The barricade was gone. What had been a desperate line of shields, spears, and sharpened timber was now a ruin of shattered wood and broken men. Fire licked along the edges of splintered planks. Smoke billowed thick and greasy, stinking of charred flesh. The world beyond was nothing but mud, torn banners half-buried in churned earth, and Draugr clanking after them with their hollow steel throats rasping death-songs.
"MOVE!" Styrkar roared, voice raw, spear haft held like a herdsman driving cattle. His scarred arm waved survivors forward, urging them through the narrow cut of the mountain pass.
Refugees stumbled over one another, clutching their children, dragging carts already stripped of what little mattered. Blood smeared every face. The sound of panic was a chorus — boots splashing mud, screams swallowed by the echo of Draugr engines.
Vidar dropped to one knee in the mire, yanked a steel canister from his satchel, and hurled it back toward the advancing swarm. A hiss, a pop, then the pass filled with a wall of white smoke. The Draugr silhouettes blurred — glowing eyes fading, metal claws momentarily lost.
"Buy us a heartbeat!" Vidar snarled, already reaching for another.
Brynhild ran beside him, boots sliding in the filth, axe dripping with gore. Her lungs burned, her muscles sang with battle-fury, but her eyes… her eyes still found distraction in the middle of apocalypse.
Ahead of her, a young Eisenreich woman tripped over a jagged rock. She pitched forward, arms flailing, skirts tearing, pale skin flashing beneath. Brynhild's gaze caught — no, lingered — on the sudden press of cleavage framed by a torn bodice as the woman tried to scramble up. Even amid blood, smoke, and screaming children, Brynhild smirked.
Gods above, what a pair. If I weren't bleeding out my side, I'd be volunteering as her crutch. And if I were her crutch, I'd make sure she never walked the same again.
"Brynhild!" Vidar barked, dragging her focus back as another Draugr slammed against the smoke curtain, claws swiping blind. "Eyes forward!"
She chuckled, licking soot off her teeth. "Eyes forward, aye. But if we live through this, I'm finding out her name."
The survivors surged through the choke point, mud sucking at their boots. The smoke bombs gave them seconds, nothing more.
Styrkar planted himself midstream, shepherding the weakest forward. His great spear struck the ground like a standard, rallying those about to collapse. His booming voice kept men moving. "Stay together! No stragglers!"
But gratitude was scarce. Refugee voices hissed in the smoke, bitter even as they ran for their lives.
"Skjoldur dogs," one spat, face gaunt, eyes burning with hatred. "You led them here. All of you. Just like Obsidian Dawn always does."
Another hissed: "Better to die free than under the yoke of traitors. You think we forgot Eisenreich? You think we forgot what your clans did to us?"
The venom in their voices cut deeper than any Draugr blade.
Then one gaunt man broke rank, stepped dangerously close as the column surged. He spat — not on the ground, but at Styrkar's boots, muddy saliva mixing with blood.
"Shieldmaiden's whore," he growled.
Brynhild's axe was half-raised before she realized it. Her veins pulsed red with fury, not lust this time but raw rage. The thought of splitting his skull came sweet and sharp. One swing, one crunch, one less ungrateful bastard to drag along.
Vidar's hand shot out, seizing her wrist mid-motion. "Not now." His voice was iron.
Her teeth ground, jaw tight. "I should—"
"You'll cut him down when we're safe. Not before."
The refugee sneered, unashamed. Brynhild's blood boiled hotter than the battlefield smoke, but Styrkar only shook his head and drove them onward.
The hatred lingered. Even in desperation, the wound of war festered, unhealed.
The reprieve ended with a metallic shriek above.
From the cliffs, dark shapes leapt — Draugr scouts, leaner, faster, claws aglow with crackling runes. They descended like wolves from a ridge, slamming into the column mid-flight.
One lunged straight for Brynhild. She didn't dodge. She roared, threw herself up into its path, and tackled it mid-air. They collided in a spray of mud and bone. Her axe came down in a murderous arc, splitting its chest in half. Sparks and gore flew together.
She rolled, blood-slick and laughing. "You should've aimed for my throat, bastard!"
Styrkar rammed his spear through another, pinning the machine-thing to the ground. It writhed, limbs twitching as if still alive, runes glowing beneath shattered plating. Even impaled, it clawed at him.
"Vidar!" Styrkar bellowed.
Already moving, Vidar lobbed another grenade. Smoke hissed outward again, but this time — the Draugr's runes burned through it, glowing like demonic lanterns, unfazed by the concealment.
Brynhild sneered, blood on her lips. "Smoke and magic? Bastards want to ruin my dramatic exits."
The Draugr surged again. Refugees screamed, pressed tighter into the pass.
A sharp crack split the din. One Draugr's head burst apart in a spray of molten steel and fluid.
On the ridge above, a figure moved — tall, sleek, her outline cutting clean against the smoke. Metallic eyes gleamed like twin moons, unblinking. Raven hair spilled over pale synthetic skin, a cloak torn to rags revealing glimpses of armored plating beneath.
She stepped down with mechanical grace, rifle smoking in her hands. Her voice hummed with an eerie undertone, smooth but inhuman.
"Your column is exposed," she said flatly. "Six hostiles flank the south path."
The survivors froze, staring.
Brynhild, grinning even as blood dripped from her chin, licked her lips. "And who the hell are you, metal goddess? Because if I wasn't already wet with blood—"
"Brynhild," Vidar groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's flirting again."
Rúna's gaze flicked, assessing, neither flattered nor offended. "Irrelevant." She raised her rifle, and another Draugr's skull vaporized.
The pass erupted again. Draugr poured in.
Rúna moved like a blade — one moment shooting, the next closing the distance, hands seizing a Draugr by the throat. Her arms whirred as she twisted, metal shrieking, tearing its head clean off. Sparks rained.
Brynhild stared openly, lips curling. Holy shit. She could crush me between those thighs. Voluntarily.
She cleaved through another Draugr, half-distracted by watching Rúna. Her axe lodged in a shoulder, she ripped it free with a howl, blood spraying her face.
A Draugr's claws found three refugees in a single swipe, heads rolling like dropped melons. The survivors shrieked, horror-struck. And then their eyes turned on Rúna.
"Another machine?!" one cried. "You've brought another monster among us!"
The fear was instant, raw, and ugly. Even as she saved their lives, they edged away, muttering, ready to turn on her.
Rúna ignored them utterly. Her optics narrowed, tracking new targets, voice calm: "Five more incoming."
The tide surged harder. Draugr swarmed from both sides, pushing the column toward annihilation.
Rúna spoke without looking back. "North ridge. Burned mining tunnel. Forty meters. Defensible."
Styrkar's jaw clenched. "We can't trust—"
"You don't have a choice." She snapped another shot.
The decision was made. They herded the refugees toward the black mouth of a ruined tunnel, jagged stone framing the only chance of survival.
Brynhild planted her boots, axe swinging wide, carving three Draugr down with wild laughter. She was soaked in blood, hair matted, her grin feral. Terrifying and beautiful.
A rune blast tore toward her. She turned too late—
Rúna intercepted, one arm braced, taking the blow across her plating. The blast scorched metal, but held. She caught Brynhild mid-fall, steadying her with effortless strength.
Brynhild blinked, breathless. Then she smirked, voice husky. "Okay. Yep. I'm in love."
The last survivors shoved into the tunnel, desperate and sobbing.
The Draugr suddenly fell back, halting as if a command froze them. Silence filled the pass.
From one broken helm, a voice emerged — deeper, resonant, chilling.
"Anomaly identified: Obsidian Dawn cell. Resistance probability: zero percent. Terminate."
The ground shook.
Through the smoke stepped a juggernaut. Massive, rune-etched, towering above the others. Its chest glowed with a burning glyph, each step sinking the ground. The air itself seemed to recoil.
Brynhild wiped blood from her teeth with the back of her hand, raised her axe, and grinned like a devil.
"Guess foreplay's over."