The fire cast long shadows against the trees as Diodoros' swollen force surged forward. Nearly twenty boys pressed together in a wave, their faces hard, their eyes hollow from hunger. Spears jabbed, voices cried out, the clash filling the clearing like thunder.
Leonidas' squad met them head-on.
Nikandros roared as he drove his spear into the chest of a taller boy, the blunt end striking hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. The boy crumpled, coughing, but was dragged upright by two more who filled the gap. Another spear cracked across Nikandros' shoulder, dropping him to one knee before he shoved it aside with a growl.
Menon fought with a savage snarl, scar shining in the firelight. He hooked one attacker's spear and twisted, snapping the shaft clean. The boy staggered back with a cry, clutching splinters, before Menon himself took a bruising strike to the thigh that nearly buckled his stance.
Doros stabbed clumsily, his arms shaking, but desperation drove him. His spearhead scraped across a boy's ribs, cutting cloth, drawing a thin line of blood. The sight froze him for a heartbeat — I hurt him — before another strike sent him sprawling into the dirt, gasping.
Theron was silent as always. His weapon darted quick and precise, jabbing wrists, knocking away points, leaving opponents wincing and disarmed. He fought without waste, but even his calm precision couldn't stem the tide.
And Leonidas — Leonidas was everywhere. He drove forward with steady fury, every strike carrying weight, every block calculated. He smashed a spear aside and slammed his shoulder into its wielder, sending him reeling. He turned, staff end whipping across another boy's jaw. His body bled from shallow cuts, his side ached from a bruising blow, but his eyes burned steady.
Diodoros crashed through the fray like a hammer, his broad frame breaking their line. He swung his spear sideways, the shaft cracking against Nikandros' ribs with a sound that made him grunt in pain and double over.
"This," Diodoros bellowed, teeth bared, "is power! This is how you survive!"
Leonidas met him head-on, spear thrusting low, jabbing hard into Diodoros' side. The bigger boy grunted, staggered, but caught himself. His smirk twisted into a snarl.
Still, the numbers crushed them. For every boy they drove back, two pressed forward. Their line bent, sagged. The fire at their backs hemmed them in, heat prickling against their shoulders.
We can't hold, Leonidas thought coldly. Not like this.
"Fall back!" he shouted.
Confusion flickered across Nikandros' bruised face. "What?!"
"Now!" Leonidas snapped, voice like iron.
They obeyed. Not from trust, not from clarity — but because Leonidas' words left no room for doubt.
The squad broke through the side of the press, darting into the undergrowth. Branches whipped against their arms, voices shouted pursuit behind them.
Leonidas led them toward the gully, the narrow funnel of roots and stone he'd marked days earlier. The first of Diodoros' boys funneled in after them, their eagerness turning against them. Leonidas turned, his spear flashing. He smashed one boy's stomach, sending him sprawling. Another lunged, and Leonidas jabbed sharp into his shoulder, numbing the arm and dropping the weapon. The funnel worked — too many bodies jammed together, tripping over one another in their rush.
For a moment, Leonidas held them.
Then a spear glanced across his ribs. The strike tore cloth, skin, and muscle beneath, hot blood soaking his side. He gasped, teeth clenching as his knees wavered. Pain flared sharp and hot, threatening to drag him down.
"Keep pressing!" Diodoros roared from the rear. "Break him!"
Leonidas shoved another boy aside, turned, and staggered deeper into the forest. His squad followed for several paces until he spun on them, breath ragged, eyes blazing.
"Circle east!" he barked. "The ridge by the creek — go! Don't stop until you reach it!"
Nikandros' face twisted in panic and fury. "And you?"
Leonidas' hand pressed against the blood at his ribs. He stood tall, spear braced, voice hard as stone.
"I'll keep them busy."
Menon caught Nikandros' arm, dragging him away before he could argue. "Move!"
They vanished into the trees, swallowed by darkness.
Leonidas turned back toward the sounds of pursuit — branches cracking, voices shouting, Diodoros' roar echoing through the woods.
He tightened his grip on his spear, blood dripping from his fingers.
Come, then, he thought grimly. You'll chase me into the dark, and I'll bleed you for every step.
And he slipped deeper into the night, alone.