Darlington's fortress was in ruins, its walls and streets smeared with dried purple-black blood and littered with rotting severed limbs.
Looking down from the battlements, countless undead corpses wandered across the wasteland and swarmed the fortress like ants. Drawn by the scent of the living, they surged forward relentlessly, climbing over one another toward the walls until dozens of long, black, dragon-like masses had formed.
These monsters knew neither exhaustion nor fear of death. They had risen for one purpose alone, to destroy the living. Swords hacked through them, axes split them apart, spears pierced them, boulders and rolling logs crushed them, and burning oil was poured over their bodies, yet nothing could stop wave after wave from coming.
As the battle dragged on, the undead grew increasingly horrific. Some were riddled with arrows, their flesh torn and curling outward. Others bore the marks of fire, their limbs charred black. Some had empty eye sockets, with their eyeballs dangling from exposed sinew. Others had their bellies torn open, their organs spilling out. Everywhere one looked was a scene straight from hell.
Worse still, any undead that reached the battlements immediately seized the living and began tearing into them with their teeth. Even if they were driven back, the corpse poison left behind in their victims was something the Druids could do nothing about. All they could do was watch the wounded soldiers scream in agony as they died.
Their only option was to cut off the victims' heads before they could be transformed.
At the same time, as the horde advanced, pitch-black caterpillar-like monsters burst from the corpses' bellies and scattered everywhere, causing severe secondary contamination.
Water sources, vegetation, and even human bodies were all corrupted to varying degrees.
In just one week, all of Darlington had been devastated, and the stench of rot and death hung over every corner.
If war had not been a fact of life in this age, with barbarian raids forcing every territory to invest heavily in fortified strongholds, Darlington would already have fallen. As a major transportation hub, it had managed to absorb much of Durham County's population and military strength during the early stages of the calamity.
Even so, its fall was only a matter of time.
"Hold the line! Hold the line! Reinforcements will be here soon! We cannot let them breach the walls!"
The garrison commander atop the fortress brandished a battle blade chipped in several places and wiped the blood from his face. His eyes were bloodshot as he roared himself hoarse, moving along the walls to oversee the defense.
The entire garrison moved like a machine wound to its breaking point. They fired arrows, swung their weapons, hauled up boulders and logs, then hurled them down again and again.
Yet the number of undead showed no sign of decreasing.
The moat was already packed full of monsters, while the wilderness beyond had become a solid black mass.
The one phrase keeping morale alive, "Reinforcements are coming," had already been shouted hundreds of times.
And still, there was no sign of them.
The exhausted commander cursed inwardly.
Seven days.
A full seven days!
Where the hell were that old man Ector's reinforcements?!
While he was still worrying over it, shouting and fighting broke out inside the fortress once again. By now, the commander had become numb to disturbances of this scale. He simply waved a hand and ordered a small squad to suppress it.
Darlington was surrounded so tightly that nothing could get in or out. Death energy was steadily seeping into the land, vast stretches of crops had withered, and the water sources were contaminated. More and more of the weak and sickly could no longer withstand the increasingly dense death energy, falling unconscious or beginning to mutate.
If this continued, the people inside the fortress would start eating each other before the undead ever broke through the walls and devoured them all...
As the commander stared blankly ahead, several of the long, black, dragon-like masses of undead in the distance suddenly began converging, as if drawn together by some unseen force.
Gradually, a pitch-black mountain of flesh composed of thousands of corpses took shape.
It began rolling down the slope.
Like a snowball gathering snow, it dragged every undead corpse in its path into itself, growing larger and larger with every turn.
BOOM!
The ever-growing mountain of flesh thundered across the corpse-filled moat and slammed into the city wall with overwhelming force.
The earth shook violently.
Terrifying cracks spread across a vast section of the wall like a spiderweb. Many defenders were thrown high into the air by the impact and flung either inside or outside the fortress. Some were torn apart by the undead below, while others struck the ground and burst into bloody pulp.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Even worse, once the tactic proved effective, three more mountains of corpses began taking shape atop the slope, ready to roll down.
It's over.
Despair filled the commander's eyes as he watched the fortress approach its breaking point.
The battle blade slipped from his fingers and struck the ground with a sharp clang.
"The Inner Sea of the Planet, the Watchtower. Here lies the primordial sky without walls, without cities, and without nations, the Primordial Star shining deep beneath the earth. From Paradise I emerge, bestowing blessings upon you through pilgrimage. Avalon, forever open!"
At the critical moment, a melodious voice like a hymn rang out nearby.
At some point, a hooded female spellcaster with silver hair and violet eyes had appeared atop the battlements, sitting there lazily with one leg crossed over the other.
She lowered her staff like a conductor's baton.
The three spherical mountains of corpses, still growing larger as they rolled toward the gates, instantly dissolved into countless purple-red petals drifting through the air.
Surrounded by fluttering blossoms, her slender, beautiful figure seemed almost like a goddess from a dream.
"See you around, young man. Your resistance has successfully reached its end. Now then, it's our turn to get to work..."
With a bright laugh, the spellcaster who had appeared out of nowhere leapt from the city wall and plunged toward the vast black tide of undead below.
The commander instinctively reached out to stop her, only to freeze halfway through the motion.
He murmured under his breath.
"Our...?"
"The voices of a thousand, the dreams of ten thousand, all lie beneath my feet. The footsteps scattered far and wide belong to souls that have surrendered all hope. Grief and rage alike shall become my strength. From this moment forth, despair and scream. Symphony of Pain and Illusion!"
At the same time, laughter filled with cruel amusement rang out from the ridge.
Crimson cursed flowers resembling thorned roses bloomed across the land.
They grew from the soil.
They grew from the rocky ground.
They grew from flesh and blood.
Fed by the surrounding death energy, they became even more vigorous and beautiful.
One undead corpse after another was drained of its death energy. Without that force sustaining them, their bodies collapsed, crumbled back into dust, and became humus for the earth.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Immediately afterward, the skies churned as Ether gathered wildly.
One magical spear after another, wreathed in lightning and flame, descended from above, blasting apart the corpse horde as it tried to gather once more.
But as the corpses shattered, caterpillar-like monsters were flung in every direction.
They tore free of their cocoons at astonishing speed, transforming into gray moths that rushed toward new hosts.
"Ah! Disgusting bugs, stay away from me!"
For some reason, the dense magical bombardment suddenly stopped.
From somewhere in the distance came a barely suppressed, trembling cry.
"The blazing Pyra rising from Hell shall guide the dead upon their journey home. Roar, my fangs! Black Dog's Death Bite!"
At that moment, a solemn voice rang out.
Several red-and-black Mana storms spiraled upward, linking earth and sky.
In the next instant, spectral hunting hounds wrapped in red-and-black flames burst forth from within them and crashed into the dense swarm of magical insects at blinding speed.
As the Black Dogs raced across the land, the earth itself pulsed and trembled.
Caterpillars and magical cocoons alike were instantly crushed and burst apart beneath that strange force.
The gray moths in the sky fared no better. They seemed to sink into invisible mire, falling one after another before being reduced to ash in the red-and-black flames.
Far away, among the withered trees, the wielder of the Holy Sword of the Planet lay atop the roof of a carriage, watching the fierce battle unfold.
Overcome with emotion, he made a tremendous effort...
...and rolled over.
Samael shifted into a more comfortable position, closed his eyes, continued lying there beneath the sun, and murmured contentedly.
All that effort finally paid off.
This time, I can finally slack off.
***
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