Howl’s heart wrenched, a cry building in his throat. He wanted to leap in and save his old friend, to bring him to a cleric to heal him. But the walls were falling, the gate was gone.

Cord chopped and carved, his uniform soaked in sweat and blood. The blade bit into the back of a wretched demon and stuck. Cord yanked it out and started to swing again as a bayonet pierced his side. He turned and slashed at the demon holding the bayonet. Blood gushed out of the wound, but Cord continued his fight. His moves became slower, his legs started to stumble like a punch-drunk fighter. Another bayonet pierced him, and then another. He roared and slashed as he toppled into a pool of blood and bodies.

A flutter of wings caught Howl’s ear. He turned and saw a small bird, perched on the corner of the wall above him. It bobbed its head and fluffed its wings. A grim smile came to Howl’s face, melting away just as fast as the bird flew away from the noisy din. 

His face hardened to a frown and he faced the enemy ahead. “Fire by rank! Make ready!” Officers and serjeants echoed his orders all down the lines. Thumbs pulled hammers back with rows of clicking noises.

Within moments devilkin rushed forward with shrill cries and screams, bayonets and swords at the ready.

Howl waved his arm down. “Front rank, fire!” A wall of bullets cut down dozens of intruders. The front rank started to reload as the second rank levelled their muskets.

“Second rank, fire!” Another volley slammed into the wave of devilkin. Heaps of corpses littered the gateway.

“Third rank, fire!” The enemy wave started to buckle.

The front rank frantically reloaded, scrounging for ammunition from their cartridge boxes, and then brought their muskets to bear. The continual volleys cut the devilkin to pieces. A shrill cry came from outside, a chorus of ululations answering it. A war horn blared once again. 

Enemy bullmen grenadiers marched in a shield wall of thick iron and enchanted hide. The volley of musket balls panged harmlessly against the shields. A mass of devilkin crowded behind them. Howl looked at Keg. “Please tell me you have some grenades.”

She held up a single grenade.

“And the rest of you?” Most of the grenadiers shrugged, holding empty hands. Only a couple others held up grenades. “Damn.”

“War mages are about tapped out too, sir,” said Keg. “I’d say hold them off until we think we really need them.”

That might be sooner than you think. He waved his arm forward. “Break that shield wall before they get too close. Short fuses.” 

The grenadiers grunted as they hucked the small round explosives into the air. Small trails of fizzling sparkes as grenades arced above the ranks of soldiers. Metal shards splintered into the bullmen. One or two grenades missed and bounced off the shields, shrapnel flying and pinging off of the metal. The bullmen hardly lost any momentum.

Howl frowned. His stomach felt like a tempest.

“Sir, do you have a Heat Round?” asked Keg.

Howl raised a brow and nodded. “Yes, but wouldn’t do more than maybe heat their shields up, and I don’t think they’d really care.”

She hefted a small powder keg. “I had something different in mind.”

“Eh?” He blinked and then grinned. He reached into his shot pouch and pulled out a red bullet. With a quick motion, he rammed the ball down and aimed the rifle up.

“This might be close.” She rocked back, holding it up with two arms and then hurled it at the enemy. The barrel soared over to the shield wall, just above their heads. 

Howl squeezed the trigger and a small fire ball burst from his muzzle, streaking towards the keg. An orange ball burst and several of the bullmen reeled away from the fiery explosion above their heads.

Caldrayn soldiers fired a quick, ragged volley, creating a gap in the shield wall, but by then the enemy were within charging distance. The devilkin surged forward. A second volley crashed into the charging devilkin, but the third had no time to fire as the front rank clashed with the attackers. Soldiers from the second rank stabbed over the shoulders of their comrades. Howl grabbed his sword and jumped into the fray.

Devilmen started to burst through the front rank, pushing through with bayonet and fists. Soldiers fell in the trampling push. The air reeked of acrid gunpowder and gore. War mages blasted explosive spells behind the enemy. 

“They’re trying to flank us!” yelled Keg.

Howl yanked the bayonet out of a devilman. “Take Second and Third Company and create wings. Rank fire and cut them down! The center has to hold!” 

Enemy soldiers started to mass within the fort walls. Howl saw a sea of hide helmets and mottled uniforms just beyond the ranks of his own men. Waves of devilkin pressed against his ranks. Howl’s heart fell as he looked around the chaotic melee, hearing the screams of soldiers being cut down. His foot brushed against the dead body of one of his rangers, the green coat darkened with patches of wet blood, unseeing eyes staring up at him in anguish.

His side started to burn. He whipped his head around, seeing a devilman’s bayonet had sliced through his coat and through his side. The devilman showed his sharp teeth in a wicked grin. Howl bared his own and clubbed the devilman in the chin with the butt of his gun. The devilman reeled back, wiping blood from his mouth, and then pounced back. Howl shoved at him, trying to land a kick but the squirrely devilman dodged out of the way and headbutted him. He reeled back, his foot tripping over a fallen body, sending him down. 

The devilman cackled and held up his musket, bayonet pointed down. He gloated in his hellish tongue and then gurgled blood as a sword point pierced from his back. Keg appeared over Howl, flicking the bloody blade. 

“If I keep having to rescue you, they may not think much of you as a leader,” she grinned. Half of her face was covered in blood but Howl had no idea whether it was hers or someone else's. She grasped his arm and pulled him up.

“May not be much of one here soon,” he said with a grimace. “Not much of the garrison left.” He looked around as more soldiers fell. They were getting cut to pieces.

He looked up, seeing a singular figure standing above the gate. A tall man dressed in a dark uniform. The general, Vakhrus, had come to see the final moments of his victory. He raised a hand and without a word, the army slowed to a stop, crowding around in a ring around the last of the garrison. A smirk crept on the general’s face. Boots clacked on the ground as the demons presented their guns in one synchronous move.

“Showy bastard,” said Howl.

“That’s one way to command, I suppose,” said Keg. “Any hope for reinforcements?”

Howl caught a glimpse in the sky of a white owl hovering in the air. It circled around a few times before heading back northward. He smiled. “I’d reckon so.” Just not in time for us.

A chorus of horns blared in the distance, but not the deep reverberating note of the demon army. It was bright, cascading into a harmony of higher notes. A bright light flashed in the sky and the darkness started to ebb away, peeling back corners of black to show small rays of the new dawn. The enemy army began to grumble and murmur. Vakhrus cocked his head up at the sky but did not seem to give any inclination of anxiety. He clenched a fist and the army fell into silence. 

The light started to grow brighter in the sky, but the army remained.

The garrison fell back into ranks, making two thin ragged lines of the remaining motley of soldiers. Howl felt his cartridge pouch. He was down to one last round. It was one of his special rounds: a Blessed round. It was hard to resist a chuckle at the fortune.

 Hundreds of blackened steel muzzles faced him and his garrison. He grunted with a cynical smile and started to load his last shot. He bit off the cartridge and hurriedly poured powder into the pan.

“You may want to hurry,” said Keg. 

He frantically dumped powder down the muzzle, fumbling to ram the ball down. The devilkin pulled back the hammers into full cock.

The garrison did the same. 

Howl cursed as he hammered the ball down the barrel. He wasn’t going to make it in time.

The world seemed to thunder with hundreds of volleys going off all at once. The garrison all around him were cut down, bullets zipping through wool and bone. Howl stood, shocked. He looked at his hands and his body, no bullets had pierced him. A faint glow wavered in front of him like heat, a moment later it vanished. A heavy thud fell by Howl’s feet. There was a heavy silence amid the large cloud of black smoke and the stench of powder. A hand tugged on his leg and he glanced down in front of him.

The last wisps of arcane energy trailed from her hands. The front of her uniform was dark with blood. “Better make it count,” said Keg. She closed her eyes and slumped down, a soft smile on her face.

Howl stifled a sob. He steeled himself, gritted his teeth, and levelled his rifle, aiming up at the general. The wind was still; he didn’t need the flip up sights. He slowed his breath. Time seemed to slow as well. The only sound he heard was the distant warbling of a songbird.

Darkness started to peel back in the sky. A slaughter was starting in the distance, triumphant horns were blaring. The devilkin presented their muskets as hundreds of hammers clicked back once more.

Howl exhaled and squeezed the trigger. 

The bullet cracked out of the barrel. 

Through the small cloud of smoke wisping from his barrel, Howl saw the enemy general jerk, a spray of dark crimson erupting from the side of his head. His body toppled and slumped. Howl allowed himself a grim smile, his task complete.

A moment later the air in front of him cracked with musket fire and everything burst into white light.