CHAPTER 215: THE RED MARCH

The stone circle swallowed them, and the light grew heavier, almost metallic.

Boots scraped over a ground too dry to be natural — a ground that had already drunk blood.

As planned, the Awakened led the way. Maggie on the left, Elisa on the right, Zirel at the point. Behind them, the other Awakened followed, and further back the regular soldiers advanced in tight formation, their shields raised into a moving wall. It wasn’t heroism — just simple tactics: the Awakened broke defenses, killed the beasts, and the soldiers secured every scrap of gained ground. Like a cold, efficient machine.

The first few meters passed in silence.

Then, a breath...

A damp breath, coming from somewhere between two leaning monoliths. Maggie gave a signal, and Zirel turned, his sword tracing a shining arc. A body burst forward, all leather and fangs, but was intercepted before it reached the line. Maggie’s halberd drove into its throat with a dry crack. Blood sprayed onto the stone, immediately sucked into the dust.

Behind them, two soldiers rushed to drag the carcass out of the way and plant a red flag into the ground — marking the zone as secured. Without a word, the line closed and moved on.

Elisa, focused, let her eyes glide over every shadow. She was watching more than striking, aware that the slightest opening could endanger the troops following behind. Her hand clenched on her spear barely trembled — proof she wasn’t hesitating in her movements.

Zirel carved the path ahead. Any beast that approached was pushed back or cut down before the soldiers could even raise their spears. His silhouette split the air like a steel wedge, leaving stones blackened with blood in his wake.

The advance was slow, methodical, almost ceremonial. Every meter was paid for with measured effort; every corner checked, every noise assessed. The stones around them seemed to close in, yet the line kept moving.

At one moment, Maggie caught the gaze of a soldier behind her. It carried that familiar mix of fear and admiration — the belief that marching behind an Awakened was both a blessing and a death sentence. She looked away: here, survival didn’t come from miracles, only reflexes.

Up ahead, Zirel raised a hand for a halt.

Silence fell again, heavier still. In this war, stillness was never restful — it was the warning that something, just beyond the stone, was waiting.

She hated these pauses.

Not because they tired her — she didn’t care about that — but because they gave her ears the leisure to hear what lurked inside the silence. And in a place like this, silence was never natural.

Maggie readjusted her grip on the halberd. Her hands were coated in dust and dried blood, sticky on the shaft. She preferred it to the feel of polished metal: at least with blood, you knew it had been used for something other than parades.

She glanced at Zirel. Still straight, unmoving, weapon ready. The kind of man you could mistake for a statue if you didn’t know better. She, on the other hand, could never stay still without her legs begging for movement. So she did what she always did in moments like this:

she counted.

Not seconds, not heartbeats.

But possible exits, stones she could plant a foot on if she had to leap, the attack angles that would let her split a throat before the beast even realized what was happening.

A soldier behind her sniffled. She could almost feel him trembling. In another context, she might have thrown a jab — gallows humor had its virtues in the trenches — but not here. Not now. Here, every breath had to be measured, like a weapon.

She tilted her head slightly, listening.

It came from the left. A dry rustle, not like wind: like a body moving through something denser than air. She recognized the sound before she even saw it.

A beast. Big. And fast.

Her muscles tightened.

Not fear. Not exactly.

Instinct — the same one that made her clench her teeth before an impact, the same one that whispered that in a few seconds, the world would be nothing but speed and blows traded.

She smiled.

Not a happy smile — the one you give an enemy just before showing them they picked the wrong prey.

"Zirel... left."

She didn’t shout. Just spoke.

He understood, turned, and the line moved with him. The soldiers behind tightened their shields. Maggie stepped forward.

The damp breath turned into a rumble. Not a roar, no — the sound you’d imagine if someone tore a boulder from a mountain. Maggie had been right. It was huge... and fast.

It burst from between two leaning monoliths. Not a leap — a charge. A mass of muscle and tendon under gray, crusted skin, like badly tanned leather. Four clawed limbs, a torso built for smashing through walls, and a gaping maw full of yellowed fangs. No visible eyes. Just that mouth.

Everything narrowed. No time to think. The trajectory wasn’t for her — it was aimed at the gap where Zirel was turning, where the shield line was closing too slowly.

Instinct. Her feet moved before her brain agreed. A sharp step to the left, heel digging into dry dust. The halberd, held low, swept upward in a short arc. Not to kill — to divert.

A brutal impact. The shaft shuddered as if struck by a hammer. The tip bit into the shoulder, just enough to turn the beast a quarter aside. It swept past in a rush of dust and spit, slammed into a shield with a cracked-bell clang. The soldier behind went flying, swearing.

The mass landed on its feet, already spinning to face them again.

Maggie dropped low, rolling under the snapping jaws. Hot breath, the stench of carrion on her neck. She rose, back to the beast, weapon low, ready to thrust.

"Right flank!" Zirel barked.

The creature hesitated. Bad choice: Zirel’s blade severed a tendon at the back of one leg, drawing a sharp cry.

Without a word, Elisa struck — her spear punched into the neck, searching for a weak spot. A sharp twist, then she pulled back just before a massive claw could sweep her aside.

The beast bled black onto the stone, but rage replaced pain. It charged, blind, at Maggie.

She waited. Just enough. Fetid breath, shadow swallowing everything—

"Now!!"

Pivot on the left foot, dodge of the jaws. The halberd came down across its flank. The crack of bone and cartilage rang out, and black blood sprayed in its wake.

The beast toppled sideways, growling. Maggie yanked the blade free. Zirel was already there, driving a vertical thrust into the base of its skull.

A heavy silence fell, thick with blood and dust. Maggie’s breath was harsh, hands locked tight on her halberd. The thrown soldier was getting back up. The line had closed. Elisa wiped her spear. Zirel cleaned his blade on the gray hide.

"Clear zone!" a sergeant barked.

Two soldiers dragged the carcass away, planting a red flag.

Maggie spat dust and the metallic taste in the air. The halberd’s point still held. Good.

Then, suddenly — a sharp sound.

Grinding.

Like claws on glass.

...then another.

And another.

Not one beast. Not two. Dozens.

The sounds came from everywhere — behind, above, from the shadows between the monoliths. A shiver climbed Maggie’s spine, mechanical as a winding blade. Her hands tightened on the sticky shaft.

Zirel looked up, fixing the black ridges above. His icy pupils narrowed.

"Move!" he thundered. "Forward! Tight!"

The shield wall closed like a jaw, metal against metal. Halberds and spears rose, faces hardened. Maggie stepped with the rest, heels pounding the dry stone.

Above, something moved — a shadow split by a flash of fangs. Then another, then three, then too many to count. Slender, agile bodies flowed down the walls as if gravity had never applied to them.

The scraping became a continuous hiss, a nightmare rasp. Maggie was already tracking their paths in her head: attack angles, distances, blind spots. She felt her heartbeat align with the group’s, as if the whole formation beat with one heart.

"Don’t move!" Elisa called, low but sharp. "Let them come."

They would come. Oh yes. The real nasties, the fast ones, the sly ones, the kind that killed before you saw them. Maggie knew: the first wave had only been a warning.

A hot breath passed over her, followed by a metallic flash. A soldier had already driven his pike into the first creature daring to leap. A strangled cry, a body dropping, and the tension ratcheted higher.

Maggie inhaled deeply. The air tasted of dust and fear. She raised her halberd, tip angled slightly forward. She felt her palms slip — not sweat: dried blood.

Behind the shields, Zirel cast a quick glance, heavy with meaning: too many to hold for long.

Maggie grinned, showing her teeth. Perfect.

This was the kind of fight where fear and fatigue drowned in a single instinct: hold. And if possible, make them pay dearly for every inch of ground.