Page 330 of Of Empires and Dust
Rage was all Kira knew.It was the blood in her veins, the beating of her heart, the song in her ears. She roared as she swung her axe and impaled two dwarves on the jagged spike that jutted from its end. Their blood soaked into the rock. It fed her, fuelled her, and drove her fury even deeper. She would have their blood. All of them. She would feed the mountain with it.
Something sharp whipped past her head, and a roar sounded behind her. She twisted around. One of her kin had fallen, a massive bolt piercing his chest. Volkurans climbed atop him, hacking with axes and smashing with hammers. She roared, her lungs burning and grating. Her existence was pain, and the pain drove the fury. She surged forwards, her legs devouring the ground beneath her.
Hafaesir’s hammer ignited with golden light in her hand as she swung, killing three of the Volkurans in a heartbeat, their bodies crumpling. She swung the weapon high and brought it down atop a dwarf holding a wicked battleaxe, who burst apart like a bug squashed beneath a boot. With each kill, each drop of blood that seeped into her hammer, her fury burned brighter,and she welcomed it. She was a bersekeer. Her rage was her lifeblood.
Another bolt whipped past her head, slicing a groove through the rock that was her flesh. She snapped her head around and spotted three Bolt Throwers mounted on mobile platforms. She roared and launched her hammer through the air. It spun, golden light spilling from it, screams sounding as it smashed into the leftmost Bolt Thrower and shattered into a thousand shards. As the Bolt Thrower and the platform collapsed, the shards sliced through the flesh of anything nearby, ripping apart the dwarves that operated the other Throwers and tearing through the wooden supports of the weapons themselves.
Kira howled in triumph. She smashed her fists into the ground, crushing bodies everywhere she went.
Something crashed into her chest and sent her staggering backwards, followed by an arc of lightning that tore her right arm free from the elbow, shards of rock splintering. Pain and agony fed fury and rage. She found the mage standing amidst the chaos, golden armour swaddling its body like some pampered child, a crimson cloak swirling at its shoulders. With her vision flooded by Hafaesir’s light, Kira could see the streams of power that swirled around the tiny creature, the threads of the Spark.
She bounded through the thick of battle, then slammed her severed arm into the ground. She called to the rock, to the mountain. She summoned it to her, and it answered. With a roar, Kira ripped her new arm free of the mountain, fresh rock forming joints and fingers.
The threads of power around the mage stiffened and pulsed, ready to strike. Kira lunged, and for a brief moment, she savoured the look of terror on the mage’s face before she slammed her open hands together and crushed the horrid creature between them. Blood and organs spurted, bone and steel crunching.
Kira slammed her fist into the ground once more and ripped a new hammer free. She roared wildly, and her kin about her answered.
She could feel the terror in the hearts of those around her, as tangible as the ground beneath her feet. It was sweet as honey. Hafaesir was awakened, and she would teach these traitors to fear his wrath.
An axe skitteredoff Lumeera’s pauldron as she twisted and turned amidst the swell of bodies. She swung her blade, only for it to bounce off heavy plate. She swung again, breaking chains on the mail that coated the dwarf’s neck. Finally, Lumeera lifted her knee and planted her foot into the dwarf’s shield, launching them backwards. The dwarf stumbled and fell, only for one of those stone monstrosities to slam its foot down and crush the dwarf inside their own armour.
Lumeera had to hold back the bile as shards of bone snapped through flesh and blood sprayed in a mist.
Those creatures may have fought on her side, but they killed anything that moved. More than once she had come within a hair’s breadth of her own end by the stray swing of a jagged, rock-wrought hammer.
She looked back towards the central island where the Portal Heart was sheltered within the broken mound of stone. Rows of dwarves and Belduarans stood steadfast across the streets that gave access to the island and on the bridge at the far side. On the ledges above, citizens continued to stream down from the Wind Tunnels.
Lumeera stumbled backwards as a leg of jagged rock swept past her face and crushed two elves in their golden plate. Onewas broken from the waist up, and the other’s skull became nothing but pulverized bone and brains.
The Volkurans and the elves had pushed them almost halfway down the main thoroughfare, and the fighting raged in the side streets and alleys. But the enemy’s strength was waning. The might of Kira and her bersekeers was too much. Around her, she could see their numbers thinning, their resolve wavering. The sight brought a renewed vigour to her bones, and she let out a war cry, slamming the rim of her shield into the face of an elf who had turned to strike her down. The elf stumbled backwards, and Lumeera pressed her advantage. He turned her first two swings away, but she caught him with the third, steel hacking deep into the flesh of his neck. She shouldered her shield and pushed as she heaved the blade free, letting the body drop.
The triumphant cry had barely touched her lips when something hard punched into her lower abdomen. She stumbled backwards, the air catching in her lungs. An arrow jutted from just below her breastplate, the head buried in her flesh.
As she looked down at the wooden shaft, a horn rang out from the tunnels, followed by cries of “Fall back!”
The surviving Volkurans and the elves broke free from the melee and began their retreat, and cheers and war cries rose up from those who defended the city. The monstrous bersekeers paid no heed to horns or the fleeing. They carried on swinging their mighty hammers, crushing and killing everything within reach.
Amidst it all, Lumeera spotted an elf standing still, a bow in its hand, an arrow nocked and trained upon her, the string drawn. She drew a breath and prepared for the end, but before the elf loosed, Oleg Marylin – of all people – came swinging from the rush of bodies and slammed his axe clean into the elf’s chest. The blow struck with such force the axe cleaved the steel and blood streamed around it.
The elf dropped the bow, the arrow skittering to the floor. It fell backwards, taking the axe with it.
Oleg reached down and ripped the axe free, a look of shock on his face. He stood there in that ill-fitting armour, a bloodied axe in his hands.
Lumeera dropped her shield and brought her fingers to the wooden shaft embedded in her stomach. Every breath she drew sent a surge of pain through her. She swallowed hard and looked to Oleg, giving him a nod of thanks.
A smile slowly spread across the man’s face, and he pressed a hand to his breastplate. Oleg may not have been a warrior, but he had a warrior’s heart.
Lumeera pressed her hand to her own plate in return, but coils of dread slithered through her veins as one of the giant monstrosities let out a roar and swung its hammer.
And then Oleg was gone.
The creature’s hammer swept him aside as though he were nothing, and then it carried on, tearing through the Volkurans and the elves as they fled for the entrance.
Lumeera dropped her sword and broke into a sprint, her body screaming as the arrow scraped at her with every step. She threw herself to the ground to avoid the sweeping legs of another stone monster, then scrambled upright, only to drop to her knees beside Oleg’s broken body.
His chestplate was caved in, his right arm hung on by threads of skin and muscle, and his neck was twisted and broken.
A pair of hands pulled at Lumeera’s shoulders, but she ignored them, brushing her fingers across Oleg’s bloodied, lifeless cheek.
