Felt like writing. Smacked this out in-between war waves. Enjoy.
It was the season for candy and yet the streets of Falconreach were flooded not with trick-or-treaters but with undead of every shape and stripe, all aggressive not for candy but, by all accounts, for the blood and guts of the citizenry.
The Guardians had been mobilized and were already in position, with the ease years of experience had beaten into them. The local heroes were already fighting, Ash Dragonblade prominent among them, his sword a beacon amidst the dread of the night. And, of course, the Hero of Falconreach was right there with them, dragon at her side, absolutely in her element.
She didn't seem to like it but she was definitely in her element and it was a familiar, humbling, and mildly terrifying sight.
To suit the occasion, in place of Cryptic or Dragonlord gear, she'd donned a suit of gruesome-looking armor the color of drying blood. In one hand, she held a long black blade that crackled an ominous orange. In the other, she bore a gigantic golden axe that resembled Artix's own. A short-handled golden hammer hung at her waist.
But none of that mattered. Her enemies died by the droves not at her weapons but at dark spikes that erupted from the ground whenever she passed, sprinting from one end of the city to the other, leaving a trail of impaled enemies in her wake. While they called her Hero, it couldn't be denied that she was also… abnormal, in a way. Not in an insulting way, but out of the ordinary all the same.
(of course, given that it was undead they were facing at the moment, Artix was even worse)
This was nothing new to Falconreach or to any of her allies. And yet, as Ash Dragonblade could attest, it wasn't exactly something you could get used to, seeing one—no, two—no, four—no, five—no, six die at her feet, impaled by dark spikes in less time than it took to count them.
The juxtaposition didn't help either. During times of relative calm, the Hero was known to be a casual, cheerful, friendly person, almost chronically unable to refuse someone, anyone, help. During wars, she was death walking, destruction incarnate, the perfect partner for a dragon rumored to be the Destroyer of Prophecy, the unflinching end of their enemies.
(If you listened in during her combat at wartime, through the sound of her enemies dying, the sound of her attacks unerringly seeking her enemies' vitals, she could often be heard singing as she fought. Music, after all, was vital to war.)
In a way, it was almost comical, how different the Hero was whenever war struck. Whatever class she favored at the time, whether Cryptic or Dragonlord or Epoch, come war, she would once again be donned in the colors of blood, enemies dying impaled on spikes or shredded by blasts. Her dragon fought by her side, as he always did, but he only rarely had to act and, even then, usually only to provide a coup de grace. The class she used, whatever it was, was unknown, even to this day. As she only ever brought it out during war, it was difficult to ascertain exactly what it was, especially not when even just looking at it was painful, almost repulsive, as if its mere existence unbalanced the world with its overpowering might.
(She had, in fact, once been asked about her armor, what was the class she used during wartime. Her answer had been garbled and hasty, something about 'Charnel' and 'buying it from Cysero'. While Cysero had an item called 'Charnel' among his stocks, it was known to be nothing more than a jewel that was basically just a pretty paperweight, the only magic it bore being the ability to hear the sound of waves if you held it to your ear. Certainly not armor. Given she'd been asked right as she was about to head off for a power nap after about five hundred consecutive circuits around town, counted only via the number of medals she'd accrued, it was understandable that she'd been too distracted to provide a proper answer.)
This war was no different. If anything, she seemed particularly motivated this time. While some initially speculated that her motivation came from the war starting almost under her nose, while she'd been distracted buying candy of all things, it came to light that the real reason she seemed so energized this time around was because of how… convenient it was for her that it happened in town. Not that she enjoyed that it was happening there but… it was convenient that it was. Anyway, all things considered, it was a relatively 'safe' war from her perspective.
"I—look, war is awful, period," she'd been heard saying during a juice break, after another five hundred consecutive circuits around town, all spent putting undead on spikes. "Especially whenever it happens in a-a place with a lot of civilians. But, let's face it, it's not like—I know it's dangerous having all these undead but it's not dangerous-dangerous ."
(Given that she once single-handedly cleared out an entire bandit camp without any weapons save a single coin from her pocket, it should be understood that her definition of what was safe and what was dangerous was terribly skewed).
By this point in time, she had thousands of medals. It was not an uncommon sight to see her launching them by the hundred out of a cannon. Yet, all the same, she preferred to do combat on foot, specifically for the medals. Not that she disdained the catapults. She just liked being hands-on, apparently.
(It was a known fact that she was a vocal proponent of catapult usage. Even within the city walls. "If someone here hasn't paid to catapult-proof their house yet," she'd been heard arguing to Guardian Mekiai. "They clearly aren't serious about living in Falconreach.")
Artix alone somehow managed to withstand her carnage, the only being they'd seen able to do so given she was currently in war mode. In fact, if anything, he miraculously seemed unscathed by her attacks.
Some attributed it to the mysterious book that had caused all the commotion. Others attributed it to her holding back in some way, given that he was a staunch friend and ally. Yet more attributed it to Artix just being Artix. All the same, it was known that this fact irritated the Hero.
"I've been trying to break his legs and get the book back. Get all this over with," she had said to Ash Dragonblade, scowling, during yet another juice break, another five hundred medals bouncing in her holder. "But the stupid—ugh, he just brushes it off and keeps running. A perfectly good blast, right to the knee, and he just ignores it. Typical."
It was known that 'blasting' in that armor would consign anyone who survived the initial shredding to a slow, painful death via dark infections. That she used it on Artix, a friend, spoke wonders on her opinion of his durability as a Paladin. Or perhaps her frustration with the situation. Or both. Likely both.
"Adri tells me I should just aim for the head and be done with it," she says off-handedly as she hand-fed the aforementioned dragon the health restoring half of her healing candy, as befit the Mogloween spirit. She only ever needed the mana restoring halves herself. Her dragon didn't need either but he apparently liked the taste. "But, you know, I don't want to risk it."
Her dragon nips her fingertips trying to tug the sticky candy away from her hands, though with her gauntlets on, she didn't seem able to feel it. The same stickiness that made using healing candy in active battle infeasible now served to make it difficult for the Destroyer of Prophecy to eat his candy.
"Besides, I'm not sure if that'd work either," she comments. "I don't stop Adri when he goes all in, full on Elemental Nova on his head, but he doesn't seem to feel it either. Artix has one thick skull."
Yet another wave of undead came screaming from out of the skies. The Paladin's laughter could be heard echoing over the distance.
"He is definitely something," Ash says, managing to keep himself from vocalizing the ever-unspoken 'and so are you.'
"But I swear, I'm gonna break his legs one way or another," she says, weary-eyed, as she re-shoulders her weapons and readies herself to re-enter the fray, putting down her now empty juice box. "At the very least. And he's a Paladin, anyway, he can heal a broken leg or two, no problem. I do it all the time when I'm using Paladin. "
With nothing more to say, she joined the battle once more, enemies dying or re-dying as dark spikes exploded outward at her every step.
The sound of explosions from the nitroglycerin sponge catapults soon filled the air, enough having managed to appeal for their use even within the city walls. The smell of candy remained pervasive all-throughout. It was, without a doubt, shaping up to quite an eventful evening.
It was the season for candy and the streets of Falconreach were flooded with undead of every shape and stripe.
In other words, it was all business as usual.
I know that v1 isn't customizable. But let's all collectively agree that in this fic specifically, v1 looks like Charnel+Stygian DoomKnight.
This war'll probably be done by tomorrow so I rushed to finish this, sorta. If I don't finish with at least 4K waves before that, I'll be super disappointed in myself. Currently at 3.2K (EDIT: Aaaaand done! All before 99% and no catapults.)
Not sure if this is going be a one night war in-story but if it is, I think this'll still fit