Chapter 7
The wind howled as the two armies made their way towards each other, the husk that was once Zagranthos looming over them both from atop a nearby hill. Niki had bled the city dry, Diogenes had gathered that much from the trickle of refugees they had encountered on their way here, pressing its citizens for supplies and sustenance, though they had none to spare. He saw Lycaon’s main army gather ahead of Acheron’s battle lines, marching with their spears aloft and their shields at the ready. Diogenes expected his enemies to be tired, for Acheron had denied them of their precious supply-lines for long enough, in the meantime calling for reinforcements that now gave the army from Petrapolis a sizeable numerical advantage. Tired, exhausted even, but Diogenes was not foolish enough to consider his enemy weak: the warriors from Lycaon were the better fighters, individually speaking, and a cornered wolf was a ravenous and unpredictable foe. Acheron had an advantage, but the battle was far from won.
Above them, the heavens had assumed an ominous grey color, with what little sunlight remained being slowly obscured by the gathering storm-clouds. Rain, thought Diogenes. Great. Freakish, unnatural winds had emerged from the south not too long ago, bringing with them storms and erratic rainfall; they had now reached further inland, disrupting the natural way of things. Diogenes looked up, beholding the largest of the clouds through the opening of his helmet. For a single moment, the cloud appeared as the head of a large wolf, snarling at those below; the very next second, it assumed the shape of a man’s head, bearded and gaunt as it hovered far above the earth. Then Diogenes blinked, and the cloud appeared in its natural state once more, roaring with thunder as droplets of rain began to fall from the heavens.
The two armies stopped in the middle of a muddy, uneven field, standing still amidst a momentary stretch of tense silence. Diogenes could hear only the pitter-patter of the falling raindrops as they struck the armor of himself and those around him, taking in a big gulp of air as he braced for what would inevitably follow. Lycaon’s charge was a terrifying sight, filled with the roars and howling of some of the best warriors in the City States. Aecos’ followers advanced like beasts trapped within the bodies of mortal men, showing no fear or hesitation as they barreled towards Acheron’s lines – only pure, unadulterated lethal intent. As the two opposing armies were about to collide, gaps across Acheron’s shield-wall opened without warning: from within emerged armored Minotaurs, wielding great weapons of war that dripped with moisture. The monstrous Bred swung with all their might, momentarily dulling the might of Lycaon’s charge and turning the pooling water underneath their hooves a deep crimson. Immediately after their shock troops had completed their gory deed, the rest of Acheron’s troops joined the fray, commencing the battle in earnest. As the chaos of battle came into full effect, with steel clashing against steel, the heavens reached their storm-bound crescendo, intensifying the harsh rainfall into a proper deluge that washed over the violence below.
Initially, Diogenes held the line with Acheron’s main bulk, only for it to eventually collapse, forcing the two armies to intermingle with each other. The dirge of bloodshed was deafening, with soldiers battling and falling from both sides. Much like the curves of a river change their shape and flow over the years, the stream of battle also altered its course, leading to separated pockets of violence as time passed. Amidst this gory display, with the dead, lifeless figures of fallen warriors pressing against the soft mud below, Diogenes saw a familiar figure move towards him – Anthea. The scoutmaster’s left arm was limp, hanging onto a shattered shield that thumped against her armor.
“You’re injured!” called out Diogenes, raising his shield and scraping his sword against its blood-smeared surface.
With a jerk of her shoulder, Anthea threw her damaged shield to the ground, pointing the tip of her spear towards Diogenes with the other. “I’m still more than a match for you, weakling!” hissed the scoutmaster, baring her teeth.
In a flash of lightning, the two warriors charged at each other – yet there could only be one victor…
The forces of Queen Niki of Lycaon and Commander Euandros of Acheron are currently clashing. Which City State will emerge as the final victor?
