CHAPTER 46: THE COUNTERATTACK OF THE BLACK DEMON

The Saint bit her lips until they bled.

Her eyes oozed with rage, but behind the fury, there was that cold terror she could no longer hide. Her riders had screamed, her infantry had raised their banners as if to defy the heavens... and now, everything was breaking apart.

They had charged too soon. Without orders. Without formation.

Thousands of bodies rushed down the hill in a chaos unworthy of a holy army. Breastplates clashed, lances tangled, and the white sacred banner snapped in the wind like a sail torn away in the middle of a storm.

Behind them, the priests chanted at the top of their lungs, vain prayers spat into the blizzard. Their voices broke, swallowed by the screaming of men and the din of steel.

The Saint, astride her scarlet warhorse, straightened in her saddle. Her tense body vibrated with frustration. Her war robe, far too thin for this cold, clung to her chest that swelled with every ragged breath. Her nipples jutted, hard beneath the fabric drenched in melting snow, and some of her officers lowered their eyes despite the terror, unable not to notice the flesh offered by rage.

— Fools...! she roared, her voice slicing the air like a blade.

But no one listened anymore. They were descending, screaming, striking their shields with their swords, hurling themselves against the black wall raised at the bottom of the valley: Sora’s ranks.

She knew. She felt it deep in her knotted guts: that man’s plan had worked. He had forced her army to lose patience, to waste their numbers in a senseless charge.

The Saint squeezed her thighs against her mount, her bare skin rubbing against the sweat-soaked leather. The horse reared, neighing, but she remained frozen, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

Below, the abyssium gleam was already visible, the massive shields rising in unison like a jaw ready to bite. Dozens of black silhouettes formed a perfect barrier. No gap. No breach.

And behind them, the archers. Hundreds of taut strings, ready to rain down on her men who were nothing more than a disordered mass. Worse still, a section of mages was chanting.

The Saint’s throat tightened. Her nails clawed at her mount’s mane.

A word rose to her lips, broken, almost pleading:

— No...

But too late. Already, the thunder of drums resounded, and the black demon’s counterattack was about to fall.

I simply raised my hand.A brief, cold, calculated gesture.

— Heavy shields, in place.

The crash of metal resounded across the plain. Hundreds of black plates dug into the snow, forming a compact wall. The Tyrgash drove their boots into the ice up to their ankles, planting their massive lances like stakes. Behind them, my lighter infantry was already adjusting positions, ready to surge into the killing corridors we had opened.

— Archers. Mages. Fire.

The valley lit up in a flash of red and black. Torches, runes, hastily drawn glyphs burst aflame with infernal light. Then the rain fell.

A monstrous hiss. Hundreds of obsidian arrows tore the air and rained down on the enemy mass. The first ranks screamed. Torsos split open, skulls shattered, shields were nailed to the ground with their bearers still alive.

And that was only the beginning.

The mages behind my lines raised their arms. Blue flames shot forth in scorching bolts, melting snow, carbonizing dozens of men in a single breath. Shards of ice, as sharp as blades, burst in gusts, cutting legs, arms, heads that rolled into the snow already stained red.

The Saint screamed an order, but her army was already advancing, unable to stop on the slope. They rushed down the hill, tripping over the corpses of their brothers, crushed under the rain of fire and arrows.

Then came the shock.

The first impact shook the valley like an earthquake. The white-clad demons, screaming their prayers, smashed against our black shields. The sound of breaking bones, of jaws giving way, drowned out even the wind. The line shook but did not break. The Tyrgash, armored colossi, shoved back with their shoulders, their shields, their massive bodies. Each push crushed three, four opponents, hurling them back in a geyser of snow and blood.

I smiled. Everything was unfolding exactly as planned.

The horn sounded, deep and brief, like the roar of a beast.

Then, shadow spread across our flanks.

The Drakzors leapt out of the snowdrifts, massive demon-lizards, gaping maws drooling streams of sulfurous saliva. Their fangs gleamed like black daggers in the blizzard, and their claws tore into the hardened snow. On their backs, riders screamed, axes and lances raised high.

At the head, Varkash led the charge. Her hoarse laughter carried louder than the horn. Her heavy breasts bounced beneath the half-open plate that served as her armor, and her foaming breath mingled with that of her mount. Her double axe, brandished in a single hand, was already carving a bloody crescent in the air.

The clash was monstrous.

The enemy flank ripped open like flesh too tender. Bodies flew, cleaved in half, crushed under the beasts’ weight. The white horses, panicked, neighed, slipped, refused to face these scaled monsters biting into their throats with full jaws.

— Again! roared Varkash, cleaving a rider in two, her blackened sex bursting out of shattered armor.

No pause. No slowing.

The Drakzors struck then vanished at once into a cloud of snow and blood, only to return from another angle, faster, crueler. A mobile shock tactic, repeated in successive waves. Each assault left behind a trail of torn limbs, split torsos, shields trampled like children’s toys.

The enemy riders, poorly organized, tried to regroup. But at every attempt, a scaled maw burst into their ranks, seizing a throat, toppling a horse, shattering all cohesion. Their white banners fell one after another, stained with black and red blood.

The Saint, atop the hill, gnashed her teeth. Her robe flapped in the wind, drenched with snow and plastered against her firm thighs. Her hands rose again, tracing glowing circles. She chanted, her lips spitting a dead tongue. Already, corpses were tearing themselves from the snow, rising with broken bones, glassy eyes, staggering like puppets.

I smiled. A raw, predatory smile.

For even with her summons, she could not keep up. For every corpse raised, ten more collapsed into the snow. Enemy losses soared, and I felt fear spreading like a wave through their ranks.

Victory seemed almost assured.

I was about to step into the fray.

My fingers were already gripping my swords’ hilts, the snow crunching beneath my boots as I braced on the embankment. The Saint was there, a white silhouette, her chest swelling with each incantation, her lips spitting their sacred venom. She was hanging by a thread. One step, and I would sever it.

Then the world shattered.

A sound. Deep. A horn, long, profound, vibrating through my chest. Not the breath of my own, not the short note of our Drakzors. A foreign call, solemn, bearing a sinister promise.

The entire plain froze for a second. Screams ceased. Horses reared. Even the dead animated by the Saint seemed to waver, as if hesitating between two masters.

I straightened slowly, my eyes scouring the horizon. The snow swept across the hills, but above the storm rose a black line. Then a second. Then a third.

The banners appeared first. Long, tapering, snapping in the icy wind. Blood red on a white field. A jagged cross visible from miles away.

Then came the bodies. Tight ranks, three... no, at least four thousand men. Armed, armored, advancing with steady steps. Their shields covered the hill like scales, and behind them, the raised pikes made the air tremble.

A murmur rippled through my troops. I felt it, like a vibration in the ice. The youngest paled. The veterans squinted, hands clenched on their weapons.

And I recognized.

— The uncle... I whispered. The uncle of the Saint.

At the summit, the white rider burst into a hoarse laugh. Her robe whipped like a banner itself, revealing her thighs, her nipples hard from cold and tension. She raised her rune-covered arm, fresh blood still dripping from her nails, and her cry swept across the valley:

— Brothers! Rise! Today, we crush them!

The plain trembled under the steps of the reinforcements descending in perfect order.

I smiled.

A cold, wide smile, a demon’s smile. The snow reflected my teeth as if I were a beast ready to bite. Around me, my officers stepped back instinctively. Even the most hardened felt the black breath emanating from me. All, except them.

Sae and Kaelira did not move. Their eyes locked on mine, burning with that war fever nothing could extinguish. I pointed at the plain with a finger, as if designating prey already dead.

— Put on your abyssium armor. Arm yourselves. We’re going to kill this uncle.

A brutal silence. Then Sae nodded, a spark of defiance in her gray gaze.

— Very well.

Kaelira said nothing. She simply grabbed the leather clasp holding her cloak, snapped it against her bare thigh, and strode away, her muscular ass swinging like a war metronome. Sae followed, barefoot in the snow, her white hair plastered to her back. The two vanished into the shadow of the tents, ready to dress like goddesses of steel.

I remained alone.

Well, not quite.

I turned my head toward Nyss. The succubus was already approaching, her hips rolling like waves, her heavy breasts quivering beneath the dark leather that covered nothing. Her golden eyes gleamed, but I saw the hunger behind them. The urge to tear, to humiliate, to possess.

I extended a hand, and my order snapped, sharp:

— You... crush the Saint. Use your power if you must, but crush her. Make her kneel, make her beg, make her break. But beware... do not kill her.

Nyss laughed. A low, sensual laugh that made her membranous wings tremble. She licked her lips like a sadist, then her eyes darkened. I pressed further:

— You have free rein. You can even use our trump card... if it will lure her.

Nyss’s smile turned demonic, split ear to ear. Her tail swayed behind her, slow, sinuous, like a serpent ready to strike. But when her eyes returned to me, I saw something else: seriousness. A promise.

Nyss inclined her head, her hard nipples jutting beneath the taut leather, and a predatory grin split her face. Her tail cracked like a whip behind her, leaving a trail of sparks in the snow.

— Very well, Sora... she murmured, her voice deeper than usual. I will make her crawl in her own shame. She will scream your name before the end.

Her eyes darkened completely, turning abyssal black, and her aura exploded, invisible but so heavy the soldiers nearby suffocated. Some stepped back, their cocks stiff despite their fear, unable to withstand her gaze.

I simply nodded. The pact was sealed.

And in that silence, just before the drums resumed, I added in a calm voice:

— Then go. Break her. And when I’m done with her uncle... I will take her from your hands.