The first clash had bought them minutes, nothing more.
Now those minutes bled away in the gully's shadow.
Teshar, Eorlas, and Talgir pounded down the winding path, boots striking mud and shale, their breath harsh in the narrow confines. Behind them, the Nerathil surged in pursuit, their silent advance broken only by the hiss of claws scraping rock and the dull thunder of armored feet.
Arrows flashed from the scouts' bows, striking into the foremost shapes that closed the gap. A Skulkin tumbled forward, its emaciated frame twisting as it slid into the gully wall, claws dragging deep scars in the stone before it fell still.
Another came leaping over the carcass, talons outstretched. Talgir pivoted, loosed at near point-blank range, and sent the creature collapsing mid-air.
Still they came.
The gully's walls rose higher with every turn, cutting the wind, holding in the heat of their breath and the scent of ash and char from earlier detonations.
A shadow vaulted over a bend ahead. Fleshglaive. Bone-blades fused to its arms gleamed wet in the dim light, its charge battering through the last of Talgir's arrows. Eorlas stepped into its path, javelin raised, and hurled with a snap of his arm. The weapon punched clean through the thing's chest, driving it back into its own kind.
The path narrowed further, stone walls pressing close enough for fingertips to brush each side.
"They'll pin us before the fork!" Eorlas barked, another arrow nocked.
Teshar's gaze swept the terrain. His hand went to the small pouch at his belt, pulling free a sphere no larger than a marble, an orb of deep, glassy crimson etched with faint sigils.
He didn't hesitate. A twist of his fingers lit the runes in a sudden flare.
"Move!" he shouted.
They ran.
Five seconds.
The air around them seemed to draw inward, the heat and breath of the world sucked toward the little sphere now tumbling down the gully behind them.
Four seconds.
Three.
The world snapped into white fire.
A roar swallowed the gully, flame erupting outward in all directions. The shockwave hammered them off their feet, flinging dust, stone, and splintered bone high into the air. A rolling wall of heat tore down the path, blackening the rock.
Fifty meters of death.
When the blast faded to smoke, the three of them lay sprawled, ears ringing. Teshar rolled to his knees, staring at the charred swath of devastation. Then he laughed, a sharp, wild bark that built into something almost manic.
Eorlas, still catching his breath, gave him a sidelong look. "You love this, don't you?"
"Who wouldn't love to see that?" he grinned, adrenaline still coursing. "The destruction… the beauty of it!"
Teshar's grin widened, his chuckle turning to another fit of laughter.
From within the settling smoke, movement stirred.
Shapes emerged, black silhouettes stepping through firelight and drifting ash. The Nerathil still came, armor scorched and cracked, Skulkin bounding ahead of the line, Fleshglaives dragging their blades along the stone.
Teshar's expression snapped back to focus. "Shit. Run."
They turned down the next bend, only to halt.
The gully ended in a sheer wall of rock. No fissures. No side paths. A dead end.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then Teshar's tone hardened. "Eorlas, take our arrows. Higher ground. Cover us."
Without a word, Eorlas scaled the left wall's narrow ledges, settling into a perch with bow drawn.
Teshar and Talgir stepped forward into the center of the gully floor, shields drawn, falcatas unsheathed. Sigils etched into the blades shimmered faintly in the gloom.
They planted their feet side by side.
From the haze ahead, the Skulkin came first, spindly, contorted shapes with claws scraping against stone as they charged. Behind them, the Fleshglaives advanced with slow, deliberate strides, their bone-blades raised high.
The two Veilguards waited for the first shadow to break into striking distance.
And then the world narrowed to breath and heartbeat. The air grew sharp with the scent of iron, boots grinding into stone as muscles coiled. Shadows lunged. Steel flashed. The clash began in a storm of steel and screams. Talgir and Teshar fought back-to-back, shields locking and falcatas flashing, each swing carving through Nerathil flesh with brutal efficiency. Their movements were stripped of ornament, no flourishes, only killing strikes. Every cut severed something vital, every thrust ended a life.
Above, Eorlas crouched on the rise, loosing arrows with devastating accuracy. Each shaft hissed through the air and found a vital point, a throat, an exposed armpit, the thin gap beneath a helm, dropping Nerathil mid-charge before they could even raise their blades.
The pair below were a storm given form. Nerathil fell in heaps around them, bodies piling at their feet, the ground slick beneath their boots. Shield bashes shattered jaws and sent foes stumbling into the waiting arcs of falcata steel. One Nerathil's blade glanced off Teshar's shield, only for him to riposte low, splitting the back of his knee before Talgir's stroke finished him at the collarbone.
Then the battlefield shifted.
Through the press of bodies, a shadow loomed, a Dreadblade, towering above the melee. Its fused greatsword was a slab of dark iron, swung with such force it split a man in two.
Eorlas saw it and abandoned his bow. In one motion, he tore a javelin from his back, drew his arm, and hurled. The missile flew like a thunderbolt, striking the creature dead center in the chest. The Dreadblade staggered, let out a wet gasp, and fell backward, crushing its own kin.
But the reprieve lasted only a heartbeat.
Two more Dreadblades emerged, their blades sweeping arcs of death through Nerathil and allies alike. Teshar darted forward, low and fast, his falcata hacking across the back of one brute's leg. It bellowed and dropped to one knee. Talgir was already moving, shield locking against the giant's faltering swing, before driving his falcata deep into its neck. The brute collapsed in a spray of black blood.
They didn't pause. The last Dreadblade came on with murderous fury, but their rhythm was unbroken. Shield met sword, falcata found its opening, and in seconds it joined the dead.
From the east, the Nerathil surged again, swarming toward the narrow gap that guarded their position. Talgir and Teshar stepped forward together, forming an unbreakable wall, while above Eorlas's arrows found their marks in the dark. The entrance became a killing ground, bodies falling faster than they could be dragged aside.
There was a pause. No Nerathil came in.
Panting, their mouths hung open as they scanned the narrow gully. Sheer rock walls rose on either side, jagged and slick, closing into a dead end ahead. There was nowhere to run.
Then the ground trembled.
A deep, grinding roar rolled through the gully, rattling stones from the cliff faces. Dust and pebbles rained down, stinging their skin. From the shadows at the dead end, a boulder cracked and split, and through the breach stepped an Ironmaw. Slow, heavily armored, its jagged plates shifted like the scales of a nightmare beast. Its crushing jaws were wide enough to shear through enchanted steel.
With a final heave, the giant Nerathil smashed into the gully, sending shards of rock skittering along the stone floor. The walls funneled its presence toward them, making it feel even larger, even closer.
Without a heartbeat of hesitation, Teshar charged first. His falcata rang against its armor, sparks flashing in the dim light. Talgir joined a breath later, shield braced, striking with brutal precision.
The Ironmaw fought back with unsettling skill, a stolen blade gripped in its clawed hands. It moved like a warrior, not a beast, parrying, turning, pressing them back until their heels scraped against the rock wall. Steel clashed against steel in a storm of blows, the sound trapped and amplified in the narrow gully.
From the rear line, Eorlas shouted a single command, voice sharp as an arrowhead. He raised his bow, drawing a frost-tipped arrow until the string quivered. With a sharp exhale, he loosed.
The shaft struck deep into the Ironmaw's chest. Frost spread in a web of white veins, racing across its armor, locking plates and joints.
Talgir's blade came down, severing its leg at the joint. The Ironmaw collapsed to one knee with a bellow.
Teshar stepped in, gripped his falcata with both hands, and with one clean stroke, he took the creature's head.
The gully fell silent again.
Then came two more Ironmaw.
Teshar kept his eyes locked on the lumbering beasts. "Eorlas, you still got those frost arrows?"
"That was my last," Eorlas replied grimly. "And I can't use flame arrows here, this gully will be our tomb."
Teshar chuckled softly. "Ready for our last battle?"
Eorlas vaulted down into the gully, drawing his falcata and locking his shield into place. "Funny," he said with a smile, "my joints don't ache on my last run."
Talgir snorted. "Didn't know you were old. You move faster than me."
The Ironmaw crashed into the narrow entrance, sending rocks and dust flying like a storm. The earth trembled beneath their feet.
Without hesitation, Teshar surged forward, blades flashing. He struck first, slashing deep into the Ironmaw's thick leg armor. The creature bellowed, staggering.
Talgir closed in with brutal precision, driving his falcata through the creature's neck. Black blood sprayed as it collapsed with a thunderous crash.
But another Ironmaw roared behind it, swinging its massive blade with surprising speed and skill. The two men met its strikes with shield and blade, trading brutal blows in a deadly dance of steel and power.
Above the fray, Eorlas shouted, voice ringing clear over the chaos:
"Ready, on my mark. Move!"
Teshar and Talgir slid to the right just as Eorlas loosed his frost-tipped arrow. It flew swift and true, embedding itself in the Ironmaw's chest. Frost bloomed, spreading rapidly over its armor and limbs until the giant shuddered and froze solid.
Talgir took no time, slashing at the creature's frozen leg. It collapsed, heavy as a mountain.
Teshar moved in swiftly, beheading the frozen Ironmaw with a single, clean stroke.
The gully fell into tense silence once more.
Then came two more Ironmaw.
Teshar spoke without breaking eye contact. "Eorlas, you still got those frost arrows?"
"That was my last," Eorlas replied, voice low. "And I can't use flame arrows here, this gully will be our tomb."
Teshar chuckled softly. "Ready for our last battle?"
Eorlas descended fully into the gully, drawing his falcata and raising his shield. He smiled faintly. "Funny, my joints don't ache on my last run."
Talgir snorted. "Didn't know you were old. You move faster than me."
Suddenly, a voice echoed from above.
"Better if you lay down."
They paused. Flames erupted, igniting a barrier that sealed the gully's entrance and held back the Ironmaw.
A rope dropped down alongside the fire. "Move fast, that fire won't last forever!"
Talgir's head snapped up, laughter bubbling out. "I thought I'd only see your old bones in a grave."
One by one, the three scrambled up the rope, leaving the dead end and monsters behind.