B4 Interlude 29: Hold the Line

A thousand different things vied for Niles’ attention, each one promising to be the deciding factor of his survival.

His arms burned, undertrained and weak. Every breath sent the tip of his sword wavering through the air as he struggled to maintain his ready stance. Screams washed over him in a constant deluge. Fury, panic, aggression, agony, and everything else.

If it was just exhaustion and noise, it would have been manageable. The world was not so kind. Mana surged in an endless tide, washing out his senses in a burst of meaningless colours and felt texture. The stinging heat of fire, the heavy pressure of stone, the cold chill of wind, and the sharp edge of metal: all of them were buried under the constant itching tang of acid, and another, darker element that he only half recognised. That last one was the most distracting. It seemed drawn to him, a feather-light touch against his skin as it clung to him like a lover — and left shudders of revulsion in its wake.

It felt like being buried, and memories he’d long since tried to banish.

The battle raged on, caring little for the overwhelming tide he’d been caught in. They’d been backed into one edge of the dome, a battle-line of fighters surrounding a panic mob of animals. It wasn’t just the delvers — anyone with a weapon, or any form of capability at all was hacking at the creatures.

Even him. He was far from the front, but he still stood with his blade ready. He knew how to use it, and that was enough.

It was like trying to fight the tides. The grubs crept forwards endlessly, spilling from two adjacent tunnels they had breached.

Niles forced himself to take a breath, sinking deeper into the icy chill of his Bloodsong. It pushed away the distractions, freezing them over so he could focus on what would actually keep him alive.

The grubs were numerous, but they were weak. They could hold on until help came.

Unbidden, he thought of the battle above — what if they were the last? He’d felt the faint shudders that rocked the ruins every now and then. The devastation would have to be monumental to reach so deep.

Had Deadacre been overrun? Were they the last bastion, to be slowly consumed while trapped between the ancient bones of the long dead?

Mana swirled closer to his skin, needling him as if it sought to seep in through his pores.

Ahead of him, a man let out a scream of pain as a grub leapt up and sank its acidic jaws into his leg. Ripping the creature free, the man’s hammer came down in a rough blow, splattering the beast.

The sudden violence of it shocked Niles from his thoughts. He shook himself — now wasn’t the time for panic. He couldn’t change fate, all he could do was stay calm. It was the only thing that would widen his path to survival.

Leaning deeper into the cold, he focused on his surroundings. The man who’d been bitten was far from the front lines. A clear reminder that he couldn’t relax.

Niles went back to roving. If the flood of larva only had numbers on their side, he wouldn’t have been so worried. They were slow, ungainly, and had soft bodies. Even he had managed to kill one — and had won an Honour for the privilege. Their bites might have been dangerous things full of acid, but with enough care, they could have managed.

As long as they weren’t a simple prelude to the full force of the Tyrant’s army, at least.

It was their Skills that made them so dangerous. The golden ceratin larvae had some way of hiding themselves. It made people’s eyes slide over them like they weren’t even there.

Even if it wasn’t inviolate, and sensory skills could punch through their cloaking, that mattered little when there were thousands of the bastards. Niles doubted even a Silver would be able to watch every single one of the grubs at all times.

They kept slipping through the lines. Crawling closer and closer, until finally all you felt was the burn of acid and the crushing vice grip of their jaws.

He’d had too many close calls already. The vicious beasts were wily — some of them dove deep into their midst, striking well past the initial defenders’ reach. If just one slipped past his notice… He didn’t have the health to shrug off that sort of wound, not without a Class.

The jolt of fear deepened his chill. Niles steadied his blade, sweeping his eyes over his surroundings for what felt like the thousandth time. It wasn’t perfect, but Sure-footed Scout could cut through their concealment. He’d picked the Legacy Skill for a reason — every bladesman needed sure footing and sharp eyes.

Grey stone and booted feet waited for him, as well as a flash of golden yellow a few strides away. Sighing in relief, Niles checked behind him.

Nothing there either. He didn’t let himself relax. Checking again, Niles slowed his pace — scrutinising every handspan. He’d caught one like that before. It was much, much easier to break through their skill with focused attention.

Frowning, he took in every detail he could. The odd smoothness of the floor, the shining brass buckles of the new boots that the man in front of him was wearing, the sizzling drip of acid from chitenous jaws sending smoke wafting to the ceiling right next to said boots.

Niles blinked.

“By your feet!” he cried, lunging forwards into a low thrust.

The man in front of him twisted, his frown twisting his thick, black mustache. Realisation hit him. He jumped back, cursing as he swiped at the grub with his studded club.

Niles felt the faintest pop of resistance, the tip of his sword ramming straight through the grubs’ soft body. It was splattered a moment later.

“Thanks, kid.” The man said, a half confident grin on his face. There was a tension in his eyes.

Niles knew the smile was an act — the man had muscle, but he was dressed in linens. A labourer, not a warrior.

Ice flooded through his veins, stiffening Niles’ spine: his bloodsong, reminding him that he couldn’t slack. Niles nodded, and went back to searching.

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With every breath, he could almost taste that strange mana in the air. It seemed drawn to him, trailing behind his every movement. It was as if it possessed a will of its own, hounding him with an obsession that Niles couldn’t understand.

He pushed the thought away. The cloying mana could wait.

Seeing his surroundings were clear, even after triple checking, Niles went back to watching the frontline of delvers warily.

They were fighting hard, wading in and out of the massed carpet of larva. Thankfully, the creatures moved slowly. Even with some slipping by, the worst of them was being held back. The ground was covered with a sticky sheen of ichor, broken only by splashes of bright red. They were holding.

For now.

Before he even got a chance to breath, Niles heard a buzz. The sound cut him to the soul. It was quiet, but he could hear it even over the constant clamour that filled the dome.