Atop the black walls of Mont St Michel was carnage. Felinid militia fought alongside veterans, coordinated phalanxes against the advancing demons. Their mortal kindred had long since fled, driven away by torture or to the gate of fire, meatshields to exhaust the city, cleanse it of the human infestation.

  For every priest there were two hundred demons, all climbing up the mountain of corpses. Clawd helped to hold the line, using his own glowing blade to strike the final blow against this wave of lesser demons. Unzipping them like a balloon full of feces. For each demon slain, a man was poisoned. Archers without arrows carried the wounded into the watchtowers. Preparing crippled men for the onrushing end. For there were no priests left to purify, nor would they purify the wounded when all available power was tied up in the warriors fighting to preserve their lives. It wasn’t enough. Even the lesser demons were too much for mortals. But Niana saw none of it.

  Monsters and demons alike cleared the gate, stepping off the obsidian road to allow the four humanoid demons passage. Their oxidized armor was dull, the color of burnt flesh rather than burnished steel. With helmets and breastplates to cover them all.

  Four identical men at arms, still bearing the insignia of Greenhaven’s ‘Company of Champions’. Arlet’s prior proteges.

  “Aren’t you a cute little whore. Why don’t you step aside?” Said a knight, his voice trailing seamlessly into the next speaker, as if their throats were all somehow linked. Resonating with an eerie vibrato.

  “We’ll treat you nice-”

  “Join us. Warm our beds, like the slave you are.” They said, speaking as a single voice.

  Niana flicked the Fang of Quetzalcoatl, clearing it of blood.

  “Don’t you little boys know? Saint Liam replaced you, abandoned your homes and erased your memories. Not a single one of the first company were worth remembering. All you could do was cling to Arlet’s coittails, giving him a handy on your way to nowhere.” Said Niana, pantomiming jerking off a rod with her wounded hand, though she went the extra mile and shot a gold rod out the tip with each stroke. In answer to her golden shots, stell shields were raised, shadowshields flickering into life around the former men.

  Oh great, this nonsense again. Thought Niana, knowing she was beginning to run out of mana. She needed to end this soon, or she’d be overwhelmed.

  Dot clicked her mandibles, spreading out to fill the street as men at arms filled in her gaps with spearpoints. Laughter began to fill the air, the four knights cackling as they advanced. A line of laughing mania. Niana answered their laughter with a calm breath, exhaling a breeze that blew their shadowshields away. Dot struck first. Her left forearm sending a knight flying, but the quartet was synchronized, and even as the man flew backwards. Another brought his blade down on Dot’s arm. Black steel bit through the thinnest portion of her elbow, severing and poisoning in one stroke. Limb lost she staggered, unbalanced. Planting her remaining forearm against the ground to steady her.

  And in range of the fallen knights. Another slash, another limb lost.

  Dot backpedalled frantically, her brain unable to comprehend why she was falling backwards. Her balance was gone, thrown off by the loss of hundreds of pounds to anchor her.

  No time remained. Niana launched herself forward, clearing Dot’s mandibles and sending a wind blade at the nearest champion. His blade deflected hers, but it bought the supporting knight a half second. One he used to pierce the demon’s throat with a glowing blade.

  Three remaining champions howled in sympathetic agony, throats gurgling as if they tasted the same blood that flowed from the fourth’s mouth. Niana gave them no reprieve. Wind blades assaulted them, this time accompanied by her dispelling breeze, their swords and armor lightened, no longer enchanted. But their blades still dripped with ichor.

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  Fallen knights crossed blades with men at arms, by all rights their lessers. Yet these knights were Left behind by Arlet, hand selected to safeguard Avignon’s survivors, then to hold Mont St Michel. Long years of fighting had honed their profession, altering trusted knights into worthy men. Thrusts were parried, slashes blocked, but one axe flew forward, implanting itself in the demon’s neck.

  “Fool.” Grunted the demon, yanking the blade out of it’s neck and tossing it aside. Just long enough for Niana to wind step forward, and slash Fang acros the demon’s neck.

  Like all the others, he popped, spraying poison across Niana and the nearby knight. His empowered spear folded in half, shaft melting under the poison as he fell to his knees, gagging on a poison. One fell slash severed the loyal man’s head. Sending it rolling across the ground. But Niana had her own concerns. The poison bile melted through her dress, eating away half her calf, and severing her left arm entirely.

  Already wounded from earlier her hand fell away, carrying Matimeo’s gift with it. Purification was cast as she felt the pain, sparing her from poison’s worst effects. Wind spirits cloaked in invisible threads, lifting her skyward. She rolled into a frontflip slashing with the Fang and splitting the demon’s skull in half. His explosion burned away more of her dress, incapacitating the second man as both his arms fell away. Severed at the elbows despite his plate armor.

  “Back to the chapel!” Shouted Niana, hitting them with purification spells. She waved her stump at them, and through some miracle of [Mana Domination] her spell activated without the guidance of her arm.

  Throughout the battle her guardians had dwindled, but only now did she grasp the true extent of that number. Dot rolled on the street behind her, missing all limbs now. Niana choked down a scream at the sight, horrified at the loss of another protector. She hadn’t realized how much the insect meant to her, not until she was trying to hack up both her lungs.

  A priest picked up her hand, peeling Matimeo’s gift out of her claws and using it to purge a sphere of corruption in the largest holy ward ever to grace Mont St Michel. At least, it was since Taloc last visited the city and murdered everyone within.

  The two wounded knights staggered back to the chapel, leaning on each other for mobility. Leaving only the priest and the axe bearer on the field of battle.

  “Til the end my Catpian,” He said, drawing a dagger.

  “Idiot, I can fly, get back to the chapel. That’s an ORDER!” Shouted Niana, thrusting with the Fang and slaying the last Demonic champion, this time with a tornado around the blade.

  Black poison sprayed backwards, scattering agony and death into the creeping monsters. Four dropped dead immediately and other’s scattered, quickly becoming lost in the maze of homes. A blessing was muttered quickly, somehow suppressing all of Niana’s fears. While the knight passed Matimeo’s gift to Niana, stuffing it into the top of her dress when he failed to get it into her swordbelt.

  “Sorry, you need skin to staff contact.” He blushed, running backwards with the priest. “Fly away Catpian! Don’t let them harm our Lady. For Taloc! For Saint Liam!” Howled the man, hearing the warcry echoed through Mont St Michel.

  What few survivors there were, shouted with all their might, raising their voices until the watchtowers echoed with the cry.

  “For Taloc!”

  “For Saint Liam!”

  Cold logic filled Niana’s mind. She was missing most of her leg, an arm, and somehow an ear. Her wind magic was nearly depleted, but the rod still held power. It was going to be a close battle for this gate. She started blasting. Dozens of golden daggers flew from her heart into demons and monsters alike, each a golden flash in the growing darkness of dusk. If she could make it until the full moon empowered her, she might have a chance to escape.

  A new sense alerted her before sight or sound could. Mana collected in a hundred darts and lunged forward, slaying or wounding an equal number of felinids hiding on the battlements. Mont St Michel stood breached. Vulnerable to all comers, with no possibility of repulsion. Nor counter attack. This siege was over. Now it was a waiting game until the wendigo cracked open the towers and scrabbed the hiding bugs out of the dead wood.

  No one survived the Alamo, especially not the heroes.

  “Damn, Matimeo will be cross that I joined him so soon.” Muttered Niana, sending another dozen daggers into her enemies.

  “Let’s make a mountain of corpses so high, that all will speak of Mont St Michel’s final stand with reverence.” Said Niana, a smile steeling her face.