The barricade groaned beneath the weight of another charging brute. Its shoulders— massive, blood-caked— shoved hard enough to shatter the support beams, but Vren's spear met it before the monster broke through. The tip pierced deep into the creature's gut, twisting just enough to stagger it back into the next volley of arrows from Eno.
The corpse fell forward in silence. A thud. A crack of bone. Then came the next.
They didn't stop.
The fallen orcs swarmed like locusts— if locusts had monstrous hulking frames, tusks like swords, and an insatiable bloodlust. Their flesh tore and split from prior wounds, but they pressed forward, eyes wide with need, some chewing half-decayed meat from humans not long dead.
Koda was a storm in the center of it.
His blade rose and fell with practiced finality, clean arcs through thick limbs and swollen torsos. He drove one to its knees, ducked a crushing fist, and surged upward with a stab through the monster's eye socket. Another came from behind, and Koda spun, dragging his blade across its throat—but it wasn't enough. It lunged again, claws catching his ribs, and only Vren's timely thrust pinned it to the wall before it could finish the swing.
They moved as two halves—Koda the hammer, his team the snare.
Seta's drone zipped through smoke overhead, pinging danger to their periphery. Tamsyn, the soldier with the fresh burn scars, blinked from alley to alley, coordinating angles. Eno's arrows fell like a storm, glowing and hissing with every fiery impact.
Seven more fell beneath Koda's blade. He didn't register them anymore. Each one hacked and roared and writhed until they were still. Each one took a toll.
Three from his team were wounded. Eno's arm hung limp at his side, broken from defending a charge. Tamsyn limped. Vren's breathing was sharp and shallow. Likely a broken rib, perhaps a collapsed lung.
"We're pulling back," Koda called.
"We can still hold—" Vren started.
"No. They've broken the barricades behind us. It's falling across the entire front." He gestured with his blade. "We buy the hospital time. We hold the bridge!"
They retreated as organized as they could, drawing the monsters deeper through the thinning streets. The wounded limped. The dead were left. And behind them the dusk bled slowly across the sky, casting crimson across rooftops and broken stones.
The triage tents were already in chaos. Healers hurried to drag carts of supplies toward the inner gate. Litters were packed with moaning patients—many barely breathing. Maia, sleeves rolled high, had blood to her elbows again. Her voice shouted orders as she ran between units, sending them toward the city's core.
She saw Koda—saw the blood, the gashes, the ragged rise and fall of his chest—and began to run to him.
But he turned before she could reach him.
"Move them fast!" he shouted over his shoulder, already climbing the rise toward the bridge. "I'll hold them!"
"Koda!" her voice broke. "You'll—"
"I won't let them pass."
The bridge was narrow. Not built for carriages or siege weapons—just foot traffic, old and curved with arching stone that dropped into the water below. The only path that remained intact between the outer wall and the field hospital.
He reached the center.
The horde came.
Two by two at most, squeezing through the shattered choke point.
Their bodies were soaked in blood—some their own, some not. One still wore a human's spine slung from its belt. Another's mouth worked furiously, chewing half a leg that hadn't finished cooking in the heat of a blast.
Koda's blade pulsed in his grip, forged again in his will.
He stood alone.
Above him, the last of the light faded behind smoke.
And the shadows came to test his resolve.
The first of the horde thundered toward him, its broad frame rattling the broken paving stones with each step. Its eyes burned yellow beneath its heavy brow, its lips peeled back to reveal jagged, stained tusks still glistening with blood. A savage mace of twisted steel hung in one hand, almost lazily—as if it didn't need to swing hard to break bones.
Koda didn't wait.
He launched forward, blade reversed in his grip, sliding low beneath the first clumsy strike. The air shook from the force of the swing as it smashed into the stone behind him. His sword whipped upward as he passed—slashing deep into the creature's inner thigh. Arterial spray shot across the bridge wall.
The beast howled, stumbled, but didn't fall.
It turned.
Koda turned with it—used its weight against it—sidestepped and surged upward again. This time his blade found the underside of the jaw, punching through soft flesh into bone and brain.
The body dropped with a sickening finality.
He yanked his blade free, blood rolling down the steel like water, and turned to meet the next.
It was already on him.
No weapon—just claws and hunger.
The second lunged, screaming a guttural snarl that raked Koda's mind like rusted steel. He ducked the swipe, but it clipped his shoulder, flinging him into the bridge's stone rail. His ribs screamed. His vision blurred.
The monster closed in with teeth bared, jaw wide, hunger eclipsing pain or sense. Its breath was fetid, stomach split down the middle from forcing its way through the barricade earlier. Human flesh spilled from its torn belly—half-digested limbs writhing in a grotesque stew of bile and meat.
Koda didn't blink.
He drove his sword up, hard, through the beast's chin, angled clean into the brainstem. It twitched, mouth hanging open with a final gurgling breath, then collapsed over him.
He pushed the body off with a grunt just as the third approached.
This one was different. Armor—crudely strapped and spiked. A jagged cleaver dragged in one hand, its eyes too intelligent, too cruel.
Koda's stance shifted, blade high. His legs trembled beneath him. Blood soaked through his sleeve. His breath came in ragged bursts.
Still, he held.
The orc struck first—fast, deceptive. Koda barely caught the motion in time, ducked left, felt the wind of the cleaver pass inches from his face. He retaliated with a slash across the ribs. The beast recoiled but didn't cry out.
Instead, it grinned.
The second strike came faster, angling low. Koda parried—but the strength behind the cleaver numbed his arm, forced him back a step. He grit his teeth, feinted a retreat, then surged forward.
His sword caught the beast in the gut—not deep, not clean—but enough to stagger it.
He leapt.
Blade reversed. Both hands. A scream from his throat.
He drove the weapon down with his entire body weight, crashing onto the beast's shoulder and forcing it to the ground. It flailed—he held. Drove the blade again. And again. Blood burst from the neck in thick arcs. Bones cracked beneath his knee.
When it stopped moving, he slumped beside it.
Ding.
Level Up: Level 19
Stat Increase Applied.
No time.
Another came.
He rose on trembling legs.
The next two fell quickly, not because they were weaker—but because Koda no longer held back. He moved with brutal precision, fueled by pain and resolve. The first tried to catch him with a sweep of its arm—he ducked and carved the limb off at the joint, then pivoted and buried the blade between its ribs. The second lunged, and he allowed it—turned its momentum against it, twisting and throwing it into the bridge wall where its skull split open like overripe fruit.
Then came the blur.
Time broke down into sweat, blood, and screaming steel. The bridge never cleared. No matter how many he cut down, another followed. His hands burned. His body sagged. Cuts layered his arms and back, but he didn't fall.
He stabbed, parried, ducked.
He left the dying, a flesh blockade left to preserve every last second of reprieve possible.
At some point, his body moved on its own. His vision narrowed. The edge of the bridge, the enemy's faces, the weight of his blade—those were the only truths.
He didn't count kills anymore.
[Level Up - Level 20]
Stat Increase Applied.
He didn't even register it this time. The blade trembled in his hands, chipped and soaked. His breath tore from his lungs like smoke.
He would not fall — And dawn broke at last.
He didn't feel it at first—just noticed the glint of light across the stone. The sound of boots. Voices. Shouting.
He turned, just barely.
Several captains stood at the bridge's edge, stunned into silence.
One stepped forward. "…Gods above…"
Another whispered, "How is he still alive?"
They surged forward, weapons raised to clear the last of the beasts off him, dragging the dying orcs away from the fallen bridge. Koda swayed where he stood, eyes barely open.
He gave a tired smile.
"Tell Maia… they didn't cross."
And then he collapsed.
They caught him just before his head hit stone, dragging him toward the inner hospital now behind the second wall— his armor torn, body soaked in blood that wasn't just his.
But he was alive.
And Oria still stood.