"Death for the Blood God!"
Ramb0 slammed both shovels into a necromancer's vacant face. Bone cracked. The corpse folded.
Far ahead, an undead dropped mid-step—its puppeteer severed.
Ramb0 sighed. "This isn't really fun when they don't fight back."
Schneizel raised a finger—then lowered it.
"There's… a lot wrong with that sentence," he muttered. "Maybe don't say it out loud."
He dashed past him, drove his shovel into a soldier's throat, and sliced clean through the neck.
The head hit the dirt. "And kill as many as you can!"
Angel lined up a shot across the ridge. Four soldiers with faintly glowing cores clustered together. Crack.
One shot. Four kills.
"Four in one," she said, sliding a new stone into her gun. "Nice."
Gedis raised his scripture and gestured like a preacher.
"Fan out! Seek the carriers of the core! Every soldier glowing black must fall!"
The Cult of Blood roared and scattered like zealots in uniform, each wielding a weapon and a whispered prayer.
A voice crackled to life in Schneizel's mind.
'Marshal Arc here. Commander Schneizel, are you in?'
He bashed a core soldier's skull in with his shovel, blood spraying across his face.
'We've pierced through and are currently dealing with the said necromancers.'
A pause. Then:
'Confirmed. We've noticed the collapse pattern. Undead are dropping like puppets with cut strings.'
Another pause.
'Intel update—reinforcements are moving to intercept. You have enemy units approaching from the eastern flank. Some necromancers have also noticed and have moved accordingly.'
Schneizel straightened, eyes narrowing.
"Of course they are," he muttered. 'Thank you.'
'Good luck.' The comms cut off as Schneizel turned to Angel.
"You heard that?"
"Yup."
"How much mana stone do you have left?"
"About thirty."
"That's a lot." He muttered.
"I needed the supply." She shrugged, her gun clicking as another stone popped out.
"Give me 15 and I'm taking Ramb0 with me, take Gedis with you and the cult, clean up the western flank and pressure their center. I'll be meeting their reinforcements."
Angel handed him fifteen stones and her magic core.
"Ramb0, on me. Keep up." Schneizel dashed, slashing at throats that he can.
"Finally—I mean, Amen, O Great Blood God." He roared as the two shovels in his hand clanged.
They weaved through necromancers, killing as they went—until the air shifted, and an organized column jogged into view through the trenches.
Boots slammed in rhythm. An organized column met them at the trenches—disciplined, armored, and carrying standards etched with black flames. They held no necromancer cores but with guns, now aimed and ready.
Schneizel stopped. Ramb0 grinned like a wolf.
"It seems we have met again." A man stepped forward, unhurried.
His column parted by his command as he shrugged off his coat. "I hope to repay you."
"BARRIER!" Ramb0 roared. Light shimmered around him—like glass catching sunlight.
The enemy sidestepped.
Throat. Gut. Liver. The man struck.
The barrier didn't even flicker.
Ramb0 dropped to his knees, the dampened pain still leaving him breathless.
The man took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood off his knuckles.
"A barrier does not stop physical attacks, imbecile."
He gripped Ramb0's head and—crack.
Neck snapped.
The body slumped to the dirt.
"How pathetic."
Schneizel stepped back, a barrier shimmering around him.
The man looked up at him. His glasses gleamed as it caught the firelit sky.
"The name is Cassius Vale."
His voice was calm, measured.
"You made a fool of me in front of my peers."
His eyes locked with Schneizel's, cold and seething as he cracked his neck.
"I have come to correct that."
Schneizel rolled his shoulders and raised his hands. "So, one-on-one, eh?"
"No followers, no weapons, just pure skill." Cassius stepped forward and stared down.
"Hoo?" Schneizel cracked his knuckles, "You really are confident."
"I have fought men, better than you. They fall all the same."
"I can tell you now, you've never met a man better than me."
Ash spiralled between them, falling on the blood soaked ground.
Fighting echoed across the battlefield—gunfire, shouts, and steel clashing.
The smell of blood and smoke clung to the air, thick enough to taste as the two men circled.
Cassius struck first—a straight jab.
Schneizel ducked beneath it and hammered a palm into his chest.
Cassius stumbled half a step—then planted his boots and drove them into Schneizel's gut.
He slammed against the trench wall. Cassius spun, a kick burying into his side.
Schneizel threw a jab. Cassius's punch crashed into his jaw.
Schneizel stumbled—his vision swirled.
Cassius loomed over him."Up, Get up."
Schneizel rose slowly, wiping blood from his mouth. "You got better."
Cassius scoffed, "What you did before was a fluke."
They circled again, slower this time. Waiting.
Cassius struck—another jab, aiming for the throat.
Schneizel caught it—smirked—and let's go.
Cassius narrowed his eyes before launching his rhythm.
Gut. Throat. Liver.
But Schneizel weaved through each strike like smoke.
"You're getting predictable." Schneizel grinned as he stepped forward
Cassius's eyes widened—A fist buried deep into his gut, folding him.
Air burst from his lungs as he staggered back, coughing. "What?"
"You're pretty good," Schneizel said, voice low. "It's been so long since I fought like this." He stepped closer, knelt to his level, grinning. "You awakened something in me that I almost forgot was there."
He arose, gesturing casually. "Stand up. I don't want you to lose like this."
He walked a few paces away.
Cassius glared, panting hard, rage boiling behind his eyes."I will crush you."
"Go on then," Schneizel crossed his arms, "Fight."
Cassius staggered up and lunged. Schneizel met him.
He punched left—Cassius weaved.
Cassius threw a right—Schneizel raised his elbow, caught it mid-arc.
Then, without pause, he spun.
Smack.
His palms slapped Cassius's cheek. A smirk on his face
Cassius staggered, eyes wide. Not from pain—but from the humiliation.
Pride cracked as rage boiled over.
"HOW!?".
"You've gotten predictable," Schneizel said. "I've seen it all before."
Cassius blinked—his eyes wide with realization.
"Get up," Schneizel said, that grin widening again. "Let this master teach you."
Cassius roared and charged.
Left.
Right.
Schneizel deflected every blow, weaving like wind through fire.
Cassius swept low—Schneizel jumped, feet tucking
Thud.
Both boots slammed into Cassius's chest, sending him skidding back.
"Bastard!" Cassius lunged again, desperate, wild—arms wide, aiming to tackle.
Schneizel didn't dodge.
He ran straight forward—and leapt.
Off the trench wall.
Momentum crashed into Cassius's charge and Schneizel's fist came down like a meteor.
Crack.
Cassius hit the ground—hard.
"I—I can't lose…" Cassius gasped, barely conscious.
Schneizel stood over him, calm, expression unreadable.
He reached down and grabbed Cassius by the head, lifting it slightly. His voice was steady. Final.
"Too bad. You did."
He looked up—past Cassius—to the soldiers watching. Silent. Frozen.
Then he wrapped his arm around Cassius's neck, locking it in place. Eyes still on the company.
SNAP.
The sound echoed across the trench.
Cassius's body dropped.
His head didn't.
Schneizel held it for a moment then threw it.
The head landed with a wet thud at the feet of his own men.
None of them moved.
Their fear, palpable. Their silence, deafening.
Schneizel looked down.
A handgun lay in the dirt near Cassius.
He bent, picked it up, turned it over in his hand.
Solid. Heavy. Familiar.
He glanced up at them again, raising an eyebrow.
"You guys get handguns?" He clicked the stone into place. "No fair."
Someone shouted. "Fire! FIRE! Kill him!"
Schneizel tilted his head at the noise.
"How rude," He grabbed Cassius' body and ran—straight into the gunfire. "Barrier."
Light shimmered faintly—but it was the corpse that caught worst of it.
Bullets slammed into flesh, armor, bone—Schneizel didn't even flinch.
He moved like a shadow—gun raised, firing between beats of fire.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three bodies dropped with holes in their heads—thuds lost in the chaos.
Then, with a grunt, Schneizel threw Cassius' body into the column and dropped into a slide beneath their fire.
As the formation retreated, he rolled, grabbed a fallen sidearm.
Snapped in a fresh stone.
The handgun clicked.
He ducked between them. "Hard to aim, when you're all clustered in a trench?"
Two soldiers turned, panic on their faces.
He jammed each gun barrel into their open mouths.
Their eyes went wide.
BANG! BANG!
Blood sprayed behind them—two clean shots.
Two bodies hit the dirt, twitching.
Four. Five.
A soldier roared and charged, bayonet raised.
Schneizel sidestepped, grabbed his arm—Bang.
The bullet tore through his skull.
Six.
He caught the man's collar as he spun—used the falling body as cover—
and emptied the rest of the clip behind him.
Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The gun clicked dry.
No pause.
He ripped the bayonet free and fired.
Eleven. Twelve.
Then silence.
Twelve more men remained—staring at him over iron sights, trembling.
Before any could shoot, a call rang out through the trench:
"Fall back! RETREAT!"
The group stared at him, ignoring the call.
Afraid to turn their backs.
Before he waved them off, nonchalant.
"Go—while I still have some mercy left to give."
The soldiers ran. They didn't look back.
Schneizel stood alone again, blood soaking the earth beneath his boots.
He exhaled. Holstered the empty pistol. Let the bayonet drop into the dirt.
"That was fun."