“Hold the li—”
Just like that, the man was dead. The Spire-born creature, a great brute of a thing, had swung downward with all its might, and the Lochagos, the captain, had crumbled under the sheer force of the blow. His demise was an audible one, akin to the crunch of a crisp autumn leaf as bones and metal alike snapped and twisted. It was only when one of the minotaurs charged in, curved horns and bulging muscles at the ready, that the Spire brute was driven back. Planting the spiked end of its hammer into the aberration’s chest, the bull-headed warrior forced the bulky creature back into the chittering masses of its own abominable kin, purging it from the battle line of the City States.
Ekpliktos, second-in-command to the felled captain, stood motionless as he stared at the bloodied mulch that just a moment ago had been his superior. The man’s breath was short, and his muscles felt tense with anxiety, his heart beating loudly within his chest. A poignant snort from the battle-hardened minotaur, and Ekpliktos regained his composure, raising his voice to match that of his predecessor.
“You heard the man! Keep your shields close and your spears firm. Let them break themselves before us, and the day will be ours!”
The men cheered, though their voices were strained with mounting exhaustion, their bodies huddled together as they formed a rock-solid shield wall. Where the chitin-clad clones of the Spires—among many other such aberrations that had emerged during the ambush—did manage to force openings in the battle line of the City States forces, the minotaurs were quick to advance. Some of the horned juggernauts carried shields to bolster the ranks of their less gargantuan brethren, while others swung mighty weapons that reaped a bloody toll across the mass of enemies.
Ekpliktos moved to join the fray as well, swinging and thrusting his blade with the experience and precision of one versed in the arts of war and combat. From the forested high ground to his side, he heard the twang of bowstrings, and the hoof-propelled Selinoi, satyrs, unleashed yet another dexterous volley. The beginning of his clash had seemed dire, yes, but now the warriors of the City States were regaining their ground slowly but steadily; Ekpliktos found renewed strength in that fact, and so did those around him. Thus did their shield wall inch forward, and the forces of the Spires begrudgingly stumble backward as a result.
A shadow. A bird perhaps? No. Too big to be a bird…
Ekpliktos had spared but a second to look up, gazing at the winged creature that now stalked the warriors of the City States from above. The radiance of the sun made it hard to make out the details of the thing that was now descending toward them, yet what little was visible was nonetheless terrifying to behold. It had great leathery wings akin to a bat, but its flat, chitin-armored body reminded Ekpliktos of the many sea rays he had encountered while sailing during his youth. Now that it was closer, the man realized that comparing this horror to denizens of the animal kingdom was a disservice to the natural world as a whole, for the Pteraphon was as alien as it was terrifying to behold.
“Archers! Bring that thing dow—” Ekpliktos began coughing, and he was not the only one. A wavery, yellow-tinted haze had descended upon them as the Pteraphon flew closer, filling the wind with countless hovering particles. A few of the men started vomiting in response, leaving them open to the enemy’s attacks, while others did their best to cover their mouths and noses, all culminating to create gaps in the battle lines of the City States.
“Shoot it! Shoot it down!” Ekpliktos cried out as he decapitated a Spire clone, the rest of the unsightly creature falling onto its knees with a thud. “Hurry!” called out the man again, each breath stinging his lungs, and turned to face the satyr archers.
Some had also succumbed to the pheromone-laden air, while the rest—short of breath and sluggish from creeping asphyxiation—raised their bows and released as many arrows as they could. A few of the projectiles planted themselves into the wind-borne attacker, the vaguely humanoid features jutting out from its underside writhing with what could potentially be pain, and the Pteraphon responded with a barrage of its own. Hardened, pellet-like growths were shot at the goat-footed archers at alarming speeds, cutting through them via force of impact alone.
His throat swollen and struggling for air, Ekpliktos tried to bark out another order, but the second volley from the Pteraphon would see his helmet warped beyond repair and his skull fractured. Falling onto his back, the shield wall of the City States buckling under too many cracks and gaps in its integrity, Ekpliktos stared at the sky for one last time. The sky-breaching shadow of the Pteraphon did not leave his side, stalking Ekpliktos until death finally claimed him…