Bag O' Nails

My mind screams of warning as the Pygmy donning the heavy Armament flings the disc thing at me, and I immediately shunt myself to the side. Arbalest answers my call with a twang in my foot, shuttling me out of the way as soreness eats into my foot. I flip almost head over heels before I catch myself on a roll.

But something else is eaten into, the disk flying past me and digging into a piece of stone once used for covers as the small boulder is sliced in half, the weapon continuing to cut as it moves on. I can't help but widen my eyes as I look at the Pygmy, it pulling another from some compartment in its armor.

Hefting my blade, the soreness in my feet fading with all the death nearby as Lily graces me with a calm river of life, I dart at the Pygmy. Virgil is dealing with the other seven-foot-tall Armament in this smoke, and I'll kill this one. Speaking of, before I close the distance, it throws another one of those cutting discs. Flipping Reckless to the flat part of the blade, I let the weapon slam into it, and the disc cuts a small divot into the edge before deflecting off. Fuck. Maybe not the best idea.

Eh, I like Reckless, but it's not that important to me. I fought fine without it. Better it gets hurt than me.

Making a decision on how to proceed, I narrow the distance between us with an Arbalest and swing Reckless widely at the Pygmy. It raises metal-covered arms, a fan-like shield emerging to guard itself, but I match its robust defenses with unbridled power and a Whetting that runs along the edge of my Claymore.

The sound of steel on steel rings inside my head as Reckless knocks the Pygmy off-kilter with one swing, the shield in its hands crumpled and broken. Planting a foot in the ground to leverage the 6th Flamme, I hurl the blade up and down as the Pygmy tries to defend itself, aiming its cannon at me again.

Yet, I am faster, even with the heavy blade, and the edge sinks straight into the helmet of the Pygmy, crushing the skull of the soldier instantly. I don't even hear a groan or cry of pain as they fall to the ground motionless.

And shortly after I finish with mine, Virgil kills his, the man managing to slay his with more finesse. It seems he pried the helmet off with his tendrils and then shot the Pygmy in the head.

I almost say some words to him in the dense smoke before I realize that Strugglers Gasp yet fills my lungs. And so, I rear my head back as I spin around, breathing out the gasp of defiance with all my might. A miniature tornado leaves my lungs, the Ether mixing back into the air as the smoke all around us disperses, revealing the other figures that were using the smoke for cover. Some human. Some are not so human.

After noticing them once the fog clears, a burly man with a saber and a sawed-off shotgun tackles a Pygmy in Armament, tussling with them on the ground. Virgil and I focus on the other half-dozen Pygmies in heavy armor that are closer to the fortress and the sharpshooters that shoot invaders from a distance. I give him a quick look before we agree silently, falling upon the six with a vengeance.

As we do so, I hear a gunshot from the man nearby, and he stands again, looking for another Pygmy to slay. That's a soldier of Marshall. That is precisely what I would expect.

The Pygmies only notice us when we get near, the six too focused on dodging gunfire or falling arrows. Thankfully, we don't have to worry about that too much as the soldiers in the fortress are highly trained and likely have Sigils increasing their accuracy.

Virgil descends onto two at once, the Flickering and Wraith-like form of his covering them with shadows as he strikes. They can't even touch him as he phases right through bullets and into the ground to pop up behind them. I move onto two others as that soldier I saw takes the final ones into his own hands, deflecting a blade before shooting the Pygmy in the chest and sending it tumbling.

It really irritates me that I can't recognize the Sigil of the Pygmies in Armaments, but I guess it just evens the playing field. Though, that one Angel''s fetters are clearly magenta. Maybe it's only something for the weaker ones to keep them safe.

Dashing forward to the closet Pygmy to me, I hinge my legs on the ground as I twist my body, filling my arm with Release as I take no chance and hurl Reckless toward the second Pygmy turning toward me. The blade, soaring through the air with a hiss from its red-hot steel, impales the Pygmy into the ground. The creature barely had time to even open its eyes before its sent sprawling to the ground.

Then, without a practical weapon, I evade a bladed lash from the foremost Pygmy, ducking under the sweep before dropping onto my arm and legs. And with a snap of my arm, Arbalest hurtles me forward, and I kick the Pymgy with my momentum. It stumbles back as I follow up with the Bloody Palm reaching for blood. I try to make a rudimentary Blast with my own Ether, substituting Strugglers Gasp, but the origin of my Artifiction has other plans.

A portion of flesh explodes off the Bloody Palm, a squelch resounding as the acidic flesh burrows into the armor of the Pygmy. The man almost instantly falls as the Bloody Palm reaches the fleshy innards of the Armament, the being inside screaming at the top of their lungs. I can't help but snarl as it takes place, a single finger missing from the Bloody Palm. My ring finger. It's regrowing, only slowly enough that I can hardly notice it with my eyes.

But after just a single moment of this hell for the Pygmy, the flesh crawls out of the melted helmet as the man falls and jumps back to my hand, reattaching the finger. I stare at the Bloody Palm as I realize what just happened.

That's the Bloody Palm's newest skill. The one from its 6th Sigil. It can detach now. Oh fuck. I take a moment to stare at it as I run the other ones through my mind, not quite adding up to six.

Control blood, heal with blood, control and shapeshift flesh, sacrifice portions of self for strength, and this detachment thing. I must be missing one more skill from it, as unlike Colts, Claymore, or Bulwarks, artifacts have one talent for each Sigil, just like Sigileds do.

Though, that missing skill could just be some form of empowerment. Yeah, I hope that's it. If it's been hiding something crazy from me this whole time, that will suck.

Yet, as I feel the Bloody Palm resettle onto my hand, it seems off. A heat boils within the hand, Vigor coursing from what it likely just stole. Yet the palm doesn't gloat or sing of its hunger. It simply falls quiet as I stand next to two dead Pygmies.

Unsure how to handle the artifact, I step past the horribly killed one. I then put my foot on the armor of the second before ripping out the blade from the dead fighter. It bled out seconds after Reckless arranged for a gap in its guts.

From there, I see the other soldier from earlier, clad in only green chains, stomp the helmet of the Pygmy he's fighting before getting hit in the lower back by some projectile. I move to help him, but before I take even a step, the thing that stuck him explodes with a deafening bang. Smoke and dust rise into the air as the man rolls along the ground limply.

Nevertheless, I sprint for him, sliding on the bloody ground that is rapidly turning into mud. Getting near, I see just how badly the explosion injured him. His left arm is missing entirely, and his left leg ends at the knee, not to mention the horrible shrapnel in his flesh. Cursing and feeling awful, I can only hold him as I sense his life rapidly draining. Most of it is spilling out onto the blood-stained soil around.

But as I wrap my arm around him, a hand touches my shoulder, an order quickly following it loud enough to pierce the gunfire.

"Get that man to the walls! A medic can still save him!"

Looking up, I see a familiar set of yellow eyes, the color harmonious with the battlefield in a grim way. The Wolf. Tomas. I don't immediately follow, not knowing where to go from within the smoke. He hauls me to my feet with a lone arm, the dying man rising with me as he shouts again, pointing in a direction.

"Go, now! That way! I already cleared things with Marshall before the Pygmies got here, Wyatt! Now, GO! We're running out of men on the fronts! Most of what we have are marksman, not footmen, so we have to save all we can!"

Unable to deny him, I grasp onto the man and, seeing the tag on his shirt, pull him forward, my Ether speeding us up.

"Alright, Dean, let's go!"

I don't get a reply other than his head bobbing loosely, but I know he's alive by the chains that still exist on his form.

With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I hoist the wounded man, Dean, over my shoulder, his weight pressing against me as I surge forward through the tempest of chaos. The recently begun siege seems to only escalate as Pygmies dive further through the lines, causing the men on the walls to go all out with their weaponry. Until now, most of the fighting has been done by powerful humans slowing the line of Pygmies, but now that injuries have built up and the 4th, 5th, and few 6th Sigils are starting to retreat, it is time for the artillery to fly. The only few not stepping back are the Angels and Tomas.

As I run, I see other people retreating, and Virgil is not far from me, dragging a woman along with him that shoots behind him to keep the invaders off their tails. I glance back for a moment and regret it. The Pygmies are rapidly advancing, for only three men yet hold the line.

The Wall and Johnny torment the three Pygmy Architects, preventing the Angels from devastating our numbers. It seems held at a standstill, for the two humans are also attacked form behind by a multitude of powerful Pygmies. Meanwhile, Tomas carves his way through the armor of the army with his claws, crunches through catapults with his teeth, and ruins other siege weaponry with his attacks. The Wolf is hounded by hundreds of predators, but he is fast and nimble, moving through the horde as he harrases their lines and ruins their weapons.

And soon, support joins him. Cannon fire thunders in the distance, shaking the ground beneath my feet as they land behind me, while gunshots crackle like furious fireworks, filling the air with a symphony of danger. Yet, the shots are coordinated, not landing upon Tomas within the bounds of the enemy.

Arrows whiz through the sky, their deadly flight accompanied by the sharp whistling sound that sounds far too close to be comfortable. As the projectiles seek their deadly marks, I weave and dodge to allow them to strike their signature. But shots don't only come from in front of me as I dash for the walls. They also come from behind. Tomas can't break all of the many trebuchets, cannons, and catapults set up. Each step is a gamble, a dance with death, as I navigate the treacherous path strewn with fallen warriors and discarded weaponry. Everyone I pass is missing their chains, so I don't even bother. But that doesn't mean each limp body is nothing to me. Each is a minor shock, slowly growing as I see dozens of recently dead and hundreds that have been lifeless for months, their flesh stripped and left only to the bone with shattered skeletons.

Plumes of dirt rise just feet from me, a catapult crashing into the soil. Stumbling, I force myself to recover as my ears ring without sound, the world deaf to my senses. Blinking rapidly to remove the dust from the impact, I continue on, Arbalest shuttling me forward as I feel a bullet enter my side.

Groaning, I misstep, my foot tripping on a body of a long-dead man, the bones crunching underfoot. Sucking in a deep breath, I allow Strugglers Gasp to strengthen me, the chains in my body simultaneously restricting and supporting me.

And as I move, a chilly stream of life comes from the Colt on my hip, slowly traveling to my side and combatting the injury. Thanks, Lily.

Sadly, a silent thank you is all she can get as I can't speak with my current skill, my body hurtling toward the wall with extreme swiftness. I just have to be careful not to hurt Dean, the wounded man I'm carrying with my momentum.

Explosions reverberate through the battlefield, earth and debris erupting into chaotic clouds of smoke and dust. The acrid smell of gunpowder mingles with the metallic tang of blood, saturating the air with a potent mix of danger and desperation. The scent artificially grows as my hearing is gone, intensifying the sensations.

As I navigate the treacherous terrain, my heart pounds in my chest, matching the rhythm of the battlefield's cacophony. Each footfall propels us forward, bridging the gap between chaos and sanctuary. My breath would come in ragged gasps. If I could breathe right now, that is. Instead, I pump my legs and hold Dean up without a single gasp of air to keep it going.

With every stride, my muscles burn, fueled by the urgency to reach safety. Sweat beads on my brow, mingling with the dirt and grime that cakes my skin, evidence of the hardships endured in this crucible of conflict. Yet, I press on, ignoring the blood dripping from my side, even as another bullet scrapes along the side of my shin, the shot barely missing. The battlefield is long and slowly disappears beneath me as we progress. But behind us are the reapers, following with their blackened steel contraptions.

The walls loom before us as we draw nearer to our destination like a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. Defenders upon the ramparts unleash volleys of arrows and bullets, warding off the relentless assault. The number of gunmen, archers, and cannoneers is vastly above those that were on the front line. Their shouts of encouragement blend with cries of anguish and determination, melding into a resolute chorus that reverberates through the air.

I sprint with renewed vigor, pushing my body to its limits. Each stride brings us closer to safety, closer to the skilled hands of medics who can mend his broken body and tend to his wounds. Doubtless, doctors even greater than Heath exist beyond those walls. And if he can regrow limbs as he did to Abraham, surely these ones can save this man.

Yet, I've been lucky so far, with only minor wounds adorning my form, but I can literally hear that luck come to an end. The ground quakes beneath me as an earsplitting explosion rends the air. The first, only a few dozen feet from me shakes reality like a punch to the head. But it's not over. A cannonball hurtles through the tumultuous sky, a harbinger of destruction and chaos. In a cruel twist of fate, the projectile slams into the earth just a foot away from where I step, unleashing a devastating shockwave that engulfs us in a maelstrom of dust and debris.

Frantically, I Arbalest forward, twisting my body to shield Dean from the blast, but I don't send us far enough away with such a hasty skill.

Time momentarily stalls as the force of the blast sends me sprawling, my body jolting and contorting in a chaotic dance of disarray. The wounded man, Dean, slips from my grasp, his limp form tossed aside like a ragdoll. My breath is stolen from my lungs. Strugglers Gasp disperses into the air, replaced by the acrid taste of smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Coughing and gasping for air, I struggle to regain my senses amidst the disorienting aftermath. The ground near me is marred with a deep crater, its jagged edges radiating outward like the gnashing jaws of some monstrous beast. Fragments of rock and dirt rain down around me, creating a storm of gritty hail that shrouds my vision.

As the swirling tempest begins to settle, the devastation left in the cannonball's wake becomes painfully evident. The blast radius is a scarred landscape, digging almost a man's height deep into the soil. Fucking hell.

The tangy taste of blood leaks into my mouth from somewhere. Coughing and spitting out blood from something definitely hurt inside me, I heave myself onto my knees, the world silent to my struggle.

The air is heavy with the lingering scent of sulfur. Splintered wooden fragments and twisted metal fragments lie strewn about. Some are sticking out of my chest, the pointed ends stabbing into Adumbral. A few even pierce through the Bulwark, drawing tiny droplets of blood that I can feel running down my stomach.

Amidst this scene of devastation, I struggle to my feet, my body aching and bruised. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I hastily scan the surroundings for any sign of Dean. My heart pounds in my chest, a mixture of worry and determination fueling my search. I don't know precisely why I feel so much for this soldier whose name I only know from a tag. But his struggle resonates with me, and I want to do what I can to help.

But while my ears are bleeding from the explosion, I can still see as I wipe away the grime. A green light still shines a few feet from me and scampering forward, I grab onto the man before propelling myself forward again with Arbalest.

The rapid movement hurts tremendously, but we need to move. Now. My whole body screams with pain, yet the trails of warmth from Lily help the agony subside. Thankfully, the wounds aren't that bad, simply horrible bruises and broken bones, from what I can tell. Shit like this is much preferred over the new mouth Alexos put on my neck with a dagger the moment I saw him. Lily can heal this quickly based on how many are dying around me, both human and Pygmy.

And looking up, several rapid Arbalest moving us, I see an open section of the wall, a gate held up by a rope with dozens of soldiers who retreated before me holding the line. As I get close, they move out in a fan, collecting the other few near me like Virgil. Even I obtain help, a giant man with a shield and green fetters moving beside me.

"Move, boy! Faster! They're coming!"

Pumping my legs, I drag myself behind the mighty walls, concrete and stone rising five stories tall at some parts, only to be immediately pulled to the side. Instinctively, I raise my arm in defense, only to meet an older man with a cross-stitched into his uniform. The man looks at me momentarily before disregarding me and taking Dean from me.

"You'll be fine, lad! Just take it easy! This one needs help way more!"

I can't help but laugh as for the first time ever, I'm not the most wounded. Happy to see that I got my job done but unsure if Dean will survive, I turn back to the walls. Teams of people slide down ropes to reach the gate while others sprint upstairs to reach the battlements. A few simply climb up rapidly with their hands upon the stone while one even makes the many-story-tall height with a single leap.

Almost everyone here has a Sigil, though most are between the 1st and 3rd Sigil. 4ths are rare, only seen commanding others, and 5ths are even more so, those commanding the officers. As for 6th Sigils, I only see two as I follow up to the battlement to know the situation. One of the two is a man with an eyepatch and a rifle with a scope in his hands atop the highest tower lined with cannons and archers. The other is a woman constantly shouting orders to everyone nearby, and the moment I hear her voice, I feel like I just took a nap.

Energy flows through my veins as my vision brightens and my hearing fully returns, letting me in on the ordered chaos around me. Realizing she must be a powerful Lawman, I follow her order, my wounds lessening in pain.

"Line the walls! Grab a gun and take fire! Marshall and Tomas won't mind a lil' sting! Go! Go! Go! You! Reload that cannon! Richard! No slacking! Play your music louder! Jonathan! Lower the gate!"

Rapidfire orders come from the lady, and even just being in the vicinity empowers me and makes my whole body feel better. My legs move more smoothly, and my headache from Ether saturation dims significantly.

Is this what Elizabeth could become? I think I would quite like that.