Sternhad looked nervously towards the gaping maw of the trench in front of his squad. On one side, cool, calm grass. It was brilliantly green, cheerfully ignorant of the men rushing into the trenches and of the heroes that sculpted the very landscape with their attacks from above. On the other side, a squelching mass of mud, filled with the rancid stench of decomposing flesh and bio waste. Both sides met neatly in the middle, drawing a stark, almost perfect line between the thick vibrant grass and the barren, curdled earth.

One of his squadmates, an orc called Hoss from a couple villages away, nudged him forwards towards the mud. Sternhad shivered with instinctive dread. He had never shied away from a fight before. Hell, those fucking demons had murdered his poor brother when they had swept through his town. Just a wee lad of twelve, cut down mercilessly with those damn scimitars only because the kid couldn’t hide in time. It was enough to make Sternhad sick. Another nudge, this one with far more force than the last, finally moved Sternhad enough to make his foot meet the mud. Immediately the man moved forwards his other foot to steady himself, then his right foot, his left foot, building up speed as he shrugged his longsword towards the back of his pack in favor of his shortsword. All the better to make use of the tight corners and narrow passageways. Soon enough, Hoss rushed past Sternhad, only to be replaced with the usual familiar face.

“Ready there laddy buck?” Charles whistled cheerfully, clearly looking forwards to the fighting far more than Sternhad, his battle buddy, was.

Sternhad grimly smiled in response, pushing away the nagging headache that was threatening to take over his skull. “Aye. Sooner this is over though, the better.”

Charles flexed his hand over his spear in acknowledgement as the pair followed their squad even deeper into the network of slimy trenches.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Dimitre closed his eyes as he held his muddied ear against the ground.

“One, two, three… a total of five, I estimate. Not elves or gnomes, their footfalls are too heavy for that. Fifteen – no, ten seconds until arrival.”

The demon with him nodded and readied his scimitar, leaning flush against the wall of the trench to where he could strike out into the corner the enemy would be turning to join their passageway.

“Eight seconds” Dimitre whispered, and as the seconds passed one by one, he held up five fingers in leu of speaking.

One finger, two fingers, three fingers, and four fingers closed into Dimitre’s palm until the demon struck, his scimitar whistling through the air to decapitate the two humans in front as the squad rounded the corner.

“What in-“ The dwarf behind them began to bellow in surprise, failing to react in time for Dimitre’s own scimitar to cleave through the dwarf’s chest. Metal clanged as a human with a rather thick beard fended off his attacker, while Dimitre launched himself in a blur of grey skin towards an orc who had lost himself deep in the throes of battle-rage.

Left and right Dimitre was showered with sparks as he parried the orc’s massive broadsword, until finally, the orc swung too widely and the brutal steel weapon bit deeply into the trench wall. The orc’s eyes widened in surprise, his eyes staring at the weapon, then clouding over in confusion to wander towards Dimitre, who casually lopped off his head.

Five down, ninety-five to go? Dimitre wondered to himself as he stepped over the splintered remains of a spear to hand a forgotten canteen to his demon companion.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Merzan muttered his thanks to Dimitre, unstopping the canteen as he sat on butchered corpse of the bearded man. The canteen raised higher, and higher still as the demon gulped down its contents, only pausing in its journey as Merzan’s hands shook, and then paused. A look of confusion flitted through Merzan’s eyes.

What was I doing?

Shrugging, Merzan raised the canteen to his lips to wet them with a few drops. Then, his hands paused again. His eyes raced around the intersection as he tried to see something, anything that would provide a hint to what he felt like he was forgetting.

Once more Merzan raised the canteen to his lips, frowning as not a single drop of water fell out on his parched tongue.

I was…

Merzan stoppered the canteen, and then uncorked it again.

Right, right. I was doing…

Merzan fit the cork back into the canteen, and then raised it to his lips to take a sip in contemplation.

Yes! That’s correct, I was doing… I was doing that! Yeah. What was I doi-

Merzan grabbed the strap of his canteen, making sure to uncork it before looping it over his shoulder. Dallying would not do, not when he had to perform a great service to his Lord Mavier. Yes, that service.

It was…

It was…

Right! That’s right. Kill the fucking humans.

He nervously chuckled as he removed the canteen from the strap and then draped the strap over his shoulders, starting after Dimitre as the pair walked to find another squad to ambush.

Behind him, the canteen sat on the ground forgotten to all.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Sternhad desperately ducked under a whistling scimitar strike, his knees splashing into the mud in his haste to dodge.

“Charles! Kinda need yo-“ Sternhad yelped as another scimitar slammed so hard into his shield that he felt a bone shift from the impact. “-ur help here buddy!”

Only silence answered Sternhad’s cries as his bracers absorbed the worst of a scimitar blow.

Okay, okay. Don’t panic. Now… or never! Sternhad yelled in defiance as he discarded his shield, grabbing some mud and slinging it into the demon’s face. The demon flinched, clearly expecting to defend from an unseen blow, but instead Sternhad turned and ran deeper into the trench network.

“Ha, ha.” Sternhad panted. “We got ‘em pretty good, didn’t we, Charles?”

There was no reply, and Sternhad sat down by himself without even a single person in sight.

“Yeah. Hopefully we can find another squad to link up with.” Sternhad muttered as he started to clean his weapon.

Up and down his arms worked with a spare cloth, laboring to clean as much mud as possible from the bare metal.

Hm. That’s odd. Sternhad thought to himself. His hands slowed, and then stopped. What was I…

The cloth dropped to the ground, quickly sticking to the mud as Sternhad continued to clean his shortsword with his hands, oblivious to the ‘slicking’ sound his hands made as they ran up and down the edges.

“You know, Charles, I’ve been in a fair few scraps before, but this one really takes the cake. Did you see that massive demon a while back? His mom must’ve fucked a giant or something!”

Sternhad nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. Hopefully we can find another squad to link up with.” Sternhad muttered as he started to clean his weapon, only pausing to look at his hands in confusion after a few minutes.

A bit lighter? My hands feel a bit lighter… Oh, that’s right. Must be that I’ve dropped the cloth.

Sternhad leaned down and picked up the cloth, then began to clean his sword with the muddy scrap. He sheathed the sword, now covered in both mud and blood, then Sternhad shook his head. His cloudy eyes wandered back over to look at an empty section of the trench.

“Welp, Charles, that might be a good idea. I’ll head this way, you check that way. Hopefully one of us can find a squad.” Sternhad quietly muttered, waving his three-fingered hands towards the thin air before setting off in what he supposed was to the North.