“They just don't stop, do they?” he mused as another horde of lizardmen came screaming out of the distant forest and lake. 

The county of Aldrigmere, Count Fernigan’s territory, was situated at the northeastern border of Velikanst, with Lake Anfere at its edge. The region was renowned for its lumber industry, but in recent months, demand had risen significantly, and efforts to replenish what was felled lagged behind. 

It was this deforested land that was now the site of a major battle. 

Baltimore pulled his greatsword from the pile of corpses and stepped toward the approaching swarm. His blade was single edged, with a sweeping belly that tapered to a deadly point. The handle, nearly half as long as the blade itself, boasted an intricate guard resembling a golden angel’s wing. The weapon had been a wedding gift from his late father-in-law, and the small sapphire embedded in the hilt reminded Samuel of his wife. 

The Baron raised his sword above his head, staring down the lizardmen as they scrambled across the devastated earth. The blade glowed bright blue, a shining, brilliant beacon in the gathering gloom. The reptilian army came closer, venom dripping from their gaping jaws. 

Thirty paces… twenty… then fifteen… 

At ten paces, Baltimore brought his greatsword down in a vertical arc, sliding his hand toward to the pommel as the blade ripped through the air, tearing the army in half, but the lizardmen didn't stop. 

They jabbed at him with tridents and spears, some wielding little more than a large wooden fork. Samuel swept his sword around him, slaughtering dozens of the disgusting creatures. His blade was an extension of his soul; the hammer by which he forged his own reality. Monsters screamed and died with every swing, their caustic blood splattering across his armor. 

As he was about to be overwhelmed, a signal from Everit brought him to his knees, crouching in front of his weapon, the flat of the blade pointed toward the castle walls. Lizardmen chittered in triumph, scampering at the enemy who had bowed to their numbers. The first of the vile creatures to come within arms reach received a punch to the jaw, and then Samuel grabbed the dazed creature and tore off its head, chucking it at another monster who collapsed as their skulls cracked together. 

And then came the onslaught. 

Dozens of combat spells roared through the enemy’s ranks, annihilating any in their path. Fireballs and lightning bolts exploded in a violent display of wanton destruction, while floods, earthquakes, and twisters rampaged across the bloodied ground. 

Aldrigmere was known for more than just its lumber; Count Fernigan took great pains to employ the strongest mages he could afford, and now the results were being carved across the battlefield. 

In the midst of this devastation, Baron Baltimore stood with his back to his sword, crying a challenge to the monsters around him. A lizardman darted forward, and Samuel tore it in half with his bare hands, tossing the remains aside. 

All at once, the enraged creatures swarmed him, seeking vengeance for their mutilated companions. 

Baltimore ripped out the spine of the next reptilian monster, whipping it around to slice the throats of dozens more. He stood there, stalwart and steady in the face of this vile force, breaking backs and crushing skulls as the mages slowly relented, relaxing the flow of their mana. 

Samuel retrieved his sword. An eerie silence fell over the battlefield as he held it behind him, parallel to the ground. 

The monster's efforts redoubled, chittering all the louder now that the magic had stopped. Their numbers had dwindled, but to them, their victory seemed close at hand. 

The Baron's blade glowed blue once more, banishing the lizardmen’s hope for triumph. He swept his blade in a wide, horizontal arc, destroying what little remained of the vengeful creatures. 

He leaned on his sword, breathing heavily as he surveyed his handiwork. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he wiped his face with a handkerchief. 

“You… strong… human…” a scaly voice croaked. 

Baltimore looked down to see a lizardman staring at him, its yellow slitted eyes revealing a host of seemingly human emotions. The lower half of its body was gone, and its entrails oozed out from its mangled frame. Samuel crouched next to it, feeling a sort of sickening pity for the dying creature. 

“Lizardmen… respect strength… you… listen. Warrior… to warrior.” The monster reached up and grasped his forearm, seizing it in a desperate hold. It pulled something from around its neck, placed it in Baltimore's hand, and closed his fist around it. “Lizardmen… not want… to fight. Humans… kill. Lizardmen… protect… home. Strong human… please. Save… lizard… men…” 

The Baron watched indifferently as the thing died, his face a grim mask of detachment. He stared in disgust at the necklace the creature had given him: A thin string of bones and fangs. He considered tossing the vile thing aside, but some despicable part of him was drawn to it, perhaps even fascinated by the horrid nature of the object. He stuffed it in his pouch, not wanting to look at it any longer. 

A field runner brought him a waterskin, and he downed nearly the whole thing, gulping greedily as the cool, refreshing substance flowed down his dry, dusty gullet. He took his seat on the piled up bodies, like a reaper sitting on a throne of death. 

The battle was far from over. Another wave was forming in the distance, but it wouldn't arrive for another few minutes at the very least. 

Baltimore took a final swig of water, smiling savagely at his work of art. 

“It's been awhile since I've felt this alive,” he said idly. 

*** 

Everit watched the battle from the castle wall, coordinating everything with his communication magic. Though the Baron was a one man army, he was not, in fact, fighting alone. The knights and soldiers that followed him were formed up in tight ranks behind Baltimore, eliminating any monsters that managed to slip through his hands. 

So far, their forces had not sustained a single casualty, though Everit credited this to luck rather than skill. Some would question the reasoning behind this particular strategy. After all, what sense was there in fighting in front of the wall you were tasked with protecting? There was a definitive risk, but it was a calculated risk; one Everit had considered carefully. 

In past battles, lizardmen had been known to employ explosives designed specifically for the destruction of walls like these. In light of that, Everit had opted for a more aggressive approach. 

Now he stood on the ramparts, looking over the carnage from the previous monster wave. Food and water was being distributed among the soldiers below, who were careful not to ingest more than was necessary. All in all, the battlefield was no place for a stomach ache. 

“What will they try next?” Everit wondered. If things continued like this, there would be no need for the backup plan he had prepared. But life rarely happens the way it's expected, and the same was doubly true in war. 

One of the field runners stopped and saluted, waiting for permission to address him. Everit acknowledged the soldier with a casual wave, brushing off the standard traditions. 

The messenger caught his breath, then relayed his message clearly and succinctly. “Preliminary reports from the forward scouts indicate that the next approaching wave will be significantly larger than the last,” he said. 

Everit nodded. He'd expected as much. If the current trend held, they could find themselves in a mild predicament. 

The distant snarling of the lizardmen grew in volume as they charged from the lake, the thunderous rumble of their feet beating a steady, insistent cadence across the wood stripped land. 

It was loud. Too loud for a lizardman army of any size. Something was truly, deeply wrong. 

Everit shaded his eyes, magnifying his vision with magic as he peered through the dust cloud accompanying the monsters. It was clear to him now that the scout's report had been somewhat inaccurate. Their numbers weren't all that was significantly larger. The monsters themselves were, too. 

The next wave of monsters wasn't lizardmen at all; it was something much, much worse. Across the battlefield, charging at a break neck pace for the castle walls, was a deadly horde of dragonmen. 

As quickly as he could, Everit ordered a full retreat, and their small army hurried to take refuge behind the sturdy castle walls. All except the Baron, that is. He stayed behind, facing off with the dragonmen alone. 

But that wasn't the worst of it. 

From the darkest depths of Lake Anfere, rising from the lake in spectacular fashion, a gargantuan serpent blotted out the cloud covered sky, as if mocking the puny castle that stood against it in vain defiance. 

For centuries, tales had been told of a monster of impossible size residing in the massive lake. Now, the subject of the people's fears towered over them, and they could no longer look to hope. 

They all knew its name. And even now, some of them whispered it in reverence, resigned to their pitiful fate. It was a monster of myth, a creature of legend. 

It was Leviathan.