Cut and bruised, delirious and half-conscious, it felt as though their bodies moved as it willed. Reduced to as few as a hundred men, they did not know yet whether it was by luck or by skill that they have survived for that long, but to need to endure seemed like a curse. Fighting in retreat, their objective was to simply survive, for not some noble cause they strived to bleed themselves and others except for the sake of living. The endlessness of battle was made worse by their allies who began to disappear from the ridge they held advantage over. The reinforcements that they were evacuated for, that they had waited for, and that they had fought for, withdrew into the trees, with not one soldier shedding as little as a glance nor an expression of remorse. Anger swelled in seven who did not understand the general’s intention to abandon them regardless of their comrades’ voices telling them to fall back. Sometimes, they had even begged the heavens that the Confederate cavalry would give chase, but they too knew that the battle was over. Cleansing the field of stragglers and survivors, crawling out of the heaps of their friends’ corpses and mountains more of colorless deceased, no quarter was given. Although the Rus have secured victory, they were not yet satisfied. Perhaps before the appearance of Lecher reinforcements they would have allowed the survivors to live another day. But to have inflicted such casualties that amounted to no glory, they believed that not even the hundred remaining souls should ever escape their grasp. Upon a single front, the Rus continued to pour their numbers onto the bridge, in hundreds then in thousands. Nearing the opposing bank of the river, the Aelon struggled to maintain their foothold. Even their wounded, if they could stand, fought on. As Colt delivered strike after strike, he began to realize his strength was as insignificant as those he fought. To have repeatedly swung his sword for hours, even his bones had began to ache. He had long planned to unleash his eifer but he never did. There was no opening nor a place and a time where unleashing it would gain him anything. Then, when he stuck his blade in between two stones in the road, he noticed what could give him and his comrades the needed respite.
As his sword vibrated from the tremors in the ground caused by the Confederate advance, the sergeant turned his eyes to the ground. His sweat dripped onto the ice that had cracked from the force of the thousand that piled onto the crossing. The stones around him rocked. When he gathered his breath, blood returned to his head, and it came to him, what needed to be done. Standing upright, he searched for the one who would understand him best and dragged him back from the frontlines by his collar. Though the fright had nearly turned a friendly blade against his neck, he calmly gestured to him to take notice of the wavering structure. As he thought, within seconds his friend figured out his intent, and responded with a nod.
Widening his stance, the lieutenant-elect raised his sword with a frail arm. “Everyone, fall back!” Arminius cried, hoping that he would not have to explain.
But luckily for him, his century had longed for that order. They gave up their ground as if they had not fought for it for a quarter of a day and fled without ever second guessing their commander younger than they were. To save themselves was their only purpose. As his squad passed by them both, their tentative looks wondered what had come to their minds so suddenly to be able to act so selflessly, needing the assurances of others to move them and to entrust all that they could to two. Once their complete retreat was achieved, the survivors formed a defense around the bridgehead and held their swords ready if Arminius and Colt were to fail in their attempt. But they seemed less concerned as they cautiously withdrew, pace by pace, luring more troops onto the weakening crossing. Braving the horde, the two halted at a distance sufficient for their plan to commence. They placed a foot forward and faced their enemy on the flanks. The air began to avoid their bodies, its currents wrapping around them as if a shield was held against the winds. The heat of their eifer burned away the ice on the ground and soon, snow turned to rain. The sergeant was able to harness his flames quicker than his comrade could. Arminius’s power had been dormant for nearly two years when it was suddenly called awake. As time was wasted in warming his strength, the Confederates drew nearer, unknowing what was developing before their eyes. Charging, they had judged that their blades could reach their necks before whatever the Aelon had planned could be unleashed. But in an instance of focus, the lieutenant-elect had sealed the fates of the thousand who dared gather in the path of his eifer. The battle drew to an end. Their eifers sung, petrifying their enemies who froze from the sight of light glowing in their blades. As those recognized the signs of the gods’ gift to the wrathful man, they realized there was no escape. Their allies behind had not noticed and continued to push their way onto the bridge. Thunder began to tremble the ground and azure flames seeped into its gaps. The Aelon watched in admiration and distress as lighting and fire raced across their comrades’ eyes. Arminius and Colt released an enraged cry and droved their swords into the bridge. A flash of blinding light was followed by a violent gale that uprooted stones from its foundation. The blasts of blue flames and thunderous eifer was tenfold louder than the battlefield before, a sound that was condensed into a few seconds, rupturing the eardrums of the soldiers nearest the source but that was the least of their worries. The electric currents in a vivid purple ran through the widened cracks in the crossing as an explosive inferno swept the surface. Unnatural in color, their tinted storm coiled around their blades as they forced the reserves of their eifers into their attack until their blades cracked and snapped. The strike had been delivered and the damage had been done. The bridge quaked and broke from its roots. The weight of a regiment forced the final blow and the structure surrendered its grip over its arches and pillars, its road beginning to sink with a thousand men taken with it. From the gaps in the stones now open to air, fire and lightning erupted, burning and tossing soldiers into the air at an indiscriminate sequence. Their legs were blown off and their bodies were struck with volleys of shrapnel-like rocks. Arminius and Colt released their swords which disintegrated into the wind and ran for land. Many had tried to chase for them but the ground beneath them opened up and they collapsed through the stones. Holes gave way to gorges. The Confederates fell to their demise. Facing disaster and certain death if they stayed their ground, some took the plunge and threw themselves into the river. But they faced a fate that was no different. Whether they were alive or dead, their heads were pummeled with falling rocks of ruins that killed many more than the eifers ever did. Panicking, seeking escape for themselves, their soldiers weakest or the most unfortunate were forced underwater where they would drown or freeze to death. The river had become their graveyard.
The disaster at the end of the battle was more humiliating than the enemy having appeared behind them in an ambush. They could have taken revenge for all the lives unnecessarily lost, but instead, they were dealt another crushing blow. A thousand Rus were taken in return of null Lecher. The only crossing within leagues was gone and their prey had been separated from their predator and spared. Some rushed to the river bank to save whoever they could by bringing them ashore but the currents of the river agitated by the rubble swept many away downstream towards the sea. Above the river of blood, Aurelius leapt onto the end of the bridge where an arch remained standing and stared at Arminius, laying in the snow, his limbs numbed by his own eifer. Helped up by his comrades, he had prepared to withdraw his face from the site of battle when a cavalryman joined the third general. On his steed, reeling on his reins, he recognized Arminius, the soldier who had caught his eye once more, and tipped his head in acknowledgement of his and his companions’ struggle. Arminius never returned the gesture nor had a change in his expression, and commanded the Aelon to turn and flee. For they had been reduced to eighty men, there was nothing much that remained of them. Not even the dignity of having survived a massacre.34Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAS3KBXeOOp
