"The other systems will be arriving shortly, as for now, prepare your weapons." The warden had ordered, "If we loose this, the heart will be exposed."
The blood has settled, the icy land fell into a tense quiet. Zoirat, still catching shallow breaths as The Warden worked to free her lower body still incased in ice. Using a mere torch, his hands were still swift in melting away the ice, leaving dullness in her leg. She stretches her fingers, feeling the sting of blood rush back in. The Peristaltic Corps and Bile Wardens were already positioning for an incoming battle that loomed across the horizon. Her connection with the frozen blood below had halt, but not permanently.
Scouts of the Bile Wardens had ventured out to retrieve and execute ones left behind, tightened from the bile bombs and elixirs that are being packed away in crates as they gather around Zoirat, conjuring her totem into individual Mortars made of Flesh. Rituals and incantations cursed onto alchemy cocktails taking root in a makeshift tent led by shaman rituals behind them.
Zoirat stood, numb but able to stand. Steadying her breath as she conjures the mortars of flesh out of the totem. Closing her eyes, visualizing each grotesque structure and fiber within each design. Choosing which muscle that could launch with most force, mouths in the shape of cannon holes, stretched out eye sockets. These mortars are the innovation of Zoirat, which would take centuries of blood rituals and taking anatomy into count. Zoirat however, is able to shape these dead bodies into bizarre forms. Usually, orbs of congealed blood would be shot out, however, using poison of bile could work while launching lumps of blood into the enemy. To crush and maim the enemy.
"BRAAAAAD!" A loud call from the distance. An abnormally sized mountain goat with horns that could impale a rhinoceros, mounted a cart on its back, carrying corpses of the village they've raided.
"Men! Unload the corpses from the goat and bring them to the Head Shaman!" The Warden notices.
As more and more bodies pile up to Zoirat's supply, more flesh-power is given to the capability of her metamorphism. She focused again, to call from the gods. Ghorak engraves its hooves into the snow, and instead of whispering the invocation, all of her cannons roared. "Khor thra'ka anzul drax, tehem vrat'ka, dor vashak haar'kor adras'h, marith'ka thul al'arha wraith'kan." The message roared loudly into the sky as if artillery were already being fired in battle, the god is watching once again, watching a battle that determines the future of the Vrekat tribe.
With the rests of her corpses, she calls yet again a totem, a totem of pure gaping mouths and arms. Similar to her previous creation, but modified to fit in a legion as it specializes in echoing the heretic sutra and deflecting attacks. Capable of slamming its elongated arms, making sickening thuds that could break formation with shockwaves in the ground. The Bile wardens, gathering chanters around the wretched totem, sharping their tendril blades; The Peristaltics forming a line that stretched over from one end of the mountain to its other.
Zoirat raises her arms, snapping her fingers in place, "We hold at the lungs of our GOD!" Cannons and totems roar in unison as to rally the morale of soldiers, echoing into the distant Kingdom of the elves where each of their citizens could hear, "By dawn, by sunrise, by the end of time... WE WILL BRING THE PHALANX AND THE EIR'ZHUL BASTION TO THEIR KNEES!"
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Silhouettes begin to emerge on the edge of the horizon, iron-cladded elves wearing full-body armors wielding double-edged halberds forged with the freezing cold. Instead of fighting spirit and savagery, they meet the other side with elegance and composure; on the loud side of things, saliva spat from the rage of horned-helmets and thudding steel with stone. An unnerving feeling were felt in both sides as they approached closer to the ruins of the right lung. Just as the Ein'zhul forces begin their charge...
"WHOOOSH"
A loud echo could be heard from the sky, flying projectiles making a whistling sound in the sky before the Elven forces could notice that it spewed blood alongside it. Following an initial shot, Zoirat standing atop of her totem, charges up her arms, snapping it together, "WHOOOSH" Shot after shot rings through the air as glass vials shatter upon impact of elven steel, lifting their shields upward to create a turtle formation. Nonetheless, their steel were vulnerable to the digestive bombs that erode anything.
"BRAAAAAD!" The wall of Peristaltic corps make way for a rampaging herd of mountain goats, leading the charge is Ghorak, dragging a cart that mounts a flesh totem and The Warden of the Heretic Sutra on top, curved blades at the sides of each wheel. The rest of the Peristaltics follow as they unexpectedly charge in an arrow shape which the elven forces anticipated to chip them off where they hold. Shamans of the bile wardens stay back to mount the mortars that continuously fire. Rampaging through the first formation with their cladded horns, some stabbed out of formation, leaving the bulwarks to deal with the staggered.
"Sangra thulmar, vreos kirael, antra vrelis shira weil. Korun trialus, brenor veth!" The totem roared. The chant pulls the berserkers into a trance, throwing them into rage as if they were put on drugs before this. The Brigade quickly caught on as the second battalion where the raised their spears and halted their march in an attempt to stop the rampaging herd, circling around the goats and closing in.
Zoirat stationing at the back row as if i was the last defense; grinning with lust that could not been expressed by myself once again, widened eyes that could slip out of its sockets. I raise my hand, all of the mortars face upwards 45 degrees, my veins about to burst out of pressure as soon as she clenches her hands together with the velocity of of a leopard. Cannons burst fire with elixirs without the assistance of the bile wardens, looking at me with fear. My mouth is open, as if trying to-
"HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH"
As if trying to speak without a vocal chord...
The cannons fire with blank precision, fully firing and accurately raining down on the 2nd battalion, melting the defense and weapons of Ghorak's surroundings. Something taking over her as a vessel like in the village back. Ghorak and the Warden continue on with their rampage, thrusting through the 2nd battalion as the Warden controls the blood flying through the air, smashing infantry with the lumps of flesh. No human body could exert that much force let alone speak in contrast to a broken vocal chord.
"I-I.. feel dizzy," The head shaman stumbles into the other shaman's grasps.
"Head Shaman!" The mortarmen looks at her bloodied palms from the clenching, "You three! Perform the salvation rituuuaaal..."