Meanwhile, on the bridge…
Cut and bruised, delirious and half-conscious, it felt as though their bodies moved as it willed. Reduced to as few as a tenth of their numbers, they did not know whether it was by luck or skill that they had survived, but their endurance seemed like a curse. Their objective was to simply survive. Not for some noble cause did they strive to bleed themselves and others, but for the sake of living. Their allies, who began to disappear from the ridge they once had an advantage over, the reinforcements that they had waited for, and that they had fought for, withdrew into the trees, with not one soldier giving as little as a glance nor an expression of remorse. Anger welled in the seven who did not understand the general’s intention to abandon them, muting their comrades’ voices telling them to fall back. Sometimes, they had even begged the heavens that the Confederate cavalry would give chase, but they too knew that the battle was over.
Cleansing the field of stragglers over mountains of colourless deceased, no quarter was given. Although the Rus have secured victory, they were not yet satisfied. Before the appearance of Lecher reinforcements, they would have allowed the survivors to live another day, but having suffered such casualties, they believed that not even the hundred remaining souls should ever escape their grasp. Thus the Rus continued to pour onto the bridge, in the hundreds and then in the thousands.
Nearing the opposing bank of the river, the Aelon struggled to maintain their foothold. Even their wounded, if they could stand, fought on. As Colt delivered strike after strike, he began to realise his strength was as insignificant as those he fought. Having repeatedly swung his sword for hours, even his bones began to ache. He had long planned to unleash his Eifer, but he never did. There was no opening nor a place and time where unleashing it would gain him anything. Then, when he stuck his blade in between two stones in the road, he noticed what could give him and his comrades their needed break.
As his sword vibrated from the tremors in the ground caused by the Confederate advance, the sergeant cast his eyes downward. His sweat dripped onto the ice, which had cracked under the weight of the thousands of soldiers who piled onto the crossing. The stones around him rocked, and it dawned on him what could be done. Standing upright, he searched for his comrade who would understand him best and dragged him back from the frontlines by his collar. Though the fright had nearly turned a friendly blade against his neck, he calmly gestured to him to take notice of the wavering structure. His friend frowned, confused as to what Colt wanted him to know, but as his blood rushed back into his head, he slowly nodded in understanding and agreement.
Widening his stance, the lieutenant-elect raised his sword with a frail arm. “Everyone, fall back!” Arminius cried, hoping that he would not have to explain.
But luckily for him, his century had longed for that order. They gave up their ground as if they had not fought for it for a quarter of a day and fled without ever second-guessing their young commander. As his squad passed by them both, they wondered what had come to them so suddenly to be able to act so selflessly, needing the assurances of others to move them on and to entrust all that they could to their two comrades. Once their retreat had been achieved, the survivors formed a defence around the bridgehead and held their swords ready if Arminius and Colt were to fail in their attempt, but they seemed less concerned as they cautiously withdrew, pace by pace, luring more troops onto the weakening crossing. Braving the horde, the two came to a halt.
The air began to avoid their bodies, its currents wrapping around them as if they were holding out a shield. The heat of their Eifer burnt away the ice on the ground, and soon, snow turned into rain. The sergeant was able to harness his flames within seconds, but Arminius’s power had lain dormant for nearly two years when it was suddenly called awake. He had to warm his Eifer, but the Confederates continued their charge, judging that their blades could reach their necks before the Aelon could unleash whatever they had planned. But in an instant of focus, the lieutenant-elect sealed the fates of the thousands who dared gather in the path of his Eifer.
Their Eifers sung, petrifying their enemies who froze from the sight of light glowing in their blades. As those recognised its signs, they realised there was no escape. Their allies behind them had not noticed it and continued to push onto the bridge. Thunder began to rock the bridge, and azure flames seeped into its gaps. The Aelon watched in admiration and distress as lightning and fire raced across their comrades’ eyes. Arminius and Colt released an enraged cry and drove their swords into the bridge. A flash of blinding light was followed by a violent gale that uprooted stones from its foundation. The blasts of blue flames and lightning thunder were tenfold louder than an army’s rifle volley, a sound that was condensed into a few seconds, rupturing the eardrums of soldiers nearest the source, but that was the least of their worries.
The electric currents of a vivid purple ran through the cracks in the crossing as an explosive inferno purified the surface. Unnatural in colour, their tinted storm coiled around their blades as they forced the reserves of their Eifers into their attack until their weapons cracked and snapped. The strike had been delivered, and the damage had been done. The bridge quaked and broke from its roots. The weight of a regiment forced the final blow, and the structure surrendered its grip over its arches and pillars, its road beginning to sink with a thousand men taken with it. From the gaps in the stones now open to air, fire and lightning erupted, burning and tossing soldiers into the air in an indiscriminate sequence. Their legs were blown off, and their bodies were struck with volleys of shrapnel-like rocks. Arminius and Colt released their swords, which disintegrated into the wind, and ran for land. Many tried to chase for them, but the ground beneath them opened up. Holes gave way to gorges, and the Confederates fell to their demise. Facing certain death, some took the plunge and threw themselves into the river, but they saw a fate that was no different than if they remained on the bridge. Pummelled with falling ruins that killed many more than the Eifers ever did, the weakest and most unfortunate among the Confederates were forced underwater, where they would drown or freeze to death. The river had become their graveyard.
The disaster at the end of the battle was more humiliating than the enemy having ambushed them. They could have taken revenge for all the lives unnecessarily lost, but instead, they were dealt another crushing blow. The only crossing within leagues was gone, and their prey had been spared. Some rushed to the riverbank to save whoever they could, but the currents of the river, agitated by the rubble, swept many away downstream towards the sea.
Aurelius leapt onto the end of the bridge where a lone arch stood and stared at Arminius, lying in the snow, his limbs numbed by his Eifer. Helped up by his comrades, he had prepared to withdraw from the site of battle when a cavalryman joined the third general. Reeling in his reins, he recognised Arminius, the soldier who had caught his eye once more, and tipped his head in acknowledgement of his and his companions’ struggle. Arminius never returned the gesture nor changed his expression as he commanded the Aelon to turn around and flee. They had been reduced to eighty men, and there was not much that remained of them. There was not even the dignity of having survived a massacre.
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