The sky was colored bright orange now as Joy watched, the clouds streaked with fire and smoke as the Gates began to burn. Blinding light illuminated the skal’va as they swarmed, and the sudden wave of heat that blasted outward was enough for nearly the entire legion to stagger back in response. Joy himself felt the air rush forward as it tried to feed the flame, felt his fur flatten on the back of his neck as he dug his claws deeper into the dirt.

It was a bloody scene that was displayed before him: the legions were struggling to stay alive, with their front shieldwall propped up with frozen corpses. Men staggered forward to hold the ranks, but the skal’va had managed to break through their flaming slashes into close quarters where their blades were ineffectual. Farther down the field, closer to the walls of the Gates, the demons were drowning in a flood of skal. The wreath of shadows that circled tight around each demon was occasionally punctuated by a brilliant gout of flame, but those moments were coming fewer and less often with each passing second.

Yet as the catapults launched their pitch and the demons managed to ignite the tar, the air was suddenly filled with a hideous screech as the skal’va abruptly coiled and writhed up into the air, a tornado of black that spiraled up into the clouds like a siphon. It was a brief respite, but a much-welcome one as man and demon alike staggered up in an effort to catch their breath.

Taking in a deep breath, Joy let out a fierce howl that carried to the isolated demons down the field. Back, it shouted to them, hopefully loud enough to pierce through their bloodlust. Back, to safety. It echoed off the walls, carrying over the crackling of the flames and the screeches of the shadows. Then, fortunately, the demons heard the message and began to lope back towards the mass of the army, their bodies cracked and bleeding from wounds that had been half seared shut from flame.

Yet even as they fled, there was a sudden whoosh of rushing air as the swarming shadows dove down towards them. A sudden gale of wind blasted through the air as black mist coalesced around the demons, pluming ice crackling against their skin. They ones that were the farthest out became surrounded by those stabbing insects, their roars wrathful and pitiful as that stumbled to the ground and collapsed. Slowly they let out soft mewling whines before their bodies froze entirely over, all semblance of heat and life sapped out of their flesh. The swarming cloud of skal’va circled even tighter around their corpses, their writhing form giving a heart-like pulse before pulling back. When the swarm finally dispersed, there was only a faint cloud of dust that lingered where the body once was.

Joy felt stabbing pains in the pit of his stomach as he saw the small handful of demons that managed to retreat, barely a third of the original number. As they fell back, there was a sudden whiff of brimstone that carried across the wind, and Joy turned to glance suddenly at Kha. The channeler was chanting quickly under his breath, his claws tipped with coiling purple before there was an abrupt clap of thunder that echoed through the field. Two violent arcs of lightning shot through the sky, blasting gaping holes through the clouds of skal’va when they tried to chase after the retreating demons. While the holes were swiftly filled in by the skal’va, it was clear that their cloud was now far smaller than before.

With the demons now having joined the ranks of the legion, the skal’va were now pinned. To their front lay the army, and behind them was the still-burning walls of the Gates. Their cloud writhed in the air uncertaintly, and Mors seized the opportunity to give a command.

“Back two ranks, open out! Archers, file in ranks” he shouted, the command piercing through battle fever and fear through rote practice. Joy watched, impressed, as the last two ranks of the legion took hasty steps backwards and to the side in cadence, freeing up spaces in the formation for two lines of unarmored archers to fill in, their longbows already nocked with arrows. They were the men that had previously been manning the catapults, now unneeded there.

“Nock.” Mors shouted, his voice steady and even in an effort to keep the men calm. In the distance, the cloud of skal’va seemed to have realized the urgency of the situation—the gates were beginning to crumble, with feral marai crackling madly into the sky. They dove downwards towards the legion, a swarm of screeching death.

“Draw.” Mors commanded, and there was a rasping sound as the arrows were pulled back. The front ranks of the legion raised their shields, their swords trembling as they nearly threatened to break from fear. Joy reached inside himself for the pool of mahji that waited, drawing it up and out in his waiting claw tips.

Those arrows would do nothing, he knew. Not unless he aided them. Around his hands, the air began to shimmer and boil with immense heat, ribbons of purple dancing tighter and tighter. Their tips were metal, he knew, and he had seen steel when it was hot, when it was dripping embers and spewing smoke. He threw his arm forward, shooting ribbons of mahji into the air in a curtain of raw heat. Mors threw him a look of confusion, but Joy merely nodded for the man to continue, his brow knotted in concentration.

“Fire!” came the order, and the volley of arrows flew through the air with a rattle. Yet as the arrows struck that curtain of mahji, the very air around them seemed distorted from heat. Their shafts burst instantly into flame, their arrowheads abruptly glowing orange as the projectiles flew forward from mere momentum. Yet it was enough to carry them into the center of the mass of incoming skal’va, who had not enough time to react to the sudden volley.

The air was pierced abruptly with their wails as the flame caught on a few of the insects, their diminutive forms catching alight. Then, with a vicious tenacity, the plowed straight into the front ranks of the legion. The men let out a ragged shout as they slashed out with their runeswords, orange flame lashing out from the gaps in their shields. Behind them, the second rank struggled to defend their fellows, raising their shields to cover their heads as if defending from a mere volley of arrows. There were shouts of pain and fear as the men staggered back, trying to fight off a cloud of sheer terror, yet it was not enough.

And then he heard a violent wrenching sound from the distance, like crumbling stone and tearing steel. He watched as the Gates finally fell, its magic and mortar finally consumed by wildfire. As the topmost stones began to crumble, so too did a massive fissure suddenly sprout down the center of its mass. Ribbons of green and purple sprouted outward from that wound, glowing brilliantly in the fire before blasting into the air. Then the entire wall seemed to fall as one massive unit, slow enough that Joy could anticipate the moment that it finally struck the ground.

The impact was deafening, like a wild roar of thunder but lasting a hundred times longer. At the same time, that wild marai sunk into the ground, opening up a series of fissures that spread and sped towards the army. Sickly green light emanated upwards from those cracks, igniting when it touched the air into a putrid flame. The air itself contorted and twisted under the weight of the corrupted magic, growing thick with smoke and taint. And then the final few runes that were still struggling to maintain integrity shattered, and Joy could see the blast of a shockwave that raced towards them, throwing up a cloud of dust and dirt.

When it finally struck, he felt his vision grow white and his mind go numb, losing all sense of sensation as he fell to the ground. For a moment, he was stuck in grotesque limbo once more, unable to access his senses and utterly helpless in the dirt. Then, as vision slowly faded back into his eyes, he saw the hellish scene that was thrown before him.

The ground was utterly shattered, pillars and shards of rock and stone sprouting out of the broken earth. Their sides were scorched black by fire and marai, crumbling and smoldering with heat. The cloud of skal’va had been blasted apart by the shattering runes, yet they were slowly coalescing once more in the heavy air. The legion lay broken and battered on the stones below, their bodies stuck under stone and armor, their formation shattered.

Joy felt panic in himself then, reached once more for the mahji that filled him. It came quickly, eagerly, and he felt the raw power bubble forth in a sudden rush. He had it. He had flame. The ribbons licked outwards from his fingers, dancing around his ruined army and surrounding this torn earth. It threatened to ignite at any moment, threatened to illuminate this hellish landscape. Take them, he mocked the skal’va. Try and take them from me, and I’ll burn you all.

It was a terrible bet. It was a bet that these men would not die anyways. It was a bet that Atal valued his troops, valued his skal as more than just replaceable. It was a bet that Kha had succeeded with his man, and that the Mother was wounded. Only then would the tide of skal have a limit, and only then would they consider retreat.

And Joy watched as that hesitant cloud buzzed lowly in the air, before giving a loud shriek and sinking into the shadows cast from flame, disappearing into the darkness.