Page 51 of Humans Don’t Have Horns (A Crown of Blood and Magic #1)
“Today, as every day, we shall fight for our family.”
“For family!” Bahar shouts and raises his ax.
And all three thousand warriors shout back, “For family! ”
“We shall fight for freedom.”
“For freedom!” Niska shouts, and they all cry out, “For freedom!”
“And we shall come out of the canyon victorious.”
“Victorious!” they all shout, their axes in the air.”
“Victorious!” Their voices are loud in the air.
“Victorious!” The wind carries the shouts of the blood contributors to us. They will wait for us to return. May they not wait in vain.
The sun and the moon meet in divine timing, just as Lian promised.
Strange darkness covers the land. Not the darkness of night or any other darkness I’ve witnessed.
It is dark because the moon blocks the sun.
As if the sun fights the moon and still manages to shed weak light on us.
It will not help us in combat, but Lian thinks the eclipse is part of what will lure the demichads out of their habitats, which are located under the canyon.
The warriors murmur words of awe. This is proof of Lian’s divine guidance. I needed no proof. The eclipse will not help us see the demichads better, but it will help morale. When the moon shifts for you, you feel your war is just.
I start jogging toward my position in the canyon, my warriors falling in behind me.
The Aldonian commanders bark orders from the safety of the rear while their soldiers take the heat.
Typical. But that's not our way. Being a Mongan warlord means leading from the front.
Always has, always will. My wariors don't fight for my glory or fortune.
They fight for the people. The people that gave them their blood and their magic.
The memory of our last drill flashes through my mind: Niska demonstrating how to use a demichad's momentum against it, Kala teaching the younger warriors where to strike for maximum damage.
We'd practiced until our muscles screamed, until every movement became instinct.
It had to be perfect. The price of failure is too high.
Salt water thunders through the nine pipes as I reach the canyon.
The sound of the water sloshing through the pipes is nearly deafening, echoing in the canyon like the approach of a storm.
The thick air burns my nose and throat with each breath, and the soil beneath our feet is already drenched.
The wind picks up, howling through the canyon, carrying the sharp tang of salt and something else.
Something rotten. The temperature drops suddenly, unnaturally, as if the very air is recoiling from what's coming.
We've drilled this for a month straight. Three divisions, spread across the western canyon wall, a fatal choice for the demichads. Salt or steel, pick your doom.
As we spread out to our positions, the Renyans keep the salt water flooding, and the ground becomes so muddy and slippery beneath our boots, each step sinking deeper as if the earth itself is trying to swallow us whole. The mud is already past our ankles in places, thick and treacherous.
“What the fuck?” Nehol cries out as his ass hits the ground.
I grab him by his armor, pull him up, and hiss at him, “Stay up, or the demichads will be the least of your problems.” He’s one of my division heads.
He should have better balance. He excels in brute force and stamina.
I witnessed him surviving Bahar trying to murder him after he got Kala pregnant.
Haven’t seen such good entertainment for a long time.
And it was impressive that he survived Emek’s lashing out at him as well.
Mess with her circle, and the woman can get malevolent.
Nehol has brute force, but Niska and Kala never lose their footing.
That’s what the brawny ones seems to always forget.
Agility in combat will mostly overcome strength.
Before I can even see the demichads, I hear them scream. Inhuman, high-pitched shrieks, and I suppress the urge to cover my ears. That won’t do. The fuckers are going to scream all the way to the bitter end.
They emerge from the ground like a nightmare made of flesh, their wails reaching a pitch that vibrates in my bones.
The first wave of them writhes as the salt hits their bodies, their raw-meat flesh developing gray patches where the salt burns deep.
They seem to melt though they keep their shape even as they collapse into the mud.
But more come out, climbing over their fallen kin like insects swarming from a broken nest.
I spot different types among them now: some massive and lumbering, others small and quick as vipers. Some move on all fours like beasts, while others walk upright, almost mockingly human.
Lian warned us about their numbers. But seeing them now, my mind balks at processing it.
They carpet the canyon floor, a living mass of rot.
The stench hits like a physical blow. These creatures reek of carrion in the hot sun.
Their skin is festering, seething with worms that squirm like a plague.
And their eyes, those unnatural beady eyes, are hungry, ravenous.
I was a farmer once. Loved working the land, was damn good at it too. But what I've always done best is killing. The rage rises in me as I think of my family, torn apart by these same monsters years ago. Now they're back, threatening everyone I know and love.
The roar that leaves my throat is primal, a battle cry that cuts through the air.
"For the people!" I shout, and my warriors echo me, the cry lifting over the battlefield as we strike.
I hurl my axes at two demichads and retrieve them from their lifeless bodies with no pause.
A demichad lunges toward me from my right, and I strike it with my axes in quick movements.
I shove its corpse out of the way with my boot.
Its large, repulsive body hits the ground hard, and mud splashes all over me from the effect.
"Shield wall!" I bark as a larger group surges forward. Nehol’s division locks together, their shields creating a wall of steel. The demichads crash against it like a wave against rocks. "Now!" The second line steps through the gaps, their weapons finding vulnerable flesh in the chaos.
A demichad's claws barely miss my face—too close.
I duck and spin, my left ax separating its head from its shoulders.
The body falls, but three more are already coming.
One ax finds its mark as I headbutt another.
Yeah, not my brightest moment. These things are foul beyond description, and now my face is covered with demichad blood and something slimy.
And earthworms. They're full of fucking earthworms. I choke back bile as the third demichad tackles me into the mud.
I hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs.
I grab the demichad's jaw, which is wide open, while it attempts to close on me, muscles straining against inhuman strength.
With a roar that's equal parts rage and disgust, I flip it and start hammering my fists into its face.
I have no idea where my axes are, so I just hammer my fist into its face repeatedly.
Around me, my warriors fight in pairs, as we practiced—the only way to survive against the demichads’ numbers and speed.
The sounds of battle fill the air: demichads’ screams, the meaty thunk of axes finding flesh, the squelch of boots in mud, and the constant roar of the salt water through the pipes.
And too soon for my liking, it is accompanied by the cries of my wounded warriors.
"Hold the line!" I shout, seeing a group of younger warriors starting to falter. "Remember your training! Move as one!" They rally, finding their rhythm again, working together to bring down a particularly large demichad.
I rise from the ground and, with what can only be the help of the stars, locate one of my axes in the mud. I’m bleeding already, but the power of my people is strong in me, and I kill and kill with no pause.
The eclipse chokes the sky, swallowing the light.
Shadows stretch like fingers, obscuring allies and enemies alike.
Even Niska is out of my sight, and I keep searching.
The stench of blood and decay grows thicker in the darkness, pressing down like a physical weight.
The temperature plummets further, our breath coming in visible puffs in the unnatural cold.
Through the chaos, I glimpse Bahar fighting two demichads at once.
Without our blood gift, we'd never stand a chance against their strength.
His movements are poetry written in violence, but I can't spare the time to admire his grace as he takes them both down. Across the field, Kala ducks under razor claws before burying her ax in a demichad’s neck.
"Wedge formation!" I call out as I spot a mass of demichads gathering for a charge. My warriors respond instantly, forming a triangle with me at the vertex. We drive forward like a spear, splitting the demichad force in two.
I keep fighting, though the ax handle grows slick with blood and worse things. Every muscle screams for rest, each breath burns in my chest, But I won't stop. I can't stop. Not while my people depend on me. Not while Lian is counting on me.
A young warrior, barely more than a boy, stumbles nearby.
I grab his collar, yanking him back just as demichad claws slash through the space where his throat had been.
"Stay with your partner!" I remind him, shoving him toward his fighting companion. They fall back into sync, protecting each other's blind spots. I’m going to kill fucking Nehol, that is if I don’t die soon. He’s turned me into a damn babysitter with his incompetence.
As I take down an especially large demichad, I finally spot Niska, surrounded by four demichads coming at her at once.
I surge toward her, but white-hot pain explodes across my back as teeth tear into muscle.
I manage to plant my ax in the creature's skull, but the wound is bad.
My vision swims as I reach Niska, just as a demichad pins her to the mud.
My ax splits its head open like rotten fruit.
She looks up at me, barely recognizable under the gore and writhing worms. And for the first time since I met her, her eyes are full of fear.
Before I can order her up and get a grip, another demichad slams into me from behind.
I hit the ground hard, and burning agony floods my gut as its claws sink deep.
I hear the scrape of talons against bone, though it seems to come from far away.
A scream tears from my throat as the monster's face fills my vision. Fuck. That thing has a lot of teeth.