He’d had none of that. They’d been attacked just a few short hours into their journey. Vir had a sinking feeling he was about to face the greatest challenge he’d encountered in the Demon Realm. Perhaps even surpassing the defense of Samar Patag.
And as Balagra so eloquently put it, saving one’s self was realms apart from protecting others. As for an exposed, untrained army against Ash Beasts? At that moment, Vir was not at all confident he could live up to his lofty words.
43
JOURNEY TO THE LOST CITY (PART ONE)
“Form up! Huddle together—as close as you can!” Vir roared at the top of his lungs. Lacking the armored Ash’va mounts the Chitran guards rode, Vir was forced to Micro Leap if he had any hope of having his orders heard. Hearing, however, was only half the battle. To his immense frustration, Vir was learning that hearing and obeying were two very different things.
Don’t they understand I’m trying to save their lives?
Vir focused on the positives in a bid to fight down his mounting frustration.
As far as silver linings went, there were precious few. With just a hundred under his command, Vir thankfully didn’t have to move far to address all of his troops.
So much was stacked against them on this excursion. Not only did they lack the protection of the mountains that loomed to their left, but they’d been caught with little time to prepare and no time to train. The ragtag mob of demons were as likely to hurt themselves as they were their enemies.
Complex commands and organized formations weren’t an option, and any attempt to force them to comply would only end in tragedy.
Instead, Vir Leaped around his company of troops like a shepherd, barking orders to huddle closer, encircling them like a closing noose.
By the end, he’d mustered them into a circular formation, though there was much left to be desired. Those who’d failed to earn Porcelain rank had no weapons at all, and yet, a worrying number of them were on the outside of the formation where they were most vulnerable. Vir wanted those with spears and shields to form the outer perimeter of the circle, but for now, he’d have to take what he could get.
Glancing at Balagra, the Naga had attempted to do the same with his troops, but without Vir’s mobility, he struggled.
Vir was about to go help Balagra organize his troops when several figures appeared in the distance—their scouts. They were followed closely by another, much larger mass of black figures that could only mean one thing.
They’re not going to make it.
With this realization came another, more chilling one—Vir lacked the time to prepare Balagra’s troops and save the scouts. Doing one would condemn the other.
“Go!” Balagra shouted, sensing Vir’s dilemma. “Save them. If we lose them, we’re done for.”
Vir hesitated. In the few minutes they’d had before they were forced to sortie, Balagra and Vir had quickly scanned their troops and picked the ones who possessed tattoos well suited for reconnaissance. Especially within the abandoned city, they’d be invaluable.
As such, they’d picked some of the best talent for the job—losing the scouts would be a hard blow.
As would having Balagra’s company decimated even before they’d arrived at the city.
It took only a split-second for Vir to comprehend all this, and he made his decision.
Leaping to the scouts who were still a few hundred paces away, Vir readied himself to reave into the incoming Ash Beasts.
The talwar he wielded wasn’t bad, per se, but against the hide of most beasts of the Ashen Realm, most demons would struggle to do damage. Even beasts lacking much natural armor, like Shredders, would pose significant hurdles. While the blade would have done the job when paired with demonic physical strength, it wouldn’t have been fast enough to take down so many.
Vir, however, was not most demons. A coating of Ash prana surged over the edge, wreathing it in a layer of lethality.
Vir reduced the power to prevent the black prana from turning visible, though even if it had, he doubted the terrified scouts would have noticed—running for their lives as they were. He blurred past his scouts, leaving a wake of buffeting wind and ash behind. He flew into the throng of beasts… and began to destroy.
Balagra had been dealt a stroke of fortune. He just didn’t know if it was good or bad yet, and whether to thank the gods or curse them.
Realistically, they had no chance. Balagra would wager gold that none of his troops had ever fought an Ash Beast before. Even if they had, there was no such thing as a guaranteed win against those monsters.
While Balagra had bested an Ash Wolf and a handful of other beasts in that blighted realm, he’d always had the good sense to avoid groups of them like the plague.
Anyone who saw what happened to even the mightiest warriors when beset upon by a horde would. Balagra was hardly as mighty. As for his troops?
Well, at least Neel wouldn’t have to worry about his moral dilemma much longer. If Balagra was right, no one was getting out.
It wasn’t too bad, as far as death sentences went. Some were made to suffer for years before they were granted their sweet release.
At least it would be quick, which was far more than any traitor to their clan could expect.
And yet, Balagra found himself going through the motions, nevertheless. He barked orders to his troops in a vain attempt to force them into some semblance of a formation. He shouted words of encouragement and clapped their shoulders, hoping to instill some measure of confidence beyond what their failing Foundation Chakras could impart.
Balagra fully understood the hypocrisy of his actions.
Why even bother? Hadn’t he given Neel a long list of reasons explaining why surviving only lengthened their suffering? Better to kneel and let themselves be taken by the beasts. At least then, they’d deprive the Overseer of his sick pleasure. Maybe the Kothi would be demoted for his failure.
Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?
Regardless of what his rebel acquaintance felt, sacrificing themselves was about the only thing they could do to make a difference.
Having fortified his troops as much as possible, Balagra tapped into his Panav Bloodline tattoo—the art that marked him as different among his people. The brand had ostracized him ever since it’d been thrust upon him by his father in his coming-of-age ceremony.
The very tattoo that ruined his life might very well be what saved them now.
Searching the horizon for the gray demon who’d recklessly launched himself at the enemy, Balagra’s eyes came away empty.
I suppose I should assume command of his company, Balagra thought wearily. A pity. He seemed like a good kid, too. Naïve and reckless, like the rest of his clan, but good.
Balagra would mourn his passing—if given the chance.
The cloud finished forming. It was invisible, of course, being composed of prana. Which was why Balagra had no reason to doubt what his eyes showed.
His troops, who had been silently making peace with death, began to whisper.
“Impossible,” Balagra muttered under his breath.
The scouts had returned safely. Not only had they returned safely, but behind them was another form. Not Shredders or Ash Biters, but someone familiar.
He… killed them?
It was Neel, and he didn’t even look injured.
The idea was so ludicrous—so utterly implausible—that Balagra’s mind instinctively rejected such an outcome. There must have been some explanation. Perhaps some hidden art that he’d hidden away. Was he secretly of the Aindri? Had he communed with the beasts to pacify them?