Balbi the [Laundress]-[Witch] had a caustic personality and made no attempt to hide the fact that she didn’t like Brin at all, but even so she was surprisingly quick to see reason. As a member of the town Council, she was the natural choice to talk to Kevim about their plans.
First thing in the morning, she approached him with the idea to have the familiars defend the gates, but he refused. Without being able to explain that they were familiars, it was impossible to get him to believe that a pack of dogs, a bull, and “someone you don’t know” were going to be able to pull it off.

So, without the aid of the familiars, the town mounted their defense. When the undead broke through the first gate, Zilly’s dad blasted them with fire. Rather than annihilating the charging foes like last time, he and the other Lantern-men only thinned them out, and then it was up to a group of townsfolk holding towershields and wearing the town’s best remaining armor to push them back.

It was a slow, methodical fight. Everyone that could hold a spear and a shield joined the relief force, choosing to spread the burden to as many people as possible rather than continue to only risk their strongest fighters. The defenders only made a small ring around the gate as it was being defended, and no one was made to stay on the front line very long. Two minutes, and then they were swapped out, whether they were injured or not.

Zilly was on the front line. Despite her young age, she’d been leveling a lot, and the fact that she was a so-called [Warrior] made Kevim agree to put her with Hammon’s Bog’s best. Brin was relieved to see that she was also the very first person to leave the front lines. She came through the gates looking dazed. Her steel helm was dented, and she had a line of red running down her face.

The nurses tended to her, and luckily it must not have been that bad, because she soon took her place at the back of the line with the reinforcements.

Davi was at his place near the gates, playing his music. The tune spoke of grit and resolve. It was a song about the long war, about endurance, about fighting to the last. It was depressing, and yet somehow energizing, because it felt real. It was honest.

Brin had more than three hundred fighters in front of him in line when he got to the gate, but it still moved much too quickly. The sounds of fighting grew louder, orders being shouted, screams of rage, shouts of pain, and the ringing of steel against steel.

As he got closer to the front, he saw that the mood of the undead had shifted as well. They were adjusting to the quick swap-out times of the defenders by fighting like berserkers, trying to break them before they could be swapped out.

Few on either side fell, but there was a decided defensiveness to the town’s side, where it was apparent that most had given up on killing any undead and were concentrating on simply staying alive.

As he got closer, the sounds of war got louder, the stink of fear and blood got more intense, even the temperature seemed to rise.

Then he was at the front.

An undead with a black two-handed club was in his face with no time to prepare. It battered at him wildly, desperate to take him down as quickly as it could. The first blow against his shield numbed his arm, and every one after that threatened to wrest it out of his hands.

He called a sheet of glass onto the surface of his shield, burning his Mana to make it appear quickly. When the club struck it again, Brin wrapped the glass around it and made it stick to his shield. He pulled back, and the undead lurched forward unsteadily. Brin stabbed with his spear, piercing the undead’s neck.

Then his hand was ringing as the spear was smacked away. The undead to the right of the club-wielder had intervened. It slashed out with a rapier, tracing a long cut along the arm piece of his leather armor before the defender to Brin’s right got a shield between them.

The undead with the club stumbled back, and a new soldier replaced it, this one with a jagged black sword.

Brin braced the shield with both hands, defending against the onslaught. They didn’t have to kill the undead, they just had to hold them back long enough for the gates to get repaired. Long enough to survive another day.

Every strike from the undead bruised his arms, even through the shield, but he held on. He pushed back when the undead tried to break through, bashed the shield forward when the undead tried to take advantage of his lack of weapon to harm his neighbor, but most of all, he held on. He hung on to the shield like a life raft, and it protected him from the swings of blacksteel weapons that battered him like a storm.

Then, he felt a tug at his shoulder. He was done.

He stepped back, and another defender took his place.

A [Hunter] must’ve finished the club guy off. That was a lucky break, although he didn’t get a level off of it. He was due for one soon, though.

He pushed through the gates, crowded with the constant movement in and out, and then made his way to the back of the line. When he got there, a woman wearing a white armband, to designate that she was working with the wounded, pulled him out of line.

“I can still fight!” Brin protested.

She pointed at his arm. There was a bit of blood running out of the armor, but only a little. He hadn’t even noticed that the cut had gone through.

He patiently removed his armor and let her bandage the cut, even though by the time she was done it had already stopped bleeding. It really was just a scratch. Beneficial, really, because it activated [Battle Fury]. By the time that was done and his armor was back on, the battle for the gate was over. The repairs were finished, and they had another day, at least on this gate.

Before anyone could leave, Brin pushed through the crowd and found Zilly’s dad. He pressed one of Hogg’s mana potions into his hands.

Zilly’s dad wasted no time. He uncorked it and downed the whole thing without hesitation. He wiped his mouth and said, “It’s not enough. Even with alchemical help, there’s only so much mana a person can go through in one day. I have to save some for the last gate.”

“Hopefully we’ll have some extra help for the next gate. Save your strength, as much as you can,” said Brin.

He nodded distractedly, and soon another Lantern-man pulled him away, speaking urgently.

Brin let the crowd push him. They were all going to the same place anyway. They all walked together to the next gate, only to find that a herd of dogs were already there. He’d say a pack of dogs, but there were thirty of them. Odilon’s total supply.

The biggest was Lup, a hound dog the size of a horse, but the most dangerous one was obviously Ferir. Brin had never seen Clementine’s familiar before, but he needed no introduction. It was a pitch-black wolfhound with a wicked snarl, and only about a foot shorter than Lup.

Poco the bull stood in that group, too. The dogs gave him a wide berth, but he didn’t even glance at them. He sat overlooking the battlefield like a general, unimpressed with everything he saw. Brin didn’t see Ademsi 2000 anywhere.

The hacking at the gates continued, as more and more defenders arrived, puzzled at the pack of dogs. Finally, the first ax-blade appeared, breaking through the wood.

That was enough for Poco. He charged.

“Hang back! Make him hang back, Alvir!” shouted Kevim, but Poco would not be deterred.

He hit the gate with a crash, and moved straight through as if it were made of paper. The bull charged straight through the mob of undead who’d been pressed against the gates, tearing a furrow through their lines with his horns, spraying sickly undead blood into the air.

Sadly, the undead weren’t the mindless zombies that would make all this easier. Once he broke through the front lines, the undead in his path scattered. They angled around him, and spear-wielders darted in to stab his flanks. Poco’s hide ran with his own blood, mixed with the blood of the undead, but he didn’t slow. If anything, it just made him angrier.

The villagers pulled away the rest of the broken gate. Odilon already had tears in his eyes, but his hand didn’t tremble as he raised two fingers up to his lips and gave a whistle. The pack of dogs charged.

They moved in a group and rushed towards Poco, guarding his flanks. To Brin’s surprise, the dogs worked with a coordinated strategy as well. They worked in tandem; one dog would bite a shield or a weapon, pulling it away so that the next one could get the throat. The undead lines stepped back, holding up their shields while they adjusted to this new threat.

“Let’s get this done! Defenders, get out there and form a line! Builders, get ready!” Kevim shouted.

The first line of fighters poured through the gates into the space that Poco and the dogs had opened up.

Just then, he saw a tall figure, every inch of skin covered with cloth. Ademsi 2000. The puppet-man didn’t even bother with the gate. He loped to the wall, then with a running start, leapt over it.

Brin heard the screech of metal and the sound of whirring buzz-saws, but he couldn’t see what was going on. He cursed his position in the relief force. If he was on the front line, he could see Ademsi go all out.

The line wasn’t moving very fast at all. Whatever was happening on the front, things were going well for the defenders.

Brin left the reinforcement group and ran over to climb up a tower. There were three [Hunters] there, letting loose a constant stream of arrows. None of them glanced back at him.

From up here, he could see everything. With a jolt to his heart, he realized that half of Odilon’s dogs were dead or dying. Poco was still going strong with Lup on one side and Ferir to the other, charging through the undead lines with impunity. All the other surviving dogs had already moved back behind the defenders, and there were far too few of them.

Brin was surprised to feel his eyes water a bit. He shouldn’t care more about the lives of dogs than he did people, but for some reason his emotions didn’t always do what he thought they should.

On the other side, Ademsi 2000 fought. He fought like a tavern brawler, with wild punches and kicks, but his huge size and overpowering strength made him unstoppable. A wide haymaker shattered a blacksteel shield, and then a snap front kick sent its owner flying into the air in two pieces. He cocked back, and then spun one arm around like a sideways helicopter, knocking down four undead who tried to jump him at once.

He pressed his arms together, and they joined somehow. Then his hands disappeared, and a blast of fire rocketed out of his arms. Ademsi scorched dozens of undead, sending them screaming in all directions. Brin had seen thousands of undead soldiers die, but nothing made them run and scream like fire.

An armored undead with a giant blacksteel axe snuck up behind Ademsi. Ademsi didn’t notice him, and couldn’t hear Brin’s shouts of warning. The undead elite swung the ax down, and embedded it deep into the back of Ademsi's head.

Brin’s breath hitched, until he saw Ademsi reach back, grab the undead elite by the neck, and then use it to pummel the other soldiers around him. Only when the elite’s head fell off, did Ademsi reach back and pull the greataxe off his head. He made as if to drop it, then held it up, examining it a bit. He shifted his grip to the handle, and then gave it a few swings. Seemingly satisfied, he charged the undead lines with his new weapon.

On the other side of the field, Ferir gave a loud bark, and Brin saw what he was looking at. Simao had taken to the field, still wearing his gleaming armor and carrying a warhammer. He sauntered through the lines of undead, who made way for him.

Poco was already charging. A few undead tried to slow him with spears planted in the ground, but the beast acted like he knew only one direction. He casually swiped the spears out of the way with his horns and trampled them, pressing forwards. A few roguish undead with knives angled to take him in the sides, but the dogs took them down before they could get in position.

Then Poco met Simao. There was a loud crack as horn met hammer, and Poco’s horn shattered. Without stopping, he rammed Simao with the horn on the other side, flinging the armored undead back.

Simao got to his feet, then saw his warhammer on the ground. Poco stepped on it and snorted. The armored undead turned and retreated into the forest.

“Hey! You can’t be up here!” One of the [Hunters] had noticed Brin, so he went back down before he could get in trouble.

Back with the reinforcements, Brin could do nothing but wait. Only a few defenders were injured, and as far as he could tell, there weren’t any deaths. Not unless you counted Odilon’s poor dogs, which he definitely did.

The mood of the backup force lifted as they saw how slow the line was moving and how few people needed to be relieved. This was a rout. Even the first day hadn’t gone this well. The lines buzzed with gossip, as well. Word traveled fast in this town, and it traveled faster when so many people were in one place. Before long, Brin could hear the men around him talking about Hammon’s Bog’s Secret Defender. The [Masked Warrior]. They wondered who he could be, since no one in town was that tall. To his relief, he didn’t hear any words about [Witches].

It seemed like a glaring omission, honestly. He didn’t know if people simply weren’t thinking about it, or if everyone was so relieved to have more power on their side that they just weren’t bringing it up. Any harbor in a storm.

The gate was replaced quickly, and soon the defenders marched back through with heads held high. The workers closed the gates, and the gathered defenders let out a cheer. Davi played a triumphant song again, and this time, it didn’t jar with the town’s mood at all. There were smiles everywhere. The one exception was Odilon, who tried to hug all his surviving dogs at once while sobbing. Lup had made it with only a few scratches, and Ferir had come out fine as well. He panted, and his tail wagged happily, though he was dripping with the blood of the undead.

Bruna was already tending to Poco’s many gashes and scrapes. Her lip trembled as she sewed up his cuts, patting him as if trying to reassure him. Poco bore it with patient amusement, completely unbothered by his many injuries, and even the loss of one horn.

He saw a flash of movement; something was coming over the walls. He quickly recognized Ademsi 2000, leaping back over the walls, still holding the blacksteel greataxe. Whatever enchantments held the undead back from easily scaling the walls seemed to have no effect on Ademsi. He slowed unnaturally before hitting the ground, and then landed softly. Was that possibly the work of Balbi’s familiar, the suit of clothing?

Whatever the case, Ademsi didn’t stick around. The town cheered at the sight of him, and called for him to stop and talk. He raised one hand awkwardly in hello, but didn’t stop. He ran easily on his long legs, further into the town and out of sight.

Brin smiled as he listened to the excited chatter of the defenders. The Lantern-men had been preserving their mana for three fights. Now that one had been taken care of, they’d be able to go all-out on the last gate, so it was likely the last battle would be the easiest of all.

Suddenly, the crowd to Brin’s left got quiet. Many of the defenders were already moving towards the last gate, but the quiet was coming from the wrong direction. There were too many bodies to see what was going on, so he pushed his way through until he came face to face with the source of the disturbance.

Tawna was there, wearing a dress that practically thrummed with power, and a long cape that was burning at the edges.

“We must talk. My Oath requires me to inform you before I take any action that could alter your fate, and now that the fate-catchers have been destroyed, your fate has been revealed plain to me. Come, this is a discussion best had in your cellar.” She whirled around and marched in the direction of Brin’s home, not even bothering to see if he would follow.

Of course, he did.