The champion charged forward once again, having no intention of letting the beast escape he maintained a distance that allowed him to fight to his best abilities. This meant that he was within a four-to-five-foot radius around the opponent, a range that made full use of his spears reach, while also allowing time to respond to the enemies’ attacks. Although he noticed how well his shield was holding up against the occasional swings from the enemy, he had neither the time nor freedom to switch his focus, instead trusting his reflexes and minimizing damage whenever possible.

Each time the boiling giant swung his blade the youth would move just an inch faster, every so often he would anticipate a strike and land his own first, negating the motion all together. He was not the only one either, Apollonius and the squad had joined in as well. Remaining at the maximum spear range, disrupting attacks whenever they could. These disruptive thrusts and slashes were effective in creating some breathing space for the young champion, even an additional second was the difference between life and death where the battle hung on the knife’s edge.

Menos at this point had degraded to a point almost unrecognizable, the fact his body was still functioning was beyond comprehension. Strands of muscle and flesh tried desperately to reattach themselves, like worms they wriggled over the torn flesh, grasping at the liquefying material. Already bone could be seen sticking out at point along the body, enough of the flesh having been removed, yet still his body functioned. What could be noted where the organs of vital importance, the brain, heart, lungs, eyes, these remained intact as if protected by some unknown force.

During one of their exchanges something changed, the giant slowed momentarily, his attack paused mid motion, the pause lasted barely a second, but it was enough for the youth. Opting to make use of this opening the boy thrust his spear towards the giant’s chest, towards his heart. Yet just as the spearhead was about to penetrate the flesh, something unseen deflected the blade, pushing it away ever so softly, resulting in only a grazing blow. However, that extension left the youth completely open, now it was his opponents turn to strike out, and he did not hesitate.

Menos, even in his berserk state recognized the opportunity provided by the gods, striking toward the boy’s head with great ferocity. The sword came down, but the satisfying crunch of bone and smell of sizzling flesh did not follow. Once again, the bronze shield had risen to meet the blade, its surface covered in that dim copper glow. Yet this time the outcome would not be the same, the position the champion had defended from was less ideal, unable to deflect the force of the strike he had no choice but to combat it head on.

Shield met Cleaver, burning red flames met muddy bronze, and the outcome was decided. The bronze shield shattered from the force, parts of it sliced clean through, but luckily for the boy he escaped with naught but a gash on his left leg. The cut was deep, and it made movement difficult, but it was better than the alternatives, none of which were good.

“DON’T LET THAT BASTARD ATTACK!” Apollonius yelled out, rallying Spurius and Paulus to the defense. The three struck out in unison, following the theory presented to them by the champion earlier, always attacking in pairs. Two would attack and one would remain in reserve, as the first attack ended, the reserve would step forward and strike out with one of the others, and then the cycle would repeat.

Although it could have been due to the boiling energy which was slowly breaking down the enemies’ body, it was still true that their attacks were getting through and causing some damage, forcing the giant to step back. In the heat of battle, it was difficult to notice, but the rapid thrusts were finding some resistance. That resistance although weakened remained present, the strategy of simultaneous attacks allowed for one of the two strikes to get through, while the disintegration allowed the spearhead to dig deeper.

After three or four strikes the creature seemed to finally regain some semblance of understanding, its eyes showed a hint of fear and anger. That anger was directed at the one who had prevented its victory, and thus the hesitation within its gaze vanished, replaced by what one could perceive as suicidal determination. Instead of attempting to dodge or defend against the next strike from the three attackers, Menos charged forward toward the man in reserve, absorbing one of the spear thrusts fully.

Believing the giant was about targeting him, and fearful for his life Apollonius dropped his spear and slung his shield around just in time. With both hands firmly grasping the central hold he felt the impact as his body was tossed through the air, the bronze shield cratered inward from the shoulder rush that had muscled him from the path. However, now the giant’s path was clear, the obstacle removed, and in the distance was the target. The champion had been limping toward the wagon circle, but his progress was hampered due to the leg wound. Now, when he glanced back to observe the status of the battle, he instead witnessed the boiling giant charging in his direction.

The champion had barely enough time to turn and make a pitiful attempt at defending, the shaft of his spear incapable of lasting even a second against the strike. In that moment the youth had seen him, Menos had crossed the short distance in the blink of an eye, his body was in the process disintegration and the determination to kill the perceived cause of his failure was all that could be seen in his expression. As he closed the distance and the boy raised his spear, Menos extended his right hand, the hand which had held by a few strands of muscle had long since fallen away, what remained was a shard of bone, sharp enough to match any spear.

Menos crashed into the boy, impaling his chest with his mangled right arm, the sharp bony tip clearing the youth’s sternum. His momentum however did not stop with that, he continued the charge and smashed the youth into the nearest wagon, the wooden structure cracking and bending from the instantaneous impact.

“No..w…yo…u…DIE!” The sound that emerged from the carbonized throat was a garbled mess, but the last word and the meaning could not have been clearer. As if to further reinforce the message, the giant lifted his left arm in which he held his mighty war cleaver, with one swing he could split the boy and the wagon behind him in two, his snapped spear at his side. However, just as the monster swung down his weapon a shadow dropped down from above, entering the minuscule space between the giant and his victim.

Standing there with shield in hand was a familiar bald head, the three clawed scar across the side of his face just helped make the connection faster. There was no time for anyone to react, to say anything, they were still attempting to develop countermeasures for the sudden attack, let alone defending a single soldier. Iron met bronze once again, but this time there was no battle for supremacy, no copper light to lessen the blow. Timeaus’s shield was cut clean through, like a knife through butter, it was only his quick reflexes that preserved his life. However, it was not enough to save his left arm, the cleaver swept cleanly through flesh, muscle, and bone, as if it was air and slammed into the earth, splitting the ground in two for five feet.

Timeaus fell to the ground hard, clutching his bleeding stump, everything from the elbow down was gone, it was only through strength of will that he was able to stifle the cry that threatened to leave his lips. The man struggled for a few seconds, squirming on the ground like a worm, trying to reach safety, but he did not get far before collapsing. Yet Menos did not choose to finish the downed foe, instead turning back to his initial target who remained pinned, his face draining of color.

However, once again as the giant raised his blade to strike the boy a war cry could be heard from his rear. Charging towards the two was a horse, and upon its back was a rider cloaked in a deer pelt, an axe held tight in both hands. During the battle Viriato had retrieved the horse of the outrider who had been killed earlier by the javelin thrown by Menos, he had waited patiently for his moment to strike, even as he feared the death of his comrades. Now was the moment, to both save the young boy he had once helped train, and to avenge the death of his two companions.

“THERE IS NO GREATER HONOR THAN TO DIE IN SERVICE OF FAMILY! THERE IS NO HONOR WITHOUT COMPASSION! LET MY NAME RING OUT IN THE HALLS OF THE ANCIENTS… MY NAME IS VIRIATO, SON OF VICATUS, CHIEFTAN OF THE VIRIONDAGA TRIBE. FOR HONOR! FOR BLOOD! FOR DUTY! Viriato screamed at the top of his lungs as he charged towards the giant. His face contorted in a primordial roar, while his eyes honed in on his target, a single minded focus clear in his movements.

Menos’s eyes drifted toward the new interruption, then his sight focused on the axe before drifting over to his right hand and back toward Viriato. If it were not for all the mangled and melting flesh, one might have been able to discern a shadow of a sneer upon the giants’ dead lips. He prepared his cleaver, ready to strike down the charging foe and then in the same swing cleave the boy who remained in his grasp. It was not long before the two sides came into proximity with one another, Viriato atop his horse, the boy pinned in place, and Menos whose blade hung ready to bisect man and horse.

Everything would end in that moment, within a breath of time the fates of everyone involved would be decided. However, Menos had ignored the boy, had ignored his sundered spear, the top half of which remained intact. In that moment right before Menos struck at Viriato, the champion grabbed his spear and thrust into the giant’s left hand, through the elbow. This action caused the giant to lose his range of motion, unable to fully swing his weapon in the moment before the exchange.

Menos’s cleaver passed through the neck of the horse, and Viriato could have defended against the blow, instead he allowed it to pass through his lower abdomen, just below the rib cage on the far-left side. That allowance opened up the giant, his neck open to attack, and Viriato did not hesitate, this was the chance he had been waiting for. As the horse below him buckled, the momentum of its charge alone carrying it forward, Viriato roared in defiance and swung his axe in a powerful sweeping motion. The axe’s head struck true, facing no resistance as it separated the giant’s head from his body, and like a puppet with its strings cut, Menos’s large frame crashed to the ground below.

However, even in death, Menos had one last unwanted gift to give. As his body fell apart the darkness squirming within that had held him together lashed out at the nearest thing it could. That person was the young champion who remained impaled by the shard of bone, that now imperceptible shadow passed through the bone and into the youth’s chest. Within seconds the boy screamed out in pain, clutching his chest, and trying desperately to remove the foreign object.

“My Lord hurry please! We must save him!” Just as the battle atop the hill concluded a group of cavalry could be seen galloping towards the carnage, at their head an older man with a cold calculating gaze.