A horn bellowed mournfully over the battlefield. Regis moved in a blur, turning men into kindling as he chopped away with his axes. Blood splattered onto the flagstones, on his armor, on anyone unlucky enough to be close by. The air reeked of death, that familiar sweet stink he'd grown so fond of. He stopped and sucked in a great lungful of the stuff, exhaling with a crooked smile on his lips. His heart beat like a wardrum, blood rushing in his ears like a great, roaring river. Alive. Only when death was at its closest did he truly feel alive. When men’s lives were as cheap as firewood, ready for the chopping.

And ready they were. A whole forest’s worth. Masked men lay strewn about the Forum, piled high along the curbs, choking up the streets with their corpses. And yet they kept on coming, spilling out from every corner and crevice the city had to offer. Centum’s bellowed and jeered, swinging their axes, smashing aside rebels with their shields. Regis watched on with a warrior's glee, ready to join in the fray when a hand grabbed hold of his shoulder.

Magus clutched at the cuff of his shirt, face pale, skin the consistency of parchment that had been scraped clean one to many times. “The horn has been sounded Regis!” his voice quavered as he tried to speak over the noise. “The Captain has ordered a retreat!”

Regis merely laughed. “Retreat? And spoil the fun? Look around you, old man. The dead litter the streets and not a single man of mine lay among them. This fight belongs to the Vangen!”

“The Captain has ordered our retreat,” Magus pressed. 

Regis curled his lip, revealing sharp canines beneath. His killing smile as it was known around the fire. The type that left your opponents weak in the knees, made them think twice before challenging you. It worked on Magus as well, apparently. He released his hold on him, fingers curling back as if he’d touched something obscene. 

“The horn has been sounded.” The magician's voice came out in a whisper, and yet it cut through the screaming chaos with ease. His words pierced Regis like an arrow, filling him with remorse, before his lust for battle returned, harder and sharper than ever.

“What horn?” Regis asked. He charged into the fray before Magus could protest, axes whirling in his hands. Sharp iron flashed as he chopped through limbs, cutting men down and staining the bright, white flagstones with their blood. 

The Captain was going soft if he thought a retreat was necessary. Here and there Regis could see the rebel lines beginning to falter. Centums pressed in  the attack, boxing masked men in before slaughtering them like cattle. The Vangen were winning. What point was there to retreat?

An ungodly howl pierced the air suddenly, sending a chill down his spine and freezing the fury in his heart. A massive black hound burst into the forum, barreling straight towards him. Red eyes bore into his, strings of drool dribbling down a mouth of razor sharp teeth.

“So the rebel’s sick their hounds on us now? Bloody cowards!” Regis ran towards the creature, gripping both axes tight. He swung, arms bracing for impact, but instead of solid flesh, his axes glided effortlessly over curling black smoke.

Regis balked as he nearly pitched to the ground from the momentum. He fell to one heel, spun round and slammed into a wall. His head cracked across the stones, spitting stars into his eyes. He shook away the pain and tried to right himself, mind racing over what had occurred. Had he missed? 

Men screamed off in the distance. Regis turned in horror as the black hound charged into the fray and snapped a Centum up in its jaws, teeth biting through his armor with ease, the man’s terror cut short with a terrible sounding crunch. The hound tossed the guardsman aside like a sack doll and dove upon another, crushing him underfoot.

Regis roared out his frustration and ran towards the creature. He split the head of a rebel in his way, stove in the chest of another and swung both his axes at the heels of the beast. Again they came back clean, passing over the hound's haunches with ease. A snarl erupted from the creature as it turned on him, one massive paw held high. It tore into his shoulder blade, nails ripping through chainmail and hide.

The force threw Regis to the ground, rolling him over and over on the bloody flagstones, light and dark a whorl in his eyes until he struck something solid and came to a jolting stop. He scrambled back to his feet, anger boiling in his chest like a steaming kettle.

Twice now he’d swung at the hound and twice his axes had passed through unbloodied. Cutting at the damned creature felt like chopping at the wind. Regis clenched his teeth, watching as more of his Centums were struck down by the nebulant dog. It seemed swinging mindlessly at the thing wasn’t working. He needed a new plan, something that would actually work.

“Magus!” Regis yelled. He searched for the old man through the throng of bodies, found him surrounded by a group of Centums a few strides away. The magician muttered something, gold and violet shimmers radiating from his hands, scattering the surrounding rebels as they clawed at their masks, gasping like plucked fish from the sea.

“Magus! Thank the gods you’re still alive.”

“As much a curse as it is a blessing, I suppose.” Magus smirked, his humor apparently still intact despite how close to death he looked.

“Spare your jokes Wyrdling. I need your help. The rebels have a monster on their side. A hound as big as a fecking pack horse is tearing through our ranks as we speak!”

The magician's eyes narrowed, lips pressed in a thoughtful frown. “it would seem the Ministry has finally seen fit to send their own against us.”

 “That thing is a Minister?”

“And a right bastard at that,” Magus agreed. “Cannis is his name. The fourth of seven. A shapeshifter last I recall.” The magician paused to cover his mouth, doubling over as he coughed into his sleeve.

“And just how are we going to kill him?”

“Like you would anything else.” Magus peered over the crook of his elbow, eyes haggard and red-rimmed. “Beheadings tend to do the trick.”

“My axes pass right through him gods damn it! It’s like chopping at the clouds!”

“Quite the nasty trick, that. One of the many reasons why he was chosen as a Minister. His powers over change range beyond simple animals. He can turn into smoke, grow to any particular size. Once, he disguised himself as a pile of bodies as part of an ambush. He’s powerful Regis.” Magus coughed harder, his sleeve speckled with blood this time. “They all are.”

“Damn it,” Regis muttered. The magician was no help at all, but his words gleaned one sound piece of advice. The Guard couldn’t fight something like this. They’d been trained to kill men, not monsters. Whatever magick Cannis possessed was beyond anything they’d faced before. A sickening lump formed in the back of his throat. There was only one thing they could do.

“We have to retreat,” Not even Regis could believe what he was saying, but the little voice in the back of his head said it was true. The Guard would die otherwise.

“Finally, a sound plan,” Magus agreed.

“We’ll need to distract Cannis long enough for the others to escape. Is that something you can do?”

"I can certainly try. It'll take some time to conjure enough magick for something like that, though."

“Good enough!" Regis broke past the Centum’s shield wall and charged towards Cannis. If the Wyrdling needed time, then he’d give it to him.  “Cannis!” he roared. “Come and face the worthy!”

The black hound lifted its head up in surprise, a shred of chainmail dangling between its teeth. A deep sound rumbled from the Minister’s chest, like the laughter of an ice giant. It spat out the chewed up metal, arched its back, and sprang with the agility of a rabbit.

Cannis swiped a heavy paw down on Regis, but this time he was ready. He twisted back, slipped an arm round the hound’s flank and chucked him overhead.  Cannis, once effervescent, felt solid then as he tumbled onto the flagstones, flinging rubble and corpses into the air.

“Come on now. Is that all you’ve got?” Regis clacked his axes together, metal singing in a challenge. “I’ve killed bears in Danic bigger than you.”

Cannis shook his head and charged once more. His paws transformed into hooves and he clattered down the street with growing fury. He reared up on Regis and brought his weight crashing down.

Regis sidestepped just in the nick of time and the hooves pounded into the flagstones, grit and dust spitting into the air. Regis took a swing at the hound's flank, but the Minster slipped past like a puff of smoke in the wind, forming solid a few steps away.

“Coward!” Regis spat. “Is this all you can muster against me? You're a waste of my bloody time!”

Cannis gave an ear splitting roar and charged down the forum toward Regis. he braced for impact, axes raised, heart beating furious in his ears. A stab of pain shot up his leg, the throbbing in his back worse then ever before. As much as he hated to admit it, time was running out. Age had finally caught up with him.

Cannis lept with both claws extended. Regis sucked in a tight breath, tensed, and sidestepped at the last possible moment, axes ready to strike, when something hard smashed into his guts. His heels left the ground and he catapulted through the air, vision a kaleidoscope of light before he finally hit the ground.

Regis coughed up a lung as he crawled on his hands and knees. His ears rang. His guts throbbed. He wheezed and wiped blood from his face, luckily not his own. With a shaky hand he pulled himself up, legs like two saplings in a storm.

Cannis laughed at him. Regis turned, axes at the ready, only to stop short. The Minister stalked towards him, still in the shape of hound,  an arm the size of a full grown man protruding from his flank, fingers clenched in a tight fist.

“A waste of time am I?” A strangely human like voice gurgled from the hound’s muzzle. “I could say the same for you. You bluster and bleed like lambs to the slaughter. Is this all the Vangen can muster against me?” More hands erupted out of Cannis, grabbing at anything within reach. Rebel and guardsmen alike were snatched up and torn apart, bloody pieces tossed aside with reckless abandon.

The Minister reared up and gave a blood curdling howl. “You are all pathetic!”

A flash of brilliant light burst from the corner of Regis’ vision. He ducked as a blazing star shot past, hitting Cannis square in the chest. The Minister’s howl turned into a scream as he pitched over onto his back, arms flailing as if he were on fire.

It took Regis a moment to realize what had happened. The magician! He’d done it! Whatever it was. The blazing light he’d conjured had sent the Minister scrambling. Perhaps, it had even been enough to finish the job.

“Wyrdling!” Regis called out. “We have him now! Let’s finish this once and—,” his words died in his throat the as he turned to the magician. 

Magus stood a few feet away, body bent over with exhaustion, eyelids fluttering to stay open. “I’m sorry Regis, but I think...that’s all...I’ve got.” The magician’s legs buckled and he collapsed to the ground.

“Magus!” Regis limped over and scooped the man into his arms. He looked like a ragged sack of bones, his skin tight and waxy, mouth slack, breath shallow and crackely. “Come on, stay awake. Don’t you fecking die on me.” 

Whether Magus heard him or not, he made no sound. His eyes rolled beneath their lids, body twitching ever so slightly. Whatever magick he’d casted on Cannis had done a number on him as well, leaving him as useless as a newborn.

Regis grit his teeth, tried to gather his bearings. It would be impossible to fight Cannis now. Guardsmen were fighting tooth and nail to keep the rebels at bay and there was no telling when that damned Minister would be getting back up again.

Regis swallowed sour spit, realized what needed to be done. Magus was right, he should have retreated, but it was too late to regret his choices now. Taking his own horn from his belt, Regis blew a sharp, hard note, the very same he’d turned a deaf ear to not moments ago.

“Retreat! Guardsmen to me! Retreat!” Regis ran as fast as his legs could carry him, clutching Magus tightly to his chest. He sprinted down an alleyway, jostled through a side street, breaking past a clutch of abandoned market stalls as he charged deeper into the city’s guts. 

Gods be good to him, but could today get any worse?