech’s reinforced joints allowing her to pivot mid-air, slicing through their plated limbs before they could react.

  “Nissa! Left flank, now!”

  Nissa’s Direhound mech darted forward, impossibly fast. She was small, but she made up for it with sheer speed and reckless aggression. Twin daggers of concentrated starfire crackled in her mech’s hands as she tore into the enemy formation, slashing at the exposed joints of the Revenants.

  "I’m on it, Captain!" she chirped, voice light despite the carnage. She severed an enemy’s leg with a precise cut, then vaulted over the collapsing brute, flipping mid-air and landing on the shoulders of another. With a wild laugh, she plunged both daggers into the creature’s skull before leaping off as it exploded beneath her.

  Jerik covered her from above, his Direhound outfitted for rapid assault. His mech was equipped with an arsenal of ranged weaponry—starflare pistols, plasma javelins, and precision boltcasters. From atop a ruined watchtower, he provided pinpoint cover fire, taking out Emberclad battlemages before they could unleash their deadly spells.

  “Four incoming from the north!” Jerik warned, loosing a barrage of energy rounds.

  “Make that three!” Brenn roared from below as his Direhound—a towering artillery variant—unleashed hell. His mech’s rotary luminite cannon spat white-hot devastation, ripping apart enemy ranks with unrelenting firepower. The very ground quaked as his shoulder-mounted mortars rained explosives upon the horde.

  “Brody, cover me!” Brenn barked as he reloaded.

  Brody was already moving. His Direhound was a walking armory, carrying munitions and heavy support for the team. As Brenn ejected an overheated clip, Brody tossed a fresh one his way. “I got you, big guy!” He switched to his own weaponry—a reinforced luminite rifle—firing calculated shots at any enemy foolish enough to get too close.

  The battle was sheer chaos, but they were winning.

  Emberclad battlemages hurled waves of flame and shadow, but Anya’s squad adapted. Jerik took out key casters before they could finish their incantations. Nissa struck like a phantom, carving through their ranks. Brenn and Brody covered their backs with heavy fire. And Anya—Anya was everywhere, her blades carving a path through the nightmare.

  They were unstoppable.

  For the first time since the siege began, hope flickered in Anya’s heart.

  And that was when the first warning klaxon blared.

  An unnatural silence fell over the battlefield.

  Then came the heavy, metallic thuds—each one making the earth tremble beneath their feet. The air itself grew colder, thick with the stench of death and ozone.

  Jerik’s breath hitched. “…No. No, no, no.”

  Out of the smoke, a monstrous Iron Revenant stepped forward. But this one was different. Larger. Its armor pulsed with blood-red runes, the necrotic energy within barely contained. In its hands, it gripped a plasma glaive, the weapon’s unstable energy crackling with every movement. Its hollow eyes burned with malice as it set its gaze upon them.

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  A Dread Revenant.

  Brenn exhaled sharply. “That’s not fair.”

  The Revenant moved.

  Faster than something that large should be capable of. Before they could react, it swung its glaive, and a shockwave of plasma tore through the battlefield. Anya barely activated her barriers in time, shielding her squad from the brunt of the blast, but the sheer force sent them all crashing back.

  “Regroup!” she shouted, forcing her Direwolf back to its feet.

  The Revenant strode forward, its glaive spinning, carving a path of destruction toward them. More Drakeguard mechs flanked it, their movements eerily synchronized, their pilots little more than extensions of House Draconis’ twisted necromantic will.

  Anya knew what was coming.

  This wasn’t just another wave. This was the killing blow.

  Anya’s eyes flicked to the battlefield—her team battered but standing, the enemy pressing forward like a storm. A plan crystallized in her mind, reckless and bold. She had no time for hesitation.

  "Jerik, get me a reading on that thing’s weak spots. Now!"

  Jerik's sensors flickered, scanning the Dread Revenant. "Core signature unstable—looks like those runes are keeping its necrotic energy in check. If we overload it—"

  "We blow it to hell," Anya finished. "Brenn, you still got mortars left?"

  "Enough to make a mountain disappear," Brenn grunted.

  "Good. I need you to drive that thing back, keep its focus on you. Nissa, Jerik, we’re going for the runes. Brody, get ready to feed Brenn everything we’ve got."

  A sharp whistle came through the comms—Vellmont’s city guards, adventurers from Vallorien, and House Thalgrin soldiers still fought in the streets, holding back the tide. Among them, Lord Mayor Magnus Thalgrin himself waded into battle, his massive warhammer glowing with runic inscriptions as he smashed through an Iron Revenant’s helm, caving in the necrotic beast’s skull with a sickening crunch.

  "Blackstark!" his voice bellowed through the channel, gruff and unwavering. "We hold the line here, but we won’t last forever. What’s the plan?"

  Anya switched to the open frequency. "All forces, listen up! We're taking this thing down! Focus fire on anything that gets in our way—buy us time!"

  The response came in a chorus of determined shouts. The battlefield surged with renewed energy.

  Brenn let loose the first mortar, the explosion sending the Dread Revenant skidding backward. It swung its glaive, trying to stabilize, but Anya was already moving, her Direwolf launching into the air, twin sabers flashing.

  "Nissa, now!"

  Nissa’s Direhound appeared like a ghost, her daggers slicing through the glowing runes along the Revenant’s shoulders. The beast shrieked, stumbling, dark energy spiraling from its wounds.

  Jerik fired a plasma javelin straight into its exposed back. The Revenant twisted in agony, but Brenn was waiting.

  "Eat this, you ugly bastard!" Brenn’s rotary cannon roared, white-hot luminite rounds hammering into the Revenant’s exposed core. Cracks spread along its armor like shattered glass.

  "Brody!" Anya yelled.

  "Sending it!" Brody launched a final payload into Brenn’s cannon chamber. Brenn grinned, unleashing everything.

  The Dread Revenant let out a keening wail as its core ruptured, the stored necrotic energy turning in on itself before detonating in a violent burst of crimson fire. The shockwave sent debris flying, but when the dust settled, only wreckage remained.

  Silence hung in the air. Then—

  A roar of victory from the remaining forces.Jerik let out a low whistle. "Well, that was horrifying. Anyone else feel like we just pissed off something worse?"

  "Oh, absolutely," Nissa grinned from behind her helmet. "But hey, we’re still alive. Mostly."

  Brenn exhaled, taking off his helmet and wiping sweat from his brow. "Yeah, yeah, great job, everyone. Now someone tell me why I always have to be the one hauling the big-ass cannon. Next time, I want a pair of fancy knives like Nissa."

  Nissa snorted. "You? With knives? You’d end up stabbing yourself before the enemy."

  Brody chuckled, patting Brenn’s mech. "You know you love being the walking war crime, big guy."

  "Yeah, yeah," Brenn grumbled. "But one of these days, I swear, I’m getting a desk job."

  "You? Behind a desk?" Jerik scoffed. "You’d break the damn thing just sitting down."

  "Nah, nah," Brody grinned. "He’d spend five minutes pretending to do paperwork before flipping the whole fuckin’ table and demanding a bigger gun."

  Brenn rolled his eyes. "Screw you guys. I can be professional."

  "Professional?" Jerik snorted. "Coming from the guy whose search history we had to wipe after we docked in Vallorien? I swear, I’ve seen less cursed shit in necromancy tomes."

  "Oh, fuck off!" Brenn barked. "It was one time, and I didn’t know that site had a goddamn membership system!"

  "Dude, it asked for blood verification! What the fuck were you even watching?" Nissa howled.

  Brody nearly fell over laughing. "I still can’t believe you actually entered your real name."

  "IT AUTO-FILLED!" Brenn groaned, face red.

  Anya wiped a hand down her face. "By the gods, I command soldiers, not a bunch of perverts."

  Jerik shrugged. "Can’t it be both?"

  Anya shook her head, smirking. "Brenn, if I ever see you behind a desk, I’ll personally bend you over."

  “Don’t you dare. I’ll file a personal complaint for sexual harassment to the Lord Governor Garett Fenralis himself!” Brenn snapped back.

  The squad laughed, the tension easing just a fraction. But deep down, Anya knew—they weren’t done yet. Anya sees Magnus' face from the crowd, looking up at her Direhound mech, his face an expression of relief and approval.

  Anya exhaled, her heart hammering. She activated her comms, reaching out to Garett.

  "Southern gate secured, Lord Governor."