Knights Apocalyptica

Erec grinned as his axe sheered through the lens and gunk beneath the giant flying eyeball. The hateful monster spiraled into the ground as its insides turned to mush—taking it out was surprisingly easy. Though numerous, these things died quickly.

Their Strength wouldn’t be a problem. He felt free as the fire burned in him, his eyes turning to find the next kill.

[Left!]

Erec threw himself with the command as an instinct. A pulse of red energy shot out of a monster's giant eye and tore into the space he’d been, searing the ground.

[Updating Q.A.P prediction models. Well, that’s an unexpected ability.]

Hardly a second passed before another shot of crimson light flashed across Erec’s vision as a ghostly precursor—he moved immediately, throwing himself out of the way of another beam. It tore across the ground, the heat of it searing what little dried vegetation remained on the wasteland.

If it hit him—

Far to the right, a soldier got blasted by the eye beam. There was a pained scream as half his face burned away from the horrific heat of the attack.

Erec winced, but excitement coursed through him at this turn of events. They might not be physically strong, but these things had something hidden away after all, and a massive amount of them to fight. Erec unhooked one of the hatchets and threw the weapon through the air. It landed with a solid thunk and took out the puppet that slew the soldier, leaving the monster twitching on the ground. It was unable to use its eye but certainly not finished. He stormed over in an instant, one of his boots slamming down on its wing to keep the monster steady.

These eye-like creatures had gross-yellow molted skin, their round body shaped around and supported that central eyeball with a small mouth lined with teeth below—though the beam didn’t appear to be its only weapon. A barbed tail smashed against Erec’s leg, the tip of it skittering helplessly against his Armor. Not sharp enough to cut through the steel. The puppet flailed the two talons at the end of its legs, but they were nowhere near taking out Erec.

He’d already grown bored of this one. Erec slammed his boot into the monster—once, twice, thrice—until it stopped flailing.

Each blow brought more of the inferno alive inside. It swelled as he picked his next target—launching himself toward it with his bare hands.

It went down as easy as the first one. As it turned out, ripping one out of the air and smashing its eye into the ground effectively stopped it from getting off a beam at him.

If they died quicker, they got less of a chance to attack. And the more he could kill.

Erec’s vision filled with red as he tore his axe through more and more.

At some points, he weaved a different dance of death, grabbing one by the wings and smashing it into another. They weren't the most satisfying weapons but they worked in a pinch.

He’d hoped to force it to shoot its beam—but there was no such luck, so he contented in simply squeezing it in his hand until it popped.

Eyeballs and torn wings blended together as he tore through the enemy. Their reactions became all too predictable, even without Q.A.P. From how they moved in the air, to how they tried to dodge when he sprang up to yank them from the sky and crash them into the earth.

It was odd.

In the past when fighting the puppets, it felt like an intricate dance of life and death. As if each movement was calculated and designed to maximize the monster’s abilities in a bid to end him.

But now, it felt sloppy. Each movement they made was delayed, not just because he could see how they’d move before they did so. They lagged. Stuttered. They operated with a level of coordination that was damn near insulting. Even the six-legged monsters seemed to struggle against him as he took out everything that got in his way.

It pissed him off.

This was the fight; it should've been his chance to drench the field in blood and prove himself to everyone.

Yet it was too easy.

More corpses piled around him as he weaved through the fighting soldiers, alternating between chopping apart the flying imps and ending the life of the hounds. Other monsters—ones with scales, boils, and flailing tendrils died just as easily.

They all fell as harvest to his blade, dying pathetically.

Erec’s anger grew.

Eventually, a worm surfaced—two of the Knights slammed into it, but after so long of constant heavy fighting, they slowed down.

He jumped at the stretched maw of the monster as it was turning to deal with the Knights pestering it. Erec slammed his battle-axe into its face, wedging the weapon into bone as he locked his feet against its fleshy side.

It tried to throw him around, yet his grip remained firm on the weapon, anchoring him to the enemy. He pulled the wicked one-handed axe off his back with his free hand and got to work. Between him tearing apart the monster’s face, and the two other Knights slaughtering the rest of the monster, it went down easily. What had been a challenge that pushed him to his limits not too long ago turned into a simple fight.

And it confirmed something.

None of these monsters were giving anywhere near the level of challenge they should’ve. They went down easy, their movements lacked.

The inferno burned inside, angered that he’d been denied the fight of his imagination. It left a concern. Unquestionably, they went down far too easily, not that the soldiers made that distinction when faced with such an overwhelming hoard and without Armor or the level of Virtues as the Knights. But the other Knights had to be noticing it too.

But why?

Was the Stag overwhelmed at pulling the strings of so many puppets at once?

How pathetic. To think it caused such a problem for everyone.

Erec tore through more, and more, letting out a laugh as the blood flowed. If it didn’t give him the competition he wanted, then he’d satisfy the desire to unleash his hell by collecting tribute in corpses.

If the Stag wanted to sacrifice to him, then he’d let it.

— - ☢ - — - ☼ - — - ☢ - —

Hours ticked by. As much as Erec wanted to let the flame burn and consume him, the pushback from the enemy just didn’t let him draw out the inner fire to give himself away utterly. Countless dead were left in his wake, but he had to take a breather after an hour. Then get back in action, then exhaust the flame inside once more.

Each time he ended up shaking and among the corpses of his enemy—Jefferson seemed to hang near and cover for him to let him regain his strength.

So he bounced between a state of Fury and a more levelheaded thought process. Each use stretched his body beyond its normal limits—yet, he hadn’t reached a breaking point.

It was hard to tell how much they slew. Yet the intractable number of them pressed in on the army.

The brief moments of clarity provided Erec with a bit of perspective; how much of a similar battlefield were the other legions facing? How many monsters could the Stag puppet at once?

Was this the limit of its strength? The last bid to stretch itself out to kill as many humans as it could in an act of spite before they wiped it from the planet? Yet, there had to be more cunning to that monster. The more Erec thought over the problem; their current situation made less and less sense.

Why would the Stag, a monster that appeared to pride itself on outwitting humankind fold so easily in its last stand against them?

Then the reality of the situation sunk in. All of the strike squad sent to deal with the Rifts were failing to report back in. While the legions continued to struggle against an outpouring of more puppets, those that went in to kill the Stag went completely radio silent.

Master Knight sent to end the job were not responding to the calls on the radio.

Dame Robin gathered her Knights—one of which was knocked out from a worm and sent back for emergency treatment.

“We’ve done all we can here,” Dame Robin cleared her throat as she took in everyone. They were one and the same, tools of war still pumped full of adrenaline and pushing past exhaustion. “…But the fight isn’t over. As I mentioned when calling you here, our people aren’t reporting back as to what’s going on near the Stag…”

She went quiet.

“We, among several other squads, will go in as reinforcements. I’m aware this is a bigger risk than we considered at first, but without knowing what happened to the Master Knights, we don’t have a basis on how to respond and adapt.”

There were no contests to that.

Everyone felt that fire—Fury or not. After seeing how this beast seemed hell-bent on killing the people around them, they had little recourse.

Dame Robin gave them a nod—and they followed her deeper into the pits of hell.

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