Death Guns In Another World - Chapter 1979 - 1760: War 38

The wind carried the scent of pine and distant snow from the jagged peaks of the Dragon’s Tooth mountain range. Below them, the fortress of Skyreach Keep, a vital bastion guarding the northern passes into the heartlands of the empire, was a scene of utter desolation. Its once-proud banners were torn and smoke-stained, its mighty walls breached in multiple places. The rhythmic clang of battle, the monstrous roars, and the desperate cries of men echoed up to where Artemia and Gracier stood, a heavy cloak of sorrow settling upon them even before they descended.

They had been rushed from the Stonewatch Peaks with barely a moment’s rest, the dispatches growing ever more frantic. Skyreach was on the verge of falling, besieged by an unrelenting tide of monsters. If it fell, the northern territories would be exposed, a catastrophic blow to the already beleaguered empire.

“There’s so many of them,” Artemia whispered, her voice raw with a weariness that went beyond the physical. The sheer scale of the Chaos Organization’s assault was numbing. Wave upon wave of twisted creatures – hulking, brutish beasts, skittering insectoids, and shadowy, ethereal forms – crashed against the dwindling defenders. Dark-robed figures moved amongst them, their incantations fueling the monsters’ frenzy, their presence a dark poison in the air.

Gracier’s hand rested on the pommel of her sword, her knuckles white. Her usual fiery demeanor was banked, replaced by a simmering, cold fury. “Then we cut them down until there are none left,” she stated, her voice a low growl. But even her fierce determination couldn’t entirely mask the flicker of pain in her eyes as she surveyed the valiant, but clearly failing, defense.

They descended not with the explosive power of their previous engagements, but with a grim, almost somber resolve. This wasn’t about shock and awe; this felt like a vigil, a desperate attempt to stem an unstoppable tide.

Artemia moved first, a silver streak against the grey rock. Her spear, crackling with divine lightning, was an extension of her will. She met the first wave at the most critical breach in the wall, where a knot of monstrous humanoids, all bulging muscle and razor claws, were tearing into the last line of Skyreach soldiers. Her arrival was a thunderclap. Lightning arced from her spear, blasting the lead monsters back, their bodies smoking. She danced through the chaos, her movements fluid and precise, each thrust of her spear a death sentence. She wasn’t just fighting; she was a shield, her every action aimed at protecting the beleaguered soldiers, buying them precious seconds.

Gracier joined her, her greatsword a whirlwind of crimson-hued steel. She fought with a controlled fury, her blows cleaving through monstrous flesh and bone. Unlike her draconic form’s overwhelming elemental power, her human form was a testament to pure martial skill, honed over countless battles. She moved in perfect sync with Artemia, their years of fighting together creating an unspoken rhythm. Where Artemia’s lightning stunned or scattered, Gracier’s blade followed, dispatching the momentarily vulnerable foes. They were two halves of a devastating whole, a bulwark against the encroaching darkness.

But the waves were relentless. No sooner had one been decimated than another surged forward, fresh horrors replacing the fallen. The sheer, mind-numbing repetition began to take its toll. Artemia felt the familiar burn in her muscles, the slight tremor in her hands as she channeled her lightning again and again. Her divine energy, while immense, was not infinite. Each bolt, each defensive shield of light, cost her.

She saw a young soldier, no older than a boy, bravely trying to hold a crumbling section of the wall. His eyes were wide with terror, but he held his spear steady. As a hulking, tusked beast lunged at him, Artemia unleashed a furious bolt of lightning, incinerating the creature just inches from the boy’s face. He looked at her, his mouth agape, a mixture of awe and relief warring with the horror of his situation. Artemia offered a grim, encouraging nod before turning to meet the next threat, but the image of his terrified, yet determined, face seared itself into her mind. These were the people they were fighting for, the lives teetering on the precipice.

Gracier, too, felt the strain. Sweat plastered her crimson hair to her temples. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Yet, her sword never faltered. She saw Artemia stumble slightly after unleashing a particularly powerful chain lightning attack that cleared a path through a swarm of venomous, skittering creatures. Without a word, Gracier moved to cover her, her blade a defensive wall, deflecting blows and buying Artemia precious moments to recover. Their eyes met for a fleeting second – a shared acknowledgment of their weariness, and an unspoken promise to keep fighting, for each other, for those who depended on them.

Hours blurred into a nightmarish tableau of endless combat. The sun began to dip below the jagged peaks, casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to empower the monstrous horde. The roars of the enemy grew louder, more confident, as if sensing the defenders’ weakening resolve. The few remaining soldiers of Skyreach fought with the courage of despair, but their numbers were dwindling rapidly.

“Artemia,” Gracier panted, parrying a savage blow from a heavily armored, ape-like creature, “they’re pushing too hard on the western flank. If it collapses, they’ll be inside the inner courtyard.”

Artemia looked. Gracier was right. A fresh wave, larger and more organized than any before, led by several imposing, shadowy figures that radiated an aura of chilling command, was hammering at the weakest point. The remaining soldiers there were being overwhelmed. A cold dread seeped into Artemia’s heart. They were losing. Despite their power, despite their sacrifices, they were being drowned by sheer numbers.

A cry of pain tore through the din. One of the last Skyreach captains, a grizzled veteran who had fought alongside them for hours, was struck down, a shadowy tendril piercing his chest. Artemia felt a surge of cold fury, an icy despair that threatened to consume her. She faltered, her next lightning bolt sputtering weakly.