They settled for a moment as Etain spoke. She was the one who saved kids after all. Framed in the rising sun behind her, looked like a mighty good omen. But then she started saying the wrong things. Someone was pushed. Foot landed on another, and the sun no longer illuminated – it revealed how dark she was against it instead. See, that was the problem with nobles – the belief that their blood gave them right to more. And, sure, a lot of the time that was a truth of it. But not today. Not with him right there. If Lekander wanted to hang him after, she could very well do so when they were done.

Andy had ideas about getting involved. Tried to move someone's feet away from Skykiller. But that too was the wrong thing.

You don't get your head down in a rabble.

Whether it was by hit, or kick, or snap – he too was soon potatoed by the guy he dove for. But no one wanted to hurt Andy, so they kicked and stomped him away too.

And they were, through it all, oblivious.

Because the ground shook.

And the clang of metal was not between them, but further behind.

But Etain could hear it. And Edwynna could see it.

It had stopped looking human some six years back. Its height had doubled since. A history of violence told in twenty feet of repurposed armor. It looked like a flail forged wrong. Helm crushed to breastplate, fused polearms jutting like broken ribs, daring anyone with a spine to argue where bones belonged.

A mass of shields clustered higher on one side – and what some might generously call a shoulder. Less a pauldron, more of a repurposing of things that were never meant to fit. One arm stretched long, its length made of entire suits of armor stacked and welded together. It ended in an almosthand – four bent limbs of a long dead knight, each repurposed as a finger.

The other arm didn't end at all. It just became a suit of armor, curled into a fetal position, swinging like the tail of some colossal, annoyed cat.

Even at twenty feet of steel, it looked short. Stocky.

Its idea of legs were a mess of overlapping chains and plates, a full unit of armoredfolk mimicking function more than form. If it'd been born to flesh, it would've been bowlegged and fucked. It would've had two legs. But whatever design drove it didn't care for symmetry or grace. Only movement.

It knew that they would notice soon. Already had. But it didn't matter. Today or in a year. Fast or slow. Everyone joined their flesh. So long as flesh rose in violence to each other...

...it had work to do.
 
"Fuck off, Skykiller!"

A nudge. A push. Someone’s foot landed wrong, someone else barked an insult. And they fell on Skykiller again. Stomping. Spitting. Like starving wolves that smelled blood. Hector was going to be trampled to death by pig-farmers and stablehands.

And she’d be fucked before she let them.

Then the ground shuddered.
At first, the mob didn’t notice. But Etain’s head snapped up. Saw it coming over the ridge.

Clang. Scrap. Chains grinding. Its limbs made of corpses and cruelty.

Oh fuck no!

Boot heels hammering into the packed earth, her jaw clenched against the sharp jolt in her leg each time it bore her weight. Pain spidered up through her hip and into her ribs, but she bit down on the cry of pain. She shouldered a man aside, shoved a teenage girl back with her forearm. She threw them aside. Someone tried to grab her arm. She broke their grip with a twist of her whole body and nearly fell for it. Another raised a fist, she caught his wrist and slammed her forehead into his nose. Crunch. The man dropped. Then she saw him, Hector, curled in the filth.

“Look!” someone shouted, and the crowd hesitated.

That was all she needed, and she dove. Knees in the muck, hand grabbing his tunic. She pulled him near, boots skidding in the mud. She hauled. Her wounded leg screamed at her, the joint wobbling under the weight, but she dragged him anyway.

"We could use some fuckin’ skyfire again right about now."
 
1754540887271.webp"Oh, fuck that!" Edwynna hopped down from her perch, and ripped the barricade apart, bit by clawing bit. "Hector!" she cried out. Tossed down one last piece of of splintered wood. yanked open the door. Snarled at the crowd, still gawking at the revenant.

She saw the big bitch dive into the mass. Grit her teeth. Looked back into the storehouse. Shook her head. "If we don't start running, that THING is going to add us to its tangle!" she called out to them. Grit her teeth. Much as she hated the fucking shit taking slinker.

She ran back in. Bust him out. Dragged his ass out of the room, wet and reeking in his own shit.

Any corpse, she knew, every corpse, would just make that fucking thing bigger.

A fate worse than death.

Dropped him out the room. "Crawl your ass out of here, you FUCK!" she growled, kicked him for good measure, and ran toward her counterpart. Bow over shoulder, quiver stacked with what shots it held.

She'd mind the villagers. Would feather the fuckers too if they looked at her too funny. Got too close.

It wasn't the first time she had seen the idyllic turn murderous. And she wouldn't die under their boot either.

Hands bruised. Limbs battered. Daze spun about him in black spots and star pops. World spun as he got dragged through the cold suck of it all. A grunt. A growl. Voice more familiar now after shouts and bedside mutterings.

...skyfire again right about now.

A shake of the head as he stiffened up from limp noodle to find his spine. Remembered his bones.

Managed a foot under him as the world righted too far. Felt a dry heave curl from his gut. Nothing but acid spilled out.

"Fuck," he hissed. Shook his head.Wiped his bruised mouth clean with the back of his wrist. Half his face swollen shut from kicks and stomps. He sucked down ragged breath. Looked toward the looming doom that stalked toward them. Laughed.

"Skyfire wont do shit against that," tried more of his weight on his own. Wobbled. Forced the stride with her. "Pull it towards us though, draw it away," he looked to Etain. A little more sure with each step. "Your horse, she can carry two of us?" he asked, before he saw a familiar head, full of straw colored hair downed in the muck. "Andy!" he cried out, pulled out from Etain's grip and stumbled toward the kid. Fell to his side and grabbed him up. Slapped his face to try and stir him.

"You fucking lot better start running for the hills away from that thing!" Edwynna cried out in the near distance. Caught site of the other two. Double checked the mob. Moved fast, sharp with a whistle.

Heads up.
 
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In different times, someone might've struck Etain too – mob folding to include her. But all they had now were gaping mouths and widening eyes.

And what was a busted lip and a bloody nose compared to... whatever the fuck that thing was?

Rage gave way to fear, vengeance to survival. There weren't thoughts about how slow it was, or how they might outpace it just by walking. Weren't even sure if it was after them at all... but dread didn't need a reason.

Those who could walk grabbed those who couldn't and made for the woods. No one really believed the trees would stop the monstrosity, but splinters would sure as shit slow it down.

Andy groaned and shifted, far from awake. If the slap jostled something inside, eyes were yet to open in reply.

„Skykiller, give me the boy.“ Voice came from above, as the fabric of her knees met the mud beside them. An older woman, forehead busted and arm burned. Might've been greying beyond brunette, but blood caught the light between strands like copper. Not a redhead by birth, but one of circumstance.

Winry looked at the ironfucker, chill creeping up his toes. Probably should've run at first sight – but he'd seen the Captain again. And rage wasn't a thing of logic. And yet... he could think of few fates worse than becoming a splat under the foot of the giant. He certainly couldn't do worse. So instead of hammering the fucker in the temple like he'd originally planned, he threw the hammer by those mangled legs.

„Good luck.“

Turned to leave, sparing Edwynna a glance. „Ma'am.“
 
"Shit,"he hissed through his teeth.

"Skykiller, give me the boy."

Hector, turned toward the older woman. Heaved Andy up onto his shoudlers with a grunt, and passed him off, best he could. Trusted her with the youth who had believed so much in him.

"Take care of him," he gave.

Turned away. Head swimming as it was. Revanant stomping as it was.

"Ma'am"

Edwynna glared as Winry fucked off. "Dangerous little shit," she muttered, shook her head. "Might be trouble, down the road with that one." another sharp whistle to Hector. "I'll grab the packs!" Hurried off to Murta's house.

With all the village fleeing to the woods, North and west. The reverent appearing from the south. Slow as it trudged. Like the last frost of winter, trying to spread against spring warmed earth.

"Etain! The horse!" he hollered out, ragged breath and stumble steps putting him closer to the pyre fires.

Before the columns of smoke, he sited the revenant through circle of thumb and middle finger. Pointer, ring, and small fingers flared and from the palm of his left. Drew a mark with his minds eye as he spilled out smoke laden breath. Bones of right finger traced the outline of the wargheist, as embers crackled and hissed about him. Cut lines of its limbs and joints with sharp pointed strokes.

Drew a breath in like cracked lumber.

He had read of these beings. Wargheists. Iron Revenants. Disciplined mind remembered basics through the haze of exhaustion, and burning well beyond his own wick.

Remembered. Made of armor. Some parts organic due to corpses and bones. So he would see that. Sketch the skeletons of dead soldiers across the canvas of his mind. Feed his fire where he thought it might best catch.

The moisture of trapped corpses come screaming out of the armor like steam from a tea kettle. The steel plates glowing. Dull blues and blacks heated to grays. Flakes pealed off. The sharp ring of steel struck. Rythm sure. Sparks hiss out from where the hammer of shroud beat, and beat a prayer to Tapan.

Embers spiraled. Armors bunched about a leg joint glowed bright red, slagged off flakes, glowed yellow, then white. Metal turned soft. Bloomed. Near bubbled.

Eyes set to blaze. Pyres burned higher. What little green field poured out of mud dried to dust as puddles boiled, and mud turned to brick dry dirt about him.

Clang. Went the hammer. Ring. Went the revenant. Another step, and the super heated leg sheered open as a blade of dawnfire sliced through leg's joint in slow pop and spray of cut metal.

It would heal itself. Its metal right there. But it would buy them time. It would draw its ire.

Skin hot again. Heart racing. Breath dumped out of his lungs in a haze of steam. Legs like burnt trunks, rooted in spent earth. His eyes, fire lit, searched for something that wasn't ash.
 
She had faced men in armor. Walls of cavalry. Screaming charges through fog and fire. But this…

Etain froze. Like a child.

The kid that saw too much too young, and knew exactly what she was looking at. The Revenant moved in the way monsters in nightmares moved. Its gait was a grinding dirge, iron shrieking with every step like the screams of the ones it had torn apart. This thing wasn’t made for war.
It was war.

Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. The phantom taste of ash in her mouth. She didn’t even hear Hector at first. Only when he yelled her name did the world jolt back.

“Etain! The horse!”

The first step was a jolt. The second tore something open. A hot, wet rip screamed up her thigh, and she nearly buckled. No time for pain. Her wounded leg gave a vicious throb, blood pushing through torn stitches like wine from a cracked cask. She staggered toward where she’d left her sword. She grabbed it with one hand and slung it over her back, the leather strap dug into her shoulder as she twisted it into place.

And there was Josephine, dancing in place, hooves striking broken earth and scorched grass. She was hurt, but she hadn’t fled. More loyal than some knights. The knightess limped the last yards, favoring the good leg, pulling herself forward with stubbornness until she hit the mare’s side and collapsed into her shoulder. She pressed her brow to warm, shivering flesh.

“Sorry, girl,” she whispered, breathing in the scent of blood and horse-sweat. Her throat clenched. “I know. I know you're hurt. But we have to go.” No saddle. No time. She grabbed the bridle, fingers fumbling with leather, and buckled it fast as her trembling hands would allow. Then hauled herself up.

“Go!” she barked, heels nudging Josephine’s flank. She turned the horse hard. Wheeled the mare back.

She saw him.
Hector stood alone, half-vanished in smoke.

“Hector!” She bellowed. Etain hauled the reins with one hand, the other reaching down.
 
Air split with light and heat. A leg came apart. Pain and imbalance.

It slumped to the earth. Not an earthquake, but the earth did quake.

This was wrong. Was against purpose.

Legs were slowing it down. Why have them at all then? Its open hand reached for the others. Ripped and tore away, pressed them to chestmail. Why keep tools that refused to do their jobs?

Function to movement, movement to purpose.

Preparing to roll.



What the swamp took in one place, it tried to make up for in others. As the shock spread through the mud like uncertainty, ground sucked the boots and tickled the hooves. Puddles shook their heads in rippled confusion. A house too tired, laid to rest within the muck. Not even a splash.

Shake of bones and rattle of teeth. Even the fog had ideas.

Winry didn't hesitate. Stood by Andy and his mom, wondering if it was him who twonked the younger boy. Either way – the mud couldn't have him. Shoulder to armpit, like a shitty support beam. Could've just picked the lil' guy up and be done with it, but the mother wasn't ready to let go. Doubted he could carry them both.

„Right. Come. Gorenwood.“
 
Felt it through the bones of his feet before he could hear it proper in his skull.

Through the crackle of pyre flame, and the roil of smoke.

The thunder of steel shod hooves ripping through the earth. His forearm raised as meager shield against the acrid burn of billowing black that torched his lungs. Eyes full of tears turned the rider and steed to blur in his view.

A bellow. All agony and fury through the blaze. A mane like mud stained banners snapping their blood earned arrival against the wind. An arm outstretched.

He reached out. Grip snatched against forearm. Limb strained, bone, sinew, and muscle cried out from the horrid yank of it. He grunt, near shout, through his teeth as he hitched and kicked and swung, one heal over. dug in to bracket and squeeze thighs in the saddle as he held on. All cough and wheeze as they broke forward.
Hector turned about, one arm looped about her as the other hand wiped the tears from his eyes. Blinked. "Tapan's tits," Voice all desperate smoke. "I think the fucking monster aims to roll for us!" some strange part of him almost sounded excited.

"The swamp!" he managed through hacks. "Ride toward Gorenwood!" the maps burned into his mind.

If she knew the lay of the land, she would know it was treacherous terrain for a single person, let alone a warhorse loaded with two.
 
Her good hand a white-knuckled vice on the reins as Josephine lunged beneath them. The sword knocked hard against her spine with every gallop. Josephine's flanks heaved beneath them. She felt Hector’s weight jostle against her back, his breath ragged against her shoulder.

Gorenwood.

Etain's mouth twisted. She knew it. A drowned graveyard of roots and sucking bogwater. No road, no path, just mud thick enough to eat a cart whole and trees old enough to remember the old empires. Any sane rider avoided it. Even fleeing war, folk would rather take their chances with starving than Gorenwood’s teeth.

“Of course you’d pick the fucking swamp,” she muttered. But she kept her heels down and the reins tight, guiding Josephine not toward safety but into the ruin, because Hector was right. Revenants didn’t fare well where the land refused to be tamed.

The white destrier broke the treeline like a thrown stone, all blood and lather and blind momentum. Fur slick with sweat, hooves churning mud to water. The ground changed fast, and ugly. One moment they were galloping across cracked, scorched earth, the next, they were swallowed whole by the trees. Branches clutched at them like the hands of the dead, snagging hair and cloth. The path, or what could be generously called such, narrowed to nothing but roots and trail of animal tracks, the canopy sealing above them like a lid.

The mare leapt a ditch, almost lost her footing again. No saddle meant no rest, Etain’s back jarred with the impact, and she nearly bit through her tongue. She clenched tighter with her knees, felt warm blood slick down her thigh.

The air changed first, wet and cold and full of decomposition.

"Come on, girl," The horse lurched through a sinkhole. The mare stumbled, found footing again. Her sides trembled. Etain's hand twisted the reins with more prayer than command.

They came upon the bog with no fanfare. Just the sudden give of forest floor. One hoof went down into muck, and this time she didn’t pull free so fast. Etain leaned with the mare’s movement, one leg half-dragged through black water that sucked like a mouth. Hooves slapping down into the soft, spongy ground beyond. The water grew faster than Josephine could pick her way through. Each step sank her hooves deeper.

“Fuck!” she hissed. Etain clung to Josephine’s mane. “Get off. Now.” The horse was stronger without their weight. The knightess swung her leg over the horse's neck and slid off.
 
The many warriors that composed the being set themselves to purpose one more time. Shield wall to a shield ball – a push of deformed hands, then another. Then another.

From within the manyfold armor, clinks and clanks of metal. Sprain and snap of muscle and bone unused to the new movement. But it mattered not – because what was pain short of another forge.

And those it passed over were far too squishy to accommodate the pestle. Far too pliable and metallacking to join the flesh proper. The movement simply rolled them out like poorly made pasta – some had time to scream, others were luckier.

For once, Jimbo's size didn't work in his favor. And the mud wanted him more than his legs did.

And where foot found a ditch, it didn't swerve – the ground too smooth for its mass. Trees, both entire and splintered stuck from the frame like vengeful toothpicks – but it didn't lose much speed.

Because the ones fireviolent were its target.

One thing it never accounted for was weight and how poorly it related to the soggy ground of Gorenwood.

Where Josephine lost footing, the flailhead lost its momentum entire.

The muck was far too shallow to properly swallow it.

Suppose they had dealt it a mortal wound.

Rust would get it in a decade or three.

But now?

Now came the digging.
 
Legs felt weak. Arms felt weaker. Eyes strained to stay open. Even with all the thunder and bound that raced beneath them. He held on. Through the jostle and bump. Hands tight about her. Tried not to bite off his own tongue.

"I'm open to hearing other ideas!" he shout over the churn of hooves tearing through the earth. Spine shocked. Brain shook.

He twist his hips about to spy the Revenant. The thing rolling behind them. Like some horrid boulder come will itself to tear ass across the land.

Crushed small folk under its wrathful churn. Hector grit his teeth all the more. Held Etain the tighter as the air shift to putrid and stale stink.

"Fuck!" he cried out. Felt his teeth gnash against his tongue with bad bump of steed force through the give of oversaturated earth. Iron bloomed in his mouth. Felt the lull of flesh bit through. Still together though. Spat a gobfull of ichor as the white mare tried to break through the mire.

"Fuck!" came the hiss from Etain's lips. "Get off. Now."

Sloughed off like old earth from a hillside. Splashed in the muck like a rock fall off a ledge. Took a step, and felt the ground there give all the way through. Fell into the soup. Came back through the membrane of muck all gasp and blink. Spat. Shook his head as he gasped.

Heard the rumble before he saw it.

"Shit," he hissed. Hurried to the horse. "Shit!" shout as he through himself against her haunch and pushed. "SHIT!!!"

The ball of death splashed. The ball of death sank. A wave pushed out and crashed over them in the wake of its arrest. Slapped across Hector's face.

All rot and blood in his mouth mixed with the acrid burn of ash.
 
Behind them, the Revenant plunged.

Etain's boots sank into the muck with every step, water and filth sucking at her feet. Josephine’s hooves hit waterlogged root. The knightess hand was tight on the mare’s bridle, guiding her, steadying her, murmuring, “Come on girl, almost through this!” The horse white coat was blackened from hooves up to her belly, streaked in filth, wounds still weeping from last night’s fight, but she found her footing. Splashing, heaving, dragging herself clear of the bog’s hunger.

Etain’s heart slammed against her ribs like it wanted to climb out. Her breath came in ragged gulps when finalt the horse, all wild-eyed, shied hard, flinging herself free. Streaking toward the firmer ground at the edge of the trees, hooves kicking up mud and water in a spray. Etain's forward momentum was betrayed by the slick muck. The next moment, she pitched headfirst, face-first, into the brown, sucking slurry. The mud slapped her like a fist, smearing grit in her hair and filling her mouth with a taste like iron. She gasped, gagged, spat.

Somewhere ahead, Josephine had found solid ground, shaking herself violently.
 
Wiped the rotten shit out of his eyes. Blinked back tears as the muck stung. Hacked a cough from all the gunk that had gone down his throat. Trudged. Felt Josaphine spur forward even as his bones sank more and more into the mire. Finally. Something like relief. Something like-

Crack!

Iron shod hooves just clipped him across the ribs. Glanced. Not enough on it to blow him back into the water. But enough to turn him. Crumple him, all sag to the black frothy surface of the still water. Breath ragged and hard to pull through the sharp stab in his bones.

A splash into the muck. The horse run out.

Through gritted teeth, Hector rattled. "Fuck," and plod forward. Bent wrong. Twist and stretch wrong as he forced his legs to move. Up to Etain. Grabbed her up. Braced himself against her side. "Lets," voice was more wheeze than speech. Grunt. "Go."

Set himself to march. All red eyed and shit dipped.

Up to solid ground. Out of this fucking deathtrap.
 
Mud clung to the revenant limbs like a job well done. Slowness inviting a stop. Water plied it like lies – seeping into cracks it didn't know it had. And it flailed... violently, then slower. These limbs weren't made for the finesse. They were made for force and grab. Lucky then, that the soil understood power. Might take a day, might take a year – but it was getting out.

There was no hurry. Because this was a war of attrition. So let them win, or run. Let them rest. It would still be here, sloshing forward. Inch and pinch. Grab and stab. Because they'd eventually get tired and settle. Only a matter of time.

Villagers were closer now. Not exactly brave, but confident in its entrapment. Some of them threw rocks into the muck. Some even landed onto the thing with thuds of an untuned drum.

Sumu gathered in wordless council. There was no village as long as this thing flinched just shy of the surface. There was no peace as long as it could one day come out and...do to them what it'd done to Jimbo.

„We could wait for it to get out, then lure it away.“ Vasya offered. „Wouldn't be our problem then.“

„No, just someone else's.“ Winry dropped Andy down harsher than he planned to. He had family over those hills. Satya knew he wasn't letting it roll that way.

„We could wait for it...“ Cut short with a laugh.

„Reckon it's better at waiting than we are.“

Jessop chucked a stone too – just to make sure he could say he did. When he told this story.
 
It was all jostle and bump. Rattle and roll. The sounds of Edwynna hurrying to pack the mule she had gone and acquired. Fuck Sumu. Fuck the villagers, and fuck anyone who would protest. She was getting as far fucking away from here as possible. As soon as possible.

Pulled the ties down on the ropes that acted a saddle with the old moth eaten blanket laid over the beast.

Poor grey coated molly didn't seem to mind none too much. Big rolly fucker just rolled on by and left her well enough alone.

Edwynna pulled the beast along, out onto the trail, and kicked her heel up and over with a tug of the beast's mane. Worked her legs to walk the creature, and it bowed its head, wobbled its long ears, and snort before it began to trot off.

Hector was all breathless. Limbs tied to knots with the threat of cramping. Chest hollowed out. All ash and spent cinders. Half the reason he could still march toward the mudstained mare was Etaine's shambling muscle and bone right there next to him.

"Fucking bloody good riding," he said through puffs and almost wheezes. He could give two fucks about the villagers after all that had burned and rolled, smacked, and shouted over the two suns he had been cursed enough to find himself here.

But some part of him still cared. What about Andy, it asked.

What about the mob that had started to beat him into the mud? Likely would have caved his skull in, if they were given the chance.

"We should get the fuck away from here," he said. Nodding to the distant Josaphine who he owed the cracked rib that stabbed with pain at his every step, and pulsed with purple at his every breath.

A long and familiar whistle on the wind. A mimicry of an osprey in the sky. He turned to see Edwynna on a distant hill. Mule mounted, pack laden. Blurry as bog shit through the mud and hurt that narrowed his eye.

A second false cry over the clamor of the villagers.

Rendezvous.

He already knew where.
 
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