A thunderous, resonant growl enveloped Nalitha, sounding from high atop Mount Kimo. It deeply reverberated, even in Angar’s bones, and caused the world to tremble. It was a much louder and ominous rumble than that of an approaching storm, or the earth-shaking bellow of a colossal beast.

  This noise stretched out, not only heard but felt acutely, then lingered for long moments after.

  Angar looked towards the mountain top, and a light stretched up high, penetrating the dark ash that had blackened the sky, a righteous beacon.

  And he felt the challenge that had sung out. It settled in his chest and warmed him. Worthy enemies would come soon, and he’d bathe in their strange, black blood.

  But they wouldn’t arrive for a while.

  Spirit broke his reverie. “Sleep now. You’ll get little enough rest ahead. This ritual summoned the reavers through the gateway early. If you survive, we’ll have a lot to do and little time to do it.”

  “How many came through?” Angar asked.

  “I won’t know until they all emerge. Another wave follows in a handful of days. This beacon is strong. It’ll endure for weeks unless defiled. We need to praise Martyr Varko for his selfless sacrifice.”

  Spirit touched her forehead, right shoulder, then her left. Gazing skyward, she stated, “May he find peace in Your eternal embrace, Lord.”

  Angar mirrored the gesture out of respect, echoing her words.

  “Now, your job is ensuring Martyr Varko’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. The surviving reavers will head straight here. Your world is safe from them, but only if you defeat these coming and the next wave. They'll only need to face the undead left behind. Rest. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

  Angar went to find a good spot to sleep, wondering if he really wasn’t allowed to marry now. It’d be a petty thing to ask about while bathed in the pillar of light of a man taking his own life to save his world.

  He climbed to a ledge some twenty paces up Mount Kimo and collapsed, sleep claiming him the moment his head hit the ground.

  Sometime later, Spirit roused him gently. Peering over the edge, surprise took him. A horde of undead swarmed below, their gnarled hands clawing and pounding the mountain’s base, closer to the distant pillar.

  “They’ll arrive soon,” Spirit warned. “The vanguard reavers will strike first, straight from the gateway. The other forty will trickle in as you fight.”

  “Understood,” Angar replied, steeling himself.

  Her eyes flickered with worry. “Far fewer reavers came through than I expected.”

  “How many?”

  “A little over four hundred,” she said, her voice tight. “That worries me. There should be at least three times that.”

  Angar didn’t know the mechanics of the gateways. All he knew was the swarm she described barreling toward him, a number vast enough to stir his blood. Still, he was very strong now, forged anew.

  He’d throw himself into this battle with everything he had, and looked forward to doing so. Live or die, he’d shroud himself in glory.

  “Clear the undead first, then hold the northern road for the reavers,” Spirit commanded.

  “Understood,” he replied.

  Gripping the ledge with one hand, he swung down and dropped to the ground.

  Dispatching the undead took hardly any time and effort. Their numbers paled compared to his last battle with them.

  Then he trekked through Nalitha to the northern road. He expected Spirit to join him there, but she never appeared.

  Once he spotted a reaver far off in the distance, not easy through this gloomy, ash-inflected darkness, he took a knee and thought a prayer. Lord, let those I kill serve as tithe and tribute. If I am to fall in this battle, let my blood and last breath be a gift to You.”

  Then, he spotted more and more of this enemy.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Their bulky forms almost glistened in the dark as they raced down the road. To Angar, these reavers seemed as if they were made just to be a monument to terror.

  They were coming in small groups at a time, spread out in packs on the road south, heading straight for Mount Kimo, that light shining into the sky that had dared challenge them.

  Angar stood in their way, his sanctified maul in hand, its dim glow stifled in this gloomy darkness.

  The reavers, with wicked horns, skin of obsidian, and eyes aflame with maliciousness, charged. But Angar was ready. He was Mecian, always ready to war, always willing to tribute more blood and battle to his Lord, the same as his new oath demanded of him.

  The first wave madly rushed at their target, their predatory grace belying their size. When they were close enough, Angar activated Ground Current, his form dissolving into charged particles, traveling through the earth to emerge in the thickest grouping of them.

  As he surfaced, lightning struck all around him, courtesy of Geomagnetic Phenomena, felling several of the creatures in a flash of Divine wrath, forking, felling several more after, then a few more too.

  Without pause, Angar swung his maul, the weapon singing through the air. Each strike a testament to his new strength. These reavers, though still formidable, were creatures he had recently seen as insurmountably and overwhelmingly powerful.

  His maul flew forward. A reaver tried to grab it, its hand, arm, and then chest shattered, strange black liquid splattering all over.

  Angar laughed and went to work. The head of his hammer thwacked into a head birthed of nightmare, and crunched into it, killing another spawn of Hell.

  Claws and teeth raked towards him he couldn’t avoid, cutting into him, as he swept his maul in a wide arc, then spun, bashing his maul into a new foe.

  Then a new foe. And a new one, until there were none. He received some marks, a few good ones too, but he was up in the tally by far, and far from done.

  Another group neared, much larger than the last. His hammer, once so heavy, was now light in his hands. As the first creature got close enough, he stepped forward, holding his weapon close to the base of its haft, and swung it forward, testing its range.

  And the range was good. It shattered the monster’s arm, then face. Two hands went back on his hammer.

  He spun into the large group, activating Tempest, his maul turning into a blur of destruction. The Reavers were caught in the cyclone, their advance halting as lightning from Thunderstorm leaped from one to another, forking and spreading, bouncing, reducing many to ash and silencing their strange laughs.

  And Angar realized he no longer heard their dark whispers, just their strange, tormented laugh. But that laugh was easy enough to silence, and he continued to silence more of them as he spun.

  The onslaught was relentless. Some of the reavers tried feeling, some tried timing attacks, lashing in between rotations of his swing. If he was hit, he didn’t feel it much with Tempest going. And he didn’t mind – he accumulated Thunder from strikes both given and received. His Thunder counter climbed.

  Some more opponents tried fleeing away even with their movements slowed, and lightning stretched out towards them, searching, hungry. And more reavers continued racing down the road to the challenge beacon, all those joining in this magnificent battle too.

  The six seconds ended, and Angar stopped spinning. He stood amid carnage once again, this time of a far more glorious sort than undead. And like with the undead, where few around him survived Tempest, twitching in undeath or electrical discharge, the same was true now, but not as true.

  He waded around, his hammer pummeling easy targets as he waited for a mass to surge towards him.

  He didn’t wait long. Mere seconds. And it almost seemed like his enemies were trying to set him up and help him out, as they charged in a tight grouping.

  Anger cursed as he fumbled this important attack, and the lead reaver he swiped his maul at deftly dodged away, but it hit the claw of the one behind it. That was enough.

  A shockwave unleashed from his hammer, and it was devastating. His Capstone proved to be every bit as effective against reavers as it was to the undead. The ground quaked, and a nine-meter cone of pure destruction blasted forward, obliterating everything in its path.

  These creatures of nightmare were blown away, literally. The ones outside the area of effect were slammed into by their brethren, and at such high speeds and with such force, often fatally.

  And it restored Energy and a Charge. Angar really loved being a Crusader. He loved all of this. He loved tithing the Lord His due, the same tribute demanded of all Mecians, but now that tribute came from far more worthy foes.

  Ground Current brought Angar right into the thick of his enemies, clearing a new hole, pushing the battleline north along the road.

  Then the earnest work began. Hammer and claw slashed through the air, bones shattering, skin slicing, blood running, a lot more of the black than the red sort.

  As the waves of reavers continued to race down the road, Angar found himself surrounded by these towering, nightmarish figures. Claws he couldn’t avoid raked into him. The air became thick with the stench of brimstone and the heat. What was once a fight was now a growing battlefield.

  He activated Ground Current, appearing only a few paces away, clearing a new area, obsidian corpses twitching on the ground all around him. When he was surrounded again, Tempest thinned out that horde, and a shockwave got the rest.

  Then he had a few moments of peace as he waited for a new group to race down the road.

  Spirit materialized before him. “You’re taking too many wounds, Angar. Please, try to be more careful.”

  “Understood,” he grunted. He was doing the best he could. It wasn’t as if he craved the sting of bite or claw.

  A sudden thought struck him. “The original forty reavers – they’re still coming, right?”

  “Yes,” Spirit replied. “You’ve cut down a few already. I’ve been guiding the ones drawn to the challenge beacon straight to you.”

  “Oh.”

  Her voice grew grave. “The next part will be far harder. They’re massing now, waiting for the scattered groups to unite into one massive horde.”

  A grim smile crept across Angar’s blood-streaked face. The news kindled a fierce joy in his heart, a heat that spread through his chest.