Chapter 44 Warfront [part 3]
The cacophony of battle surrounded Northern on all sides—the guttural roars of beasts, their dying shrieks, the ceaseless clang of talons and steel meeting claw and fang.
He moved through the chaos with singular purpose, the Blade carving deadly arcs through the air—survival!
With each foe he felled, exhaustion seeped deeper into his muscles, the grip on his sword growing slick with sweat and gore.
But his eyes remained sharp, missing nothing around him even as he traded blows with the monster at his side.
That hideous hellion fought with a feral grace, its massive axe cleaving apart any that dared approach.
Dark blood fountained around it as it crushed bones and sundered limbs. To the unaware eye, it would seem the true threat on this nightmare battlefield.
Yet Northern knew better. Beneath the monster's brutality lay a cunning intellect, its attacks coming at precise moments to drive back Northern's own enemies.
For all its savagery, the beast chose again and again to defend the young warrior from harm.
Why it shadowed his steps so loyally, Northern's only guess to the reason of this strange behavior was pretty obvious.
A part of him thrilled at the unspoken challenge in its coal-black eyes whenever their gazes met across the slaughter.
Perhaps it intended to test his skill and resolve, to push the fledgling warrior ever closer to the ragged edge or it just wanted to protect him since he was its general… or it was doing both.
Whichever one it was Northern did not plan on losing in this game, it would not find him easy prey.
Northern's focus sharpened to a razor's edge as he refused to yield. His onyx blade sang Death's song alongside the monster's axe, their combined force driving the horde back one bloodied step at a time.
Still, the battle dragged on with no end in sight.
For each monster cut down, two more peeled themselves from the roiling shadows. An eerie aura saturated the air as Northern's lungs burned with each fetid breath.
His quickened pulse pounded relentlessly in his ears, matched only by the percussion of combat resounding all around.
The clash of weapons filled his senses until he perceived nothing else.
His universe compressed down into a vortex of violence, every ounce of his being devoted to navigating the storm.
Time itself lost meaning until he existed wholly in the present moment.
Nothing mattered but his sword arm and the relentless monsters arrayed against him.
This nightmare crucible had burned away all but Northern's essential core—the warrior's spirit passing from one enemy to the next as his onyx blade carved out ferocious poetry.
As the battle raged on, Northern slowly adjusted to the tone of the battlefield.
Northern's bitterness began to seep into his every movement, his every strike.
It was not something obvious, but a subtle shift in his demeanor, a tightening of his jaw, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. He had never asked for this, never sought out the violence and destruction of a battlefield.
Yet here he was, forced to fight for his life, to shed blood and endure pain.
With each passing minute, Northern's movements grew sharper and more precise along with the frustration the grew inside of him.
But even as he fought with a fierce determination, Northern couldn't help but wonder about the nature of the battlefield.
Why were these monsters constantly at war with each other? What could have caused it? When will it end?
As thousands of questions ran across his mind, Northern moved through the battlefield, his senses bombarded from all sides.
The wet splatter of his enemies' blood on his face, the earthy smell of sweat and the metallic tang of blood—it all became a twisted symphony of horror.
But Northern refused to let the chaos overwhelm him. His movements slowly becoming instinctual.
There were more moments when Northern stumbled, when his strikes missed their mark or when he was caught off guard by a monster's attack.
But he did not to succumb to weakness. He pushed through the pain, the fatigue, and the fear. He fought with every ounce of strength he had, his blade a blur of motion as he cleaved through the guts of his enemies.
His angel of death stood by his side, wielding its vicious axe with a feral glee.
Northern gritted his teeth as another wave of monstrous beasts flooded the battlefield.
No matter how many he and his dark guardian cut down, more continued to crawl up.
The repetitive clashes and screamed slowly needled their way into Northern's psyche, his bitterness at the ceaseless violence seeping into his bones.
He channeled that simmering frustration into the bite of his teneborous blade, his strikes landing with ever greater precision.
Yet precision mattered little when faced with an overwhelming, endless tide.
Fatigue tugged relentlessly at Northern's limbs even as his chest heaved for air. The sucking mud and gory debris threatened to snare his boots with every step.
It would be so easy to slip, to leave an opening for tooth or claw to tear into vulnerable flesh.
He narrowly twisted away from a swiping claw, the breeze of its passing scraping his cheek.
The near miss filled him with rage - at his foes, at the injustice of this wicked battlefield that has now been forced upon him, and most bitterly, at his own weakness.
His mounting fury erupted with explosive force as Northern lunged forward and severed the offending limb with a savage chop.
Dark blood jetted, splashing across his face, the rich iron tang coating his tongue.
He spit violently then bared reddened teeth in a defiant sneer.
Let them send their legions. He would rip through them all or die trying, leaving their broken bodies piled in his wake.
Beside him, his guardian angel snarled approvingly, the axe carving out brutal harmony to Northern's melody of violence.
They continued their desperate push, Northern's sword arm burning with exertion, his breath escaping in pained rasps between blows.
Still no respite came - the horde advanced as though the battlefield's extent held no limit.
How long had he been fighting without stop?
Minutes or hours or days?
Time held no meaning anymore, swallowed by the red haze fogging Northern's mind. His vision tunneled until all he saw were enemies to destroy.
The repetitive screech of steel pounding armor and bone became a nightmarish song drilling relentlessly into his skull. Hot blood splashed against his skin again and again, slowly transforming him from man into fiend.
And still Northern battled on, that kernel of defiance at his core refusing to yield...refusing to die quietly.
If this endless hell was to be his reality, then he would force the monsters of this realm to pay dearly for every inch of ground!
Let his bones shatter and sinews fray - he would fight until his last ragged breath.
The monsters might grind him down eventually, but Northern swore to blunt every fang and claw on his stubborn soul before the abyss finally claimed him.
With a rasping cry, he charged forward again into those gnashing jaws, his guardian a monstrous shadow at his side…