Yay for finally breaking through my writer's block on this battle! I had an actually pretty easy time writing this. And I threw in a little of everything, despite it being a battle scene. There's a sort of Star warzy scene coming. Actually my favorite part any of the few times I've watched it. So, just putting a little disclaimer on it now, it actually wasn't star wars inspired. I just realized after it reminded me of that. But I threw in a bit of comedy, drama, lots of thick description, and finally, a little light on how things went from here to the aftermath listed in part 1.

One more part of the battle left, so this is my one to be a little more light hearted before it becomes angst city as one of the brothers goes missing, Eragon is terrified for Saphira, and the battle, in general, is lost.

Songs: End of the World by Sugarcult, By my side by Three Doors Down

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Though still outnumbered, things looked in their favor. The rains had stopped, leaving a bloody mist rising into the dawning sky. The mud, where it was mud and not vast shallow ponds and rivers of crimson running off of Zade's Rock into the ocean, was debilitating. Every motion anyone made was guaranteed to be accompanied with sucking sounds and more effort than you should use. No matter how light on his or her feet someone was, speed would not be the deciding factor. And being that every Surdian and elf hadn't had to trudge over half the country just to get here, they were much more effective. Plus they had much more energy and resources to deal the mud.

And for all Thorn's fearousity, without the black rider around he wasn't so impressive that he seemed untouchable. And the Imperials seemed to acknowledge this. The rise in the number…fighting more evenly had them unsettled. They had been fighting lazily if at all. This new army had them unnerved, shifting and fidgeting continuously.

Both armies reformed their lines and brace their weapons for the onset of the fight. As he too wiped the blood and grime from his blade, Eragon felt an almost tangible change in the mood. A feeling there hadn't been since before that day Hayden had smashed into him and shattered the lightened mood there had been before.

Hope.

Hope that this wasn't the end. Hope they could push back the Empire for just a little longer. Hope Surda wasn't a lost cause. Hope for their home. Hope for Saphira…

Both lines seemed to be waiting for something. Some invisible cue to start. Waiting for their leader or a word. Anything. Someone needed to do something.

And it took all the control Eragon had not to be that someone. He wanted so badly to just break through the tightly packed crowd, rip his helmet off, and take control. He wanted nothing more than to be at the front of the line, calling on the strength of his men. Telling the archers to fire and the men to march.

But he didn't. Nor did he need too. A muddy, dingy, cut up Arribane rose to the lead of the army. Despite his state, you'd swear he was wearing the finest clothing in the world from the way he moved. There was just something in his presence. But also something a bit unsettling for Eragon. Like he felt he was higher than him. Though he couldn't deny he definitely had what it took to be a leader. He couldn't hear what he was saying, but just the rich tone of the man's voice still lit a spark in the eyes of every man around him.

The other commander wouldn't need to say a thing for his men to be motivated for battle. He only needed crimson blade, translucent wings, and a simple snarl to motivate his men. Both fear and awe could easily push them. He was ever present, effortlessly gliding over the front. The great red beast let out a gruff roar.

As he soared close to Eragon's part of the field, he couldn't help but stiffen. He would be ready should he choose to attack and unconsciously, he reached out in his mind, ready to break down the magical barrier if need be.

Despite his alert state, Eragon couldn't stop himself from locking his eyes on the man sitting in the gap between Thorn's ivory spikes. He wondered if Murtagh were to look down right at this moment, what he would see. If he would know who Eragon was instantly or if he would just be another soldier in the crowd. Another kid sucked into the battle.

Eragon was slightly startled when Murtagh turned his head and made eye contact. He swore he was looking directly at him. This was over. He would come down and take him. Knock him out with a word now and fly to Urabaen without looking back. He turned away, staring straight ahead, readily preparing the word on his lips to stop the red rider…

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Murtagh flew high above the action-less battle, awaiting the stalemate's break. He eyed the new army with a tinge of dismay. They had played into Galbatorix's hands perfectly. He hadn't told him how, all he revealed was his basic plans. Unfaithful, brave men were weeded out. Surdians who still stayed to protect their nation were to be annihilated. Even a company of elves, a little over thirty; each worth at least twenty men. And then there was the greatest prize, hiding somewhere on the battlefield. The question was where. What he had been told made it clear he needed to be separated before the plan to work.

He scanned the crowd with mixed emotions. While he didn't want to find him for obvious reasons, part of him really did. What was coming… if he couldn't…his stomach churned, unwilling to finish the thought. He couldn't…not now.

He looked up and down the rows of men. Each had their eyes fixed ahead, watching the lines of their opponents for any sign of motion. All accept one. He was near the center, one of the few who wore a helmet that exposed his eyes. Compared to the men around him, he wasn't expecially large or tall. Based on his body, Murtagh knew he was young; though his eyes had a look in them that aged him far beyond his years. This was no normal soldier. His stance was too well placed; his feet splayed out in such a way even a hurricane looked as if he couldn't be moved. His muscles were just a little too rigid, as if he knew he was being watched. The era of fear normally created by Thorn's presence was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he seemed confident, as if he had been around dragons a lot…

And he was looking right at him....

But it wasn't just these things, which were non-condemning. It was the way he shifted as he turned his head back. The way he took a subtle step forward. It was the way he held his blade and even the type. The slight wisp of bronze hair which remained in his face even after he attempted to stuff it behind his helm.

He tentatively reached out with his mind toward the soldier; knowing that if it was him, he needed to move fast. He sorted through the minds around him, concentrating on him. He found the tendrils of his mind and—

The sudden twang of an arrow filled the air, followed by Thorn's furious scream. It was enough to through his concentration completely. Before he could attempt to reestablish it, Thorn was erratically diving towards the way it had come from. His eyes were filled with sheer blood lust as Murtagh watched his dragon's blood rain down. He knew it had to be lodged pretty deep in his stomach by the pain echoing through their connection.

Within a few moments, they were half way across the field. But unfortunately for Thorn, his roar had finally broken the silence. Men trudged forward, their feet sinking in the deep mud as their cheers rose up. With each stride, the armies closed on one another and all across the field came calls for archers to fire. With a tangible crunch, both sides converged. The entangled armies paid no heed to the dragon above.

Seeing his original plan had been foiled, Thorn settled for dousing the area in a scalding stream of flame; not caring about who it was he burned just as long as he burned someone. The mud of the area instantly dried, crackling and carbonating in the intense heat. A wave of steam shot up as the soldier's clothing and a small pond dried up. As his maw closed, the sounds of the soldier's cries brought him his satisfaction. Some lay unmoving, cooked in their armor. The rest weren't so lucky. The un-helmed mens' hair had gone up with the flames, leaving sparse, charcoaled patches if any. Their bodies were now shrouded in welts and disfiguring angry red wounds.

Thorn let out a gloating roar, his head quickly swinging back to Murtagh with a toothy grin and a playful gleam in his eyes. Serves them right. Next time their moms tell them they should wear a helmet, maybe they'll listen.

"You're such a dork." Murtagh murmured under his breath.

So are you, hatchling. Loved how you chose to mumble that so quietly. You forget I am in your head, boy. Thorn let out a chuckle.

Murtagh rolled his eyes. Seriously, I want us to agree on something.

And what is that?

No cheesy battle puns. Or comments like that.

Okay…

Not just now, Thorn. Ever.

Thorn let out a low whine. Oh come on. It's a way to release stress. You really should try it. You're way too tense. Murtagh growled, but Thorn went on as if he didn't hear a thing. Besides, if we are to be forced into this, we might as well put aside our emotions, pretend everyone down there is Galbatorix, and have a little fun.

Seeing Thorn wasn't going to stop if he said no, Murtagh relented. If you must. But you only get one per battle or I block you out.

Ten.

Two.

Eight.

I'm not going any higher than three, Thorn. It's not up for negotiation. Thorn reluctantly nodded.

Murtagh, you need to lighten up.

Thorn, you need to grow up.

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As soon as the two lines converged, Eragon made his way towards the concentration of elves, knowing he might stand out less there. He was almost sure Murtagh had known it was him, and if not for someone shooting Thorn, he would now be battling the red rider and his dragon. He tried to make it seem subtle, like it was a mere accident. He still kept his pace down, though once he began to get closer to the elves, he couldn't keep himself from moving faster.

He had tons of energy yet. His blade was so much lighter and his movements purposefully slower. He had to be careful not to over exert himself and shatter the blade. The mud was the most tiring part for him. Everywhere, it was either thick and sucking as quicksand or slick and impossible to keep traction on.

A scruffy man rushed him, a certain cockiness in his stride. He stood near a half a foot taller than Eragon and much broader. His armor was lighter, as if he didn't feel he needed it. Thick, corded muscles rippled as his blade crashed into Eragon's.

Eragon had just enough time to roll his blade back a bit, so to keep it from shattering. The man was quick to make another move, forcing Eragon to parry; their blades colliding dangerously near his neck. He withdrew a bit, allowing him to advance on Eragon.

Getting a little annoyed, Eragon quickly went on the offense, his blade flashing out too fast for the other man to block. It struck the side of his armor, slicing through and leaving a long, gaping wound across his chest. Next second, the man's sword had smashed into his, shattering it across the battlefield. Off to the side, a man cried out as a splintered smashed into his stomach.

Eragon cursed, jumping backwards to avoid his adversary's blade. Eragon eyed a blade right behind the man and made a rush for it, moving just a little too fast for him to be human. He made a duck and roll, slipping under his weapon and between his wide spread legs. He grasped the handle and flew at his opponent. The surprised man blocked barely in time, his own blade denting.

Angered, Eragon rapidly slashed forward, striking his opponent several times till he was breathing heavily. With a simple flick of his wrist, the sword flew off to the side, embedding heavily into the soil.

Before he could get in the final deathblow, a stray arrow struck him. It smashed deep into his skin and he doubled over, his face landing in the cold mud.

The other man rose, no doubt thinking he was dead. But just as he approached him, Eragon's sword swung at him, striking him in the gut. Fresh blood spurted out as the man's face went ashen. He fell to his knees as Eragon rose, ripping the arrow from his breast.

He looked up, terror in his eye. "What kind of man are you!?" he stammered out.

Eragon mercilessly plunged his weapon into his gut, digging it deep in. He pulled the man close to him, murmuring in his ear. "Some people call me Shadeslayer."

As he pulled back, letting the carcass slide off his blade, a look of understanding and pure fear crossed the man's face. He crashed to the earth, face down in the mud.

Without another glance his direction, Eragon turned to see two men rushing at him. After seeing him kill the other man, they had obviously realized it was safer to go in together, to tag team him.

It would be the last mistake they would ever make, he grimly realized.

For a moment, his mind went to Saphira. Her warm presence. Her bright blue scales. Then the thoughts started of her being in a worse place than she was now.

I'm doing this for you.

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As the day wore on, both the Varden and the army began to have a system. The battle was taking longer than either side expected and many men were locked in combat for excessive amounts of time, evenly matched with their opponents. Every so often, a man came up to a group of soldiers and lead them back to camp or the city depending on what side they were on. The men would eat, drink, stitch up their wounds, repair their armor and weapons, and leave all at a rapid pace which often left the armor ill fitting and their stomachs under filled.

Near noon, a young soldier by the name of Arc, dragged his blade across the earth as he and his group were lead to the underground pass into the city. He was dead tired. His muscles burned and he had to struggle to keep his eyes open. From the endless, grueling march here, his feet were covered in blisters and ridiculously pruned from the rains. There wasn't one inch of him that didn't hurt at least a little and covered in a thick coating of mud. But for all of his bruises and cuts and even the gaping wound created by a spear, the greatest pain wasn't physical.

In the wake of battle, dying faces dance across his mind, haunting him every time he closed his eyes. Real one did the same as he opened them. All he could possible think about was blood squirting from someone's jugular across his face.

It was funny; when you were fighting, you barely gave what you were doing a conscious thought. No matter what atrocities you committed. It was something of a trance. But your eyes saw everything. Every ounce of blood, every body crashing down. The men you murdered when they were weaponless. And they made damn sure to torment you with every little moment afterwards.

But the most horrible sight Arc saw wasn't committed by his blade. His father had also been taken, despite his older age, when Galbatorix came to the village. Every night, he complained to Arc about the impending battle. How unfair it was that they couldn't choose their own side. When men first began to strip off their helms and turn to fight the invaders, Arc had been only too eager to join. But his father, who had been so against fighting for Galbatorix; who raised him to be brave and stand up for what he believed in; his helmet remained firmly on his head.

Hurt, Arc turned away, turning to another man to begin his own battle. He wouldn't fight his father even if he had to. At first, Arc had stumbled with the blade and he was darn lucky he wasn't fighting a more experienced soldier. But at last he made his first kill. He prayed this would make his father get up the courage to fight himself and turned to see if it had worked. But he hadn't.

Not three feet from Arc lay his head, lobbed clean off. His helm still firmly on his skull.

It was the most terrible sight he'd ever had the displeasure to witness. And as the leader lead them through the dark tunnel, complex and vast for those who didn't know the way, it was just what he was seeing every five seconds.

With in a few minutes, the leader popped the hatch of a trap door; almost invisible from the angle Arc was at. As he and the other men gazed upward, taking in the fresh sunlight, which had so thoroughly eluded them earlier, Arc was struck by a terrible scent. His hands flew up to his nose. He wasn't sure what to call it, but he and the others grunted their disgust.

As Arc finished climbing the latter, a hand reached out to his to help him to his feet. It was gray and covered in little tuffs of hair and scars. Strange bands ran up the length of the arm. Each with little red bands about two centimeters apart. The final one, right before the elbow, wasn't fully covered in the little bands yet. Arc looked up toward the figure, taller than him by far. His head covered the sun, obscuring his face and shrouding his back in a halo of light. But he could still see the horns, thick and etched into odd shapes.

Intimidated, Arc turned away, drawing back his hand. But behind him were even more. These he could fully see. Their eyes were small and dark. Irises no lighter than cherry wood. Their ears were larger and slightly pointed. He was startled a little when they moved to catch a sound behind them. Their features were gruff and wild. Their faces covered in war paint in designs as wild as the cravings on their horns. Each had a spiked steel tip on the tops of their horns.

He'd only ever seen something like this once before. When he was five, a group raided their village. While none of his family was harmed, Arc had seen first hand what Urgals could do. This was why his hand flew to the hilt of his weapon, ready to fight for his life if need be. He was vaguely aware of many other doing the same thing; some even going so far as to unsheathe. A few were a bit more comfortable, their eyes being the only thing which belied their nerves.

On the street, there were two people who seemed fairly okay with the Urgals. Both stood intricately oriented around one another, clearly ready to protect each other from anything. Arc had no doubt they would both lay down their lives for one another. One had kept hair, worn brown eyes, and walked with a slight limp to his stride. Opposite him, the other man had scruffy blonde hair, an odd birthmark staining his uncovered left hand, and flinched whenever he was forced to move his left arm ever so slightly.

Arc vaguely wondered if they had been wounded in battle or if they were older wounds. Either way, both men looked as if they were getting a bit bored with being stuck up here.

"Don't worry." The younger one said. "They're on our side."

"We'd never join them again." A gruff voice said, coming from the one behind him. "They killed more of our people in one battle then we manage in a year."

Somehow this did not truly do well to reassure Arc. Still, he couldn't argue with more forces being on their side as a troop of over fifty climbed down the hatch to go and join the battle.

"You look tired." The older man said. Arc was surprised to find he was specifically addressing him. Closer up, the man was quite a bit more intimidating. For even with his more clean-cut appearance, he was still much taller and more toned than Arc. And older. Of course, that wasn't too hard, he realized.

"Ya, well trudging across half a continent tends to do that to a person a little."

"As it should." The other said. Arc hadn't realized just how much younger than he first seemed. He looked maybe a year older than Arc himself. He also reflected on the slight boyish look to his face, though if changed much, he would look almost identical to the older one. He realized they were likely brothers or cousins or some other weird blood connection. "Hayden." The younger man said, addressing himself. "This girly boy is my brother, Pace." Said man punched him in the bad shoulder for his comment. He instantly realized what he'd done and murmured his apologies as Hayden glared heavily at him.

"Arc." He said hesitantly after the little exchange was over. Yep, definitely brothers… He could see the rest of his group watching him, as if he was some sort of leader. How the heck was he when he was three years younger than the youngest out of the group and decades younger than the oldest?

"You guys do have a limit, though the Urgals we just sent in will more than replace you for now." Hayden said, still grimacing slightly and giving Pace a stern glare. "I'd suggest you use you're time…"

With that, most of the men spit up. But Arc couldn't get the burning question off his mind.

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As the latest crowd of men made their way up the streets, quickly stripping their armor for their reprieve, Hayden was surprised to see the young boy he'd been talking to was still there. He was a very interesting kid. Despite being covered head to toe in bloody mud, cut in several places, and obviously having weathered the battle, he had an era of innocence that only comes from youth. His eyes were massive and deeply inquisitive. He seemed to take in every little thing he saw like a sponge. His hair was a honeyed brown color. He wasn't overly muscled, though he obviously had enough strength to make it through the battle so far with only one serious looking wound. "So, why are you guys here?"

Hayden's brow furrowed. He wasn't ready to tell his whole life story to this kid… "What do you mean?"

Seeing Hayden's muscles tighten a little and through him, Pace, who watched on from a distance, the boy clarified himself. "It's just, you look like you'd rather be down there. Like this is a chore. And I saw you two earlier. At least, I think it was you two… Pace have a rusty blade and you weren't wearing your helmet, right?" Hayden nodded; surprised someone could remember all those things while they their self were fighting for their life. "Well, you guys are a good team. But anyways, I just kinda wanted to know what stopped you from fighting. I mean, I doubt your wounds are that serious."

"Jeeze, aren't you the observant one."

"That's what I've always been told." Hayden let out a nervous chuckle.

Hayden struggled for a moment, trying to think of the appropriate answer. What could he say that would satisfy the kid's curiosity without revealing so much that were he to be searched, he might give everything away? He looked to his brother a moment. Hayden could tell simply by his body language and a slight nod that Pace would stop him if he started to say too much.

"Well, our…superior…caught wind that the red was going after us. We know some very valuable things, so they're forcing us to stay here." That was enough, wasn't it? But the kid didn't leave. Instead, he went on.

"Well, did you get caught earlier?" Hayden said nothing. "Then you probably wouldn't get caught now. I mean, now there's a lot more people to cover you even. Don't tell me the blue rider isn't down there somewhere. I didn't see him directly, but the way he blows through soldiers, it's hard for it to be anyone else."

The boy made sense, but he knew the truth of the matter was that if the red rider found Eragon, he actually stood a chance at getting away. But between Hayden and Pace even, they weren't likely to win. After all, neither had been able to defeat Eragon in practice, though they got close together. But Eragon threw in a little magic and both boys were on their backsides.

But even with that, he couldn't help but think of all the good they could do. It was true; him and Pace did work well together. As long as they had one another's backs, maybe they could avoid the red rider all together.

Maybe they should fight…

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Eragon cut through the soldier before him's armor like butter. He went down in a persistant stream of blood, being that Eragon had directly struck his artery. Before the pump of his blood had stopped, two more had joined him.

Eragon couldn't help but wonder still where the rider king had gone. His army was dwindling as more men joined or ran or just plain old died. There was still a substantially greater amount of people left, but the feeling of hope spurred in his gut once more.

The last thing he wanted was for that hope to be crushed.

Part of that, he knew, depended on whether or not Murtagh found him. Not to say the dragon rider hadn't done some damage besides fighting him in frustration. But he seemed keener on finding him or someone who knew where he was.

This was why, for a fraction of a second, he connected to Hayden's mind. Both him and Pace knew what identity he was going by and knew how he was dressed. They also knew the exact root he was taking to go to the Varden's new home should they fail. They also knew the palace and Hayden knew how to get past the wards on Saphira.

Everything depended on them staying safe. After that, nothing else really mattered.

Feeling he was safe for the moment, being that he was in the thickest area, he reached out with his mind, searching once more for any trace of the rider king. He could feel his heart leap into his throat as he felt something extremely unsettling.

Hundreds of creatures like none he had ever felt before. Each had the most unbelievable feel to them. He felt one foreign word vibrating through their mind and realized that though each was their own creature, they worked as a single unit. A massive, flying unit. At it's front, he felt the rider king and quickly withdrew, hiding in the massive crowd around him. They were still far away, but already it was quite obvious just how lethal this force could be. They would need to cut their losses now and retreat before the real damage was done.

Mindlessly, he cut down the man he'd been fighting for quite some time and the rest of the warriors, a crushing feeling weighing down on him.

There was no hope. There never had been. Galbatorix had been hiding an ace up his sleeve. And now, he was using it…

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God I gotta admit, that really is mean, even for me. Giving them false hope. You might notice all the random little characters I've been introducing. Believe me they still have a part to play. I hope you guys liked it. A good portion of it was so much fun to write…

So I promise the last part is coming soon. Then we have some much more serious matters to deal with.

And you guys know what? I plan on ending this pretty rockily for now. Keep you guys guessing till the next story. If any of you have good ideas for a name for the story, you can post it in your reviews. I think I'll probably post the first chapter after a couple weeks at least. Give me time to focus on another story I really want to give a decent chance.

Don't worry. Evermore is planning on going at least to chapter 50. If I can fit everything I plan on doing in that. If not, it'll be more.