Threads of the Soul

Boots clanked against the ground almost in perfect synchronisation, some squelching as they stepped in the blood pools left by freshly melted Hemogoblin corpses while others had to step over those yet to melt.

Step by step, inch by inch, the shield wall gradually moved forward, pushing their enemy back as they moved as if they had one brain. Simply because, for the most part, they did. There was no way that they would have been able to train so many people to work as a cohesive, flawless unit in such little times.

That would take months of training and multiple experiences to form true bonds between their fighters, something Seth was only starting to truly form with his own smaller hunting party never mind the mass of untrained warriors he was currently leading.

So instead of even trying such an impossible feat, the majority of the wall was composed of the many puppets he had picked up along the way. All of them were being controlled by the Spirit Animal, who had improved significantly with Seth's evolution, since it was just a function of his own mutation rather than a separate entity like his unfortunate son Bob.

At this current time, the Spirit Animal was able to link to upwards of 50 different puppets, although it was still limited on how it commanded them. Hence, why the unit was able to move so cohesively, they were all following the exact same orders at the exact same time.

It was simply up to Seth to, once again, micromanage them and adjust for all the slight variations in instructions that had to be given out, such as when stepping over the bodies.

The rest of the shield wall was composed of non-puppeteered people, such as the redemption seeking Bob, who had all been given the order to simply keep pace with the puppets and move with them.

While that had its own issues, it was the best solution Seth could think of under such short notice.

As the shield wall gradually moved forward, they forced the crimson tide to retreat under their constant onslaught. They might have had the numbers advantage, but so long as they didn't let those numbers overwhelm them, they were in the advantage.

The hill of the castle was the perfect place to do so. A narrowed path, slopes on either side to stop others from trying to sneak around their advancing formation. So much of their numbers simply had to wait for the line of slaughter to reach them, or simply strike at their own comrades in front of them.

Would you be surprised to find that some of these depraved, sadistic little wretches chose the latter and struck down those in front of them in an attempt to get closer to the true action? I doubt you would be.

Aside from those who had been tasked with eliminating the beasts in the most bloodless ways possible, which usually involved a lot of skull bashing and a few psychic assaults, there was a team dedicated to clean up.

The gleaming golden knight Erik held this line, instead of being on the shield wall were one might expect him.

With a wave of his hand, fresh and crystal clear water leapt from his palm, gushing over the ground beneath their feet and washing away the blood pools left behind by the Hemogoblins that melted like popsicles.

Eagerly working alongside him were those with powers more suited to cleaning, in one way or the other. Such as the likes of Benny, the living sponge, whose very presence made this filth tremble in fear. Not the Hemogoblins, but the filth they left behind. There was not a stain in the world that didn't fear the scrubbing powers of the sponge man.

But an army composed solely of disposable cannon fodder was no army at all. Whilst a majority of the mages were still focused deeply on completing the ritual, despite the chaos erupting at their gates and threatening to overwhelm them, that did not mean that they were all focused on it.

Some Mages were positioned outside of the walls, ready to serve their main purpose in these chaotic battles. A purpose that the cleaning crew had stripped from them completely.

Then again, what was a mage without a little versatility?

Stripped of their main weapons, and forced out onto the defensive, the mages reluctantly chose to employ whatever alternative spells they had stashed away. Some sent hails of rocks ripped from the earth pelting towards the shield wall, blasting them like a machine gun.

Others created blasts of fire with a wave of their staffs and some took a more indirect approach.

One particular mage, stood beside what seemed to be his personal Hob goblin bodyguard, was chanting in their disgusting, language that sounded like a cat struggling with a hairball. But instead of hucking up a clump of hair, a stream of light flowed outwards from the crystal atop its staff.

The light gushed forward, pouring in through the orifices of the bodyguard positioned beside him, who began to twitch and convulse. Foam gathering at the sides of its mouth, which was still twisted into a sadistic smile.

As the Hob goblin absorbed the light, his muscles began to suddenly bulge and inflate, its entire body growing until it easily stood at nearly 8 foot tall. Their growth happened so quickly that even his skin didn't have time to keep up, as it tore open in multiple places to make way for the new musculature.

But that wasn't the only thing that tore apart his skin. The Hob goblins bones snapped apart and erupted out of his still bulging frame, giving it bone spur weaponry all along the side of its forearm, like the serrated edge of a saw, as well as from the tips of its fingers to act as claws.

Its legs snapped backwards, giving it digitigrade legs like that of a dog. As its transformation was nearing completion, the Hob goblin bent backwards and tilted its head to the sky before letting out a deafening roar.

Then, with those newly formed, powerful it burst forwards into a sprint. Charging through the lines without a care, tossing aside its allies like they were nothing and crushing even more under foot. But then why would it care? Those it killed were simply brought back anew, ready to fight, kill and die once again.

The Hob goblin, which resembled an ogre or some other abomination of nature more than a goblin at this point, carved through the crimson ocean like a sharks fin through water, with other non transformed Hobgoblins following in its wake.

Once it finally reached the shield wall, letting those behind it witness the cruel, bloodthirsty snarl plastered across its wretched face, it didn't bother slowing down. It simply slammed its powerful, twisted leg down and burst forth like a bullet from a gun. Slamming directly into the trembling shield wall.

That poor wall never stood a chance.

The once impenetrable wall burst apart like it was nothing more than a house of cards slapped in frustration, as bodies were tossed through the air like simple rag dolls.

Lashing out with its bone spur tipped hands, it sliced apart one defender's throat with its claws and lifted another into the air by his head. It barely glanced at the one it had grabbed, before carelessly tossing him over his shoulder like a useless toy and sending him sailing into the depths of the crimson tide, to be torn apart and added to their numbers.

With its chest puffed out, it proudly strode forward, as if everything it saw before it was naturally beneath it. The abomination of a hob goblin didn't even notice, or care, as it crushed a skull underneath its foot as it advanced.

A gaping hole was left in the defenders wall behind it, which its comrades were quick to take advantage of. Pouring in through the crack, the non-transformed Hobgoblins that had followed close behind it were the first to enter, followed quickly by the hordes of the disposable weaklings.

The defending humans scrambled in panic to plug the hole that it had made, but such a thing was no longer a concern to the ogre. It was already licking its lips as it looked over the squishy back lines with hunger in its eyes, arrows plinking harmlessly off its skin or becoming embedded between its tough muscles. It could practically taste their fear, and couldn't wait to see what flavours it added to their blood.

Throwing its head back, the Abominable Ogre let out another bone rattling roar, eager to add more fear into their hearts and enhance the flavour of the buffet before it. Yet just as it was getting to the crescendo of its mighty roar, it was quickly cut short as a stone slab slammed into the side of its head.

The impact lifted the ogre from its feet, sending it tumbling head over heels across the ground until it finally skidded to a halt.

Taking a few seconds to adjust to reality, as its brain bounced around in its head like a pinball, it slammed its fist into the ground and rose to its feet with a throat rumbling growl. Rolling its tongue around its mouth, it gathered up the tooth that had been knocked loose before spitting it to the side, all the while glaring at the concrete covered Golem standing where it had once stood.

Raising its fists like a professional boxer, with fresh blood staining one of its knuckles, the Golem made a beckoning gesture. They might not have understood each others words, but fists always spoke the same language, and right now they were only saying one thing.

'Come get some.'