King Ingmar's warriors fled before the strength of Rovngalad. The invaders pursued the defenders through the streets of Yeavenguut, breaking through the hastily constructed barricades and routing their enemies. Their prowess on the battlefield lived up to their boasting, for they truly were the finest warriors in the north.
And they were losing.
The Usurper's men were making them bleed for every inch of ground they took. The defenders of Yeavenguut were content to cut their losses and retreat towards the center of the citadel, luring the Rovngalad invaders in to try and break them against more fortified positions. Ingmar had reserves, and the strength of the Rovngalad warriors was dwindling. They had been fighting all through the night, and their numbers had thinned. The men of Yeavenguut weren't the only ones lying dead in the streets.
Torvald knew that he was being baited into a trap, but he didn't care. He and Skerast had been bound together for hours, and his bloodlust had risen to match the spirit aligned's. Even if he wanted to stop now, he would not have been able to. So he would continue on to the center of Yeavenguut, to the Usurper, and he would rise to meet whatever tricks Ingmar would throw at him. He would cast down the man who had killed his father and uncle in his brother's stead. And if he could not… well, there were worse ways to die.
Sometime during the night, a light rain had begun to fall, and the raindrops traced paths in the blood that coated Torvald's face and arms. Behind him, Ivarr grunted as he drove the point of his sword through the leather armor of an enemy warrior, and then again as he kicked the man off his blade. Jarn bellowed as he charged into a line of fire aligned, his armor bearing a multitude of new pits and scars. The defenders had forced Torvald's band south and west through the city, obviously intending to wear down his strength by making him take a circuitous route to the city center. This was one of the largest groups of defenders yet, and already they had claimed two of Torvald's men. Torvald gritted his teeth and prepared to jump into the fray again, but before he could, the air was filled with the sound of rattling metal.
A pack of Pawniard and Bisharp burst from a nearby street and sprinted towards the enemy warriors. The steel aligned fell upon them and began to claw away at the defenders of Yeavenguut. There was a long, echoing roar as a Beartic crashed through the wooden wall of a small hut and continued onward, plowing into the Yeavenguut warriors' hastily formed shield wall. "Dagmar!" Ivarr cried, running to aid his partner.
The invaders from the southern gate arrived shortly after their pokemon partners, and with their aid, Torvald and his men soon beat the Yeavenguut defenders into a hasty retreat. Torvald signaled for his men to stand at ease, and they all reached for their water skins. They had been replenishing their water from Yeavenguut's stocks when they could find it, but as the night had worn on, Ingmar's men had been destroying any water barrels they passed to deny the invaders.
Wulfric swung off Steinarr's back and limped wearily over to Torvald. "What are your losses?" the monk asked.
Torvald scanned his men. "More than I'd like. Is my sister with you?" Wulfric hid his eyes and Torvald sucked in a breath. "No. I don't believe it."
"I watched her fall, Torvald."
"Damn it all! And Ulfi? Is he—"
"He died getting us through the gates."
Torvald cursed and paced back and forth, Skerast humming in his hands. "Ingmar's going to pay." He stopped and turned towards the center of Yeavenguut. "We've got enough between us to keep pressing forward, don't we? Enough of this circling around, enough dancing to Ingmar's tune. I say we make our own path to Ingmar's hall. Between Jarn and Dagmar, we can break through the buildings and take them by surprise."
Wulfric looked at the exhausted war bands. "It's a risky move, but we won't hold out for much longer. One way or another, we have to end this soon." He looked up at the sky. "Dawn is coming. We can hold our ground here until then and give everyone a chance to rest for a spell."
Torvald's hands tightened around Skerast's hilts. He wanted to run ahead, to kill, but even through his battle-madness, he could see the wisdom in Wulfric's words. He nodded and gave the order to establish a defensive formation and for the men to rest. Many of them sagged against the remains of buildings or looked for their friends and comrades from the other invasion group. Occasionally there were gasps, growls of anger or small choked sobs when someone learned of a death, but the northerners held fast to their stoicism and kept their grief private.
When the dark clouds above their heads lightened with the promise of dawn, Torvald gave the signal to advance. Jarn lashed out with his heavy tail, destroying a craftsman's workshop and trudging forward through the wreckage. Dagmar barreled ahead, throwing his weight against wooden houses and reducing them to shattered timbers. Wulfric and Steinarr galloped alongside the large pokemon while Ivarr and Torvald ran after their pokemon partners. The rest of the remaining warriors followed in a mass just behind, shields raised and ready to form into a wall should they meet opposition.
They made no attempt to hide their charge, and soon a sizable force of defenders had marshaled before them, hoping to hold them back. Torvald and Ivarr smashed into the enemy line, and Skaldi sprinted past Steinarr, once again under the sway of his Breloom's psychotropic spores. The priest howled a long, keening battle cry as his axes rose and fell, flashing in the morning light. Behind Wulfric, the remaining warriors of Rovngalad fell into a shield wall before charging.
Steinarr bounded forward, tossing his crowned head and flinging enemy war aligned aside. Torvald danced and twirled through the chaos, spreading the bloodstains that covered his upper body. Shields cracked and splintered, spears broke and swords clanged. Wulfric had long since given up the pretense of giving Steinarr commands; the Gogoat was bred for warfare and knew better than Wulfric how to navigate a battlefield. But he could feel Steinarr's breathing getting ragged, and the thick leaves that made up the grass aligned's mane were growing waxy and limp. The drawn-out battles of the previous night had begun to take their toll on Steinarr, just as they had taken their toll on the men. If Ingmar's plan had been to wear their forces down before leading them into a trap, he had succeeded.
After coming this far, there was no other course but to play right into Ingmar's hands. Wulfric didn't like it, and he could only pray that they had some trick left, one last gambit that Ingmar couldn't predict.
They broke through the line of Yeavenguut fighters, driving a wedge through the shield wall and flanking the enemy from behind. The rest of the battle was brief and bloody, and casualties on the Rovngalad side were light. Torvald paced anxiously as they dispatched their injured foes. But soon they were off again, Jarn and Dagmar cutting straight to the heart of Yeavenguut, where Ingmar's stone hall stood.
They burst into the wide central market plaza of the citadel, the stalls abandoned and the morning air quiet and still but for the panting of the warriors and the low grunts of Jarn and Dagmar. The heavy door to Ingmar's hall scraped open, and a cohort of the largest warriors Wulfric had yet seen trooped out, forming a defensive line. Before they locked their shields together, a crowd of war and fire aligned passed through and took up position in front of their masters.
The two forces glowered at each other for several heartbeats, each waiting for the other to make a move. Wulfric saw Torvald twitch, saw him make the decision to sprint forward and cut them all down, but before he could act on it, the Usurper himself emerged.
Ingmar was flanked by several bodyguards while Agmundr, his red-robed priest, stood at the king's left hand and a scarred Zangoose with graying fur stood at his right. An Aegislash drifted behind his head. Ingmar's mouth quirked up in a wry smile. "I'll admit that I'm impressed you made it this far, Torvald the Red. Bringing along your pet monster was a clever trick. Though I'm a bit disappointed your brother isn't here. Did we kill him already? Or was he too much of a coward to face me himself?"
Torvald ground his teeth together and tightened his grip around Skerast's hilts. "I'll kill you," he rasped. "I'll rip your head from your shoulders!"
"I'd like to see you try," Ingmar sneered. "Crush them!" he ordered his men. "Show them what happens when you stand against the king!"
Wulfric raised his sword. "Onward, warriors of Rovngalad!" The surviving invaders shouted out in answer and took off over the packed earth of the square.
"Onward!" Ivarr shouted. "For Halvard!"
"For Ragnhildr!" Skaldi shrieked. "For Ulfi, and all of our dead! Make them pay!"
Dagmar was the first to reach the enemy. With one massive claw, he lifted up and hurled a Pyroar against the stone walls of Ingmar's keep while using his other paw to fend off a Gurdurr. Jarn guarded their eastern flank, using his stony bulk to deter any that tried to outmaneuver the invaders. Branna soared through the air with the few remaining air aligned of Rovngalad, battering away enemy air and spirit aligned that tried to attack from above. Bisharp and Pawniard traded blows while larger war aligned struggled to subdue each other. Steinarr vaulted over the enemy line with Wulfric clinging to his back, driving into the guards from behind and forcing a gap that Svein, Geirr and Talvar rushed to fill.
Torvald ignored them all, sprinting forward and vaulting off an enemy shield to land solidly on the far side of the shield wall. Before Ingmar's bodyguards could even draw their blades, Torvald had cut all four of them down and sprang at the Usurper. Ingmar's Zangoose leapt in front of its master, catching Skerast's blades on its claws and stalling Torvald for just long enough for Ingmar to bind himself to his Aegislash. When Torvald came in for another strike, the Usurper caught the blow on his shield and sent Torvald staggering back a pace with a well-timed shove.
Torvald growled low in his throat as he charged in again. He no longer thought, only acted. Skerast's humming had intensified, becoming a buzzing mantra in the back of his mind, endlessly repeating die die die die die die. The Doublade's lust for blood and death was Torvald's own. He could no longer say where the spirit aligned ended and he began. Their minds were one, and they moved as one being. He wanted to feel Ingmar's blood on his face like he had never wanted anything else in his life. He hungered for it. He needed it.
Ingmar was a skilled swordsman, but Torvald was by far the superior fighter. Had Torvald been fresh, the bout would have been over in seconds. But he had been fighting since nightfall the previous day with almost no rest, and the strain had begun to take its toll. His movements were slower than they ought to be, his strikes just a fraction of a second too late to capitalize on the openings Ingmar unwittingly left him. The king's Zangoose pounced, and Torvald's left arm lashed out to strike the beast down. The Zangoose managed to parry the blow and avoid being disemboweled, but it was a near thing. He attacked Ingmar with his right hand, forcing the king to be on the defensive. When Ingmar raised his shield and lowered his sword, Torvald whirled on his Zangoose and drove his left blade into the beast's chest and tore upwards, killing it before it could cry out in pain. Ingmar cried out in anger and pressed his assault.
The Usurper managed to hold Torvald on the steps of his hall, but the fight was pushing him to his limits. The tales of Torvald's prowess had been no exaggeration, and despite Ingmar's best efforts to exhaust the man before it got to this point, Torvald had proven to have an iron will and indomitable constitution. Even if he somehow managed to dispatch Torvald, there was still the matter of the rest of his force. If he didn't do something to thin their numbers, he would be overwhelmed.
"Archers!" Ingmar shouted. "Fire!"
Arrows began to fly from the warehouses and watchtowers around the market square. "Form up!" Wulfric shouted, and the Rovngalad forces pulled in tight. But Wulfric saw that they were spread too thin, their losses too great to prevent an attack from all sides. "Jarn!" he cried. "Take the rear!" The Aggron shifted his ponderous bulk to stand at the back of the formation, the arrows bouncing harmlessly off his armored plating. With their backs protected, the remaining invaders clustered together, holding shields above their heads to keep the rain of arrows off them.
Ingmar sent up another signal, for Wulfric heard frenzied series of wingbeats overhead. Next to him, Aesgir cursed under his breath. "That damn Noivern is back," the warrior hissed.
"Helga!" Wulfric barked. "Keep it off us!"
The woman nodded and unslung her bow, notching one of her few remaining arrows to the string and drawing it back. The warriors around her moved their shields aside just enough for her to scan the sky. She pulled her bow taut as the Noivern soared over the market square, but before she could loose the missile, Branna screamed by overhead, her wings cloaked in flames.
The Talonflame swooped at the dragon and its rider, diverting the Noivern's attention and making its sonic attack go wide. The Noivern tried to target Branna, but the fire aligned was too quick, nimbly dodging out of the way. When it seemed like the dragon had focused enough to aim accordingly, Helga fired on it from below, forcing the Noivern to avoid an arrow.
Wulfric knew that the strategy would only buy them a little time and wouldn't last long once Helga's quiver ran out, but try as he might, he couldn't think of a way for them to get off the defensive and try to gain the upper hand. He reached up and pushed his rain-soaked hair off his face and muttered a prayer to Arceus for guidance.
Torvald and Ingmar continued to trade blows, their blades clanging off each other with the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. Each time Skerast struck, the pounding rhythm in Torvald's head grew louder and more insistent.
die die die die die die die die die die die die die die
Ingmar's Aegislash hummed too, and Torvald did not doubt that the Usurper was hearing his own spirit aligned's voice. Ingmar's breathing was becoming more ragged and his pupils dilated as he gave himself over to the influence of the blade, but neither could score a decisive blow. In Torvald's exhausted state, they were too evenly matched. Skerast poured all of its energy into his limbs, but Ingmar's Aegislash was doing the same. With a lesser opponent, Torvald could have ended things already, but though Ingmar had risen to his position by poison and plotting, he had held it by the strength of his sword arm.
Torvald brought both of his blades to bear, only to have his first strike caught on Ingmar's shield and the second parried by the Usurper's blade. He quickly adjusted to keep the king from exploiting the opening he had left and prepared to strike again. The growl in the back of Torvald's throat was building into a full-on roar.
DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE
Torvald threw the force of his body weight behind his next strike to knock Ingmar's shield out of the way and prepared to drive his second blade into the Usurper's chest. But before he could strike, a loud roar split the morning air and echoed off the crags surrounding Yeavenguut. Ingmar used the distraction to knock Torvald's blade away and recover. "What the hell was that?" the king barked.
His Noivern rider swooped low. "Sire, it's another Gyarados! It's leapt the harbor chain and attacking the captive ones!"
Wulfric's eyes widened. "It's Uthald! It has to be!"
A flash of lightning split the sky followed by a percussive burst of thunder. The rain began to fall even harder, hammering against the warriors' shields. Lightning split the sky directly above Yeavenguut, and a glowing form shot over the citadel before looping back around. In the harbor, the new Gyarados roared again, and the Noivern rider watched in shock as it sank its fangs into the throat of one of Ingmar's captive leviathans, piercing the thick scales of the bound Gyarados's neck. The new Gyarados hurled the bleeding form of Ingmar's serpent away and reared up out of the water, a glowing orb of white energy appearing in its fanged maw. It unleashed the attack, sweeping it across the fjord and catching the three remaining water aligned and the scattered remnants of Uthald's fleet in the beam. The three sea serpents collapsed into the water with smoking burns, and the fleet was reduced to charred timbers.
Above the citadel, the glowing form swooped and dove. Lightning rained down from the roiling clouds, razing the streets of Yeavenguut. A piercing shriek rose over the thunder. Ingmar's Noivern rider soared out to meet the apparition, and a bolt of brilliant light descended from the thunderheads. When Wulfric could see again, the dragon had vanished, leaving only the scent of charred flesh behind.
"This is the wrath of the gods," Skaldi whispered beside the monk.
The radiant being descended, its feathers clattering with each beat of its mighty wings. Lightning rained down, striking the towers of Ingmar's keep and blasting the stones away. The Usurper slashed his blade through the air. "Archers, fire!"
"Hold!" The voice from the heavens echoed louder than the thunderclaps, and Wulfric clutched the four-pronged ring around his neck. The archers raised their eyes skyward, fearful of divine retribution. "Rovngalad!" the voice boomed again. "Be not afraid!"
A figure leapt from the Storm Bringer's back, dropping the short distance to the ground. The man whistled two notes, and the god alighted on the ground, its wings held up and ready to shoot back into the sky. The flashing lightning hid the man's features as he strode across the market square, pausing only to yank a sword from the corpse of a fallen warrior. He twirled the blade experimentally in his hands and turned towards Ingmar.
"Who are you?" the king snarled.
"I am the Fool of Rovngalad," Halvard said as he advanced. "I am the son of Sigurd the Strong and the rightful heir of King Harald. I am the servant of my people. I am chosen by our gods." The Storm Bringer threw back its head and screamed, one again making lightning flash across the sky. When the din quieted, Halvard pointed his sword at Ingmar. "I am the true king of the north."
A wordless scream of rage ripped from Ingmar's throat as he shoved Torvald aside and raced down the steps of his keep. The jarl calmly sidestepped Ingmar's wild swing, and with a flick of his wrist that was almost casual, he slashed across Ingmar's unprotected hamstring. The Usurper fell to his knees in the dirt and struggled to rise, but his leg would not bear his weight. "You insolent bastard," the king spat. "I should have killed you when you were a boy. Showing mercy was a mistake."
"For once, you and I agree." Halvard plunged his blade into Ingmar's chest and stepped back. "Now!"
The Storm Bringer rose into the air, lightning crackling along its wings. It raised its beak skyward and a pillar of light descended, consuming Ingmar. The Usurper's final agonized scream was lost in the percussive boom of thunder. All the remained of King Ingmar the Usurper was a pile of ash, a mangled and twitching Aegislash and a charred circlet of metal.
Halvard raised the remains of the crown and set the battered circlet on his brow. He turned to face the remaining defenders of Yeavenguut. "Throw down your weapons, or I'll kill you where you stand." No one was foolish enough to defy him.
For the first time in hours, Skerast's tassels unwound from Torvald's arms, and the blood-soaked warrior sank to his knees. "How?" he murmured. "Halvard… this is impossible."
The warriors of Rovngalad all but collapsed with relief. Ivarr threw his arms around Dagmar's torso, and the Beartic picked up his master and swung him about in a circle. Aesgir and Helga danced in the rain, and Skaldi muttered prayers to Yveltal under his breath. Svein was weeping, his face buried in Geirr's neck. Wulfric shoved his way through the ranks of the shield wall to Halvard's side. "I knew you'd come back."
Halvard pulled Wulfric into a rough embrace. "I promised, didn't I?"
"You did the impossible. You tamed a god!"
Halvard looked up at the Storm Bringer soaring above the ruined citadel. "Tamed might not be the right word. But we reached an understanding in the end."
"Blasphemy!" Ingmar's red priest screamed from the gateway of the keep. "This is blasphemy! Heresy!" He ran down the steps just as the king had only moments ago. He held a long knife in his hand, poised to plunge it into Halvard's heart.
Wulfric acted entirely on instinct, shoving Halvard out of the way and raising his sword. Agmundr ran himself up onto the blade, not realizing he had impaled himself until the sword was protruding from his back. Wulfric held his arms out rigid, keeping himself well out of Agmundr's reach while the priest flailed with his dagger. Wulfric's eyes widened as he realized what he had done, and he nearly dropped the weapon. Agmundr rasped as the knife fell from his grip and his body slid off Wulfric's sword to fall in a heap on the ground.
Wulfric had killed.
Throughout the entire battle, he had only raised his blade to defend himself, to fend off a blow. He was certain that he had not been directly responsible for any death throughout the entire battle for Yeavenguut. And yet here he stood, having killed a man without a second thought. He let the sword clatter to the ground and fumbled for the ring around his neck.
The Storm Bringer dropped out of the sky again, landing only a few feet away from Wulfric. The beast lowered its head and screamed, and Wulfric realized that the Storm Bringer was missing an eye. "Back!" the echoing voice from the heavens boomed. The Storm Bringer bristled, its feathers puffing up as it scanned the clouds. "Back!" the voice repeated. A bundle of green and white feathers tumbled out of the sky and fluttered over Wulfric's head. "Back!" Dismas squawked a third time and alighted on Wulfric's shoulder.
Halvard stepped between Wulfric and the Storm Bringer and raised a hand. "Easy," he told the Zapdos. "Wulfric is an ally. He saved my life." Wulfric doubted the Storm Bringer understood Halvard's words, but his tone seemed to placate the beast. It straightened up, smoothed down its feathers and began to preen.
Dismas was preening too, looking rather smug about standing up to a god. Wulfric gathered the Chatot into his arms and held him close. "Thank Arceus you're safe."
"Indomitable!" the Chatot chirped. "Invincible!"
Torvald managed to climb to his feet and limped across the square. He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder and nodded slowly. Then he turned to the assembled warriors of Rovngalad and Yeavenguut. "Hail, King Halvard! King of the north!"
"Hail, King Halvard!"
"Halvard the Thunderer!"
"Halvard the Golden!"
Wulfric raised his fist in the air. "Hail, King Halvard!"