Sen had never taken the time to wonder what a Tutar’s breath would smell like. Fortunately, it was no longer in question. Bad. It smelled… bad.<br/><br/>The hot wall of air and saliva washed over her as the injured beast unleashed another roar, the high note of desperation in the bestial cry giving the few mortals a little jolt of confidence. From behind her, Sen could hear the twang of her brother’s bowstring and feel the muscles of his back as the arrows were unleashed. Without looking, she knew when he pulled away to turn and fire over her shoulder, into the monster that faced them. One long arm, clad in black leather armor etched with the symbol of their house, stretched into her field of vision and arrow after well-aimed arrow whistled from just behind her. Rendir was not the monster’s only assailant and it wasn’t long before it crashed to the ground, the bristles of spent arrows protruding from its neck, face, back; anywhere that looked comparatively soft and vital.<br/><br/>“There’s no time,” the dark-haired young man muttered tersely, a regular speaking voice that would have been drowned in the chaos of battle save that his audience stood less than a foot from him. The ground trembled and vibrated beneath their boots, and he fixed her with a wide, intense stare, one hand grabbing her upper arm firmly. “You need to run back to the camp! Get out of here!”<br/><br/>Any response was cut off as he released her, the crooked short blade slicing through the air that had contained his wrist not a quarter of a second ago. Sen leapt back as well, mirroring her older sibling, but it was to Rendir that the two wicked sets of eyes turned. This one didn’t waste time with a frenzied roar, instead making another immediate stab for the man; the blonde woman’s brow darkened in a protective anger and she lunged forward with her stolen spear, aiming for an open spot on the creature’s broad back.<br/><br/>The point made it almost two inches into the Tutar’s leathery hide, prompting a snarl and its attention but almost nothing else. She yanked the spear free with no small amount of difficulty and scrambled backward a few feet. The beast turned toward her with agonizing slowness, the hateful eyes fixed on her own in a way that was almost mesmerizing. Lost in that wrathful gaze, her storkish legs lost their control and she fell onto her backside; the jolt brought her away from those four pits of fire, but the most she could do was fumble and scramble desperately in reverse, spear still held with a white-knuckle grip in her left hand. The mud, an unholy combination of mortal blood and dirt, seeped into her boots and trembled beneath her body. The creature raised its blade to finish her quickly, but two arrows sunk into its knuckles almost instantaneously, causing the warped blade to clatter against the fallen bodies beneath it. Unfortunately, that didn’t distract it from the blonde prize- rather, it seemed to<span style="font-style: italic">blame</span>her for the punctures in its hand. With an animalistic snarl it raised one massive fist and shot it forward. Sen raised her spear in front of her face in a last ditch effort for life, and she felt her elbows give as the splinters flew only inches from her eyes. For a second, she wasn’t sure if the spear or her arms had been pulverized. Her vivid optics squeezed shut as she prepared for the final blow, unable to find even a last plea or thought to accompany her out of this life.<br/><br/>It didn’t come.<br/><br/>Tentatively, she opened one eye, just a little. Her attacker had frozen, fist only a fraction of an inch away from where it had decimated her weapon, but its fiendish face was turned back in the direction it had come. Sen opened her eyes in earnest and had to stop herself from leaning forward for inspection; it seemed to be searching the distance, eyes wide and even a little nervous. The fist withdrew from her personal space and it took a step back, not sparing her so much as a second glance. The tusked maw, still dripping with the slobber of a killing frenzy, made a vocalization that was distinctly less bestial. Past the fangs and the choked accent, it said a word in a tone that was either awe-struck reverence or abject horror.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Drorghan.</span><br/><br/>Sen blinked. The harsh, mangled word sounded almost familiar, but not so obviously that she could recall it. With a wary, unblinking pink gaze still fixed on the strangely-behaving beast, the would-be soldier moved slowly to her feet, the remaining few inches of wood-and-metal that had been a spear still clutched in her right hand. It had definitely been a word, right? It had seemed articulated, intentional, rather than the blind snarls and roars that had been echoing in her skull. Before she could consider further, the massive horned creature broke into a run back to its point of origin, toward the body of the horde and away from the mutable wave of the front lines. For a second, the blonde woman blinked again and stared into the empty space where it had stood.<span style="font-style: italic">What?</span><br/><br/>The ground shook beneath her boots, prompting her attention to snap back. Tutar, seeming to come out of the ground itself, were now running hot on the heels of the one she had just witnessed turn tail. They… were leaving? Retreating? Sen turned to stare after the broad backs of the monsters as they galloped away from the conflict, some of them even trying to claw their way into the tree-line or pushing past their injured fellows. Her brow furrowed in consternation and her lips pulled a little moue of utter confusion, head tilting. This… this couldn’t be right.<br/><br/>The slim almost-warrior turned, a question for her brother rising from her throat, but something froze her spine in place before a single word could tumble out.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Kkkkkssssshhhhhhh….</span><br/><br/>The long, loud scrape made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end so intensely that it could have detached and formed a dart-like projectile. She felt her heart plummet to her boots, sliding past her stomach as that organ rose into her throat. The ground reverberated with the harsh friction, and echoes of it resounded from within the lines of the enemy, accompanied by the steady, rhythmic and painfully ominous<span style="font-style: italic">clink… clink… clink</span>of chains thicker in width than her very body. Sen tried to gulp, but her mouth was dry and her throat paralyzed. With a strength of will she didn’t know she possessed, the Brigham girl forced herself to exhale the breath she had been holding and turned to face her oncoming demise.<br/><br/>The first thing she noticed was how… hunched-over they were. Giant, hulking beasts twice the size of the enemy she had been fighting, with arms that seemed to almost have been elongated by the thick shackles that harnessed each wrist. As they came closer, Sen could make out the unnatural shape of their faces and the thick plating of their skin, a dusty, dead grey beneath the coating of sunset. Even from this distance, ever narrowing as it was, she could feel the hate coming off of them in waves. Every long, echoing scrape, every clink of chain, every growling inhale and deafening roar radiated the desire for destruction. The frenzied neighs of the horses called her attention back, and though she knew her face to be a mask of uncertain terror she turned to her fellow soldiers.<br/><br/>Most of them were on their knees, muttering or even shouting prayers that they knew would be their last. Their faces were pale and the ones closest to her she could see sweating, the beads of perspiration on their foreheads gleaming in the red-gold light. Scarred men and women, experienced warriors, tried and true in the ways of death and experts at dealing it out, had collapsed over weak knees and eyes that were quickly filling with hopelessness. It was… not quite the reassuring sight she had wanted. The woman’s long legs took a few steps back almost without her permission, her stare returning to the behemoths that lumbered ever closer, their clinking chains and grating scrapes swallowing all other sounds. In the back of her mind, she knew that the boulders collided with many of the Tutar, but that the vast majority of the more numerous beasts had gathered behind the line of grotesque nightmares.<br/><br/>The leg-breaker’s voice met her ears, sounding so distant she wasn’t sure if he had truly bellowed or if her wishful thinking had blurred lines between fantasy and reality. Either way, her ears had found the two words that didn’t, for once, contradict her desires:<span style="font-style: italic">Fall back.</span><br/><br/>Her legs couldn’t have gained any more instant energy if she had been struck by the atmosphere’s most potent lightning bolt. Adrenaline coursed through her veins so aggressively that time slowed around her yet again, fueled by a desperate need to put some distance between herself and the slate-grey giants that encroached on her senses. Terrified whinnies met her ears, her bruised and bullied muscles propelling her toward the bulk of the human force. She ran past a few individuals that were yet on their knees, or stock frozen facing the onslaught, whether from not hearing the command or a belief that they would die regardless- Sen found her arms grabbing at shoulders or hands wildly, yanking them as she ran, refusing to come to a stop but giving them a powerful jolt to follow.<br/><br/>The Prince-Commander’s voice finally rang in her ears, and as she approached close enough to hear him, her legs came to a trembling halt. The men and women gathered near him answered him, their voices hesitant but oddly receptive.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“WE ARE THE LAST DEFENDERS OF MANKIND, AND WE SHALL SEND THESE FOUL CREATURES BACK TO THE ABYSS! WHAT DO WE FEAR, I SAID?!”</span><br/><br/>“NOTHING!”<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Oh.</span><br/><br/>Sen paused and blinked, her eyes wide with a mild surprise that permeated even the terror that had soaked through her brain.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“WHAT?!”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #80BFBF">“NOTHING!”</span>If there was one thing that could still the tempest in her chest, it was this; her voice intertwining with that of her fellow soldiers. The people that she had run beside, had faced death alongside, and now with whom she would surely approach her end; their blood had soaked through her armor and lay sticky on her skin, but she felt it go even deeper than that. Hearing them together, hearing them fall and rise like the tide beneath the voice of one man… it was enough to flush her cheeks beneath the mud.<br/><br/>As the archers spread and the bowstrings snapped, Sen found herself pulled into the crush of retreating soldiers, bumped and jostled in much the same way she had been when this had started. Still, after the recent rallying, she found her legs stiffened against running to the camp. An approaching horse pulled her gaze, but the pale grey mount rushed past her without a thought. A stubborn streak flashed across her face, darkening her eyes so that they were no longer mirror reflections of the dusk’s approach. She planted her heels and turned back, chunk of spear still gripped tightly in her left hand as her eyes scanned the ground for a weapon. There were plenty of bows lying about, but she knew better than to risk human life by picking one up. A brief scan of the archers closest to her revealed that Rendir was nowhere to be seen. A tendril of worry snaked around her throat, but she shoved it away for the moment.<br/><br/>A scream of pain from a Tutar –originating from far closer than she had suspected any live monsters to remain- jerked her gaze to the side. Near one of the trenches, uncovered but with remnants of boards still on the edges, jagged and broken, she saw the Prince-Commander… and two Tutar, with the dust settling around a third’s recent headless collapse. Desperately she turned to the archers closest, her eyes wide and voice holding a forcefulness that would have surprised her, had she been listening.<span style="color: #80BFBF">“Do something! Shoot!”</span><br/><br/>The archers that heard looked at one another and then helplessly back to the tussle, one or two shrugging with their inability, but before anyone could properly shout the situation to the recruit the thud of massive armor against the crust of the ground shook their feet. The giant, broken corpse of the Tutar, obviously a victim of a Drorghan’s boulder, bounced from the muddy ground and rolled once before coming to a stop in front of the pale soldiers. In unison, Sen and the archers looked up.<br/><br/>Two more bodies, each more than enough to crush several adult humans, hurtled toward the surface of Soluunar like comets of pulpy flesh. The blonde woman’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks as the shadow of a carcass started to grow around her own figure; her mind blanked, but the fraction of a second before “too late” happened she sprang forward. It only took two strides of her long legs to clear the direct path of the body, but she stumbled as the ground shook with its impact. Her boots ate the distance as she sought escape from the patch of demonic rain, narrowly avoiding pulverization by watching the ground for hints of shadow. She wasn't even sure where she was running. Her throat constricted as she barely dodged a particularly large Tutar-comet. The crack of its remaining armor shattering was accompanied by a rush of air and a strange sense of stillness; Sen’s long strides took her a reasonable distance, but as it bounced she felt a hard shove against her lower back.<br/><br/><br/>Too fast. It was all happening too fast.<br/><br/>Her body flew forward, feet lifted from the blood-stained ground as though she weighed no more than a ragdoll. Her mind had no time to catch up with her predicament: the unnatural boost of speed it caused found her fairly hurdling towards her target. Instinct shoved her broken spear in front of her chest, the tip cutting through the torrent of air. Sen wanted to close her eyes more than anything in the fractions of a second before impact, but they remained wide open, pinkish gleam a stark contrast to the crimson and black of the battlefield.<br/><br/>The prong of the weapon buried itself into the distracted monster, finding a niche in the hollow of its shoulder, near the base of the thick neck. The recruit felt her skin shiver as the metal of her broken blade scraped against the beast’s clavicle, reverberating with the harsh friction of steel on bone. A gush of warm blood washed over her hands and all the way to her elbows, and a roar of enraged pain shook her brain within its skull, ears less than two feet from the source. Of the two eyes visible, one boiling with blood lust and the other bloody and closed, the functional one’s pupil swiveled to meet her. Sen could feel her body go limp.<br/><br/><br/>The massive arm reached up with surprising speed and swiped for her body, thick fingers extended for a swat that could pulverize an adult man. Before the hand could make contact, however, she felt the hard bulk of the Tutar’s triceps crush into her solar plexus, not as a blow but rather as a hard push: her location made a build for momentum impossible. Her limp body caved around the upper arm of the monster and when the limb could go no further back, Sen rolled one more time. She felt the rush of air on the top of her head and knew that the beast was standing to its full height once more, and as the ground disappeared from her feet again her instincts latched her to the broad and bleeding shoulders of the Tutar. The wide expanse of writhing muscle offered little in the way of grip, and for a second Sen was merely scrambling, desperate not to fall and be within the creature’s range once more.<br/><br/>Her fingers found the remaining eyes.<br/><br/>Squishy, gelatinous substance met her touch and a roar of furious agony, five times as loud as the first, nearly stunned her into a blackout. Buried in the monster’s four eye sockets up to her second knuckle, the recruit crooked her digits and locked them, feeling a fresh wave of blood wash over her hands and the press of the hard skull that lay beyond the orbs. The Tutar thrashed its arms wildly and stumbled about, one hand still locked around its crude scimitar that dove pointlessly for the source of its rage, entrenched in a frenzy and newly-blinded. The hot flesh of her enemy pressed against her, the sound of its bestial, pained roars having drowned out any ambient sounds of battle. The blonde woman knew if she could just reach the bit of spear buried in its collar, she could get to the neck with it.<br/><br/>The bottom of her boot swung up to brace against the leathery back, her own long spine arching for resistance and barely-trained muscles pulsing with adrenaline as they hauled her upward. Her other foot found purchase when levied and she was able to stretch her knees, her head coming up to be level with that of the monster. Her eyes lit on the broken prong of spear, still deeply embedded in the hollow of the shoulder. Just a little further and she would be able to –<br/><br/>Pain.<br/><br/>Searing pain flashed over her face, sending sparks and splotches of bright white into her vision. A cool rush of air immediately rolled over the flesh around the tear, blood spurting and then falling back like warm rain against her face. Time and sound returned in a sensory overload and the sharp intensity of the wound lifted her hand from the skull of the Tutar, the palm automatically going to cover her right eye. Her body slumped from the shoulders of the creature to hang against its back again, one foot still braced but half-heartedly as the pain overwhelmed her concentration and balance. Her teeth grit and she blinked rapidly to clear the blood from the eye that wasn’t on fire, the fingers of her left hand still locked tenaciously in the sockets of her enemy.<br/><br/>As she looked up through a single-vision curtain of red, the beast shuddered beneath her body and fell to its knees with only the hilt of a longsword protruding from the fleshiest part of the neck. Her feet slid to the floor of the battlefield and her left hand finally loosed, sliding from its purchase within the skull almost reluctantly before meeting its counterpart over her face. Sen’s shoulders hunched forward, almost protectively over her wound, but she managed to catch a glimpse of the Prince-Commander as he easily removed the long blade from the fresh carcass.<br/><br/>Blinking back the blood from her dramatically decreased field of vision, Sen’s gaze met his. A half-beat passed, and the roar of a Drorghan broke the air around them like one of their boulders into a hand mirror. The pain evaporated under the fresh burst of adrenaline and the recruit spun around, spine straightening and hands dropping from her face. The circuitry in her brain snapped and fizzled into action, telling her to find a weapon, find something for cover, find a group of people, find a weapon, watch for incoming, find a weapon…<br/><br/>… but she remained where she was, blood running down her face and soaking the collar of her armor and tunic. She couldn’t<span style="font-style: italic">see</span>. Her hands were down and her bangs were back, there was light yet in the sky and from her left eye the vision was clear save for the occasional drip of red, but the right… the left gave her nothing but darkness. Sounds came from both sides of her, the deafening scrape of the boulders and the echoing ring of chain links as thick as her body, but her orientation was almost shot; Sen yanked her head completely around to see what was happening to her right with her left eye, then faced the blindness of the goings on her right and spun in a full circle, still standing behind the kneeling corpse of the eyeless Tutar.<br/><br/>For a second, she stayed rooted to the ground, indecision wracking her slim figure. What should she do? What<span style="font-style: italic">could</span>she do?<br/><br/>Another roar snapped her back, echoing in her head on a deeper frequency than that of the slain Tutar. Her heart thudded like a galloping horse in her chest, but there was no time; there hadn’t been any time before, and it had gotten significantly worse since then. She gave a rapid swipe to her face, clearing more of the blood away and leaving a clean streak through a mask of red. Gulping air to fuel the adrenaline and postpone any light-headedness, she started backing away. It was half falling-back, but half a strategic search for arms; she rapidly scanned the ground with exaggerated head movements for some kind of weapon. A useful one, not a bit of wood with a sharp chunk of metal at the end, something that could actually be useful to cover her as she sought to rejoin the bulk of the soldiers. There were bits of splintered spear and broken blades everywhere, most of them still wet with blood of friend and foe alike, but she needed something she could use. Sen was positive she would die today, but she wouldn’t just lie down for it. She wouldn’t welcome them with open, weaponless arms.<br/><br/>A thick chunk of bloodied hair unwound from its braid, dropping in front of her sliced eye. The other one flickered with the steely resolve of a cornered animal.