The crack of hundreds of rifles echoed out over the battlefield, all overlapping with each other to form a cacophonous noise that sounded like a mass of deep and powerful firecrackers. With all those with firearms (mortal and undead alike) all ordered to fire at will, the Arcfiran troops could find no respite nor any pattern of from when and where a shot would come.

As this happened, the bigger guns, those that were undead and those that were crewed by mortals, all fired at their own targets without any coordination. It was a highly target-rich environment, and while there was some merit to firing in a synchronized pattern, there was no real need to right now.

The sheer weight of bullets and shells and rockets forced the elves and plantoids to move faster, lest they fall victim to the endless hail of devastation, which, in turn, led to more casualties on their side. After braving the artillery for far too long, they got close enough that the bigger guns could not be used for their intended purpose of indirect fire. Likewise, the rockets could not be launched either, as doing so could cause the wildly inaccurate rockets to accidentally veer off course and slam into the rear of the defenders.

This meant that it was finally time for the mortars to shine, and both the crewed and undead ones alike began lobbing their munitions in high arcs directly into the enemy formations. These, too, would have to eventually fall silent so as to avoid friendly fire, but they did provide a means by which the shelling could continue for the immediate present, and that was enough for now.

Even as more of the heavy weapons could no longer be fired, the death toll of the ACT forces only increased. When the elves and plantoids got close enough, arrows were sent flying along with the bullets, and the medley of ranged fire was quickly accompanied by crossbow bolts soon after. With each moment that passed, more ground was closed, and with each moment that passed more ACT forces met their end. However, before they could reach the main defensive line and finally end the tyranny of ranged fire that was endlessly surging over them, the elves and plantoids had to cross no fewer than at least 3 rows of flooded anti-tank ditches.

Between these ditches were yet more impediments, but the elves and plantoid didn’t think anything of either those blockages or the ditches. They didn’t see these rather deep, water-filled, and steeply inclined ditches as a problem, and they were about to use the larger, more durable plantoids as cover while they wove a magic spell or two to create pathways to walk over, but the ditches were not nearly as ‘empty’ as they had thought.

As soon as the movement stopped, Naga began to pop up from the water-filled trenches, either lashing out with melee weapons at anyone who came too close or slinging spells into the gathered massed with reckless abandon. This, of course, startled the ACT forces, who were taken aback and bungled their spells, causing the pathways that had been under construction to explode like they were laced with dozens of hand grenades each.

It seemed as though they would need to expend more precious lives to have even a small chance of making it to the Darksolian lines, but if there was one thing that the ACT forces had at their disposal right now, it was bodies that could be thrown at the problem. Well, at least for now they did.

…

“Almost done… There!”

A cry of good cheer arose from the elves and plantoids as the magically created bridges finished forming. As soon as those words were spoken, those that could immediately cross them did so, walking straight over the flooded ditches all while the Naga and Darksolian ranged weapons kept hitting them. They had lost more than half of their number just getting to this one, singular point, and there were still more than 500 yards to go before they reached the first of the undead melee combatants.

However, the way between here and there looked relatively clear, with no visible defenses or traps to be seen in that stretch of ground. That did not mean that there were no such things there, only that they could not be seen right now, which was rather worrying. Whether they could be thankful for it or not, the rush of the battle blinded them to the possibility that they were walking into a carefully constructed death trap, but in all honesty, they really only had three choices right now.

Either they could go forward and possibly win, they could go backward and be cut down by ranged fire of all kinds, or they could stay where they were and let the reaper come for them. They had no other options besides those, and while they could have created a fourth option and simply surrendered, they were all of one mind that they would rather die than surrender.

And so, with the grim determination of those who knew that the only possibility of obtaining both survival and victory lay in the act of throwing themselves wildly at a wall of guns and death traps, they moved forward. Heedless to the risks that came with such an act, they rushed as fast as they could across the open ground, not really noticing that there had not been a single pitfall or mine in the entire area that they crossed.

Likewise, they did not notice that the guns, bows, and crossbows were no longer firing on them, nor were the mortars pounding them anymore. All that they were aware of right now was the fact that they were about to close with a foe that knew no fear, that felt no pain, and that did not understand the concepts of honor and mercy, and that was all they needed to be aware of for now.

…

As the forces loyal to the Great Tree neared the lines of undead, the summoned undead braced themselves and prepared to push back against the charge. Spears were raised, swords were readied, and the undead all took a more stable stance. The lines would meet in only a few seconds, and once that happened the true might of the Tier 3 Undead would be tested.

And, as the two lines finally met, none around perceived the change in the air. As the melee began, neither side realized that a near-silent sound was growing in the distance; a song billowing forth from machines that a few gigantic flying lizards had been convinced to carry with them due to the words and actions of a certain giant mechanical Dungeon Master.