The silence that came after the blast came like a hammer blow. All of a sudden the pass that has been the site of all kinds of horrible noise falls silent, there is no clash of iron, no war cries or shriek of Draugr engines. The only decernable sound is that of the thin whistle of wind through the torn barricade and the snap of fire burning.
Brynhild rolled onto her side, coughing soot. Her ribs screamed, her cheek was caked with blood that had already dried into a crust, but she forced herself upright. Every part of her hurt. Her armor hung dented and loose. The haft of her axe dug into her palm.
She dragged in a breath, and asked. "What about the fuck happend"
No one answered her questions, perhaps that is because the people around to answer the question are all busy being dead.
Styrkar stood near the ruin of what had once been the position of the Juggernaut and that giant monstrosity. The tip of his spear rested down on the remains of the latter. This battle was supposed to be an ordinary rescue mission nether he not the Juggernut not that thing-what ever it is supposed to be should have been here no not even Freydís was supposed to be here this was strictly the job of group 13 why was the Draugr so hyped up over a few refugees something doesn't add up and speaking of refugees where are they anyway? Vidar leader of group 13 was at his shoulder, satchel half-empty, one sleeve torn open to the bone. Neither man spoke.
Brynhild staggered a step closer, eyes blazing. "Where are they? where are the people we came to protect the trigger that have caused all these carnage."
Vidar rubbed his thumb against the strap of his satchel, lips parting and closing again. Styrkar's face had gone as hard as basalt.
"They didn't make it," Vidar says at last.
His words are simple and straight to the point. Perhaps they were too simple.
Brynhild blinked. "What? but I saw them. We moved them..., they were ahead."
"They're gone." Vider answered. "The Draugr cut the column. The collapse buried the rest."
Her laugh cracked into the air, "Did you even check, you don't know—"
"Bryn." Vidar's voice was softer,"They're all dead, no one made it out."
"Well that's a waste they crossed all of the no man's land and died at the point of their salvation, and that is not to even talk about the number of fighters that have died from outside."
She stumbled into the wreckage. Well she didn't say but what really hurt her the most was the death of Freydís. "Damn that was a fine woman."
The pass has now been turned to a death field, a wasteland or a mixture of both.
Carts lay overturned, Refugee loads have been thrown into mud and fire. One wheel still spun, squealing faintly, as if it hadn't yet realized its purpose was gone. Blood was all over the place, crushed vegetables have been mixed with blood in the muck, turning the ground into a slick of crimson and green.
She tripped on something soft. When she looked down, it was a body with only the trunk, no limbs or head.
There are limbs everywhere—arms tangled in broken shields, legs are sticking from beneath broken wagons, hands still curled as if clutching children who were no longer there. Faces stared with eyes burned pale, their mouths open in screams the fire had finished. There are not only human parts though there are Draugr parts mixed in too therefore both flesh and metals lay to waste. "What in God's name started all these in the first place" she says to herself.
If the sight is terrible, well the smell does not take any action to help either, machine-oil mixed with cooked meat, charred skin, and burned cloth. It gagged her, coated her tongue, filled her head until she couldn't breathe without tasting it. She pressed her scarf across her mouth, but it didn't matter. The stench had sunk into her skin.
She found half a hand in the mud. A woman's, judging by the ring. The ring still gleamed gold even though it had been covered in soot.
Brynhild's knuckles whitened on her axe.
Her knees nearly gave in. She had been fighting like a beast, split skulls, tearing apart, and screamed her head off and for what? For empty wheels spinning and for bones already cooling.
It had all been for nothing.
Vidar's boots crunched behind her. He too asks himself the same questions although it was not his fault it hurts him as though it was he stood there behind Brynhild, in far more pain than her because he is the leader. He only stood among the dead and spoke low, as if the corpses could hear.
"You should know what happens now," he said.
Brynhild turned, eyes wild. "What happens now is we bury them. and not let them rot in mud like cattle slaughter."
Vidar shook his head. His face was pale under the grime, this is also part of his sadness, he knows too much he knows the horror of the Draugr and that is why he fights "The Draugr won't leave them. Not whole."
"What are you saying?"
"Their body parts, every human body part are sent to their biomass factories in Eisenreich where they are used to power their batteries." He says. "Yes the Draugr are resourceful like that"
Brynhild's stomach flipped. "You mean—"
"Yes they reclaim the dead," Vidar said. "Everyone here who fell—they won't stay here. Not long. They are taken to Eisenreich where their remains are put to good use."
Brynhild as she sat there listening she could only think of Freydís "She had a nice ass and now she will be turned to Draugr food. Fuck." She says to herself.
The thought carved through her like ice. She looked at the ground again and saw a doll perhaps it was for one of the child refugees, its cracked eye gleaming. Saw the little boy clutching at his mother's skirts, the miner with coal still ground into his palms. Dead now. And soon—they would be worse.
"If we stay, we die!" Styrkar bellowed. His voice carried like a hammer on stone. "You want their deaths to mean something? Then live. Carry the fight. That's the only honor left to them."
"Well we can't just walk away." she says
"You can," he said, "and you will. Or they all died for nothing."
"Fine," she replied. "But their faces will stay with me. Everyone." most especially that of Freydís.
They moved deeper into the cut of the mountain.
The wind funneled through the pass, carrying with it the echo of flames and the stench of death.
Brynhild limped, refusing to lean on anyone. She muttered under her breath, fragments of curses. Vidar kept pace, silent. Styrkar led his spear against a shepherd's crook, driving them forward toward the next hollow that might hold them safe.
They hadn't gone more than a hundred paces when a figure burst from the shadows ahead. One of their scouts, his face is pale with fear.
"They're coming!" he gasped, voice breaking. "The Draugr are coming!"
They did need to ask him further questions because at that moment they heard it.
The ground shook with it first—faint tremors, rising. Then the air filled with it: the metallic thunder of claws, the grind of gears, the rumble of a thousand engines beating in sync. The sound came not from one direction but from many, echoing along the ravine walls, circling them like wolves.
Brynhild clenched her fist "Oh we are going to fuck, fuck, fuck"
But Styrkar knew. This was no fight they could win. The Draugr tide was already rolling, ready to sweep what remained of them into the same ash as the refugees.
The mountain shuddered. The pass carried the sound like a drumbeat.
The Draugr were coming.