The third Monstrosity caught him against all odds, immediately trying to squeeze the life out of him, but it foolishly brought him close to its chest, and Pierce fired his final gauntlet blast directly at its chest.
Skin and ribs disappeared in an instant, bearing the brunt of the fiery assault, but there was heat and force enough to burn the giant's already black heart. Its blood boiled, the heart burst, and the hands released their death grip on Pierce. He had a moment of deja vu as he rode the dying giant's body to the ground.
The horrible music of the obelisks pounded into Pierce's ears. It was getting stronger. He looked up. Werewolves were descending upon him.
Scythia still loved watching Axebourne at work, even after all these years.
She'd crippled two Monstrosities, he'd slain one, and they were teaming up on a fourth together before they meant to end the first two.
There was one gem left in her right bracelet, blazing white as if begging to be used. It would give her five surges of speed before shattering. She activated it now, and felt the familiar rush fill her veins. She knew the grin that reached her face looked mad, but it was involuntary, a natural reaction to the quickening of her muscles. She dismounted her bloodhoof and dashed toward the fourth Monstrosity in a blur, laughing in glee at its attempts to smash or catch her. She leapt over its futile swipes like a dancer across a stage, eyes locking on her husband as he approached astride his raptorion. They met at the thing's feet, and she flung the end of her massive, spiked flail at one ankle, nearly driving the bone out the other side of its leg.
The giant may have screamed, but all was still silent.
Axebourne cut the achilles tendon on the other leg with a single chop of his halberd, mouth open in his war cry. His mount loped away as the Monstrosity came to its knees. He swung the raptorion back in, baiting the giant, and when it brought down a hand like a slab of stone to crush him, he caught the giant's palm on the tip of his weapon.
Axebourne vaulted off of the raptorion and planted his feet firmly on the ground, Reversing Force. The Monstrosity tried to pull its hand away, but it was as if the man weighed many thousands of pounds, and his piercing halberd would not relinquish its hold. When the giant's other hand came flying in to swat him, Scythia closed the distance in a dash and leapt onto the limb, smashing the thumb with her flail. It lifted its arm reflexively. She rode the momentum, and cruised up through the air.
Was this how Pierce felt when he used the gauntlet to fly? Exhilarating!
Lithely she landed on the Monstrosity's arm and dashed up it in an instant, leaping with the force of an additional dash toward the thing's eyes. It had been watching her progress but was far too slow to halt it. She produced a gem-bomb from her belt, and with great strength and the force of her dashes she plunged her hand into the Monstrosity's eye, leaving the bomb behind. The giant leaned back with a wail of agony, giving Scythia its body as a ramp to dash back to the ground.
Axebourne retracted his halberd and the giant's body convulsed as Scythia's bomb exploded in its skull, leaving little behind. The body crashed to the ground.
Scythia dropped the enchantment of silence ever so briefly, whistling for Nova, and the bloodhoof came shortly. She mounted up and regrouped with Axebourne. They shared a look of love and mutual respect.
Down the battle lines, Ess had slain three Monstrosities with typical ease. They hadn't fallen as simply to her liquid orbs as the obelisks had, but several dozen shots of each one straight through those giant bodies proved more than they could shake off.
Agrathor had blasted two apart with multiple strikes of his lightning, and was just then using his spear to put one out of its misery.
Pierce was fleeing a pack of a hundred werewolves.
"Pierce!" Scythia cried, but her voice made no sound. She pointed, and Axebourne turned his loving eyes away from her and toward the kid.
The Monstrosities were large, and strong, but slow, and few in number. A pack of werewolves would be a different fight altogether, and many of them would be wearing clothes or armor with enchantments. Anything could happen in a fight like that. They had to help him.
Axebourne had seen something, was trying to draw her attention to it. She followed his gaze to the battle lines beyond the werewolves.
The garrison troops had been cut off from them, overrun. There was no discernible order to the mob that she saw in the distance. Kash's gen-bourne banners flew deep into the defenders' lines. They were being routed.
Scythia turned her eyes back toward Pierce and said a prayer to the Blacksmith. They had to save the one they could save.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Routed
Growls, barks, snarling and panting followed Pierce as he rushed to get back in range of Scythia's amulet. Some of the sounds may have been words, but he wasn't familiar with the dialect of werewolves.
He couldn't help but steal glances at them. They were horrid things, yet enviable. Their bodies were lean and muscular in a casual way no human's could ever be. Men could work their bodies for hours on end, day after day, and never achieve such comfortable, confident strength and physique. Combined with their singular determination and focus on the hunt, any one of them would be a fearsome foe. Behind Pierce there were hundreds, and some of them were gaining on him.
The gnashing of a werewolf's teeth cut off abruptly
