Author's Notes:

And we're here! It too longer than I hoped to get this story rolling. Finishing the Reaper and the Black Dogs left me so emotionally drained I had to go into a writing coma for a few months just to recover the desire to type again. Kudos to those who stuck out the wait, and I promise nothing but excitement and wonder going forwards.

A couple thing to note for those old and new to Reaper and the Black Dogs:

This is not going to be a clean and happy story. While certainly it will be less heartbreaking and gut-wrenching then the original, it is still going to be quite grimdark. Do not expect rainbows and sunshine. There will be tears and horror by the time this is over.

This is a direct sequel to Reaper and the Black Dogs (hence the name). There will be many, many references to the original, and if you post a review complaining about that, I might actually ignore your review (doubtful on this one. I respond to all reviews one way or another. I might just gloss over your questions with a "read the first story")

This story is going to be even more bizarre and… weird… than the first. Be prepared for endless shenanigans and WTF moments.

From time to time you may see me post a song at the end of my author's notes. Some point in the chapter was crafted while imagining that song playing in the background. I will leave it to you to a) look up the song, b) figure out where in the chapter the song is meant to be, and c) decide if you care or not. I am merely adding it for fun.

For the love of all that is holy DO NOT COMPLAIN ABOUT THE RATIONALITY/PHYSICS OF THIS STORY. It is an ungodly mashup of imaginary realities with zero-to-no practical scientific basis. If you bitch about the physics of lasguns in a review, I will pray your car gets glitterbombed until the day I die.

Hope you enjoy the story. To butcher a quote from the wisest scholars who ever put pen to paper "this is not the greatest story in the world. No, this is just a tribute."

Marigar was a quiet village, tucked in the cleft valley between the northern mountain range that protected Feoh from the frigid wastes and separated it from the lower region of Ur. A few small farms surrounded it, growing subsistence crops as the seasons allowed, toiling in the hard earth at the foot of the mountains. Barely a hundred souls lived in the village proper; ten times that could be found in a good two-days march any direction. It was a quiet, sleepy-

We've all seen this already. I am sure you don't want to trudge through all this dreary nonsense again. How about we skip forward a bit. You mortals live such short lives I will make sure to take a minute step.

Now then… ah-ha! Here we are. You remember this place, don't you? Standing side-by-side with your honorable ally. Brave mortals united in common enemy of those vicious and dastardly de… dem… heehee, I can't bring myself to say it. This pitiful rabble. It would be an insult to compare them to anything, even the spores that breed the orkoid menace. Wretches. I will call them wretches.

There you are, then. The pivotal moment. You tried this once before. You stepped back through time and ended it all here. Slaughtered your allies, murdered the woman you cared for. And it worked. Almost. But you were missing something. Missing something very serious, and very important.

Do you know the difference between casting out a daemon and slaying its physical form? Anyone can slay a daemon's body. Enough firepower and even you humans can bring those monsters to their knees. But no, to cast it out, to exorcise it. That is where the true defeat lies. That is how you can send this one back to where it belongs. Smite the body, and its soul will remain trapped in this reality, separated from the Warp and its home as it gluts and feeds and bloats until it gains the power to tear a hole back to its masters side. And then, even the Pantheon would find an opponent to be wary of.

You must cast it out.

By yourself, it is impossible. One man against a daemon?

Ha!

But don't worry. I am not unsympathetic. Just as I will not promise to not be unhelpful. Or is that promise to be unhelpful? Or not promise to be helpful? Or promise to not be helpful? Which negative is it that cancels…

Daemons.

You sound confused. You look confused. No, not you. The one over your shoulder. Him. Her. Whoever happens to be looking at this at the moment.

No, I am not crazy. Neither is the auth-

Daemons. Right. Of course, I was telling you about what you are about to face. The daemon, and how to not only slay its physical form but cast it back into where it belongs.

You are not alone in this fight. Previous experience may tell you that it is a hopeless fight. Peasants with pitchforks fighting against a dread lord of hell. Those odds may never be in your favor, I fear. But have no fear!

I lied. Have at least one fear. One fear a day keeps the Bloodletters away, as they say.

And if you fail again, of course, I don't doubt that I would be able to pull this off again. You have used up so many of your lives, my tiny little human friend. To quote an eminemt scholar of your past…

If you had one shot, or one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted in one moment, would you capture it, or let it slip?

Well, now this is your third shot, and I sincerely hope you haven't blown your load on your first two attempts. The third time is the charm, as they say. Or is it the third time is the pattern? If this becomes a pattern, I almost feel sorry for you.

Now, stop distracting me and let me finish what I am trying to tell you. I have enormous patience, but your inability to focus is growing rather tiresome.

You. The daemon. Exorcise it.

How, you may ask? To exorcise a daemon you need will need the chief weapon of surprise and fear! Two weapons! Your two weapons are surprise and fear and… ruthless efficiency. Your three weapons are fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency and… sod it, you probably don't even get the reference. Did your ancestors teach you nothing?

To exorcise the daemon, you need three things. First, a weapon. A weapon powerful enough to shatter its physical form and pierce the core of its soul. Many such weapons exist, though knowing what they are is a rare thing indeed. The blade at your side should suffice for that. Second, you need a target. And I do not just mean the daemon's shell. Strike it down and it will become more powerful than you can imagine. You need to know what you are striking. This too is known to you, though I cannot help you there. Third, you need to catch the daemon by surprise. Virtuoso is a beast of excellence and perfection. You must unbalance it, rob it of its foundations. Only then will it be truly vulnerable. Only then may your weapon strike its target.

How to unbalance the daemon, though. That is the tricky part. The hardest part, really. A feat so insurmountable that you could never accomplish it on your own. After all, it knows you so well. You have fought it so many times and exhausted all your tricks. There is nothing new under your sun, as it were.

To that end, my humble offering comes into play. You need allies that can stand against this foe. Creatures and monsters alike that can bring something to the field that even this daemon might not foresee. I grant you this, human. You have spunk. But spunk will not win this battle. You need allies, and allies you shall have. How you acquire those allies, those assets, that is up to you. Though, and I shouldn't tell you this because, well, spoilers, but you already know a way to find allies. And even if you cannot get the idea of friendship through that thick skull of yours, I may have placed a fairly significant source of friends in this world. If you can figure it out, the results will be quite… explosive. I am sure your master would be green with envy. As they say, you gacha catch them all.

Too punny? No such thing! How much of that went right over your head, I wonder. Well, it looks like it is time to send you off. My time grows short, and the eye is ever watchful.

Before I go, might I suggest finding an obnoxiously adorable traveling companion? Surely that will offset your surly and grim demeanor. He might even inscribe your legend into popular song.

Toss a coin to your Reaper, Oh! Valley of-

Bye now! Have fun storming the castle! Buh-bye!

-v-

"So what have you heard about the Dark Queen?"

They stood at the edge of camp, looking out at the Black Fortress and the Demon Legion forces assembled. It was a familiar scene, and he felt the dizziness fading from his limbs as he gripped Durendal until his palm bled. Twice before, now three times. His throat and tongue wretched at the bile crawling inside his mouth, his skin prickled with a thousand little needles sliding about just underneath.

The fading voice echoed and danced inside his skull, its intent meandering and traipsing through his awareness like an ant that lost its way to the hive. Striking with migraine-level force, it upended his balance and left him breathless, pinching his eyes closed as he struggled to not trip and fall over his own feet.

Damn that bastard god.

Vult watched him, a bemused curiosity on the mercenary general's face. The sharp, stabbing fury clawed for action, set the muscles in his arm twitching to draw Durendal and strike. He had done it once before. Even now, with the heat of his rage cooled, the desire pulsed so strongly it burned.

"What was the question?"

"Wouldn't have thought you to be spacing out before a battle. I asked what you heard about her." He nodded towards the Black Fortress. "Rumor is the Dark Queen is a total babe."

The mercenary made a suggestive shape with his hands.

The fire boiled, hissing and scalding under his palms.

"… put her right in the middle of her good years. Not that they have bad years, of course. Dark elves always were my cup of tea. That dark skin, black hair, hm…" Vult sighed appreciatively. "Gods, I bet she's a sight to leave a man panting."

Louk considered the words, spoken before him twice now, and compared them to the alluring beauty that was Olga Discordia. She was all that, and more.

"Don't let your mind wander too far" he warned the mercenary. "Still have a whole legion in front of us to deal with."

"Ah, that we do." Vult flashed his toothy grin. "Can't hate a man for thinking forward to his reward, though. If she's pretty enough, I might walk her through the camp, let the men have a gander."

"That's a base idea for one held in the Goddess' favor."

His initial reaction was to snap in irritation at the man. The fault was not Vult's, however. Vult was ignorant, at this time. Before he encountered Virtuoso, before this world lost its innocence. Words spoken in idle curiosity deserved no chastisement. Still, his skin prickled at the suggestion of Olga being paraded before an army like cattle.

The pointed observation struck home. Vult's grin faded, and he rubbed the back of his neck in self-conscious embarrassment. "Well, a man's gotta be what a man's gotta be." Vult's massive frame huffed, and he kicked at a loose rock. "They're all gorgeous then, aren't they? Celestine, Claudia, even Maia and Prim. Let me tell you, any full-blooded man can't sit more than a bit around them without having all his blood rushing to the wrong head. That's all it is, though. I'm not fool enough to think I'd ever have a real shot at one of the Seven Shields. Hell, none of us would. We're just a band of damned mercenaries. They're princesses, nobles, and such. Almost makes it easier, knowing there's not a chance in hell with them. Let's me ignore 'em. But that doesn't mean I don't get stiff when they strut about, passing out orders and wearing their fancy clothes. When they're about, you can be sure I'm on my best behavior. But I ain't a eunuch. My blood runs just as hot as any man's."

"Let it run too hot and you're liable to catch fire."

"Heh." Vult shook his head. "Ain't that the truth. Hell, I feel wrong just sitting at the table with them most days. Don't know where to place my eyes."

Louk remembered how this conversation had gone. He wondered what good might come out of retracing the same steps. Probably nothing. There were too many unknowns regarding what would happen. How much would change? How much would stay the same? He chose silence. Better to not put ideas in Vult's head, lest Vult again become the daemon's puppet.

"Would you do me a favor" Louk asked suddenly, breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen between the two men.

"A favor?" Vult's eyebrow rose.

"When we breach the gate, let me enter the fortress first."

The mercenary eyed him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. After enough time had passed, the hulking mercenary chuckled.

"What, you want to claim the credit? Steal my glory at the last second?"

"The Goddess herself requested I secure the Dark Queen. I merely ask that you grant me the opportunity."

"Aye, I can do that. Can't promise I won't go charging in after you."

"A head start is all I require."

They fell silent again for several minutes. Both men stared across the blasted plain, eyeing the twinkling fires of the Demon Legion's camp. There were not many tents, or structures of any kind. Demons were primitive, unintelligent. Actual dwellings were signs of slaves, or higher-than-average intelligence monsters that would have to be hunted down and eliminated quickly on the field of battle.

The air tasted… different, than before. He could still sense the daemon's presence. Chaotic energy seeped through the legion of orcs and monsters, infecting their weak minds by osmosis. Creatures like that did not have a place in the daemon's plans, save as cattle.

Virutoso was out there. And it was alert, very different from the times before.

It knew.

The world had changed.

It had changed.

"So this is it" Vult breathed, his voice so soft it must have been a reflection of his thoughts.

Louk assumed that by 'it,' Vult meant the end of the war. The proper war, at least. In Vult's mind, the assumption had solid ground to stand on. If only he knew how the world was about to be swept away.

"I'll keep you with me, for the first part of it" Vult announced. "Plugging holes and filling in the line. You good with that?"

"I would be of more use let loose on the horde" Louk replied.

"Ha! I bet you would." Vult let out a boisterous laugh. "As would I. But carnage won't win this battle. You ever seen us fight the demons? The only way to fight them while bringing bodies home is through the shield wall. Stop them cold and let the archers and mages reap a heavy toll."

He knew that was how they fought. And he had seen how effective it was. But his time was limited, far more limited than the last time. The daemon was out there, and it knew he had come within striking distance. Did it know what power awaited it inside Olga's fortress?

"The shield wall, then." He nodded softly, already imagining the blood flowing down his arms. Durendal shivered at his hip, resonating with his own will as he considered the battle ahead. So much blood to be shed.

He had forgotten what it was like to feel confidence in the hunt. Centuries of hunting daemons and monsters that defied all attempts to corral them, capture them, had strained his abilities to their limits time and time again. It was… exhausting, losing battle after battle. Watching worlds burn and die because of one mistake, of being one minute too late. Eostia had never stood a chance, the first time. He had never stood a chance.

This time would be different. He could taste it as surely as he could taste the change in the air.

A flicker of indecision clouded his thoughts. Turning this way and that, Louk glanced about the camp.

"Looking for something?"

He listened to the thousands of heartbeats filling the army's camp. The two he knew so well, the two he expected to find, were not there.

"Two girls" he muttered, frowning.

"Two girls?" Vult cackled loudly. "And you were giving me shit for imagining on the Dark Queen. You're a right horndog, aren't you, Reaper?"

"They aren't whores" Louk snarled, a flash of anger surging through his veins. Why weren't they here? It said they would be here. "My daughters."

"I didn't know you had kids."

Louk huffed, bottling his emotions. He had a lot of words that came to mind, but none worth saying aloud. It would only confuse Vult, who had no idea what was truly happening here. Instead he sighed, and settled on gazing up into the sky.

"That was all a lie, wasn't it?" He mouthed the words, hardly daring to voice them aloud. "Fecking prick."

-v-

The Black Dogs' battle lines combined the pageantry of war with the cold hard steel of disciplined soldiery. Banners denoting companies and leaders fluttered above their respective units. Shieldbearers stood in perfect rows, their massive tower shields resting on the ground. Lines of archers planted ready arrows at their feet, or carried bundles slung over their shoulders for depositing once final lines were made. Riders raced back and forth behind the lines, passing orders about and ensuring the whole army had the correct plan. Everything moved like clockwork. The Black Dogs were a well-oiled, professional machine.

Scattered amongst the thousands of soldiers, robed mages and warriors bearing the infamous Kuroinu patch prowled. Those were the heavy hitters, the elite of the mercenary army. It would be their job to ensure the lines remained unbroken, and the demons were butchered.

Louk had to give them credit for the orderly way they deployed. No lollygagging or administrative fumbling impeded their progress. Companies knew where to deploy and took positions with practiced urgency. Slight figures, either youths or those too wounded to battle, moved back and forth as runners and aides, ensuring coordination remained constant both before, during, and after the battle. Vult and his leaders had formed an impressive army. An army worthy of fighting alongside.

He sat on a horse now, riding a black stallion Vult had gifted to him for the battle. Odin, it was called. The origin of the name meant nothing to him, but he knew the animal's strength and willpower. It fairly crackled with energy, snorting and pawing at the ground, eager to be let loose to run fast and far into the foe. That it accepted him was a point in its favor. Most animals disliked him, sensing the darkness inside. This one did not care. That, or it was well enough trained to ignore the aura of wrongness that spread from his presence.

Come to think of it, he never had paid attention to what happened to the horse, the last time.

"Is this all" Vult called out, his voice carrying over the ranks of his men. "We marched all the way to her gates, and the Dark Queen only gives us this mob to kill? Damned ungrateful of her, if you ask me."

The Black Dogs jeered loudly, hooting and hollering at the foe across the way. The orc lines had drawn in mass, a shapeless horde of monsters and demons that dwarfed the Black Dogs smaller force several times over, but showed all the signs of a fractured, uncertain army. It was the same as before. Louk did not trust it. He knew that the daemon was aware of his presence. There had to be something different this time around.

"You seem disgruntled" Vult observed, lowering his voice to a conversational level. "Didn't sleep last night?"

"I slept."

"Not been in a big battle before?"

A derisive snort was the mercenary general's reply. Unperturbed by the callous answer, Vult merely lifted his hand and gestured to his retainers. The Kuroinu not interspersed amongst the army still numbered fifty. Half their number accompanied him as the elite strike team, the blades that would keep Vult's back well protected as he led the army to victory. Casualties were high and constant in the Kuroinu, but none shied away from the honor of being placed among the elite of the Black Dogs. To those who lived, the glory of their position and accomplishment elevated them to legendary status in the ranks.

"This time will be different."

"What was that?" Vult cocked an eyebrow, curiosity glittering in his eyes.

"Nothing." Louk pointed across the battlefield. "You can see it. The Black Fortress is under siege."

"I can" the mercenary agreed. His voice had lowered to a mere whisper. "But I won't mention it to the men. That would only confuse them. I need them fully committed to the fight before them. What do you make of it? Is the legion revolting?"

"It is" Louk agreed. "The bastard I am hunting is staging a coup, as it were."

"Yeah, well we'll kill it soon enough. Just have to deal with thirty thousand of his buddies first. Don't you worry, Reaper. You'll have its head by supper time."

Vult signaled to his standard bearer, and a trumpet blasted the notes for advance. As one, the Black Dogs let loose a single, ferocious shout and started to march. The tramp of their feet echoed like thunder across the wastes. Following Vult's lead, Louk urged Odin forwards, trailing behind the bulk of the Black Dogs line. The maneuverability of their horses allowed for Vult to travel wherever he felt the need; whether it was to plug a gap or to chase down a particularly vicious foe, Vult would get there with the Kuroinu at his back. Louk knew enough about cavalry tactics to know the psychological terror inspired by a heavy cavalry charge. Having no ranged weapons to blunt the assault made them only that much more powerful.

First blood fell to the Black Dogs. Signaling the army to stop just inside of arrow range, the mercenary front lines planted their tower shields and leaned into the wall, presenting an imposing barrier with swords and spears ready to thrust out and hack apart the foe. Lined up safely behind the warriors, the archers handed off bundles of arrows to the young boys that followed them and began lighting the tinder of their torches. Fire arrows. A good first wave tactic to sow confusion and disorder among the enemy. At Vult's command, an arcing swarm of arrows shot into the sky, lighting up the dawn like a thousand firebugs.

Those firebugs stung the legion's lines, and a thunderous roar rose from the orcs as the demons railed against their assailants. The baying war cries carried across the field like a horrendous explosion of noise and disorder, drowning the shouts of the Black Dogs commanders and limiting hearing to a few feet. Louk kept his eyes peeled across the demon lines, appreciating Odin's steady nerves as the horse stepped to the side, tossing its head as if offended by the enemy's shouting.

"This is where the fun starts" Vult shouted, struggling to be heard over the cacophonous shouting. Using a predetermined signal, he ordered the archer commanders to direct their units individually. Some launched more waves of fire arrows, others settled for simple shooting. Two more volleys were in the air by the time the demons started to advance, the horde breaking into a shambling run. Louk watched with approval as whole sections were flattened by concentrated arrow fire. There was a simplistic beauty to this style of fighting. No explosions, no lasers, just sword and board. Where a man's mettle alone determined if he survived the day.

When the orcs reached a hundred yards from the Black Dogs lines the artillery mages opened up with their spells. Even though he knew it was coming, Louk had to admire the lightshow.

Arcing balls of fire hurtled past the mercenary lines. Fires of green, red, and yellow smashed into the orcs with the force of battle cannon blasts, wiping dozens as magical flames or energies consumed them. Near the middle of the line, a flurry of storm clouds sprouted above the human lines. Darkling lights spilled out of the clouds, stabbing like lightning into the demon ranks, hurling bodies this way and that as they gouged great tears through the earth. In another place, thorn bushes poured out from the ground, catching the front runners of the horde and impaling them a score of times on thorns as long as a knife. The momentum of those behind slammed into the bushes, piling the dead on top of each other as those in front were ground into the thorns by those behind.

Kin eased his horse up alongside Louk. Offering a smug chuckle, the mage pointed to the heavens with a thin, black wand that shimmered with coruscating magic. The air split apart where he aimed, and what looked like a shooting star spat through the void, smashing a crater into the depths of the legion and obliterating a swath of ogres.

Hundreds died within moments.

That reminded him of his other life.

"War is a terrible but beautiful thing" Kin sighed, shaking his arm loose as if the act of casting had made him stiff and frail.

"It is easy to find beauty when the enemy isn't spitting down your throat" Louk countered. He thought about the blade on his hip. The sword would cleave through anything these demons had to offer. Last time he had held it in reserve, attempting to spring the weapon on his prey. That was no longer necessary. He could fully engage in this battle. Besides, this whole army was likely doomed as it was.

"To each his own" Kin murmured. "Now do you see, though, why I am so proud of my men?"

The artillery mages continued to send death spewing into the demon lines. It was not enough to stop the horde, but it fractured the front lines, and when the orcs finally reached the Black Dogs it was not an unstoppable horde that struck the shield wall, but waves of individuals and raving madmen. Those could be dealt with.

Even so, Louk grimaced as gaps were torn in the Black Dogs lines almost instantly. As entrenched as the men were, as experienced and prepared as they were, there were few things that could counter the momentum of a several-hundred pound monstrosity. The larger orcs bulled through the shield wall as if it were not there, scattering the shieldbearers left and right, their clubs and blades tearing into the second line before the Black Dogs could respond. Scores of mercenaries fell in those opening moments of chaos, as the orcs rampaged blindly into the mercenary lines before being overwhelmed and slain.

The smaller orcs smashed into the wall, buckling shields but not breaking the line, and then falling as speartips jabbed through the gaps in the shields and brought them down. Still others bounced off the wall completely, losing their footing and stumbling into those behind them. By the time the main body of demons arrived, their charge had dwindled into a dispersed river rather than roaring rapids. The Black Dogs plugged the gaps in their lines, and the charnel work began.

The Black Dogs truly earned their reputation for professionalism. Rather than fight the demons head on, seeking glory and honor in combat, the mercenaries hid behind their massive shields and presented a moving hedge of blades. The shieldbearers clung grimly to their tower shields, and the men behind placed careful thrusts into the gaps as they appeared. The battle more resembled a butcher's workshop than a grand melee. Here and there gaps began to trickle into the Black Dogs lines as shields were thrown down or unexpectedly yanked into the horde. Those caught by surprise were torn limb from limb as their shields were wrenched free.

More shieldbearers were on hand, placed strategically throughout the battle lines to replace those lost, but even with the squads of men throwing themselves into the gaps to buy time for the replacements, every breakthrough cost them more than they could afford. Louk did not bother attempting the math. The Black Dogs were slaying the demons by the hundreds. Archers continued to rain volleys on the back ranks. Mages continued to hurl explosions and death into the mobs. The shield mages sent gusts of wind knocking the orcs backwards, or dropped cooling energies on the mercenaries to heal their weariness and strengthen their bodies. But they were far too outnumbered to win a battle of attrition.

Vult had known that. That was why he waited now, letting the horde draw deeper into the Black Dogs battle line. Ensuring that the demons only looked forwards, to the shield wall. His cavalry had split into two divisions, one on each flank, waiting just behind the hills, near the camp. When the time came, he would send runners, and the cavalry would rush out in a wide arc and come swooping down on the horde from behind. Caught in a pincer, their morale would collapse, and their numbers would turn against them. The Black Dogs had won numerous battles like this before. It had never failed them.

Louk's gaze shifted to the Black Fortress. Tiny, insignificant figures were attempting to scale the walls around the gate. Other little figures battled them on the ramparts. The siege was truly under way. He needed to get there quickly.

"Vult." Louk sent Odin cantering forwards to join the mercenary general.

"What is it, Reaper?"

"I request permission to join Hicks on the flank charge." Louk pulled Odin around, fighting the stallion as it butted against Vult's steed, nostrils flaring for need of battle.

"What, run out of patience already?" Vult grinned. His eyes burned with excitement and battle lust. "I have a better place for you, Reaper. We're going to open up the middle."

"You- what?" Louk stared at the mercenary general.

Charging into the middle of the horde. That was madness. Even by Louk's standards, it would be costly and unproductive. Opening a hole in the center of their line could very well spell the end of their entire army.

"We'll split them down the middle while the cavalry hits them on the flanks. Don't look so nervous, Reaper. I promised you a real battle."

Chuckling to himself, Vult gestured for Kin's attention. "In thirty seconds, you bust those bastards right in the mouth. Make a hole so we can get past the shield wall."

"Of course." The mage bowed his head with a mocking grin. "As you wish, of fearless leader."

The mercenary pumped his fist in the air, and the Kuroinu escorts all dismounted. Louk watched in silence, following suite as they all formed up on their commander.

"Horses will be the death of us in that mess" he told Louk. Mages are going to blast a hole in their lines, so the impact of a charge won't matter as it is. We rush past the shield wall and create a pocket. That will relieve stress on the shield wall and hopefully draw them in even more for the cavalry to sweep their flanks."

"That's practically suicide" Louk grunted.

"Isn't that all that war is?" Vult's infectious chuckle spread through his men. Not a single one showed an ounce of fear as they readied their weapons. "Come on me! Who is ready for their name to pass into legend?"

The Kuroinu howled. Vult drew that massive slab of iron from his back, fixed Louk with a manic smile, and charged. His men followed as they barreled towards the line at a breakneck pace. A prearranged trumpet blast warned the mercenaries what was about to happen. Frantic orders barked out from the commanders as they sent their reserve line scrambling out of the way. The shield wall buckled, nearly collapsing as their support pulled out of the way.

Louk rushed alongside the mad men, Durendal drawn and thirsting for blood. Their pace did not slow as the distance to the shield wall vanished. The horde of orcs were unrelenting on the other side.

"Ragnarök!"

A white flame sprayed overhead, rushing over them so close that Louk felt the heat burn against his skin. Jets of flame splashed down into the orcs, setting their flesh on fire and eating through their limbs. Pitiful shrieks and squeals rang in awful chorus as the demons burned. Only those pressed up against the shield wall itself were spared.

A second trumpet signal rang out.

The shield wall folded inwards. In pairs, the shield bearers stepped back in pivoted, turning their shields into a series of small Vs that funneled the orcs into the Black Dogs lines. Caught by surprise, the orcs stumbled and tumbled forwards. There was no second line to meet them, to stab at them with spears and swords.

Vult, Louk, and the Kuroinu smashed through the startled orcs like a tanks plowing through a line of conscripts. Limbs flews and blood sprayed wildly as the elite strike team butchered the invaders and passed on into the flaming hellscape beyond. Returning to their place with commendable precision, the shield wall formed again, locking them on the dangerous side of the wall.

Moaning shapes rolled in the dirt at their feet. The white fire clung relentlessly to them, eating at their bubbling flesh. The demons outside of the fire attack hovered at the edge, eyeing the mercenaries with undisguised hatred. But none dared cross over the flames. They had seen what it did to their comrades, and they were not entirely mindless.

"Fire your blades" Vult ordered.

His men set about plunging their blades into the burning demon bodies. The white fire clung to their weapons, eagerly seeking out new victims. But the fire did not consume their blades, nor did it travel any farther than their hilts. Louk watched, confused by the fire's unnatural behavior.

"Kin's own spell" Vult told him. His huge sword burned like a signal fire as he waved it once over his head. "The fire only targets organic matter. Don't get it on your skin."

"Interesting." Louk wiped Durendal against the fire. It sparked and sputtered, steaming as his sword rejected the flame.

"You said it" Vult agreed, eyeing Louk's sword with wonder. "Brace up lads, here they come."

As if he knew it would happen, Vult ordered the Kuroinu into a defensive formation. They presented a hedge of weapons, daring the orcs to pass through the flames.

The fires guttered and died on the ground and corpses, the flames continuing only on steel. At this point Louk had seen too many strange and new things to be impressed or stunned. He grit his teeth and eyed the surrounding monsters. They stepped forward cautiously at first, still wary of the flames. The press of bodies from behind was too much, though, and they began to rush at the exposed line.

"Now's your time to shine, Reaper." Vult stepped out ahead of his men. They gave him a wide berth, all grins and chuckles as he brought the huge sword up onto his shoulder, just barely avoiding the white flame licking along his blade. "But I get to have first blood."

Orcs and goblins and ogres thundered forward, shaking the very ground. Vult eyed them calmly, gripped his sword in two hands, and swung.

"Hell! Cleaver!"

A wave of black lightning snapped out in his sword's wake, spearing through dozens of the beasts and bursting them apart like overripe fruit. Steaming chunks of gore splashed against those behind, sending them recoiling into the savage press behind. The advance stalled in front of Vult as the survivors of his attack were battered about by the next in line.

"That was new" Louk muttered, gripping Durenal tighter.

"Unleash your fury, you black dogs!"

All fifty Kuroinu let loose similar, though markedly less powerful, attacks. Some sliced with weapons that sent shockwaves pummeling into the oncoming orcs. Other thrust their weapons, hurling powerful gusts of force that sent demons stumbling. To a man, they showed strange powers and abilities that Louk knew had definitely not been present before.

A whole new world he thought to himself.

Was this what is had meant? Everything felt so similar, but also so unsettlingly different.

Durendal lopped the head off the first orc to cross his path without a trace of resistance. Leaping away from the Kuroinu line, Louk forced his confusion and doubts aside. The only thing that mattered was butchering the legion and carving a path to Olga's side. He had to reach her before Virtuoso did. Just as he had to find that mysterious green stone that had been the basis of her powers.

The world became nothing but blood and gore. Durendal's joy flooded his veins, a heavy narcotic that pooled saliva in his throat and heat in his belly. The sky grew red overhead, the bodies crimson and black. Tens of thousands of racing heartbeats bellowed in his ears. All around him was blood.

Blood for his sword.

Blood for his vengeance.

Blood for the Bl-

"Fury Cyclone!"

The weighty whump-whump-whump of a hurtling blade stole his attention. Louk snarled ferally, his teeth slick with the blood ripped fresh from an ogre's throat. Clutching Durendal's pommel, still buried deep in the beast's chest, he rode the collapsing body to the ground and looked for the source of the sound. Rage burned his hands, sent stinging agony pulsing along his fingers as Durendal reacted to his lack of control. It scorched his flesh, cooking his palm black.

Vult plowed through the demon legion, spinning his heavy blade with ease. His body jerked and whirled, chasing the blade rather than controlling it, travelling aimlessly as it tore heads from torsos, severed chests and split weapons. The white trail of Kin's magic flame danced across the bodies of the fallen, digging into the dying bodies to finish what the blade missed. With each circuit of his sword, the demons fell in droves.

The mercenary general had charged as deep into the demons as Louk had. The carpet of bodies followed them as gruesome capes, staining their paths in ichor.

A chill swept up his arm and stabbed into his nerves. His grip slackened on Durendal just for a moment. Control came back to him. His breath exploded out in a furious exhale. Hands shaking, body trembling with energy, he looked straight into the eyes of a charging, slobbering orc.

Durendal swept back up, bisecting the beast's skull with clinical precision. More came from his right, left, back, front. They swarmed up at him, ants climbing the mountain of their dead as he lashed out in all directions. The hunger clawed and tore at him, tearing at his discipline, straining to escape. That was the closest he had come in some time. The thought of it chilled him to the core. Focusing that fear into strength, he poured his fear into each swing of his sword. The demons dropped away as quickly as they appeared.

"Building yourself a nice little throne there."

Vult's voice was only slightly breathless as he cut through to Louk's side. The piling dead had given Louk an elevated platform. He could see over the scrum, and took the momentary pause created by Vult's killing of all demons in range to survey the battlefield.

The cavalry had come onto the flanks of their foe. Rotating charges hammered the demon legion into shape, pushing them into a narrow funnel that served as perfect targets for the Black Dogs mages and archers. An endless hail of arrows and spells tore into the tightly pack monsters, cutting them down in scores. The horde was shrinking, being whittled down bit by bit.

At the shield wall, the line held. The line had shrunk somewhat, pushing to the left to close up gapes. Some spell had raised an earthen wall on that end, effectively anchoring the line and limiting the demon legion's options. Still, the line held, though not from lack of effort by their foes. Louk could smell the tantalizing aroma of human blood soaking into the earth, airing into the blasted sky.

"Just a little more of this and we're set" Vult shouted, struggling to be heard over the cacophony of battle.

His Kuroinu bravely held their pocket, though they too had been forced to give ground. Fully a third of their number had vanished, overwhelmed by the horde. Here and there a heavily wounded figure stumbled out of the line and passed through the shield wall. Even with their strange powers, they were only human. Human, elf, dwarf, whatever. Only mortal.

Louk dove off of his gruesome monument, hurling himself into a knot of orcs with reckless abandon. Durendal sliced them to ribbons, and he let his momentum carry him so deep into the mob that Vult dared not follow. The press of bodies was crushing, claustrophobic There were times he could hardly lift his sword for lack of room. Teeth gouged at him, claws swiped and batted at his clothes. His own blood poured down his face and over his hands.

He held back the fury. He held back the rage and the lust for blood. Now was not the time to lose himself. Not yet. Not when there was so much more to accomplish. Relying solely on Durendal and his long lives of training, he danced through the demon legion and destroyed everything in his path.

An ogre trundled into view, legs thick as tree trunks. Louk kicked off the ground, shattering an orc's back as a stepstool, and leapt up to eye-level with the beast. His sword cut horizontal, bursting its eyes and cutting deep into its brain. The ogre groaned once before toppling onto its allies. His fall carried him right back into the fray, and he cut and hacked forwards.

A horse whinnied to his left. He instinctively shifted direction, letting Durendal open a path to the cluster of riders beset by orcs and goblins. There were six of them on their mounts, frantically stabbing with swords and lances, cut off from the rest of their unit from carrying too far into the horde. Three fell to the demons before Louk reached them. His furious assault beat the others back and cleared them a moment of breathing room.

"Where did you come from" one of the riders demanded. His clothes and armor were dyed black, and his open-faced helm revealed a bloodied nose that left the man squinting.

"The shield wall" Louk answered, lunging from side to side to cut down any orcs who advanced on the recovering horsemen. They pushed out towards the edge of the horde, battling to freedom with Louk as their guide.

"The shiel- that's madness. You're on the other side of the battlefield!"

Louk glanced over his shoulder. The Black Dogs banners were specks in the distance. He had battled his way clear through the horde.

"I got lost."

They burst out of the mob and hurried to the side, dodging the next wave of charging riders that hurled the demons back and sowed more confusion.

"My thanks. You are Reaper, yes?"

"I am." Louk looked to his left. A lonely black horse was galloping towards them, empty of a rider but looking remarkably untouched by the battle.

Odin

The damned horse had come to find him.

"You have earned yourself a friend today, Reaper. I am Polso, captain of the Twilight Lancers."

He extended his hand. Louk stared at it for a moment.

Should he shake the hand of the man who led to Maia's downfall? Who caused so much death with his betrayal?

"Pleasure to meet you." Louk gave him a firm handshake. Perhaps he could save these men after all. Mounting the impatiently stomping Odin, he surveyed the battlefield. "Looks like you men are ready for another charge. Mind if I join you?"

Polso wiped the blood from his mouth and waved his sword high in the air. His scattered unit rallied to him, forming in neat ranks on their heaving and scarred horses.

"No survivors" he bellowed.

-v-

His arms ached from how long he had held his sword.

Vult gave up trying to count the bodies.

At his best guess, half of his Kuroinu were dead. Low numbers, considering the chosen nature of their profession. The men that plugged the gaps and held the blister in their line did not expect to live through the day. In a battle such as this, they often did not. It was a blessing and a curse, drawing such men to his side. He was proud of them. He was damn proud of them. But they cycled through so quickly he could scarcely remember their names.

For what it was worth, their losses qualified as 'light.' He had brought ten thousand men into Garan. Nearly eight hundred would not be coming home. Either dead or dying, their bodies were dragged out of the carpet of gore and death that littered the blasted plains and arranged for accounting. The bulk of the army was done in, exhausted from four hours of sustained fighting. A third of their mounts had been lost. Their supplies of arrows had been nearly exhausted. The walking wounded was triple that of the dead.

As a fighting force, they were in a dangerous spot.

That was why he so eagerly rushed to the gate of the Black Fortress, accompanied by as many men as he could muster. Only a few hundred were fit enough to push on, mostly dismounted cavalry. They fell upon the scattered remnants of the demons and butchered them on the way to the gates.

Louk Shannegh had gone on ahead of them. The man was an army unto himself. After he tore into the horde and disappeared, Vult though he might have to tell the Goddess Reborn that he new champion had perished. Instead he heard directly from Polso's mouth that the crazy bastard had cut his way clear to the other end of the horde, mounted a horse, then charged right back into it again and again. Some of his men counted their kills, boasting of the damage they caused with their own hands. Vult was certain that Louk Shannegh could account for more than any man on the field, including some of the mages.

That unholy fire that burned around him when he slaughtered his way through the horde set Vult's teeth on edge. He had liked the man on meeting him, despite the oppressive mood that clung to his steps. Their duel had been educational, entertaining even. He had seen a fellow warrior in Louk Shannegh's soul.

But he had never imagined that a creature such as Louk Shannegh existed. The Reaper, as he called himself, was not a mortal being. He was a god of war, a monstrous incarnation of death that Vult truly believed could single-handedly turn the tide of this war. How many men owed their lives to him, spared death at the hands to the demons who fell to the Reaper's blade?

Vult prided himself on his martial skill. His combat abilities ranked above near all others, having achieved the tightknit circle of heroes that claimed Eostia as their domain. For the longest time he had believed himself to be at the very pinnacle, the tip of the spear in human ability and talent.

The Reaper laughed at his hubris. It spit on his speed, it mocked his prowess.

The Reaper was the devil incarnate.

He thanked the Goddess that the devil was on their side.

With Reaper leading the way, they could not possibly fail.