The battle was chaos.
Torik had expected confusion. Expected screaming. But not this.
Not the wet sound of steel piercing flesh. Not the way a man could scream one moment and lie lifeless the next, mouth still open as if trying to finish a sentence.
He stood at the edge of the blood-soaked fray, heart thundering.
So this was war.
Then he saw them.
A dozen figures cut through the battlefield like a knife through silk. Hulking, armored, inhuman. Bound Knights. Their blades moved with terrifying speed, cleaving men in half like they were made of straw.
They were heading straight for Kell.
"Dama," Torik gasped, pointing. "Over there!"
Dama followed his gaze. Her eyes widened. "Shit… that's a lot of them."
She didn't hesitate. She broke into a sprint, plunging into the thick of the battle. Torik hesitated only a moment, then cursed and followed.
Highlord Galrick leaned lazily on his sword as he watched from atop a rise. His cloak fluttered in the breeze, red as the blood being drawn before him.
Even from here, he could see the destruction.
"Even if they weren't outnumbered," he said to the officer beside him, "those knights would still turn the tide. Terrifying things, aren't they?"
The officer didn't answer. Galrick didn't wait.
"They scare me, too. But as long as they follow orders… I'll live with the nightmares."
Kell fought in the center of the fray, his blade already slick with blood. He moved with efficiency, not flourish, one cut across the chest, one kick to the next assailant.
He hadn't fought this hard in years.
"I'm not young," he muttered through gritted teeth. "But war's a cruel cure for aging."
A strange silence pulsed through the chaos.
Screams. Metal. Then something deeper, something darker.
Kell turned.
A dozen Bound Knights advanced like a tide. Their armor was jagged and unnatural. Their eyes glowed faintly from beneath their helms.
"Shit," Kell breathed.
This had always been the true edge the Bound possessed. While the amount of bound art users he could find were limited, the Bound could make them. Shape monsters from men. Forge zealotry into steel.
Kell had hoped that stealing the Crown would end it. That without the artifact, they wouldn't be able to craft more of these horrors.
But these ones had already been made beforehand.
The Knights broke through the line. One towered over Kell like a walking siege engine.
And then something remarkable happened.
"Protect the Captain!" a soldier cried, charging the Knight head-on.
Another followed him. "Die for our King!"
Kell's eyes widened. They weren't hesitating. They were sacrificing themselves.
For him.
Steel clanged, and the soldiers pressed in with ferocity. One found a weak point near a Knight's hip and stabbed deep. Another swept low and kicked the monster's leg out from under him.
We can do this, Kell thought. We can-
A greatsword sliced through the air.
The soldier who had drawn blood dropped, his head spinning across the ground, landing at Kell's feet.
The second was impaled through the gut. He coughed once, gasped for air that wouldn't come, and crumpled like a doll.
No... we have to win.
Rage welled in Kell like fire.
He roared and charged the nearest Knight. He parried the first blow, then struck the Knight's helm with the pommel of his blade, sending the monster staggering. His soldiers surged behind him, striking with renewed fury.
It was working.
But only for a moment.
The Knights responded with savage precision. One soldier was cleaved from collarbone to hip. Another was bisected at the waist. Blood sprayed across Kell's chest.
Then Kell saw him.
A boy. No older than sixteen. Armor too large. Face pale with terror. He tripped and fell as a Knight bore down on him.
Kell didn't think, he acted.
He dove forward, sword raised to block.
A kick caught him in the ribs, hurling him backward.
And then pain. Blinding, searing pain.
"AGHHH!" Kell screamed.
He landed hard, the world spinning. Blood sprayed from his shoulder.
He looked down.
His left arm was gone.
Gone.
His sword clattered uselessly beside him.
"Captain!" a voice shouted.
"Save him!" called another.
Kell tried to stand but collapsed to his knees.
"Forget me, you fools!" he barked, voice trembling with fury and pain. "Fight for yourselves! For our victory! I am just one piece on the board!"
A shadow fell over him.
The Bound Knight stood above, blade gleaming red. He grinned, even through the slits of his helm.
"Weak king," the Knight growled.
He raised his weapon for the final blow.
Kell looked up at him, defiant.
"I'm ready for death," he spat. "Will you be when your time comes?"
The Knight hesitated, only slightly.
Then the blade began to fall.